MORIANITY-4
4:29
PM-EST, 02/10/2013
Another
Beginning That Has No Real Ending:
BT:
This
has been a super fucking BAD WEEKEND. My jerk off noisy neighbors
have been shouting in the hallway and wearing out the doors all
weekend long, and this began back in the middle late part of last
week, and is getting only worse, and tomorrow, I'll stop in and see
the Resident Manager to complain, AGAIN, Miss Debbie Morotto.
The
scum bag INTERACTION FORCE (IF) formerly known as the WOMO
MILI-2-FORCE and LAMBRIGG CULT of Phase-2-Reality (spirit-world or
Astral Plane) hit me hard, with a horrendous fucking bowel and shit
and cramping attack, and left me quite ill this entire weekend, as
well. I TOLD YOU ALL, that there would be repercussions and
consequences for telling so much fucking shit on recent blogging
texts, YO! Am I on the money or not with many incredible things,
lovely Giant-Gina of the nineties, sweetie???????????????????
MAGNESONIC,
scan all of my filth bag cock sucking enemies, for total destruction
and obliteration, use maxed out power and all general and special
orders, and hear my double tones for transpower block empowerment,
under a punishment sequencing system of an 'I' to 'D', A/B Tone
System that is now switched to you connecting into my mind directly
and hearing my 'EEEEE' sound from my sixth dimensional
connectiveness. You are at max-power of 11.8 IPNS, with all controls
against your pull power gain at 11.5.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE********EEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
G-901, under CG-18, AND
STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
will tell a gigantic TRS from the days of 2007 and
RATS-TATS-&-PLAYING REAL JS WEIGHT WATCHERS FOOTBALL. I know I
was MIND-HACKED, and will go on to tell at a later time, what I
started to tell a few blogs ago back in M3M3, and you will get
another dose of mind blow, but for now, a different door will be
removed from Scylla's great wonderful Lakehouse of transformation
and calling out names, huh Billy Pocketpicker Harner?
You
know, I will tell you what happened now first, before I forget again,
and there are other unhacked mental things, but this can wait for Jim
Rockford and his filed teeth of the seventies. It took place at
Publix where I do my shopping for certain items, and where the weird
character from the library works as well. A man brushed next to me in
one of the aisles and I thought he might be a pickpocket, and
insttantly, I checked, and nothing had been renmoved from my pockets,
but there was something added into one of them, a back pocket on the
left side that I never use. He put a note in there, that I did not
become aware of until getting home and listening to that strange
paranoid voice we all get inside ourselves from time to time, telling
me to check the rear pockets. All it said was, and I am quoting from
it as I have no intention of losing it, and am reading from it as I
type, ''Your death-bed confession tape with future Governor Florio of
New Jersey will indeed become a reality before too much longer, and
you'll never guess who will be making it''. Does this powerful note,
that reminds me an awful lot of the Colaman days, and the mailbox,
back in Hammonton, New Jersey; send any Donna Gaines chills or goose
bumps up any spines out there, in the United States Copyright Office,
either now, or speaking of the late eighties when this Florio tape
crap was going down live; back then, and would anyone blame me if I
typed in your wonderful word, Mister R. H Macy, as this is exactly
what I AM going to do, YO?
W--------O--------W!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now
for the major totally untold TRS Dejour, of the endlessly sanitized
ninnynut, all French models notwithstanding, TEE-HEE-HEE, Lilly
Munster, all over again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My father and Project Aunt
Jeannie and pillow talk is not limited to STAR TREK MOVIES, and how
he knew intimate details of these future videos, years ahead of time,
in January of 1973 when they were not made until around 1978 or 1979
at the beginning point where numerous ones followed the first one,
and yet, out of ten things he spoke in his ''sleep'' about in the wee
hours of a few mornings, only one seems so fitting to tell you now
folks, as my TRS for this day in retaliation for all of this fucking
pummeling and persecution. He spoke of certain things that did not
make sense to me until the very end of the entire twentieth century,
after I had joined the ECKANKAR for a couple of years back from
1997-2000. He never spoke that name, but he spoke of something I
never would have witnessed without them in my life, something he
owns, worlds away from here, called, Island Universe Diners of
Akoslem. When I mentioned the name Akoslem later around noon that
day, while we were writing a letter together to a mail order business
owner by the name of Paul Michaels, he scribbled something totally
illegible onto the scratch page that I later typed as the copy sent
to Mister Michaels on the following day. When he wrote me back, the
exact same strange blot of seeming scribble, was on the letter from
Paul; Michaels, even though it was a typed letter. This has been a
powerful mystery that has eaten me alive for years, and I just never
felt like blogging about it, as just where exactly does this shit fit
into anything that seems to pertain at least so far, to me and
Morianity? I don't have this old thing, and it was not lost as a
result from running away from the King Branch of THAT-FAMILY from
nightmare-1970, and i'll admit that. Still, a powerful memory, in the
name of heaven I totally swear this is true, has come back to me, and
I know that in the center of this wild weird scribbling, were the
same two letters of 1997 and Goddess Scylla, only they were
superimposed ,on top of each other. I know this and would stake my
frikkin life on it, Roseann Delaney, careful girl, that hurts,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now a day after receiving
the letter back from Paul Michaels, where he responded to a business
proposal that I had come up with, as I too was going to be
attempting to begin a mail order business, after my dad left early in
February, to go to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, until he came back in the
summer time somewhere in 1975, a year and a half later, right after I
got the shit knocked out of me by those two lifeguard mascots in
Atlantic City, New Jersey; for doing nothing wrong, or to them, in
any way; for me to deserve getting as Charles Barkley puts it so
frikkin eloquently, ''an ass whooping''. But after getting this
letter from Mister Michaels, the next day, my dad dropped out of a
large laundry bag while he was rummaging around in it for something,
in front of both my mom and me; a second wallet, and it opened up and
right in the billfold part, lots of blank paper just popped out and
unrolled, and inside that was a marriage license that showed that my
father had married a woman named Monica. My mom grabbed it and handed
it to me and then my dad just stood there not quite knowing what to
do, now bear in mind that my mother initiated a divorce years back in
the late sixties, on the grounds of desertion. There is a lot to
discuss about all of this, and many enemies in the WOMO know a lot as
well, as does the Fisher family of treasure salvers right here in the
Saint Lucie County's world famous Treasure Coast. I will tell a lot
more about this abnd other pillow talk that proves my dad, along with
his great Princeton Park pal, the one and only Albert Einstein, a
long time ago during the great World War 2, also interconnected this
mind blowing family of mysterious dreams, washcloths, intrigue, and
disaster. The story has not yet unfolded to its final conclusion, yet
I will tell it as it continues to go down. And why will I do this, oh
great Swami of egg Harbor City, Terry Scatterbrain Glasseshater?
Well, because, as with Mount Everest, it's there; only unlike the
mountain and many other fantastically named mountains far away; it
needs to become known about by the waking world, and without my
telling it, the great 'Sanitation Ops' will prevail. For now,
ET.
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