SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER DCXLI
WORLD
LABORATORIES OF 2295
SBT-DATFILE:
112212.540
THANKS-2-GIVENS
DAY, THURSDAY
THE
EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION
THE
MILLIONTH-COUNCIL-EXPLORATRONS AND ME
MORIANITY-PROJECT
CONTINUES FROM 1995 TAPES
BSNF:
“AND AS IT GOES AGAIN, SOMEONE DID NOT
LIKE
MY PREVIOUS BLOG AND IMMEDIATELY COUNTER ATTACKED ME WITH ASSAULT AND
PUMMELING”
©
2006-2012 MARK WAYNE MOHR
BEGINNING
TRANSMISSION:
I
posted my last blog, SJ-Ch-0640, and went to sleep within an hour or
less. I found myself with his Honor, the Mayor, the great Bob Levy
Junior of Atlantic City. My mother was with me, and so was Diana, in
her lovely beyond hot and gorgeous 'lightning form', off to my south.
The city was very different, and it was not a real close in localized
parallel universe. Suddenly a lot of things were going totally
horrifically, and I was asking my mother just what was wrong with her
as she would not even try and get out of the pouring rain, up on the
north inlet end of the boardwalk. It was entirely different that in
this parallel universe here. My mother never drove any vehicle in her
entire life over here, but there, she drove cars as well as trucks,
and she was operating a truck resembling one of those small square
sized moving vans. Many things began happening as this
dreaming-interaction progressed along, but all I want to talk about
on this blog is one point. I totally knew that if I said what I said
on that last blog, I would be exploratronically interacted with, UFO
clubs and fans would perhaps say 'abducted', but it's a lot more
complicated than this; but yes folks, precise things happened that
matched things said on that blog that only my WOMO-MILITUFORCE peeps
really know what was being said in-between many of the lines. All the
new kids in town can do their best to figure it all out, or just quit
and enjoy the 'Thankx-2-givens feast' with family.
Then
I awaken around half past eleven to a nice quiet apartment. I was
laying in bed remembering this powerful interaction with the mayor,
my mother, and Diana in her lightning form, making lovely delicious
bright colors and fractal patterns, and about five minutes later,
thump thump thump, on goes the loud music from across the hall. They
seem to be able to connect up to me directly, and this has been going
on all my mother fucking life for a half of a century or so now, no
matter where I live or where I go or what I do, and this is why our
churches and religious peeps believe in the supernatural, and the
so-called structure that is basically behind it, god, the devil,
demons, angels, heaven, hell, you know the mother fucking drill by
heart unless you've been hiding out in a cave over the past ten
thousand cunt lapping years, YO. But what my nabes from over there do
not know, is that even though their time traveler friends may have
fixed shit so that things got changed and I cannot prove a conspiracy
to criminally effect my life, there are other things that happened as
a result of the original shit done to me and then the cover up with
the MY-INTRO CHANGING SYNDROME for lack of a better name to give this
nightmare fucking mess; and any time I want them, I've got them.
There are some factions of my enemies who really want me to spill my
fucking guts and talk more about this, but I too know the drill, and
know when it is suicide to NOT KEEP MY FUCKING MOUTH SHUT, and follow
both the great advice of the WOMO, as well as just the MO,
AHA-AHA-AHA McNulty-71.
I
came down here to Florida to escape what cannot be escaped from. I
was told this by the great Sarah-Stacey Jehovah Krassle, once
directly, and several times indirectly, but I GOT IT, believe me I
GOT IT. Well 100 years from the time my uncle John Leonard Mason's
town down to my south was created, I put up a game changer song in a
public arena, almost to the day, maybe a few days longer than the
exact 36,525 days of a century, but only a handful few. My uncle had
long passed on, crossed over, expired, croaked, kept the funeral
industry thriving, etcetera; but coming here was no accident, as I
know totally that my wonderful lovely Scylla had this all planned
from thousands if not millions of years before Henry Flagler ever
entered into this mighty and elusive powerful and all encompassing
equation. Recurring dreams my ass, Misses Bassler. And mahm, I know
what side the shop was on, fuck the hotel, and fuck all of you. I was
there, kiss my ass Mister Trump, future flies. No Allen's cuzz's,
they have no intention of telling me they are sorry for all of this,
and I'll tell you something else while we are on the subject, sir.
Kkkkkkeep up the ggggggggood work my frfrfrfrfrfrfriend. These folks
have no shshshshshshshshame or conscience. They never did, and they
never will, so let me go exchange a few pales of nice fresh fish, for
a big old turkey. The lady on the THREE STOOGE television show
described them all so wonderfully long ago, even though the world and
viewing audience just believed she was talking to her boyfriend Joe,
and I speak of Birdie, and Moe Howard was playing the part. “YOU
WORM”. Geico Insurance is not the only black hearted lizard around
all of this, my peeps. SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT. Let me
go and enjoy the rest of my miserable helliday folks, see you in the
mother fucking funny papers, and pweeeeeeeeeze guys, contact me if
you can, unless you are now on Buzz Island, wow DJDS Jason Forrest,
if I told you what you could go and do right now, you'd have a
general breakdown near academy Road and Grant Avenue somewhere in
Northeast Philly, near I-95, WOW.
Yeppir folks this has been a REALE fucking blast all these years, and
thank you for being nice and seeing stuff my way, L&O team, you
go old pal from the original ER, you remember how it was in my days
at the Bancroft School. Everyone else wants to throw peeps like me to
the WOLVES, thank you all for being human fucking beings, I do
appreciate it, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You really
do suck, Paul, you rotten selfish evil
pig!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
END
TRANSMISSION:
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