SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0504
KING
NEBNOOSHOO
WORLD
LABORATORIES OF 2295
SBT-DATFILE:
080812.645
THE
EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION
THE
MILLIONTH-COUNCIL-EXPLORATRONS AND ME
MORIANITY-PROJECT
CONTINUES FROM 1995 TAPES
BLOG
SUBTITLE NUMBER FOUR: (BSNF)
“QUIETER
HOOD, NASTY AIR AND GROUND CRAP”
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2012
BEGINNING
TRANSMISSION:
Well
folks, the WOMO scum are persecuting me from the old and almost
forgotten recently, non-neighborhood attack approach. While out
buying food so I can stay alive, as they certainly want me fucking
dead, and this literally is what makes this sick diseased twisted
wackjob club act up against me; and has been ever since this all
started with that dam fucking song 26 years ago nearly now, called,
“REAL GOOD GIRL”, and yes, MY total downfall. These pricks are
very childish and totally immature, and my old LIFE JOURNAL reflected
this activity perfectly for a very long time, until the kidnapping by
the KINGS took place in OH-MAROLA-EIGHT. Those who know what is
covertly being said here, cannot deny that things all make total
sense, and that the powerful all mighty situation for me is simply
incurable. People are just not forgiving, not MY, not PP, none of
them, so I am what many people call, the TOOLMAN. Why you ask? Well,
it is simple folks. I will endlessly be Irish style hammered, nailed,
reamed, drilled, saw cut, screwed, torn to bits, and made an endless
member of the real love is not for this CARPENTER club of eternal
woe. The great and illustrious PAWM-PIE-ETTOS, WOW, has this been
talked about over and over on blogs back in my kidnapped years, or my
SKSE. PAWM means the tools of the BRIGGBASE and their evil Earthly EW
society, the Entertainer Club that could not operate for one second
without the help of what else but Electricity. Of course, all eleven
letter words have a one in nine chance to create Gawnum Root Numbers
of the great (23), but these two sure follow Frank Callio, Donald
Trump, and never forget my wonderful great ruling daughter. You do
not know how tempted I am right now to sneak over to that wall and
write directly below your message to me, as Lizzy McGuire put it as
only she could say so well, “Right back at you”. Funny thing is
that I have never shopped there or even been in that store, my entire
time here in Florida since middle December of OH-MAROLA-NINE.
Here
is what these scum bags did to me while I was out on my errands,
getting a few dollars of gasoline for the clunker, and buying a
little tiny bit of food and ice cream on a very limited low budget of
papers, lights, pipes, and rolling rocks that cannot be cut by Patty
Jane's magic freaking scissors.
Don't
get both a stroke and an aneurism there Sheriff, he is a games
expert, and I knew him before any of you out here knew him, and my
2007 and early 2008 blogs verify that, just as all my 1983-1987
copyright cassette tapes in Washington six-hundred, AKA DC when not
in ancient Rome, prove other powerful past realities, but we must
remember that we live in a large inconceivably vast multiverse, and
that to the Labbers of today, this exists only on their blackboards,
I of course, am stuck actually living inside of their number
equations, on the other side of Alice and her great reflections and
Sidney bad boy cop apology notes. How my mom bought into my crap,
sidney was too smart for that, but I knew I had him because unless he
was willing to slip the wedding ring onto my mom, he had no power
over me, the mother fucker, you can't even run your own life, I'll be
damned if you'll run mine. Yes, even then, ALL OF THIS WAS GOING ON,
AND I KNEW IT QUITE WELL, and I am not vein or paranoid, lovely
Carly, not your Orlando friend Nicky, I am talking Simon here,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUHHHHHH!!!! So I go out and
within twenty minutes or so, very loud gunning bikers, as well as
rappers with super loud music attacks, were doing everything they
could to fucking screw with me, following everywhere I went, and
making maximum fucking illegal decibels. If I could prove all this,
and the fucking ass hole cops would believe this true story, I would
be the wealthiest fucking man in the world by this time next year, as
many deep pocket peeps would settle with me out of court for 100
billion USD in gold, or else, the entire world would know why we all
are here, and just who the fuck I am, and who the fuck the Huntington
family REALLY IS, TOMMY BOY, sssso ssstudder on, pal. After the
bikers and rappers, came the super nasty CHEMTRAIL, RIGHT AT ME AND
IN FRONT OF THE ONLY WAY POSSIBLE TO GET HOME FROM WHERE I WAS, IT
WAS UNMISSABLE AND UNAVOIDABLE AND INESECAPABLE AS SCYLLA MIGHT SAY
THIS ABOUT A DECADE AND A HALF AGO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! She was
totally telling me the truth, as I said, she hates lies, and she is
the most honest goddess in the multiverse. If she says it, you had
mother fucking better believe it. She makes a terrific doctor in a
few parallel universes, but this is all why I had to be poisoned in
the first place, folks tend to all perceive life and reality in
reverse, huh bicycle elevator riders; yeah, I caught that little dig,
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh these sons of bitches
from Fort Pierce, huh Jack McCoy? Yes sir, that great television
show “L&O” did its mission, and marched on. It told me all I
needed to cosmically find out and learn. I still cannot believe that
as late as the summer of 2008 and even later, I had not put together
hardly any of this, right down to why the word “MY” was right on
that “Real Good Girl” DEMO TAPE, sent down to the US © Office on
August the 15th of yeah right, we all know,
1986!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well queen Kate, at least I wasn't too late, for
the totally rideeeeeeeekulous shit back in the Sally Star days of
Studio Park garbage Records. Some things I am ahead of the curve on,
LFLD. Well, loud outside noise persecution, sky shit, some planes,
some chemtrailing, let me post this up and also post up some Alex
Jones and my song from just this year despite the tune being written
on May 12th in 1996 and being the original 'SARAH' song
written on a little Radio Shack keyboard from the good old Kirshty
Alley highview Cheers Apartments. Before I post up however, here is a
continuation to my mother's story that left off from blog
SJ-CH-#0502, called, “SUICIDE, Or Was It?” This was written by
her in the year 1977, following an office romance that went real
wrong. Married men who promise girlfriends that they will divorce
their wives, should be in prison, it should be a fucking crime to do
stuff like this. If guys can be jailed for looking at a girl wrong
who is five days under age eighteen, then why is this not a crime, it
sure has caused its share of grief, misery, agony, pain, and
heartache that led to real suicides by many women throughout many
years? Explain the world to me somebody, I double dog fucking dare
any of you to go ahead and try, Paula Weston King
Exploratron!!!!!!!!Hay Billy, I'm not afraid to spress myself, not
when all of you mother fuckers have all hurt me so badly all these
years, so SCREW
YOU ALL.
