I
HOPE YOU ENJOY READING THIS CHAPTER
NUMBER 00055.
Sharkey
says, “Everything is a huge bunch of rotten stinking lousy moose
shit at C-SQ”. Photo is courtesy of National Geographic whatever it
says, before the error space fills in.
Folks,
I have no time to tell you the whole thing, it would take a hundred
mother fucking years, and when all is said and done and your great
grand kids finish reading it, they and you, won't give a hoot pollute
blasted dam anyway, who's kidding who? Still, I will say a few quick
things, and no force on this Earth is going to fucking stop me from
that.
First,
a few hours ago, I was cooking a fucking steak and spaghetti meal in
my kitchen, when the IF scumbags thought pulling a cute little
Leprechaun prank on me would be nice and Roseann Delaney fucking
funny, the mother fucking rotten
bastards!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A
small roach appeared near an opened can of spaghetti sauce. This was
simply to get me to reach over to kill this menacing germy little
shit, forgetting about the can with a half opened up lid; and
'shazam', Gomer Pyle USMC, and 'goollllleeey', Sargent fucking cunt
Carter, Mary Paints McVeigh; if I did not practically take my cunt
eating left index finger right off. Go away, Roseann Tressa
Backtowork Minicoffin Nightmares! But those that know about the
American Appliances Refrigerators back when this entire August 15,
1986 thing all got started, also know that I cut all of my toes off
at Mars graphics Printing Shop in 1977, and in two months, they all
grew back. I thought all toes grew back, and was told later by some
dick head, it was a miracle and I should tell the Vatican. Bullshit
on the Vatican, enough fucking cock suckers are watching me like
hawks and buzzards, huh Apollo-Lucifer and lovely sister D?
What
some may wish to be made aware of who read Morianity, is
thisssssssssss, Miss Erica Lucci snakes of 1983,
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!! If you were the only one alive on
this Earth, pretend you are lost and leaving endless bread crumbs
behind you, only instead of breadcrumbs, it is an endless ball of
thin colorful twine. Now as time passes, and you move all around, in
and out of buildings and homes and down streets and into all kinds of
places, this past record will follow behind you. Now bringing the
cold reality back, we are not alone, and so our fellow creatures also
do this very same thing, and also are leaving this endless twine
string behind them no matter where they go, and when, forever and
always. Now instead of 20 or so basic prime and second colors,
pretend we have sight capable of focusing at solar surface
brilliance, so billions of separate coloring shades would now be
possible. Each one would have their own unique color. Now imagine the
interaction of all of us, not us, but this twine after a week, after
a month, a year, 5, 10, and so on. Now take shit one more step still
good folks. Remove the US, just see this endless intertwining weaving
cosmic interaction. Now, you are ready to be told, that this is what
produces a force called the IF, and NOT the fucking other way around,
ladies and gentlemen, and whoever else is out here, so say it, YO;
WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So where are my trucks, TD?
It
is 4:40 AM-EDST, 25 April, 2013, on Thursday morning.
Now
the rest of the topic for this blog is about the invention of these
early eighties personal computers, AKA PC's. First, this jerk fucking
off nabe across the cunt eating hallway from me IS PART OF THIS
BUILDING CONSPIRACY WITH THE COMPUTER DELL GUY, and is why I was
unable to secure any help from him, other than to get a mind blowing
course one night from him about the real WOMO (World-Owners) and that
would be none other than MICROSOFT CORPORATION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! All
others follow in close seconds or thirds, obediently waging their
tales behind them, and keeping their heads down and their yes sir
yelps endlessly strong, loud, and coming. Continue please, you are
reading the section in Morianity for Millennium 3, Chapter #5.
Let
us talk about these PC's, and how this all fits and connects with me,
while bearing in mind the entire time, the little lesson in weaving
and looms and our great great grandma's sowing habits, brought into
the real next generation. First off, without even touching anything
around this little quick next few sentences, let me just say the shit
I feel compelled to say, and get it the fuck out of the way and over
with, YO!
If
I could wake up by some Irish Leprechaun Magic (ILM) can be used
after this point as a short abbreviation for this three word phrase;
and be a total computer geek black hat cracker hacker, or on that
level without doing anything illegal or immoral, with what I need in
my personal life situation, don't be shy along with me world, you
know I would use this to my advantage, keeping it as legal and moral
as humanly possible, but when the road gets real tough here and
there, with al the chips down underneath the surface of the gaming
table, and the skies are all gray and bleak and black and dark, well,
let us not get silly here or try and fool ourselves. I would use this
and I would make the MILITUFORCE really
PAY for what has been done to me, and
would still quite naturally, be being done to me at any so-called
point of future STM. So the quintessential DUH is of course THEY are
not going to make it real ass super easy for me to reach that
computer savvy stage and point. It really again, as the great Toronto
Bank of WOW says on their really cool TV ad spots, “It isn't rocket
science”, and I'll gladly throw in here, “We do not need your
services, Subaru Vonbrahn. I have tried to spell this dude's name 10
ways back from Sunday, and as usual, MSC is no help at all! Any
celebrated last name spelled as it is sounded out, should be
recognized with groups of words with one being the correct spelling.
Yes, gear shift, no grind, these scum over there have been in and out
all night, 1,2,3,4,5 in the morning, even now at nearly fucking half
past, and Friday, I am telling Debbie that I will write a letter to
whoever runs this building, as this is fucking bullshit, not
'cigarette butt bullcarp'. Yes it is amazing how very inexpensive
items can serve as a spy stethoscope, placed on my door, and listened
to through my headphones on my bed any time I wish. I am a very
paranoid person, it is only a matter of time before I will know a lot
more. The entire put together item cost me under 15 bucks, and is a
great investment, as I need to know what goes on with ENEMIES. If
folks would not harass and persecute me, I would never think of doing
things like fucking this. I had to take a break and go on what David
Roth used to call late in the nineteen-eighties, a Crampana Shit
Attack, only his main one that I'll always clearly remember, he also
called the Dark Shitholes Attack, as he actually had the balls after
being hit with a WOMO death beam at the Westmont, New Jersey High
Speed-Line Train Station; to use the back yard woods, behind Roseann
Delaney's home, in Haddonfield, New Jersey; to keep from browning out
in his Bermuda shorts; TEE HEE HEE, Lilly M. Things like this do not
happen with consistency and regularity to normal average healthy
grown men, such as myself and David. So what else can the explanation
be, I am surely not making up this story, would I be proud to say I
am always getting horrible fucking shit attacks and not always
properly making it to a facility, over the past 27 fucking cunt
years, give me a break, Margie Leo, 4 crissake. Let us return now to
the original topic of the personal computer and me, and our twining
interaction. If I could do all the things I'd like to be able to do
with them, my enemies would be in very serious trouble, until they
came over covertly and stealthfully, and did a Marie Fahey on me, in
the name of domestic enemy terror, and the Patriot Act; or some other
total nonsense mother fucking garbage that if you add three dollars
to would get you a dozen shinny quarters, and that's all it would get
you, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If this was a fair world, I could sue
the fucking FBI for breaking intentionally, all of my legally paid
for and totally owned, electronic equipment, back early in this
century, while I lived at the Mullica Mobile Manor just east of
fucking cock sucking Hammonton, Blu-Berryville, in New Green-Garden
State Jersey, let me get off this blog beach for now, GOV, and return
to the topic of PC's and me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No, they
don't show this dirty part of the FISA shit, on the great L&O TV
show, but in real-life, they break your stuff, after all, what the
fuck can you do about it, complain, and almost get locked up by the
fucking worthless Mullica Township Cops, back that day. Whaju say
Dawn and Dad, SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT!
Now
these fucking miserable jerk off nabes of mine, come into their unit
after visiting with this asshole on my floor with the computer, who
knocked on my door that day on 12/18/2012, when I had Dennis Chase
over here from the local Publix, posting my YBCO harmony track tune,
to my Youtube account, at http://youtube/paulaking2011/
BRO!
I
know they all are friends, and constantly bvisit wit each other, and
conspire to fuck with me, both with my not getting any computer help,
remember the story the resident manager of my building told me about
Tom being bored with nothing to do, only he tells me that he's too
fucking busy to aid me with my PC. Oh yeah, right, sure, shore, most
definitely makes total sense, and it does, I am not being fucking
facetious, it makes complete 100% sense. It is a plot to keep me
fucked, fucked, fucked, and FUCKED!!!!!!!! Those that won't see my
story is all real and true, SIMPLY DO NOT WANT IT TO BE TRUE. AFTER
ALL, IT MIGHT JUST TOUCH THEM, OR SOMEBODY WHO THEY LOVE, IF IT IS
TRUE; and that is not within their mother
fucking comfy cozy zones, but is totally within the zone of
the GWPOS, or Giant Williamstown Police Officer Syndrome, that I have
told over and over about an incident that happened in the middle
fucking nineties. WHAAAAAAA-AHA-AHA-AHA, MMCN!
Folks,
I went on a real roll for two fire alarms every day, along with the
nabes back on a roll, simultaneously, and one time was definitely set
off by them, as they were talking to the FD and saying, as I told all
ready on a prior blog, This is bull crap, it is just smoldering
cigarette butts. I merely spelled all of the words correctly on this
dam blog, BRAH!
The
first two thirds of the year of 2008, in its own way was bigger than
the same time period in 1986, 22 years earlier. Studying my blogs or
archiving them at the website at BLOGGER, using this address:
http://drunkenhive.blogspot.com/
or http://theansweristheqyuestion.blogspot.com/
will
reveal powerful beyond wild and unfathomable shit. You can see how
the entire MENTALIST show was created from this blog, you can see
Jason Forrest's comment, accidentally posted in haste I suppose, on
my blog by him, saying how this blog, meaning MY BLOG, is where he
made a lot of money in Cali, to quote him exactly, and so much more.
