SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 158
ALL
SYBTITLES APPLY, NO 4TH SUB
WORLD
LABORATORIES OF 2296
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DATFILE:
CH-158-053011.608
COPYRIGHTED
BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN
COPYRIGHTED
MARK WAYNE MOHR
COPYRIGHTED
MICHAEL WAYNE MOUNTAINPEN
SWORN
STATEMENT UNDER LIBEL AND PURJURY:
ALL
STATEMENTS HEREIN ARE FACTUAL,
THEY
ARE NOT IN ANY WAY, DEVIATIONS FROM
THE
TRUTH KNOWN BY ME AS BEST AS IS
POSSIBLE
AND TO THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE.
BEGINNING
TRANSMISSION:
As
soon as I got off the telephone with my friend, Ann King Silva, I
activated the computer to do this blog, and immediately realized that
my settings again are all switched back to living on 36th
Avenue, San Mateo, California, and the time reads accordingly. Let me
now effect repairs for my true address of 601 Avenue B, here in Fort
Pierce, Florida, and make my clock read nearly a quarter before
three, not much earlier, on this freaking ass
'Monday-HELLIDAY-HOLIDAY' afternoon.
I've
told Ann, all the shit that has been done to me recently by these
enemies, as well as all of the many cousins, distant as they may be,
of her very special and incredible family. She knows about the
leaving of the Egg Harbor Township Library that day in the autumn in
2006 with Ed and myself, after my blogging that I'll be arriving on
10-SC Avenue shortly, in enemy-town Atlantic City, NJUSAESMWG, and
once there, good old non-fully-human ROBERT
MCGUIRE, was right there around us in the shadows, TO
GREET US, in a not so friendly way, ATLANTIC COUNTY PROSECUTOR,
cousin of my Philadelphia Doctor of the nineteen-seventies, Edmund L.
Housel, and brother of Elisa, Joe King's Fiance', Joe is the only son
of Ann King. They will be working on getting me my copy back on my
all ready paid for and totally legal website disc, the
MORIANITY-FOUNDATION, Google it up , folks, have a blast. If you come
from the distant future, and are accessing this through the cosmanet
system, using distance delay channels AX57 or AX592, type in
www.morianity-foundation.com/
as long as it is in the year of 2007 or the latter part of 2006.
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
Well,
all night long, both of my GODESSESS interacted with me in wild and
strange ways. Memories in this waking human realm right now, are
blurry and fuzzy, to say the very least. Ann knows, and now
remembers; seeing the pix on this MF website, and neither Ed nor
myself, remembers a thing about McGuire sticking his ugly head in my
automobile passenger side front window. Take a look, ACP Housel. We
had no knowledge that this event ever took place at all, and were
amazingly stymied and quite flabbergasted when we developed the film
disc at the Eckert Pharmacy, and saw this for the freaking first time
ourselves. If this is not a major THREAT TO
THE NATIONAL SECURITY, a powerful clan walking around
amongst us with this kind of power, and obviously not timid or shy
about using their powers and abilities on both me, and any or all of
my associates or friends; then I do not know what would be, MISTER
TOM RIDGE, SIR!!!!!!! Then
I told Ann all about the time in June of 1996 when I left my swim
club in West Deptford, New Jersey, called the Haddonwood
Swim and Health Club, that was owned and operated by
MISTER TONY ZENUN; and how I proceeded to go to this psychic shop
just down the road a mile or less, called
“The Gathering Place”; and then that punk Nick took a
hammer and ruined my hubcap on my Saturn Satan Automobile, cool
combination, Satan wrecking a Saturn, hay, who knows; maybe
a house divided against itself can stand up after-all.
Someone
did a Golden Nugget Triple-A Auto Club on me yesterday, calling in a
fake maintenance report, saying my door to my apartment is broken,
causing the maintenance peeps to knock early, and awaken me for
nothing; when there was nothing whatsoever wrong with my door.
Someday, when I know who is doing this, I will sample your voice; and
you will be paid a personal visit from Tom Ridge, and the boys from
Homeland Security. As I said, I only wish I could sing like that shit
up on U-Tube. Computers can indeed come in quite handy. I think it
was done better than 1980, and am wondering if artists still share
the disdain for technology that the great Donna Gaines Summer did
when I admitted to her that I used it back then.
Fire
alarms are hell in public housing buildings. At all times, I need to
be ready to put in my earplugs, and even then, slip on a pair of
headset phones over even this, to avoid going totally ass deaf from
the shrill sound. It lasts until the Fire Department can arrive, and
determine the apartment number where the smoke alarm went off; and
only they can then proceed to terminate this gods awful piercing
sound that in my opinion poses a health hazard to the hearing (OF),
and not twice fucking hacked “ODF” the residents, but this is
none of my business. I am in here saving money, so I can return to
New Jersey, and my friend Ann King; and be back amongst peeps who
care about me. I need extra money, so I can move all my personal
belongings into storage up there, and secure a place to reside. I
hope it may be one of many homes, owned and rented out by the
infamous and eminent Judge Frank Rasso. The day that I moved in here,
and had to get up and work very hard the next day, over at the
HARVEST, www.harvestfoodoutreach.org
; three, count them Lex Luther Supershit; 3 fire alarms went off,
late afternoon, and then the sleep destroying other two, one
happening past midnight, and the final one around just shy of six in
the fucking ass moUUUUUUUrning!!!!! Any fucking cunt eating time that
peeps wanna' make my fucking pathetic twisted ass life nothing but a
totally endless, never stopping nightmare hot fire breathing hell;
they have a million various ways of covertly fucking pulling off a
string of different shit ass things, and never ever be recognized or
caught, for what they really are doing; and that of course is,
killing me, year after year; every night and day, decade after
decade; wrecking and obliterating my entire life, for reasons that
these sick twat-lappers only know and understand.
