MORIANITY
PART 5, CHAPTER 00101
1:18
POST MERIDIAN, TUESDAY SUPER BOTFUCKINGBAR
AND
WHY FUCKING NOT ON AN (11) FUCKING JUNE, 2013?
THERE
IS A MAJOR CHEMTRAIL ASSAULT ALL OVER MY SKIES HERE IN FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA, TODAY, SO ANYONE WITH A VIDEO CAMERA OR KNOWS
SOMEBODY IN MY TOWN WITH ONE GTHAT LOKES POSTING THESE THINGS ON
THEIR YOUTUBE ACCOUNTS AND WHATEVER, COME TO MY AREA FAST, BEFORE THE
NSA CLEARS THE AIR TRAFIC OUT TO MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A FUCKING ASS
FOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THESE
MONSTER ASS JET FUELS, WHEN OVERLY
CONCENTRATED, WAKE ME UP WITH A MAJOR
FUCKING NASTY CIVIL RIGHTS VIOLATING SORE
THROAT, AS IT DID JUST THIS MORNING; AND MANY OTHER NAST
FUCKING MEDICAL SYMPTONS ARE
ASSOCIATED WITH AN OVER CONCENTRATION OF
JET AIR TRAFFIC IN ONE TINY AREA, AND THIS IS BEING
INTENTIONALLY DONE TO PUNISH, INTIMIDATE, AND INTENTIONALLY
SICKEN AND TO EVEN MURDER,
MANY MANY FUCKING INNOCENT CITIZENS
OF THESE ONCE FUCKING GREAT UNITED STYATES OF FUCKING ASS AMERICA, YO
YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
went to the K-MART again for about the 6th or 7th
time, I have lost fucking count, to purchase another ten dollar
mother fucking watch. The WOMO-MILITUFORCE recently broke my video
remote, then my video machine entirely, then my watch again. It is
not the batteries, I tried that, it was as always those rotten K-Mart
watches, makes me want to do more than ship my pants, behind Roseann
Delaney's wooded lot back with David Roth, late at night in the year
of 1989 somewhere. How would my adorable treadmill daughter say it so
fittingly here, “disgusting”? Oh well, none of us are perfect,
and someday I need to blow his mind and tell him who is biggest fan
is, and then he WILL HAVE TO GO TO K-MART FOR SOME PANTS
TRANSPORTING, and remember folks, the original curse words of SHIT
and FUCK, all stem from the transportation of animal manure a long
time ago in crates on ships, the initials were labeled to keep these
crates from getting wet and spreading such lovely aromas, Ship
High In
Transport, and as for the days of His
Highness, commoners required the permission of the great and mighty
kings, to fornicate; so we developed other lovely slang expressions,
such as, Fornication Upon
Consent of King.
I'll bet you never learned that back in mother fucking high school,
not from the school, and not even from friends and word on the
street. I thought you might want to get a laugh out of my fucking
shitty botbar rotten day folks, so YO, laugh out loud and pretend
that a really scary set of stairs is involved, in New York State.
Well, I will go on, Mister Somerset Maum, with my club foot, and
Jason Forest laughing along with me, living, suffering, and dying,
speaking of kings and fantastic novelists of the nineteen-forties,
that Microsoft Spell-Checker is too ignorant to recognize. My cunt
fucking lapping WOMO enemies are doing a super fucking job of making
my life one endless fucking living breathing nightmare cock sucking
hell folks. Too bad the waitress in the Egg Harbor Diner of New
Jersey, and her so-called hit on me, was not carried out back in the
summer of 1996, 10 years after I may have corrupted the morals of an
otherwise, real good girl. In any event, laugh out loud, love on
line, and lots of luck, and all of that great net-lingo. The last
laugh I'm planning for Icabod 231 Crane, and all his pals in
Halloweentown, and the traveling unshipped pants from the mart, well,
will indeed, as per the old demo collection long copyrighted at the
Library of Congress in Wash-Dock-600-13, 'WILL HAPPEN 2U'.
AHA-AHA-AHA, Project Dreamie-Jeans 101, fitting for my Morianity
today, and the sky siege, would you not agree, all botbars not fucking
withstanding?
People,
this entire world is one huge pile of mother fucking garbage on hyper
steroids at light speed squared. Why open a Twitter Account, as this
says it all, and what else could anyone ever post after seeing that
in print, and have it really be one bit necessary, I ask you all. I'm
dead-ass-serious, without anything to do with flying stars or city's
named Hydroglacia. Let me now go follow a toddler through a fence, up
in Suffolk County, UNCLE!
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