The real power is two things this time, unlike in 1986. first, all of
the 1986 records are conveniently lost now, thanks to a wonderful
star family, and second, this more recent group of events. All my
original life journal on cassette tape, gone forever, unlike my blogs
posted at BLOGGER as well as other websites for bloggers during these
incredible times of cosmic proportions. Also, unlike the first time,
I know so much more than I did back then, more things, more players
in the cosmic colorful weaving system, and more living aware
witnesses to force in court if ever taken that far, that will either
tell some powerful truths under fucking ass oath, or commit perjury
to keep many gargantuan secrets. Just yesterday, as it is now 5:55
AM-EDST, a very beautiful two minute period each and every 24 hour
cycle or 'day', on this April 25, 2013; I was playing around with the
WORDPRESS BLOGGING SITE. For no reason about two months or so ago,
give or take a month, one day, I went to paste in my blogs typed from
my word office 3.1 system, and unlike before,both Wordpress and
Blogger sites, no longer pasted it in as it appeared on the office
document on my PC. However, the BLOGGER software, compensates
somehow, and places the format back into the way I had it on my own
PC Office System Program, or 3.1 Open Office. I keep hoping for
WORDPRESS to install the similar software, but have come to see their
game. I think if I am willing to pony up a nominal 25 dollar fee each
year, not bad at all, they will give me a real domain, so I plan to
do this, as long as I can post up my songs, my blogs and photographs
and stuff the way I do at the Blogger site and have it all work,
links, all of it. If this was per month, I could not afford it, but 2
dollars and change, per month is reasonable enough for me to say yes
and agree to this 'dot me' thing. Hay, like the fucking lady at 1101
Robin Hill Apartments, when I was next door to her, in late 1983, and
into 1984; at 1102 Apartment number; said to me through the door that
afternoon early in 1984, “It's ME”, and later on, I had a
powerful dream where she forced me onto the roof of the building, and
gave me excruciating pain by some magical power, that blows me away
every time to this day, that I so much as remember that 'dream' for
even a tiny little fucking second. In the dream she again reiterated
only slightly varying her words spoken through my door in waking life
or in this universe; I AM A 'ME', and this wild shit was printed in
my 'so-called' fictional 1994 book, copyrighted in WASH-DOC-600-13,
called, “The Permission Barrier”. In waking life she said
something equally awesome and outlandish to me through my dam door.
She said I need to know something and that if I do not open the door
and let her come in and tell me, I will regret it for the rest of my
life. Is anyone reading this seeing this word yet, 'WOW'?
A
very beautiful full moon is shinning out there above me, 99% full and
still waxing, becoming full at around noon tomorrow. I LOVE YOU
BEAUTIFUL LUNA, MY SPECIAL BABY BLOND, MY WONDERFUL AND AWSOME
LIGHTNING GODDESS DIANA ARTEEMIS, AND I'LL NEVER EVER LET YOU GO, NOT
FOREVER AND FOREVER AND FOREVER, MY ENDLESS
LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 657 and 123, but does that equal 1984
or 1983, or even the mighty all seeing mister fiction book author
Orwell???????????????? Where does 'megawater' fit into this, and for
that matter the great 'SUNRAM'? This is what all came flooding back
to me, in early 1996, under intense psycho-therapy hypnotism; at the
Wolf Clinic, on Main Street, in Moorestown, NJ, right next to
REMOMAX. Wow, Mike Sotas. Bad news, you're no competition with
Super-Girl Keisha. So bring those fire engines roaring,
OTAMM-MILI-2-FORCE, WEEEEEEEEEEE. Still with all of this said, the
entire interaction of all of the twine all over the world, creates
the IF (Interaction Force), and within that force, is the very gun
powder that is needed to work the magic of what I have spoken rarely
about over nearly seven and a half years of my blogging now,
“REALITY-THREE”. We will get real deep into Reality-3, very very
soon.
Diana,
I saw your wonderful moon on the Jupiter Cam, all orange and lovely
and creamy-dreamy, my endless love. I am your little boy forever and
ever, baby-blond, and will be with you very soon, lovely one.
1:08
PM-EDST, 24 APRIL, 2013, WEDNESDAY HELL & SHIT
I
HOPE THAT YOU ARE ENJOYING
THE READING OF THIS CHAPTER NUMBER 00055.
NUMEROUS
ITEMS ARE CAPPED IN FOR THOSE WHO MAY BE INTERESTED AS WELL AS FOR
NEW VIEWERS.
THIS
IS MORIANITY,
PART FIVE, HAVE A NICE DAY.
Sharkey
says, “I hate living in Public noisy ass Housing. The ocean is a
lot nicer for me, tee-hee-hee, Lilly Munster”.
Every
day this week and last week, my nabes love to shout and bang doors,
and are around a lot more recently than they were for a while. It
takes me time, but I get used to these butt wipes, not that it ever
will be a day at the beach, and not that my days at the beach are
anything too far removed from rotten and hellish, here with the
robbery last year, and back in fucking Atlantic City, with everything
from giant girl gang attacks to just you name it and was more like
what wasn't fucking around with me, in that fucking miserable and
rotten place?
