SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0482, KG NO

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0482

KING NEBNOOSHOO

BLOG SUBTITLE NUMBER FOUR:

“THAT SON OF A BITCH FROM FORT PIERCE, HUH MCGUIRE”?

WORLD LABORATORIES OF 2294

SBT-DATFILE: 072012.269

© 2006-2012 MARK WAYNE MOHR

THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION

MORIANITY-PROJECT CONTINUES FROM 1995 TAPES

THE MILLIONTH-COUNCIL-EXPLORATRONS AND ME

BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:

Well world, I don't expect the folks who really need to see a lot of stuff, to ever see it. In fact, only the few who are against me, really believe me, after all, why would they doubt what they are doing and have been for fifty million years or whatever, Miss Jewelly? On top of that, many folks have the attitude, hay ass hole, just get on with life and screw the past. Don't you thunk that I would dick heads, if I could? Are you fucking mad? What half rational or half sane person would wish to exist in some perpetual mother fucking nightmare, who now has come to realize a really major new dilemma, or whatever a truly fitting word might be here that ten college educations would not be able to really properly provide? Worthless mother fucking Spell Checker, cannot even provide me with the proper mother fucking way to spell the word, oh there we go finally, dilemma? Talk about Quantum Mechanics lately, at its very best, Mister Hawking? Only seeing all of this with the book I wrote in 1994, TPB, as a super video game in 5-D, can even hope to explain all of this. Still, I know that pieces of my life are missing. My life is in sections. This much I do totally and accurately remember. When certain pivotal points come into being, huge unfathomable alterations come into play. All the expenditure of energy to overcome or combat what takes place, is a mere futile attempt to stop what is absolutely fucking unstoppable. I have played this game long enough to see this, from Pharmaceutical Teen Agers of the late eighties, all the way to Walker, Walter, State, Pierce, and Tennessee Streets, so why bother trying to hide, when I know that I cannot, not from the Lambrigger fucking Cult of the mighty Subatomic World or Astral ass hole Plane. When I tried to post my last blog up, the blogger website either hacked me, or some other hacker did, and would not let me post my blog with any labels, continuing to freeze my computer, every mother fucking time I tried. I may be forced to tell all that I know and believe to be happening, and I have also done something major that really astute folks who can add a wee bit higher than three plus three, will know what is happening. I destroyed my will and testament that was notarized by the County of Saint Lucie, Florida. I am not taking any chances after all of this wild incredible stuff, not in a million fucking Patterson ass hole years, from here to Pee's State Police Barracks, that at the time, was on Route 30, or the WHP, Jewelly. Too much has happened that nobody can rationally explain, since 2005 ended, Jenny at the fucking cunt trailer park, Chris Bennett, Ed and Ann, me thinking I am randomly copyrighting music, and the list is about as fucking endless as Lex Luther's mother fucking super arm, Otis.

On a long defunct website, www.morianity-foundation.com/ I posted a story about a major powerful dream where I was a paramedic, and there was a strange road that went through Hammonton, all the way to Washington, DC. Nobody needs to know more details than what is being printed and said, as those who do know, know a lot more than I do, and those who are saying to themselves, sheeeeeit, what's going on, don't need to be told any more about it. Darius Evans posted my YOUTUBE songs with the videos, late in 2011, and I am not trying to be a son of a bitch, about anything, just needing to learn McGuire's great secrets, before both of my daughters wake me out of this dream, I am determined to know about the Sherry Lee Tapper Club, and this has nothing to do with tiles, health, or anything else, well, health just might not be an excluded item, Jimmy Shotgun Dangerous Olson!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Come on world, a retarded baboon can see that just because I did not know what I had, did not mean, others did not know, and decided to part me from my lovely possessions. If you think I am going to stay as dumb and crazy as you want me to, Miss Greendress Harborpearls, all I can say today, is think again.

One son of a bitch to another, I have no intention of launching anymore rockets in the park, with Red John, or being plug pulled again. I told only one person, the owner of the trailer park, that my private cosmicoded number (PCN) was 871, early in 2006, and that was my landlady, who was interested in numerological information at the time, Jenny. I wonder just how common the names are, Mister Prosecutor Wirtz, such as Kessel, Plageman, and others too numerous to type. How can the wall to my memory come down, Commerce Bank, if McGuire keeps messing with the space-time-mind system, with his tapper paper from Wildwood? Tell me that one, wise swami Sherry Lee Pote? 5000 foot roller coasters, yeah right, like that's gonna' fucking happen any time soon, Calvin High Street TC Coolidge Frailenger. Spell Checker has no sweet tooth for taffy or candy, huh Mildred B. Young Rosenberg? Well in any case, the answer was no then in 1972, and is still no now, and if you don't want to know why Mister fucking McGinty, then fine and candy dandy with me, YO! It is time to take my slanting cottages and balls, and head for home, Mister Breyers Taylor, and other LABBERS of Northeast Philly, while I am remaining in one piece, WO, sir Harner. Some people do not live like the rest of society, Roseann is one kind, Zombie exploratrons might just be another kind. Only I really know, and McGuire controls what I really know. He has proven that time and again, twice, right there on mother fucking Tennessee Avenue, nine years apart. I will bury you someday Bobby. They all ready buried me, right next to Roseann, at the water-pipe near her house where Dave shit his guts out that night in 1989. Talk about the tails from the dark shit holes side, or any other fish tales, jeeesh, Chris, but witch one Paula U witch? Forget the old prairie, Herman Munster.

AS LONG AS MY OPPRESSORS HAVE ME TO ENDLESSLY PERSECUTE AND PICK ON, NATURALLY THE PHILLIES WILL ENDLESSLY LOSE AND BE WIPED OUT VICIOUSLY, AND THE EVIL STOCK MARKET WILL GAIN AND GAIN UP AND UP AND UP, FOREVER AND FOREVER, HOW CAN I WIN WHEN THESE FILTHY FUCKING ENEMMIES OWN THE MOTHER FUCKING WORLD??????????????????????????????????????? My blogs make no bones about this for going on fucking cunt seven years now folks, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

E-N-D-I-N-G----------T-R-A-N-S-M-I-S-S-I-O-N: