SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0437
KING
DOGSHIT
12:15
AM, 23 MAY, 2012, WEDNESDAY
START
BLOG:
Well
I'll give old Jim Burr a lot of deserved credit, world. He seemed to
innately and almost magically, just know that my problems all stemmed
from family, and this was back in the 73-74 time era after we met at
the PCI Computer School, of Cherry Hill, New Jersey, USA, ESMWG. He
also got quite touchy one day at the Haddonwood Swimming pool in my
earlier membership days of autumn in 1977, when he flipped out on me
when I mentioned the Huntington name, and he responded that he was
descended from “kings”. His voiced pitched up dam near an octave
on the word, and the decibels were up as well. Careful scrutiny of my
six and a half years of blogs, will prove that I said this before at
least once. I was living in the Cherrywood Estates on Hillcrest
Avenue, in Blackwood, New Jersey, at this time. Also, it was about
two weeks later that a strange dude came up to me at Haddonwood and
asked me if I would be interested in white slavery. Also, I know for
certain, that somewhere on all of these many words and blogs, this
also has been told, and made a public record. I had no idea at these
times back then, about the dealings or the powerful secrets, of any
of the family branches of the King's, the Callio's, or the McGuire's.
I just unplugged the internet modem from Comcast Cable, while I
finish doing this blog, I am being fucked with and am still under a
horrific mother fucking death siege that basically began last mother
fucking ass Friday, and is still going strong and powerful on
Wednesday. In spite of this, I am winning games of paper roulette.
The trick is not to immediately play following an attack of any sort.
The neighbors were bad, they left and came back earlier and set off
another fire alarm. If it was me doing this, I'd be oudddddddahere
faster than any of Harry Callas baseball's ever went up into the
stadiums. The rules for me are totally different than all other
people. Jim Burr understood a basic principle, MY FAMILY. He would
never agree with where I am today with where all this detecting
sleuth-work took me, but that is because he did not travel my path
all these long years, and neither did any of you reading these words.
For right now, it is safer to keep to myself, some communication with
Gawky Gaukauk and me from earlier, but in the passing days to come, I
will decide how much can safely be said without crossing some real
heavy ass NO-NO blogging lines. All Jim ever did was tell me that MY
FAMILY was behind all my problems, and I remember to this very day up
here in middle twenty-oh-Marola-twelve, looking at him and thinking,
“What the fuck are you talking about, dude”? I am not claiming to
have the know-it-all certificate up here today, but I feel I have
followed the Fontanna-facts and am at least getting all the more
closer towards the goal of learning the entire junk inside this
amazing monstrous mess. It is not simple, and if anyone in the entire
family was instrumental in all of it, I did come to learn in a
powerful dreaming interaction or with (exploratronic activity), that
my Aunt Geraldine Snow Mason, was the biggest key factor, in fact she
was totally pivotal in many things that unfolded from the middle
nineteen-nineties straight up and including this very morning. Yes
Aunt Gerry, I wanted to find my Jenny Johnson Jefferson Street, but I
also needed to learn unbelievable and incredible truths, and this
would obviously be part of a process, not some overnight quick life
changing revelation or spiritual experience out of the biographies of
the great Shirley McClain. She was the one in the powerful
exploratronic experience in 1996 shoertly before Pearl Harbor Day,
and she was the one that made history by insisting that my mom take
her daughter Sandy down with us to the vacation hotel on Tennessee
Avenue in Atlantic City, called the Trinidad. The what for crissake?
For whose sake, Abraham? Goddess, give me a break. Because I
LOV-ED-past-10-TS Diana, I'll spare the world? Spare me Aunt Shah,
noisy ice cream bowls and running tape recorders at Dell's Way Arms
in 1972, all notwithfreakingstanding, YO!!!!! Just tell me folks,
with Russell, Mrs. Goodfellow the child molester, and Sarah all
working in unison to remove all the contents in the 20th
century's new Sutter Mill strong-box, with or without future 001's,
how do I not come to believe that an organized conspiracy exists to
keep robbing me of all my evidence that all this is really happening
to me, YO???????????????????? Talk about con games, what bigger con
is WALL STREET. Look at this Facebook shit for a perfect Pennock
example folks. A child knew the fat cats would buy in, make a quick
kill and do a profit take. Anyone left in that is not on a margin
call would be a total fool to sell and give their hard earned capital
to a bunch of thieving fucking trash pigs. In 2016, Facebook stock in
most dimensions in the hyperspace is selling at over 500 dollars a
share, you ignorant mother fuckers. I have seen the year 3000 and
been there, the world does not end, and all your dumb crap folks
impresses me like the newest escapades of WOMO, and don't think
you're gonna' get at me with more of your hocus pocus, as Lizzy did
not come up from the future, nor did she give me Angelitus or
whatever I'll carry secretly to my grave. Wall Street is no more than
a secret covert vehicle of the TRAVELERS. They need to endlessly pump
money into their little time trek tricks and other hocus pocus
RS1500US phase-four entities like mister Scowl-Face. I know what's
getting said here, and THEY know what's getting said here. It doesn't
mother fucking matter for pounds of dog-shit, if others reading this
get it or not. I'm not being cute or smart or even plain out rude in
saying this, it is just a simple fact and true reality, get that?