My
health and bowels were stuck while sleeping. I will shit my guts out
soon, and then take some Metamucil meds to compensate for the
MILITUFORCE overnight attack. These scum
blew up my airship while I was what all of you call, DREAMING. I
wanted to blow them up and then come onto the mortal world, clocked
in and invisible; and strike enemy targets here, as I do quite often.
When upon occasion my cloak of invisibility dicks out, you have all
seen me from time to time, along with others of us from the Astral
Plane. Diana told me she wants me to say something on my blogs, so I
will, before this is all typed up, as I never disobey my wonderful
beautiful GODDESS. The dirt bag enemies have me running around in
circles like a blind and decapitated mother fucking chicken, these
recent fucking days. As a result, I did not say all I wanted to on my
previous blog, M5, CH. 00053. So 54 will now do the talking for me.
It is a nice 79 degrees right now in good old fucking cock sucking
Port Pierce, Florida, USA-ES-MWG. (United States of America-Planet
Earth, System of Sol, Milky Way Galaxy). It has been only low
eighties each day, so there's one rotten ass fucking plus out of
things at least, Warner Brothers, WHAAAAAAA!
Well
no, that's not all folks, and how we all loved their great cartoons
as kids, but it seems that many have decided in the new generation
X-Y-Z or in this range, that growing up, and even growing normally in
time with grace, is some kind of new age sin, with this very demented
and delusional mindset, owned and patented by the Hollywood MIND
CONTROLLERS, of forever young or else Briggbase Cultists, and the
Mortal World (MW) has their own name for this waking world cult. I
loved my time, and most like me who refuse to use a cell phone, or
join this Third Millennium, simply fade away, and don't. Well, I AM
ALREADY in a condition-interaction where HELL swallows up any
possibility of RELEASE or DEATH, so LSS, the quintessential rock and
hard place, places me just south of the rock, and natch, just north
of the hard place. This is one hell of a proverbial mother fucking
squeeze, folks. But let us move along now with yesterday after I left
the apartment to do a little bit of freaking shopping. I mistakenly
said things reversed, so sorry, Mister Ambassador Bombpearl of 1941.
Let me finish up the old topic with the fact that this illegal scum
ball is back living here across from me, and with that snubby ugly
woman, and her totally evil nasty, and raised by total pigs dude; who
cares zero for disturbing his closest fucking neighbor, ME,
Amanda!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was punished for
trying to get help from the Dell guy, not the Dell “gut”, typo
sorry, the keys are together on the keyboard, you know, the 'Y' and
the 'T', then the West side Fort Pierce Library back eight days ago,
and it is every and any time that I ever try and do anything,
especially music related. It is not TD or rocket science or the
President of the Wow-Truck Refusals Club, just as the TV ad spot
says, good common ass sense, YO. Music for some of the lucky folks,
makes enormous amounts of money, and the chosen to be cursed
HUNTINGTON, say it again gorgeous little Amanda, is not permitted to
ever have ANYTHING AT ALL, to keep perpetuating this 'family game',
as it goes back more than ten fucking thousand years, and before
that; only the great ISISCYLLA SARAH-STACEY JEHOVAH KARGE KRASSLE;
really knows in full detail. The three times that I was about to
break out of this lack
of money curse, I was nearly killed twice physically,
1977 at the Mars Graphics Print Shop in Westville, New Jersey,
USAESMWG, and in 1983, making money playing roulette in Atlantic
City, at the casinos. First my heart, then my throat. Then separated
again by increments of three in years, single blocks or double, as in
1977, 1983, and 1986, and as you can see here, there is a strange
three year run, beginning in 1977; but yes, we cannot ever forget or
ignore the DANGER-THIRD LAKE, AKA HB in
my speculation, but not remembering that road trip up there with my
Great Aunt Ruth Huntington Gottwald, and her two grandchildren,
Christopher and Scotty Meyers, on the day of the dog-walking, and
other things, huh Re-max Reality; but speaking of all of this, we
also cannot forget or ignore, good old wonderful
lovely sarcastic 1986, AHA AHA AHA AHA MMCN!!!!! This is when
I could make all the money I wanted to at the casinos, and again, was
punished and stopped; and just how was this done? did anyone ever
really wonder why these shadows came to dwell in the bright daylight?
I will tell you, but first folks, here is yesterday, now written
today, on the diary of Beaver Cleaver-2, AKA Morianity-Part-5, with
no stray cats, no school, and to keep lovely Diana Brewster happy,
“No nothing”. Does this meet with your all mighty highness
approval, oh great owner of the world, Oprah Lose Bond?
