SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0534
KING
PROPHETNOTHINGEIGHTYEIGHTSQUAT
JANE
DIRTBAG AFTERNOON TIME ON
AUGUST
30TH, 2012 HELLIDAY HOLIDAY TIMES
WHAT
ELSE IS NEW/SAME OLD SAME OLD/SSDD
THURSDAY
AFTERNOON ON A SUPER FUCKING BOTBAR DAY
STARTING
THE BLOG:
WELL,
I WAS NOT BEING TOTALLY PARAMOID, LADS, LASSIES, LABBERS, AND LAB
DOGS (L-4). First, it is basically coming up on another one of my
mother fucking FAMOUS HOLLIDAY HELLIDAY DEALS, LABOR FUCKING DAY, and
CALLIOTAMM WOMO-TAWF just loves to fucking relentlessly torment and
torture me on my birthday and all holidays, as anyone who reads my
blogs, has known about for going on seven years, but it's been going
on SINCE FUCKING AUGUST THE FIFTEENTH IN 1986, AS SICK AND TIRED AS
ANYONE MAY BE OF SEEING THIS DATE IN PRINT, AS GUESS WHAT FOLKS, AS
SICK OF IT AS YOU MIGHT BE, I CARRY THIS HELLISH SHIT WITHIN ME
24/7/365.2422, YO!!!!!!!! Who do you think is more sick of this
lovely adorable wonderful fucking date? Oh Doris firebug Plum of
Williamstown on Main Street, how you wanted me out of your shit hole
by the 15th of September, back in 1979, and how I'll
always remember you saying that word (15th) in an emphasis
that only you could say exactly how you said it, and yet, how this
paled later on with a date out ahead of it by (83) mother fucking
months, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Quite a
fascinating number of 'later months' would anyone disfuckingagree
with me here?
Yes,
maintenance was here, and they fixed my bathroom all up real nice,
right down to a brand new bathtub tile clean and cauk job. I had
totally forgotten that the Incollingo Grocery Store of Egg Harbor
City, and the yellow/chocolate cupcake deal must have all kicked in.
I remember slicing my wrists and bleeding out, and then typing on a
blog that I was going to take a medical overdose, and all I really
know is that here I am waking up from a dream where it is all
scrambled together, yet it happened. Not only did it all happen, but
with or without the maintenance work, there never has been this many
doors banging and going all morning and into the afternoon, since my
arrival here at this PH Building. NEVER EVER. There must be 1000
illegal mother fuckers living in the apartments across the hall from
me. Yes, Egg Harbor can never ever be escaped from, and that is a
recorded document for anyone able to read through the lines, and not
by me. I do not rule empires, own great cities larger than this
entire planet many times over, or have the ability to pick up ocean
liner vessels and fly them all around. I have experienced all this
with the great SARAH-STACEY KRASSLE, and let me tell this world
something. Words do not exist for me to tell anything. I've tried to
tell parts of all of this over the past nearly seven years of my
miserable horrendous blogging career, but the project is and was, a
disastrous miserable total fucking failure. Any really smart peeps,
and I think it is roughly less than five who not only follow these
words regularly but take them seriously, my MTOF as I call them for
short, knows the true and awesome power of Morianity, despite the
worldly appearance of it being a speck of garbage and nothingness and
insanity. First off, even a sampler had to sample something. Second,
the Copyright Office tried to tell me some of this through the back
door when they were freaking out over a silly yellow sheet of paper
in 2008 before I left the Mullica Mobile Manor at Jenny Plageman's
dirt-hole place. Third, if all this stuff fitting this marvelously
and completely together could be a coincidence, fine, but the odds
would be quadrillions to one against this, factoring in all the
things such as the World Series Parade, and all of the wild shit, and
finally and fourth, as if it needs to be said to MTOF, the numerous
admitting utterances, unconsciously perhaps, of SSJK in carnation
form such as the well timed with the lyric in LOIS FOCA, the top of
the building, and so on and so on and so on we could go for a very
long time. I know this is all real, just as I know that somebody is
plotting against me and has been since my birth, worsening after
leaving high school, and then worsening several more times even
still, at varying future times. Nobody has this fantastic of an
imagination, not Patterson, king, Spielberg, Agatha, name the great
fiction writer authors all day if you wish, my shit beats it, BECAUSE
IT IS NOT FUCKING FICTION. Anyone who can believe that I could
possibly or remotely be that fucking talented, first, thank you so
much for the wonderful fucking compliment, but I cannot accept it, it
would be a total lie. Nobody on this fucking planet is seeking the
absolute total truth of what is really going on behind all of the OZ
curtains of my life, more than I am. I'm not looking for some fantasy
or way of titillating some delusion. If I want to get a thrill, I
have plenty of great video filled with many lovely women who love
wearing their birthday suits at pools and beaches. I am only seeking
after truth, and if I thought for a second that anyone I could put my
finger on, had that corner on total truth that is pertaining to my
life, I would be at your door, and you would give it to me, one way,
or the other. But why was this day given to me folks? Why this
holiday thing, and why my birthday and Christmas Day most of all?
Well, we would need all day and well into the night to even crack a
corner surface on this one, so later on we will go there slowly, but
for right now, let us work around this a little freaking bit, OK,
late JK of AC-NJ-USAESMWG?
So
why does SSJK keep coming into her own dream here, and why is this
all happening to me, and why is Mister A through Mister G, so
adamantly prevented from interacting in my life without dire
consequences? Well, I promise to get into this and make it within
about two pages in length for about 100 people that read these blogs
from time to time, but I am not going to insult the MTOF. You don't
need that answered, do you? You see instantly how these three pieces
have been cut into thirds, placed in a jig saw puzzle box, and sold
on the internet by the Mountainpen, for the reasonable price of
$0.00. I don't want your money, I just want to borrow your attention
and your ears, sometimes occasionally, perhaps even your shoulders.
But you can always choose to lend me those, or choose not to, YO. Oh
those monster-ass fire recordings. JEESE LOUISE FONTY MONKS. Yes,
anytime at all, I can reach you Scylla, but you know, if this is what
you want and these are the rules of the game, who am I to even try
and make plans that will interrupt the great plans you have for me?
As
for my mother and her true story she wrote back in 1977, that, as
HEAVEN, can wait. When things get real fucking ass bad for me like
they are right fucking ass now, I cannot perform tasks that require
even an ounce of extra energy. I need to conserve every bit of my
strength just to fucking survive and maintain some tiny level of
sanity throughout crises situations such as the holiday siege
syndrome or the HSS for a short abbreviation, YO.
Well
big Herby Letts, and Letty, and other great retail outlets that might
just suddenly perceive the great truths around us all someday, all
though this is quite doubtful; maybe the illustrious mighty brain
egghead from the Jersey Harbors might just start to see things also.
You cannot write my story in some orderly fashion, not in time, or in
category. I have tried, and those that witnessed it on the blogs, saw
it totally shoot up in bigger flames than anything that Robert
McGuire or Dawn-Marie King, could ever hope to ignite, in their
wildest and most bizarre fantasies, and twisted illness.
Well
it is seconds shy of two in the afternoon on a super BOTBAR wicked
day. This day for me, was robbed. Who is the biggest thief and the
biggest liar according to Holy fucking Scripture, folks? Good old
SATAN.
Still, this fucking day legitimately belongs to him, he earned
it. I won't take away from anyone or any entity what seed to fruit
product their talents were able to achieve. A great prick, that's U
old buddy wall OOB slammer. Imagined, yeah, right, BRAH.
***END***
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