I
want to make sure that GODDESS SCYLLA KNOWS that I do not hold
her family against her, for any of this; and all though we both
were set up on that night of Saturday the second of August, nearly 25
years ago, I really will always remember in some hazy way, despite
McGuire and Rogers 'Milk of Amnesia' (L&O) strobing hypnotic
powers; the fun we had for an hour, and I would do it all over
again, accept for the part of giving you a fake phone number, and
ripping up yours, I am so sorry.
You would have been worth Rikers Island, and you can tell Paula King
the great TYPE-3 Exploratron, I said so. Nobody is perfect, right
Bruce Pennock?, Vance Grody street
addresses all notwithstanding, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe
I've had issues with many members of your distant clan, Ann, but you
are my best friend. I know that your late daughter, Dawn-Marie,
forced you to write me that note, back in 2010.
Eric,
I know you too, have been placed under some type of extreme pressure,
to hurt me the way you have done. This is why I totally know that
Christianity is fake and phony, MISTER POPE. If a consistent pattern
over nearly six decades of time now, proves beyond any shadow of
doubt, that this thing that is against me, is much stronger than your
so called 'GOD', by the way that you see things; then I will go with
what my five senses perceive every time. I will not deny reality,
just because it can indeed become way to ugly to stare down, and face
many times; and I will still not deny its existence, nor its truths.
It is all nothing but a gigantic humongous hoax that has lasted for
thousands of mother fucking years now. Someday soon, MORIANITY will
bring the OZ-CURTAINS down on all of this, and the world will simply
have to awaken at this point, to truth and enlightenment.
Yes,
42 years ago, I was walking down the great mighty Tennessee Avenue of
Atlantic City, and Sarah was right there with Nina and Paula, and a
car came down from Pacific Avenue, towards the boardwalk, and stopped
outside the shop of the great Karge. I still can hear you so loud and
clear, hollering into the car window, right there outside the doorway
into McGuire's BOTBAR bar and Pittsburgh Hotel, “YOUR
FRIENDS ARE IN THE SHOP”. Some things just cannot be
forgotten, even with a gallon of Doctor Rogers Nasal Spray shots of
Propophol, or MOA.
Lots
of planes are flying around, and have been. Yesterday, I was driving
over to the old place to finish the little shit up, and somebody
removed all of the carts, and the dollies; and I had to kill myself;
getting lots of small, but heavy shit up to my fucking #607
apartment. The same fucking chopper that is stalking me fucking
illegally, and has been for 25 years or so; again, was in front of
me, while I was fucking driving down good old Orange Avenue, around
2-2:30 yesterday; towards my old residence.
It
is only a matter of time before this WOMO scum twisted evil fucking
demonic despicable enemy loses completely, and this is all over.
Someday, I have to fucking die, and then you cannot fucking hurt me
ever again, HA-HA. If this happens, then fine; but the other
possibility is, that you are gonna' be found out and caught, no
matter how mother fucking clever and all mighty powerful that you may
think that you all are out here, mother fucking jerk offs! Maybe I
should lower my major cussing level. After-all, as the blogs of
October 5th of 2008 state, I am not 'standing at the foot
of the stairs', am I right MO'-------NICK???????????? Maybe we should
all click onto http://www.mountainpen.wordpress.com/
and then we can all go WOW, or maybe just WHAAAAAAAAAAA.
Yes,
hopefully MI, you have forgiven me for 1986. It is me who
cannot ever forgive myself for letting things turn out the way it all
did, losing you for a second time. I cry myself to sleep every single
night, ask Diana. Still, through STM, I saw and knew all of this
back on the prior PITSY year of 1994. You know about it, you even
agreed that I was “That-Boy”, and until your parents came along
down the beach and wrecked everything, I was happy for the first time
in my life. I was the age in this interaction of waking mind, that
you are now, today. I told you, and I meant it, and still do, “Have
a nice life”. How Hollywood can live with themselves for
capitalizing on my agony, and endless tears; is absolutely
incomprehensible, unthinkable, totally deplorable, and completely
abominable.
Bon
Jovi's cousin sent me a note saying, “Mission accomplished, BRO”.
I am not sure what he meant or means, and am still studying the
situation. Sorry things fucked up with your cousin, but as I'm quite
sure that you know my friend, once they stop pumping gas, and go onto
make it into the big time, they'll turn on you. That is merely the
freaking story of life in this wovewee ol' world, there maitee. In
the parallel universe where I now am typing this re-post folks, this
never even happened. The only thing that actually happened since the
last time my WOMO enemies murdered me and the WL retraced me, is
still in the future as of this blog's time, and that is Tony Bon
recognizing a tune from 1983 that has not even been taken to the
studio yet, talk about time frikkin manipulation, golly gash darn
shit your pants and WOW.
LSS,
I tried to put all of us out of our misery, and it didn't work. But I
haven't given up yet, so don't anybody count me out. As Jack McCoy on
the “L&O” television show would put this so perfectly and
eloquently, “I still have one more at-bats, so don't count me out”
END
TWANSMISSION, SILWEE WABBIT
ELMER,
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
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