I
went to the 'Good Will' and then to the 'Publix' stores, not the
other way around. Why would I, as the ice cream would melt if I did
not get that last, like DUH and color me anything you want, and don't
be my buddy, ANN. See if I care, or even get arrested over it,
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAA! It was upon coming out of the Publix Grocery Store
at the mini-mall at Virginia and Route 1, that that same aircraft
that has dogged me since this all began in 1986, the very exact same
one, was up there while I was putting my grocery bags into my
vehicle. It used to circle and orbit, literally orbit my Blue Anchor
home on summer months, all mother fucking day long. It is way up in
the sky and it makes the loudest mother fucking cunt lapping noise
you could possibly ever fucking imagine. They let you know, “Boy
are we fucking watching you, ya little fucking jit bag prick”,
there really is no mistake in their signal, right ADS? When I got
home, the apartment was quieter, the main noise at least over the
past ten days or so now is from 9 in the morning through 6 in the
evening. Then it gets better from 6P through 9A. Oh well, let the
quieter quitter bay-fish, move this right along here and do some
clutch work, or else; grind grind grind, without any 1994 beaches, or
joining outlandish bizarre swimming clubs on 27 June, or other
paranormal paraphernalia such as AEB's, right Mister Prosecutor, Ron
Wirtz, my old pal????????????????????????????? Ron, kind sir, to this
day, I wonder why I do not smash that thing down hard and get it all
over with for all of us. Well, no favors for this human race. That
would be way too good for them after all they've fucking ass done to
me, no favors, baby-love, NONE, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well,
yesterday was another thing that never got mentioned. It was my PCNLD
or (Private Cosmicoded Number Lottery Day). This is twice that the
Florida 3-Pick Lottery, matched my PCN of '871', and I thought for
sure by now that CUZZ DON's number would pop in, also Frank Callio's,
also MC's, after-all, there are only 81 PCN's folks, and nearly four
million peeps in America have each one of them, simple math folks, 81
times four-mill is equal to the rough guess US Census counted
population in the 2010 count, WHAAAA! Well without any weed sucking,
or changing places, or role reversals, or audience competing; let me
move this along and quit with the dam tangents already, yikes, YO!
Now do you see why my kid scares me to death, Pam? I know what she is
capable of, and I am just trying now to appease her wrath until my 18
and out. I see this human life of mine as none other than a total
fucking prison sentence, and make no bones about it, nor do I act shy
about printing it up publicly, Mister Graham, 'TEE HEE HEE', oh
Lilly. Where Are You When I Need You, ED, not you, Mister Himacane
Lynch?
Oh
yes, WAYWINY, and then in past tents, it would become, where were you
when I needed you, right Sam Walton, another December 7, 1941 day for
me, President Roosevelt. These initials change into WWYWINY, and need
and needed both start with the 'N' word, no, not that ugly other 'N'
word. You have no idea what fight I would have put up for custody of
you, MI, if I had known, but two moms conspiring against it, forget
it. Where was all your role reversal stuff when it might have done
the most good, I could ask you, oh great Sarah-Stacey Krassle, my
endless wonderful Goddess?
Well,
it is now in the eighties officially, at 2:09, according to the
channel-12 app on my computer. At least it is nothing like the past
couple of years where by the end of April it was either high eighties
or into the nineties by 12-3 in the afternoon, every dam day. Folks
forget stuff, I do not know how they live so controlled and so
totally ETOSS-HACKED. When I get the occasional hit by these pricks,
I remember those times and can count them on both my hands and that
is it, and it always something that pertains to my great swimmer
daughter. I still was scared she was going to drown, but learned some
really powerful lessons in the process, me that is, not her. She is
all mighty, and needs not learn anything, other than my brain is a
worthless pile of junk circuits, confusing the address of the
Philadelphia Zoo, with where the great Manhattan ES Building is. It
is on 34th Street, but not Poplar. What's happening to my
nutty mind, Mayor Nutter, and little girl on the TV ad, WHAAAAA? No
one knows how real it is to be ETTOS attacked by this powerful
family. The day McGuire leaves us all in peace, I will be out surf
and turfing, if I have to borrow the money from the dam mob. That's a
promise, lovely Re-max Mo, and WOMO as well, Karen Simons. Thanks,
traitor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. No, I won't brand you, for
old times sake. Laugh time, McNulty!
The
last really bad 4 days went as follows on my systems-roulette by the
way, good folks. Yesterday I made 7 units. The three other recent bad
days were plus 4, plus 1, and plus 5 and a half, TEE HEE HEE, MZ.
MUNSTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Try not to hate your old pal too much,
Congressman Andrews, and remember the good times YO, in 1975, even
the time you refused to give me a lift home that evening after 9 P,
down at Pileggi's basement, or 'whatever'. You had the coolest
stereo, and the coolest girl, Angel. Was she perfect or more like my
daughter?
Hay
Gawky Gaukauk, here kitty, why has the fucking dick licking
persecution over the past ten days or so gotten so bad again with my
across the fucking hallway nabes, YO YO YO??????????????????????????
MEOW-MEOW-MEOW-MEOW,
SHARKEY MARKEY, PCN-682.
