SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0521

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0521

11:02 NOT ROBIN HILL APARTMENTS BUT AM

MONDAY, 20 AUGUST, 2012

STARTING BLOG:

Fire alarms are every single day again here at this wonderful Public Housing building (PHB). I was awakened with that horrendous shrilling sound about fifteen minutes ago give or take. It is just now off as of a couple of minutes ago. Yesterday, after I returned from going out to put a few lousy dollars of gasoline into my vehicles and get a little ice cream, and it was all ready going off, but had ended as I entered the building and was able to use the elevators instead of climbing up six flights of stairs. Life here is perpetual fun, fun, fun, for the kiddies, for the kitties, and for poor little old me, Kirshty Alley and company of 1986, who just tries so hard every day to be free and left alone, to mind my own business, you know what';s being said here, girl. Keep that weight off girl, you're looking real good my sweet tooth fairy of the Coward Disney HSN Club. All hot shots stick together, and they all have always used me, hated me, and stolen from me, well, hope that makes them real happy in their rotten lives, someday as they face their maker on a death bed, perhaps they'll be thinking of rational ways of explaining all this to Jehovah. Meanwhile, let me just tell you, that before this happened late this morning, I was with my lovely Atlantic Ocean. I also was with some vwer strange dudes. One was with me and was almost like you see in the famous Scrooge Movies, and yes folks, I reversed them, the episode that airs my great great great grandpa's Christmas tune, was the old with Patrick Captain Picard Stuart, and not with George Red Lobster Sea Scott. Sorry about that, 86 times, Chief; but still Hickey-P and I are most definitely, 'LOVIN' IT', huh David Roth? It is 11:13, and I missed the fucking ones, HA-HA-HA Miss bitch rotten Jane Notfondayouonebit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My computer clock is getting set back a lot again, but I'll admit, this has been going on about a year or so, ever since an update happened. You cannot prevent them, they happen automatically. It just keeps setting it back not three, but one hour, and I just go into my control panel and set it up again to the real time. At least it does not get set to 36^th Avenue time in Saint Mathew out in Kali4nya, as it did throughout 2010 once it began around early in March. My entire computer was set as though I was on 36^th Avenue, over and over, it was unrelenting and unpreventable. Real funny, time traveler-N. Yes folks, that was a powerful wild exploratronic experience that I was in before the fire alarm began. You need not know the details, but my wonderful LIGHTNING has sure been around me and protecting me as best as she can lately, and I just love her so very freaking much, that words fail me, times ten to the millionth exponential power.

It seems that under this mother fucking HUNTINGTON FUCKING CURSE, I am not allowed to ever plan or do anything whatsoever, and if I do, I am instantly punished for just so much as thinking about attempting to better my situation. This explains why the one time that ?i did the very most to break out of my curse back in 1986 with my applying the PARALLEL EVENT METHOD OF PLAYING CASINO ROULETTE, I was knocked on my ass and have not been fucking cunt permitted to get up and live a near normal life, ever since, and not one fucking cunt soul will take this seriously and even make a tiny little concerted effort to believe that just maybe this is real and that I'm telling the mother fucking dam truth here. What the shit would I have to possibly gain since then, in making up this neurotic psychotic nut job whack bizarre story? Ask that question to yourself as your doubting my rationality and or sanity folks, YO. Death angels have been beyond fucking major, months, years, it is not without a fucking single day without many of them, I'm getting a right side attack right now as I type-speak at 11.23, and why not, too devilish monstrous fucking numbers, eleven and twenty-three. Two divided by 3 equals point 6666666666666. Lovely name-number. 36 is even more outlandish and beyond scarey however. Add up all the numbers starting with one plus two, plus three, do it on your suddenly seeing Walmart Calculator sometime, and when you add up the final number of 36, it comes to the demonic namenumber of what else, 666? The loud slam out from the dirt ball across from me woke me an hour or so before the fire alarm. Some mornings you can sleep through around here, others, you cannot, tomorrow will not be one as I all ready know, the inspections were to occur either this morning or tomorrow morning, and they did not happen this morning. How I love Public fucking housing, and being stone cold broke all my life, robbed and raped and ripped off by wealthy fucking heartless soulless bastards who hate my guts before I have three times the real talent than they do, and Mister McDonald, they may not be loving it, but they sure be knowing it, as the hood crowd might just phrase it. Things for me all tarted getting weird and whack, when I started going, with my mother, on summer vacations, down to Atlantic city, on Tennessee Avenue to the Trinidad Hotel, back in the middle nineteen-sixties, and where I made my first contact with SARAH. I doubt that even Mary Moore has all the answers about all of this, but I do know that the powerful Entertainment World Network Systems do. We both know that you will all burn up into a fiery endless hell, for what you have been doing to me ever since Roseann tried to take a chunk out of my throat, and when she couldn't, she got the Blue nungen Agents of telephone taps to take over from there back in 1983. HAY LETTY, why does your great family hate me so much, what did I ever do to them all these decades besides bring them everything from assistance on anything they needed, right down to life itself on this mortal waking world? I guess I should have taken you down to PR and married you back in 2009. Instead, I had Donald Trump going nuts at his own hotel-casino. You may be one of the few in the galaxy who know just how real my pathetic and pitiful story is, Leticia Tilley. Hope all is well with your newborn. Take care of yourself, and give the other Lisa a big punch in the head for me, you know, Joe King's fiance'.

No folks, I don't ever have to tell the world to go to hell, it is doing that just fine and well day after day after day, without one small fractional bit of encouragement from deer sweet little old me from the highview 1986 Cheers Alley Apartment Complex, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT. Think about this rationally, anyone from physicists to ordinary average peeps. Without this control over STM and this wild Sherry-Lee Pote shoebox that was once hidden in my Saturn Automobile, without Stephanie the great nineties comedian; how could all of this have happened since the year 2007 ended? You all either believe me, or JUST DON'T WANT TO, and that's cool and fine, as I know only too well about the GWPOS from late 1994 somewhere again at the highview, when that giant officer came over to tell me that my Fort Lauderdale relatives had both died. My uncle was in the hospital with his wife who had suffered a major heart attack, and he was so up set, that within a few hours, he collapsed and died of one himself. Now I ask anyone in the news reporting industry, what in all honesty are the odds that my family is not under some kind of twilight zone curse or something, pick any word you like L-4?

Yes I have many plans, and you enemy fucking prick bastards will have to kill me a billion times over to stop me. I think you will die of old age before the retrace machine up at the World Labs ever runs a dry laser. So HA-HA-HA-HA, sir Icabod Crane. I never forget anything HA-HA-WHO, and nothing gets past me, and one day when you all least expect it, Alan funk, SURPRISE, you'll be on Justice Karmra!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See you around the galaxy, Mizz Hicks and Mister Shatner.

ENDING BLOG: *****BYE-BYE*****