MORIANITY PART 5, CHAPTER 00013

MORITANITY PART 5, CHAPTER 13

11:47 PM-EDST-18 MARCH, 2013, LATE MONDAY NIGHT

© MOUNTAINPEN, AKA MARK WAYNE MOHR 2013

© MARK WAYNE MOHR BLOG URLS 2006-2013

This will not be a blog about mysteriously brightening Christmas lights, or any of a meeeyun other parlor tricks generated by the Astral Plane Gods, Mister Phase-4 'arriver'. What it will discuss is as follows, L-4, and all good folks, or bad ones, depending on everyone and anyone's point of view I would suppose. These last seven years plus of my blogs, has been filled with miracles, wonder, magic, and all the rest of the collection of words that all make up the large font sized word of 'WOW'. Still, if I ever told a quarter of the real-wows, the physical life as I know it as me tonight, would be over by 2-4 in the morning somewhere, and I know that, totally. So I can never cross the line, not all the way, and won't, but I'll come close here and there. I began telling you a little bit about strobing light saucer helicopters and pulsar stars, as well as the fact that everyone of us, even ''super memories me''; has been targeted by the EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND, or the Es, and not once or twice, not 100 or 300 or 5000 times, but more along the lines of this many times weekly. So you don't believe me or maybe you are half believing me, well, here this folks, no bullhorns, no megaphones, no nothing, DR. I CAN PROVE THIS TO YOU, BUT I DON'T FUDGING DARE! I could actually give you a few things to do in your own lives, and within 100 hours, unless my entire audience is THEM, and I like to think I have so real's in there mixed up somewhere, as long as they are not Tom's, or Wardens, right U-WITCH Glendora Mansions Paula? Before I get a tiny bit into things, not to far into it, yet a continued version from what I started half a dozen or so blogs ago about the human frail waking memory system, and the ES. Ling Long Henry Fonda has his own audio/video miracles in every bit a league of their own as much as the Real Good Girl MY recording back in 1986, but I need to remind folks, I rarely would have any occasion to be discussing thongs, so when you read in a blog, that I have the word thong, you can know it is another Ling-Long hockey stick wonder year sign, from the realm of typographical one letter away errors; and 'so sorry', Mister Ambassador of freaking Japan, YO.

There is a lot of hacking on the computer today, also over the past several days, and also, my attack on my television and video stuff is back; where the freaking ass remote control units do not wish to respond to commands, and are being jammed out, sir, and old pal from the early seventies, and now FCC Chairman, Bob McDowell. I no longer sit around making Timeless Satellite Calendars, but we sure did enjoy taping on the phone, did we not, and weeee, look at all the powerful shit that went onto happen, and I admit, this was years before I ever even met the great promoter, Lenny McKinnon.

Folks, can we stop the ES from their taking us and doing all the things that they do? Sure there is, you can jump off of the mother fucking Empire State Building. If that is not what you want to do, then forget it. I've been trying to fight the fucking gods for a trillion mother humping years now ladies and gentlemen, and as I said, forget it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know what I know, and I know most of the world thinks I have gone totally abnd completely mad, yet as I said, I could do something huge and you would believe me, and then life as I know it would become fifty times worse for me, so no thanks, fella'. One huge sacrificer should be enough in this family, or so you might think. Jesus God. Speaking of not being profane about using the great name here, I want to thank my lovely Diana for flashing a beautiful bolt of her lightning at me earlier this evening around six or so in the evening. As always, you are beyond hot and beautiful, DZA. I would say, IWALU, but there is a huge Blueberry/Cranberry hyperspace problem, and a powerful entity out here knows it and is smarter than me a billion times over, by keeping it to herself. Still, I have a list of more than 700 pages on loose leaf notebook lined paper, of things that prove that the mathematical chance that all of these written down things, all happening the exact way that they have since my 70-day twilight zone off grid period of pure Potter Magic, would be in the range, and yes, you may not understand this number, but it is about one chance out of one times ten to the power of 233. Einstein does not understand this number either, so don't feel bad. No one understands it, anyone can say or write 1X10 exponent 233. You could put a dozen more zeros after it if you like, either way, the mind can never truly understand a reality of that numeration. This proves that I make none of these blogs up, and that this entire story all happened, from 1965 through right now in freaking 2013. Now whether or not the Steel Pier of Atlantic City ways really a place of a secret murder, or the Huntington Bay for that matter, you know what, who cares? I sure know that I don't give a hoot pollute. But someone does. Someone cares so much in fact, that they went to lengths not humanly imaginable just to get my voice recorded on tape for that non tearing Native American anti-pollution commercial, and then broadcast my voice coast to coast when I was only a youth, but at a precise time and age. All of this is why a great thing recently happened over at Vatican City, but you will never know this, or prove this. Only I can know that it is all the truth, and so, Mister Malyeska, that's the way it goes, with or without any of Atlantic city and its 10-SC avenue dangerous fields of the Rodney Messenger angel club. See, it never stops, and it never will. I could blog for a million years, and the story will always come out true, in or out of 1984, and it will never seem to be able to grow a real honest back cover, either, WOW again, T.D. Macy from Canada, oh bonanza, or what a bonanza, right Cart??????????????? Or should that be Karpf-411? In any event, I really am so very happy for all of you Astral Plane Gods, all those nice pales of fish so fresh and new. This is me waving bye-bye, Sarah-Stacey Krassle, oh no, no. no, no, no, NO NO Shorty MacInvondi, Crissake YO! Oh well, at least it snot Macintosh, or for that matter, the Oprah Brewster projects of majestic top secret hues, wheeeeeee! 657 and 123, codes we shared so secretly, and they add up to 780. There are folks out here who know the power of that wonderful #, my brother. But even a subtraction does not offer us anything to sneeze on, as 534 is every bit as wild, and only those who are meant to know why, do indeed know just why. Still, I pity the world. I am very very sorry everybody for asking my teen queen to spare us and keep her dollhouse open a while longer, back in that gorgeous garden. Hay Ed, I may have made you famous, YO, WHAAA!

What a long trip this has been there 601 trucker tripper, gee, and that is with or without the light shining on me, or for that matter, big guy, the most dependable audio bladder ever known to medical science back in Mashell Daniels 1980, and yes mahm, that is my entitled opinion, and we were coworkers, and no, you were way to pretty to be my mother, and you really told that Cooper hospital male nurse a thing or nine that night, WOW, you go girl, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YES I AM HERE, IT IS ME, MICHAEL WAYNE MOUNTAINPEN.

MICHAEL WAYNE MOUNTAINPEN, © BLOGS 2006-2013