TALL
GIRL ATTACK ON ATLANTIC CITY BEACH----PROJECT
BLUEBOOK----CANCER----QUEENS----MOVING----THE MORNING
LIGHT----BEAVER----PANASONIC OPEN REEL MASTERING
MACHINE----TWENTY------------------------------
HAY
GAWKY GAUKAUK, HERE KITTY, ALL THREE TIMES IN MY LIFE, IN 1977, 1983,
AND 1986, WHEN I TRIED TO MAKE A LITTLE MORE MONEY THAN IN OTHER
TIMES EVER IN MY LIFE, AND SUCCEEDED, I WAS ASSAULTED TWICE
PHYSICALLY TO THE NEAR POINT OF DEATH, AND THE FINAL TIME, THE DEATH
OF MY ENTIRE LIFE RESULTED AND HAS BEEN THE CASE EVER FUCKING SINCE
THAT TIME IN 1986?
MEOW-MEOW-MEOW-MEOW,
SHARKEY MARKEY, PCN-853.
1954----36th
avenue----stingray-------------
LIKE
FUCKING W----O----W!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Holy Hannah-88, can I please be forgiven for my last fucking lifetime
folks? Thank fucking you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Where is
Herbert Huntington, Ancestry dot com, crissake YO, please do not
darken my shadowy dark doorstep ever again; and no more hunting
trips for your dam son and his pal McGee's pop.
SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT!!!!!!!!!!!! Double-triple
fucking WOW, YO.
As
always, we could dance all night, and I could talk all day, but no
new fucking songs pweeeeeeeze. The current one has me in enough hot
water to put the water-heater peeps permanently out of fucking ass
business, YO County Jail caller. Yes MC, I did re-listen, before your
5th
cuzz 3 times removed, stole the CD, and all your stuff from my
bedroom. I know the horrible stuff you were letting me see, and
thanks for not offing me. I make you the very same promise now, I
made to Sarah Callio, your 4th-7TR. I will as of this blog, leave you
entirely out of this. I always loved that wild show with the two
continuum's, and how the dude killed himself. That was talent, girl.
Well, I'll keep my promise to you. Also, in return, you keep the
chain, and no more dreams; not ever, do we have a deal oh great Sarah
Krassle??????????????? Only we know what's getting said here, the old
shark knows what you tried to tell me. I always loved those kind of
sci-fi shows, only this time it's my real life, and that really
sucks.
You
enjoy your great VR-GAME, it belongs to you, and I had no
right to ever try and expose its truths, or yours; just don't make me
swim down to the weeds forever, please, my great GODDESS QUEEN, thank
you. Ask your CUZZ SARAH if I kept my promise, other than for
the one quick time, when I just wanted to show the great
artist Billy Harner, her water company.
555555555555555555555555555
THAT
FUCKING COMPENSATES FOR THAT GOD DAM PAGE ELEVEN OF ELEVEN BULL
FUCKING SHIT. LET ME NOW TYPE BIG, AND WASTE THE PAGE; SORT OF LIKE
IN FUCKING JESSICA'S GREAT FOOTBALL GAMES. I
NEED TO RUN OUT THE DAM CLOCK NOW, OR ELSE I WILL BE STARING AT THESE
FOUR FUCKING ONE NUMBERS FOREVER, AND THAT TOTALLY
SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOOD RIDDANCE, YO, AND AGAIN GOOD FOLKS,
WEEEEEEEEEE. 55555555555555555!!!!!!
COPYRIGHT
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2012, REWRITE FROM 1983, ALSO COPYRIGHTED UNDER TITLE
THEN, “GIRL, I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING”, & NOW UNDER REWRITE
TITLE OF
“YOU'LL
BE CROSSING OVER”
VERSE
ONE
I'm
so very happy for you, pales of fish so fresh and new
Let
me ask you really nicely, could you spare us just a few
Oh
my wife and kids are starving, could you help us make a stew
We're
down and out, and we will even go to work for you
You
seem to have about a dozen giant pales or two
I
am so weak and faint and do not wanna' be so blue
While
we slept inside the dunes, somebody stole my shoe
Oh
please kind sir, just take some pity, let us work for you
We'll
help in any way we can, and be your loyal crew
But
greedy Mister Fisherman, this is all that he would say
I've
been working hard out in the sun all day
And
I'm not giving any freaking fish away
VERSE
TWO
So
when you add your salty tears directly in the sea
And
when you're done your song of woe, that you have sung to me
Just
take your wife and kids, and jump right off this big jetty
And
right into the undertow, and stop annoying me
And
talking on and on and on, and bothering my fish
You
loud annoying bleeding hearts, that beg and cry and bitch
I
have lots of work to do, and buckets must be filled
So
either leave this jetty now, or someone might be killed
Guys
like me must catch our fish, like farmers fields get tilled
People
say I'm cold and cruel, on every single day
But
I have got a lot of freaking bills to pay
So
I'm not giving any of my fish away
VERSE
THREE
They
say the greatest mother lies there out beyond the sand
And
mothers can get angry when their kids are out of hand
Storms
blow out of nowhere and, a lot of folks have died
The
sea can give and take away, while many tears get cried
And
on one very special day, a greedy man was drowned
Ignoring
waves that swallowed rocks with heavy pounding sound
Just
another bucket and, then he'll have caught his fill
A
lot of daring fishermen forget the sea can kill
The
king fish of the jetty, just was never seen again
Yet
locals claim the winds still howl these words from fisher Ben
I've
been working hard out in the sun all day
So
yes I have a lot of freaking bills to pay
And
I'm not giving any of my fish away
VERSE
FOUR
You'll
be crossing over, later wishing you'd been nicer
You'll
be crossing over, through the quantum waving splicer
You'll
be crossing over, hearing all the trash they're talking
You'll
be crossing over, and you'll have to keep on walking
You'll
be crossing over, watching all the others eating
Feasts
with banquet tables, where the fish keep on repeating
Forever
seeing many fish, but never on your plate
You
had your time back in the sun before you sealed your fate
You'll
be crossing over, and you'll be a lonesome rover
Forever
doomed to hear the words you always used to say
That
you've been working hard out in the sun all day
Oh
yes we knew you had your freaking bills to pay
So
you're not giving any of your fish away
END
OF SONG.