Well with or without late blooming southern school desegregation, I
do get a lot of things, and so do all of the Lambriggers in their
waking world club form. DERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
Now
to analyze some powerful mother fucking in my face data, hard hitting
and feeling non sparing. First, if WOMO did all of this to keep me
out of Atlantic city after they crashed and burned me late in October
in 1986, then why almost roman doctor miles away and over a quarter
century ahead in time, is all the persecution so necessary? The truth
has to be along the cunt eating lines my friends and foes, of they
are not only doing this so I can never return and easily be able to
copy my 1986 success, but also as a punishment fro daring to be able
to break out of my 2000 year old family curse, and endangering the
WORLD LABORATORIES CHRISTIANITY EXPERIMENT. Hay, I don't like
printing these fucking things, your Em, any more than you might like
someday to perhaps be reading it, but truth is absolute, and I won't
fucking lie about shit this big, now Jim will, and did, as we all
know, who carefully follow the beware blogs of Jason Forrest. Let me
tell you what went down on this 6th straight day of total
mother fucking hell. First, the WOMO-MILI-2-FORCE changed tactics, as
they get fucking nervous as a son of a bitch when I say I saw a
fucking UFO, and I did, as that thing was low, and monster ass, and I
never saw anything like it, still it was not alien, and I can totally
Tahren Tee that, George Boxer Foreman, my old Neurokian pal of
yesteryear. Interrogate me, grill me, whatever CRA, but peeps show
their ignorant bliss on a second to second basis.
16161616161616161616 for one example telling me a few months ago over
the phone, “That's not congressman Andrew, I know Congressman
Andrews, he is my friend and he isn't on Oak Street any more. Well no
shit Shirley Neckglands Sherlock Holmes. It isn't Congressman
Andrews. I don't know a famous Congressman, I knew a dude in his late
teens who painted houses in the summer of 1975, and sang in a band
along with several dudes, one being a guy who transported me to the
PCI Computer School for a small chauffeur fee, by the name of Albert
Pileggi, in 1973. I have a real past butt-wipe world. I know many
powerful great people, but when I knew them they were nothing, just
like I'm nothing, the difference being, I'm still just a piece of
fucking dogshit folks, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, and I don't give a fuck,
as I've got nothing to prove to any of you cock sucking ass
holes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know what I
know, I know what is real. I did not make any of those comments on
that hatepage at the pop up Google site of “Mark Wayne Mohr of
Hammonton, New Jersey”. These fucking dick in the mouths are giving
me a light speed cubed total general and nervous breakdown. Hay,
believe what the fuck you want. Of course peeps are gonna' sound
younger when they're younger, Jeese Louise, like
DUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Moving
this right along, Jim Burr seemed to know something big time. Then
one day in 1989 right shy of the time I met the dude at the Camden
County Prosecutor's Office, Ron Wirtz Senior, Jim came over to my
apartment at 1102, the third and final stay at the ROBIN HILL
APARTMENTS, OF VOORHEES, NJUSAESMWG. He insisted on bringing a girl
who has been trouble for me in weird ways since 1980, by the name of
Elsie, crissake the name creeps me out at hypergravitronic levels,
and taking my mother along with them, up to the Julia Horse Pike on
Somerdale Road, where a diner has been since for fucking ever, under
various managements, but I think at the time it was called the Silver
Coin Diner, across from the Cunningham-Jefferson Cleaners, yeah right
Mister Patterson, even our middle school kids know a bunch of fucking
con jobs when they see it dancing with disco lights in front of their
faces. But this was really outlandish and weird the way he would not
let me come, it had to be between Elsie, him, and my dear old I
better watch out not to piss off miss lovely-muscles Carmichael, mom.
Don't want to get my eyes knocked out, you try living with somebody
who wants you to fail, bitch, and that denies her own son his dam
daughter. See how much you'd want to love a fucking bitch like that,
Missy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Dave Roth told me
between the time this went down, and the time that we first met Wirtz
the ADA in the office along with that crud bag other ADA, Donna
Spinosi, a shrimp version of Luscious L&O-Abbey, but he said and
I'll nearly verbatim quote him, “Something as big as a plutonium
explosion has to be going on around you Mark”. You think
Dave???????????????????????? SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT!!!!!!!!!!!
The
day consisted of a major NOISE HOLIGRAM, and shifted from aerial
assault, to an all out ground pummeling, usually that is noise or
being stalked, as I was near the DMV Office. I was not at the DMV,
they just happen to be in the same mini-mall with another place that
I needed to be at eleven of the fucking clock yesterday
moUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUrning. This fucking van was just sitting and
waiting for me to come out and leave my parking space, and he
followed me for a while. Fortunately, the entire Route One for half a
mile was filled with back to back traffic leaving just enough time
for me to do a jack rabbit pullout, and he could no longer follow me
and harass me, so they got me at home with noise ion all fronts, fire
alarms AGAIN, loud shit ass neighbors, and a major car blast attack
outside. Looking back, I believe all these incidents were done by
these ENEMY FUCKING JERK OFF NABES from across the fucking cunt
hallway. I have good reasons for believing this folks.
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