***MORIANITY
PART FIVE***
A
child knows that a lot of shit can be learned by visiting my Youtube
site that will be gone forever very shortly, your loss folks, not
freaking mine.
THE MASTER SHEET FOR MORIANITY PART FIVE:
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Hammonton,
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honestly say with a knowing that out of 8 billion that live or
have lived here, none have shared my wild ride through
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You
forgot your mom's birthday! What can you make out of super glue and
olive pits?
An
angry mother. Also, a little philosophy
for you is as follows:
At
the risk of sounding negative, the only thing one may be truly sure
of, is that you cannot be sure of anything.
THIS
IS NOW CHAPTER NUMBER XXII:
If
you have read this opening, feel free to skip this part.
FOLKS,
AS I SAID TO THE COPYRIGHT OFFICE IN THE LATE EIGHTIES ON MY EPITOME
OF HARASSMENT TAPES, GOOD MORNING, GOOD AFTERNOON, GOOD EVENING,
WHATEVER THE CASE MAY BE. How can I possibly know when you are
reading what I am writing? I AM not the great ISISCYLLA SARAH-STACEY
JEHOVAH KARGE KRASSLE, and never will be, sort of like my old pal
David Charles Roth's only show in town. How he would always remind
me, seemingly on a daily basis, that the WOMO-MILITUFORCE is not the
only show in town, nor will they ever be. I believe the tapes are
somewhere available in the great Library of Congress, Copyright
Office, in Washington, District of Columbia, a place may I add with a
very liberated attitude where the age of sexual consent should be
placed, and what is good for the lawmakers, is good for everyone
else, and if that is not true, just exactly how have I misspelled
America? XIII is the number by the way, such a tender age and how the
perverts must wonder why this is not common knowledge and all move
into our great capitol city, right Roy? I still cannot believe that
you told me this, or that nobody seems to know it, know matter how I
spread around what you said to me, old
pal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This
will be the master sheet for PART 5 of MORIANITY.
Well
good people, these across the hall nabes are a bunch of real low life
scummy scuzzy bottom feeder trashy uncouth garbage swallowing welfare
rats, if I do have to say so my freaking self.
Every
time LIGHTNING comes over to visit me, they love to open and slam
their door, again and again, just to make me feel bad after my lovely
lightning makes me feel so wonderful. This is what the
WOMO-MILI-2-FORCE ENEMY is all about, you can call it the force or
forces, SATAN, bad luck, the way it goes, or anything any spiritual
or atheistic folks would so desire to choose to put it, it still
after it shakes all out and has played through, always totes up the
very same way, and doctor Jim Garrigan said it all to my mom back in
late fucking 1970, in Haddonfield, New jersey, the historic American
town known by the aristocrats the world around, with the King George
highway running through the center of town, and where Cooley Hall,
the building and main area of my special education school, was right
directly off of, on Hopkins Lane. Yes, Doctor Thesis Failure Garrigan
said to my mom in his office, as she told me later on, regarding me,
and I can quote it now as though this all was five mother fucking
minutes ago, “Well, we don't want him to be too happy”. Why? Why
would anyone in authority wish to deny a youth happiness? Why, Jimmy,
why why why, did you say those things, and forget about the future
and Jim burr and the other nasty mouth mean spirited mother fucker,
from my at that time, future. Don't turn the page and die on me, all
you Hewlett Packard IO rotten loud thumping music gangster thugs,
'HIP-HOP'. So, where's my bacon, David Ultimate?
Oh
no, don't let the little fucking rotten prick bastard ever have a
moment of happiness, huh Garrigan, huh, Bob Pigger Backer of Oaklyn,
New Jersey, USAESMWG? You and your rotten whore wife brought my poor
mom and me nothing but filthy mice ever since you swine asses moved
upstairs from us back in the early nineteen seventies, you pieces of
dirt bag total dam shit. Don't let me laugh on New Years Eve, oh no,
bang your heavy foot on the ceiling, you diseased mother fucking pile
of dog crap. No, something out here wants me miserable and down and
out all the fucking way, and it did not totally begin on the magic
date, it merely got fucking far worse, but it DID NO BEGIN ON 15
AUGUST OF 1986, SO MAKE NO MISTAKE ABOUT THAT, OH WIZARD OF WOODSIDE
KIDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, they're inside of me all
right, and they would have all been better off lefty that way, and as
late as 2007 and even until 2008 somewhere, I thought that this
indeed was the case, but as with many tines, Mister Pennock, I was
wrong, I was not perfect, and if they don't quit slamming that
fucking cunt lapping door over there, I will call the fucking 911 and
sign a complaint and get things really going around here. Keep
fucking with me, you fucking total jerk off swine bags!!!!!
I
visited Mike Patterson, up on South Hutchinson Island today. I did
not go yesterday, I switched days for numerous personal reasons. I
enjoyed the visit, saw the ocean, and got speaking to his neighbors
from another house along the row of an empire of homes along the
strip on Ocean Avenue AKA Route-A1A, owned by Mike's brother Joe.
Only the mighty MILITUFORCE knows what will now be said. Keep making
my life a living hell, and you will be sorrier than a pig in a clean
room without an ounce of gushy mud around. If you're all so smart,
then you know exactly what's going on, and if you don't ask my kid,
as she seems to not only totally rock, totally rule, but totally
knows more about me than I dam ass know about myself, lab
technicians, Permission Barriers, and all of this notwithstanding,
right Walker Texas Norris Atco Ranger????????????????????????? You go
right on making me miserable, and my finger may just end up with a
little piece of metal on it soon, mother fuckers, and you know
totally well what will happen to the stock market and the global
economy, within 60 days, think about the vomit comet and then
multiply the free-fall by your own dam ass fucking cunt imaginations,
you dirt bag jit balls, YO!!!
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