YOU'LL
BE CROSSING OVER, TUNE FROM 1983
NEW
2012 LYRICS TO FOLLOW THE HARMONY MUSIC TRACK ALONG WITH ARE UP AT
THE BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN, SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0555, LIKE DUH:
Only
the opening title words are real.
To
sing along with the new 2012 lyrics, go to my blog and click the SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0555, and scroll down
until the page comes up with the words to the song, YO. If you do not
like techno-pop music of the early and middle nineteen-eighties,
there are other songs at the same site, http://youtube/paulaking2011/
so go there and have a blast.
I
talk a lot about my copyrighted music, so here it is, folks.
Public Catalog |
|
Search
Request: Left Anchored Name = Mohr, Mark W
|
|
Search
Results: Displaying 1 through 25 of 28 entries.
|
Contact
Us | Request
Copies | Get
a Search Estimate |
Frequently
Asked Questions (FAQs) about Copyright
| Copyright Office
Home Page | Library
of Congress Home Page
Public CatalogCopyright Catalog (1978 to present) |
|
Search Request: Left
Anchored Name = Mohr, Mark W
|
|
Search Results: Displaying
26 through 28 of 28 entries.
|
Contact
Us | Request
Copies | Get
a Search Estimate |
Frequently
Asked Questions (FAQs) about
Copyright | Copyright
Office Home Page | Library
of Congress Home Page
WHASUP
VIQUEEN MARILOO?
WHASUP
STOCK BROKER GORDO?
WWYWINY,
MALCALM ROSENBERG OF PHILLY, PA?
This
will be the master sheet for PART 5 of MORIANITY.
You
may skip through this by scrolling, any time, folks.
Jupiter,
Florida welcomes you to Morianity, Courtesy of Channel 12-TV.
LADIES
AND GENTLEMEN, YOU HAVE READ
MORIANITY PART 5,
AND
I HOPE YOU HAVE ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER
NUMBER 00054.
Good
night and pleasant dreams, Ann Reese and Bobby Witherspoon, and many
many many others. I have nothing against anyone, so do not take it
personally that I got off of the FACEBOOK.
I have no time for childish games, I am not 16 years old forever and
ever and ever. AHA AHA MMCN!
Jesus
Christ, where is my talking treadmill? I've got some weight to take
off, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Am
I talking LOUDLY enough,
lovely Ingrid?????????????????????
Yes
peeps, you get a lot of advertising windshield wiper fliers down here
in good old hot Fort Pierce. I have an entire library of unread crap
in my back seat, no more dominating women to boss me around and
control and own my car that belongs to me, not this fucking ass
family of trillionaries and world owners, mostly covert, some out in
the open. But still, Mister Detective Briscoe, here is a slightly new
twist on windshield fliers. I was only in the library two minutes
tops, and was told I could not have my lollypop, and that they could
not help me with my music project. I have a medical condition and do
not see how a lollypop in my mouth is going to hurt their library,
Sheriff Mascara, but rules are rules, sir. When I came out, a flier
was on the windshield, only it was not like the others that I get for
business type bullshit of many various types. This one says, and I
quote, “You
better take your shitty music off the youtube, and you better not
post your eighties song, or you're a dead man, ass-wipe”. I
did not read it until I got to the Publix Grocery Store, as I said,
normally I chuck these things unread, into the rear seat, and once a
year, I take a trash bag to my car and clean out all my junk and
throw it into my dumpster.
But
this looked very unique, it was made of a weird paper like nothing I
have ever seen, as I touch it now, it is like 5 times the thickest
Bond paper I've ever seen, and I've been around offices and seen real
thick Bond paper. It is paper however, it is not any thin kind of
cardboard or other material, as if ten sheets of paper were carefully
all glued together. What next Harry Potter? Well,
I was going to take my YOUTUBE account down, now I am not. I will get
that song up there if I have to commit mass fucking murder to do it,
folks. Take that to the TD NO-WOW-TRUCKS 4 POOR ME BANK, YO YO YO YO
YO YO YO! Yes David Roth, old pal from 1985, just what are these
fucking cunt eating rat bastards all so dam afraid of, about our
music, and now that you are gone, spirits low or high, © Office,
baby, baby, baby; MY music?????? I think the GEEK SQUAD will need to
be called into service, and 4 now, E/T, and WOW!
