SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0524

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0524

2:56 PM-EDST EAST COAST OF NORTH AMERICA

FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USAESMWG

TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO

SHALL WE BEGIN OUR SHORT TWEETYBIRD BLOG:

As soon as the opening bell on Wall Street, maybe three minutes at the most past half pas nine this morning, my WOMO MILITUFORCE ENEMIES struck me for what I said on my last blog, obviously, not that MY PHA BUILDING FIRE ALARMS have not gone back on a heavy and major role recently, as they definitely have, but this was a real beauty, and I know the Fort Pierce Fire Company knows that Mister Time Travel Shoebox of the middle nineties, is having a real blast with me, and so do others here in town, despite they're conscious mind insistence that I ran out of usable pants long ago. Well, the alarms are indeed going off, why would I have any pants left? Still, despite total fucking jerk offs like doubting Paul and many others after all that they personally saw and witnessed with me through many years; it is most hard to argue with even one or two of my many still provable items, the easiest one accessible at the URL of drunkenhive, and then just click to the year 2008, the month to October, and read the blog of the 5^th day. Then read the blog on the 31^st day on Halloween, Merry Hollister Callas, and have your mind totally blown and oudaaaaahere. I am by no means singling anyone out, but that deal with my Saturn hubcap, the Friendly Restaurant theft in 1995, the storm that followed me back home to Highview and Williamstown, the never ending capital letter hacking when I know I am fucking hitting the SHIFT KEY, yet city and highview never stop coming out and need to be corrected every mother fucking cunt lapping time. Then there is the high school trip, and even telling folks around me that I come from 1997, I had never been to 1997, I existed in 1996, yet was telling folks back in 1968 that I came from 1997, maybe I felt the need to tell them all anything, or one particular girl anyway twenty-five years later. The recent computer hacking is very major. It's hard posting up, making the mouse work on the internet, not have millions of fucking typo errors despite knowing they were checked and not there, the hackers love to fuck with real word changes as I call them, you're trying to say that you are in pain, but rain is a real word, and so it comes out on the blog that you are in rain, or in paint, whatever, you get the picture. I can hold the shift key down all day, Atlantic City, unless I physically look up onto the screen and make sure that the word CITY is capitalized, the WOMIO fucks it up and changes it so I get to fucking look like a stupid short bus tard every time. Then there was 2010 in the summer time. This is when I fell under the hugest siege of all. I had this powerful ass fucking dream that a mean evil old man at the library where I went to blog as I had not yet bought my own computer for obvious financial reasons at this time, and he was messing with me and assaulting me and preventing me from what I was there to do, which was fucking tell my story, IE blog. Sure enough I woke up from that hellish experience, but when I tried blogging after that for many weeks, I was suddenly and mysteriously only able to tweet a few lines on all three blog sites I tried posting to. If I tried pasting anything longer than a few sentences, I got a OOPS PAGE, no explanation, but I knew I was being fucked with by powers beyond our physical world or even our great government and its many black-ops agencies. Only the great all mighty church devil, Lenny McKinnon, now reincarnated into a similar name, taught well by the Summer Club of Maud Huntington Mind Controllers, could pull this off, because it takes TRANSDIMENSIONAL TRUNK DEVICES, and without the power of these things, you just don't end up going from a punky hub cap hammering kid to the wife of a superstar, and with an agenda of messing with me until I am but a skeletal remain. Still even as a teen with a property damaging tool in his hand, his other hand was holding onto something, because how else could he have gotten from Deptford without a car, up in Jersey, all the way to Blackwood, all ready know where I would be stopping to place a telephone call to my mother saying I would be a little late for dinner, as after I left Haddonwood, I had stopped to get a reading by the dude at the psychic shop down the road, called, “The Gathering Place”. Up he comes out of nowhere while I'm trying to speak to my mom on the payphone in 1996, and insists on smirkingly telling me that my hubcap is all messed and banged up, He should know, he fucked it up, the snotty punky son of a bitch. If you don't like the smirkingly word, then tough fucking beans, Poor Richard, because I'm fucking using it on this blog, Lakehouse Choker. Ann the rock thrower, Joe the car-door leaner, Dawn the lush, Lisa the pants burner accuser, Leticia the riot causer, and Samantha the wannabe rock star, as they say and admit to, “What a family”, huh Kaitlin? Yes there was a strange person at the Lakehouse Party that day in 2009 in Mystic Islands. He pointed his finger at my mouth and told me he would leave me proof that what he said was true, only what he said was never blogged. Right where he pointed to and touched within ever so slight contact above my upper lip just left of the center of my mouth, that very day while at work that late afternoon when I relieved Roy Weiler a little late as per our agreement, began to magically make two fo my front teeth start to just rot out as though they were reduced to chalk. For days and weeks, parts of these teeth kept vanishing, and now I need to jeep a dental cement piece in-between the area or else it is very uncomfortable, and I have no money to fix what was done to me, nor would anyone in authority do anything but laugh at me should I ever try and tell these wild experiences in my life since I went to hell in 1986. All my jerk off neighbors are being controlled and entered by what else, but EXPLORATRONS. The next door shit began with the “Let us make some kind of electronic noise while he is on the computer”, the hall shouters and bangers are outside of my door doing their thing as well, at 3:37 PM. ALSO, THEY WOKE ME WITH A FUCKED UP HEART RHYTHM.

I would ask what else these bastards can do to me, but know better, remembering a great old sixties television show called Bewitched, when Darren Stevens asked his wife that same question, and was given the answer of “The possibilities are endless”. Yes, I have a powerful feeling that I will pack a small bag up very soon, and wonder far away, out of this evil country forever to live in Fiji or some island far away from this horrible evil sick twisted nation and society of true insane sheep, all following the awesome drum that beats the word HELL HELL HELL HELL, yes Harry Callas my friend, forget baseball or how many times WOMO can persecute me through the mighty four winds, I'll be forever away and OUDDDDAHERE, so what are any of you monsters going to do after I am gone, mother fuckers, wonder and ponder on that one. For now, MORIANITY can just go play through the open end system and entertain all my lovely roaches.

David Smith was right all along you know, “Knowledge with feeling, is power. I have neither, and am totally powerless. This man should win the mother fucking Nobel Prize.

My mother's story will continue on BLOG # 0525, I need to post up and get Morianity started through to the roachphone system of American Telephone and telegraph, AKA the AT&CNT (Chuck Norris), in more ways than just two, in 1983 and 2009, but in ways beyond any blogging safe limits folks.

TWEETYBIRD SAYS BYE-BYE, CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP, AND MAY THIS WORLD BE METEOR STRUCK!