I
had every good reason to believe him. I was aware that he had many
unsolvable problems with his wife and there seemed to be no hope for
their reconciliation. They lived apart in different cities. They
lived apart and rarely saw each other.
We
had a year of beautiful times together, awaiting his final decree so
we could be married. We talked and planned our future together. The
door was open for a lovely mew way of life.
None
of this was a simple matter. (After writing my entire story, I now
feel the need to place this insertion right here in these
parenthesis. I have a very strong contention that people should
remain married if at all possible and I could not bear to be
responsible for a divorce). Along with the trauma of his getting as
divorce, it was further complicated by the fact that this man
happened to be “my boss”. We both had to be very discreet.
Neither of us was going into this foolheartedly and neither of us
could afford to jeopardize our job. Still another complication arose
when he was asked to work in a new office location – which was not
accessible without a car. I had never had the means to buy a car,
but, nevertheless, he asked me to work for him and said he would make
sure transportation would be provided each day. It was – and he was
the one who constantly provided it. We shared many happy hours both
during and after business. Our future together was becoming more of a
reality every day.
Later,
we were to have a number of misunderstandings and there was an
injustice when he told me he was going back to his wife. I was
shocked. His divorce was already in progress. In decided to go off
somewhere for a week to collect myself and once again reshape my
life.
****************************************************************
This
will conclude today's reading of my mom's work from 1977 that began
on blog-0502, and will continue on until it is completed. For now, I
will tell you some magical numbers that won't make sense except to a
few powerful advanced multiversal EXPLORATONS
that know the
true power of what is being spoken. Divide a piece of paper into nine
squares. As you would type any normal document or letter from left to
right and up to down, write in these digits beginning at the top
left, working across and then down and across until you end on the
final ninth square area which will be the bottom right one.
2,
3, 4, 1, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Now
folks, using an ordinary deck of playing cards, remove the jokers as
well as the ten cards and the royal cards, Hampton Pains, Huntington
Pains, all notwithstanding. You will now have four suits, hearts,
diamonds, spades, and clubs, ranging from aces through nine cards.
Ace is number one, and other numbers are their matching numbers. Now
your sheet of paper should have a top row with numbers written on it
that say 2-3-4, and then the row below that will say 1-5-6, and your
bottom row will say 7-8-9, well, they won't actually say it, and if
they do, you need to get over to a psychiatric facility for some
medication. Cards do not verbally speak, well, they did that night
after Christmas, to my mother, and she was never ever the same
afterward. But that is all for later times, and so is the continuing
secret of the number box and the cards, so if you don't want to get
your brain broken Roger, don't tune in to WHAT'S HAPPENING on the
following blog, #0505, as this is where I'll complete this powerful
and astonishing information, since these pricks around me in the
MILITUFORCE WOMO BRIGGERS CLUB, want to insist on an endless game of
DP, no Paul, not your old classmate Donna Patterson from the
500,000,000 dollar cover up college of formerly known Glassboro, New
Jerseys, and eternal life machines, and timothy Barber's, and other
barbers, and other shops, some with lots of pretty curly hairs all
over the floor, others right off Tennessee Avenue, but who's counting
secret lifetime exchanges here, I'll answer that one real quick
folks, I, I, I don't know!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I did not
set that to pitched music, but I'll Be Crossing Over, has been set as
a harmony track from an old 1984 illegally recorded telephone
conversation , so if I am not allowed to place this on my account
when I finish paying off my studio bill, and it is a beautiful work,
let me know by chasing me around again, secretly, otherwise, it will
be up there, BEG. Hope you are OK with that, it really is beautiful,
just as if you had sung it to me in 1984.
Well,
I am signing off the grid for the day, maybe, it all depends, right
Doctor Chuck N. Dragon of 134-N? Oh, keeping all these medical
offices and procedures and parallel universes straight can indeed
become a chore.
ENDING
TRANSMISSION: WHAAAAAAAA.
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