Mark
Wayne Mohr has made a lot of predictions in his life, that have not
all come true, because of something known as HSE
(Hyper-Space-Effect). This was discussed on earlier older blogs in
Morianity. One thing that hyperspace effect has no control over or
very little, is the situation that began for me in this universe,
ever since waking up on August the fifteenth, back in 1986, into a
parallel nightmare universe here, where I know I do not belong.
We
can get into a lot more of this later. Right now, I have a question
to anyone who ever viewed a blog or listened to a note of my music?
Last Friday, the stock market just about hit 15,000 points, JUST AS I
TOLD YOU ALL WOULD HAPPEN. I have not followed the news in a number
of days, maybe a week, too busy with a lot of horrendous personal
fucking bullshit, folks. MY QUESTION HOWEVER IS, AM I REALLY THE
PROPHET OF 1988 NOTHING? OR, AM I, AS MY WONDERFUL OLDER KID WOULD
PUT IT SO
WONDERFULLY, “The greatest fish
in the whole dam bay”?
I
TOLD YOU THE DOW JONES WILL BE UP EVERY SINGLE DECADE BY ROUGHLY THE
AMOUNT OF POINTS THAT CAN BE CALCULATED WITH A NINE DOLLAR FUCKING
WALMART SUDDENLY SEEING OR HEARING CALCULATOR, AND A FEW TOUCHES OF
THE BUTTONS. Simply find the percentage since this bull
rally crossed over into 4 digits in early 1983, that it increases on
average, each year up through around the year 2000. This is roughly
9% per year average. Now take your little calculator and keep going
whatever the market was in 2000, times 109%=. The new number is your
average 2001 point value. To get the 2002 value average, you take the
2001 value average, and again hit the (X) key, then hit 109, and then
the percent and the equals key. To get 2003, do the same with the
2002 price, and so on. Whatever the price average between 1983 and
2000 is, I am guessing it was 9% average increased annually, this is
where you can keep plotting it. It is not going to exactly show huge
peaks and huge dips over 3-5 year periods that swing out beyond the
average predicted low and high for the exact year, but that is how
statistical mathematical equations work.
I
AM QUITE SURE THAT 15,000 x 109% AND THEN THAT TIMES 109%, AND THAT
TIMES 109%; WILL PRETTY MUCH BE WHERE POINT VALUES WILL BE IN THE
YEAR OF 2016, AND TO WORK IT OUT TO THE 70 YEAR BIBLE GENERATION FOR
THE REESTABLISHMENT
OF MATIONAL ISRAEL, just do two more times 109 percents
to the above. This is where it all should end, or else Christianity
is a big fat mother fucking hoax lie, not Morianity, that tells the
fucking truth. I have nothing to gain with lying, but the gods do
have such an agenda, and even admitted that I AM the greatest fish in
the whole dam bay, back 27 years ago. Did somebody say,
W-----O-----W?
Over
the weekend, I watched the huge party that Philadelphian's were all
celebrating, with blimps all over, and major cheering. I was in a
major interaction with strange persons, a tall thin well muscled
black young male, about age 25; and we had been traveling to Boston,
MAUSAESMWG together; and were put up in a very weird and bizarre
hotel overnight. He had some good friends that were on the New York
Nicks Basketball team, that were gonna' help me in some way in
proving my horrific and monstrous dilemma and plight. It was so real
that I could feel the raw cold in the room towards late October, and
then the manager of the hotel turned up the heat. A strange clock,
and a strange
telephone
in the room, that we had been placed in; had a strange interaction
with each other. Someday, I will tell the entire long and wild story,
and include the strange road on the wild ride home, only not 2 any
home or place that makes any sense now 2 my waking world brain and
memory system. But the raw cold and the nice heat were more real and
tangible than any feeling of temperature on body or skin in the
waking world. Then the blimps that were over the Delaware River were
all written with things, such as 'Phillies 2008 World Series
Champions'. This was a wild and far out “DREAM”
pal.
YEAH,
SOME 'DREAM'
PAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A TIME TRIP 31 DAYS INTO THE FUTURE, AND
HALLOWEEN DAY 2 BOOT!
I
TOLD YOU ALL THAT THE STOCK MARKET WOULD REACH ALL TIME RECORD
FUCKING HIGHS, AND IT ALREADY IS ON THE WAY TOWARDS THE 15,000 LEVEL
AS I SAID IT WOULD BE. I ALSO HAVE ONE MORE THING TO SAY, THE
ATTORNEY GENERAL WILL NOT ALLOW YOU BASTARDS TO MOTHER FUCKING MURDER
ME, AND ALSO,
I
DEMAND MY FREAKING PROPS.
No comments:
Post a Comment