BEGINNING
OF THIS TWANNY, SWEET OL' GWANNY!!!!!!!!!!
Where
are you when I need you, Bruce Allan Pennock? We won't worry about
what chapter this blog is, in the PART-5 of MORIANITY for M-3. As
most of you know, I ''travel quite extensively without leaving
home'', and get time all mixed up, a game no mortal should dare not
start, right © Office??
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So
where have these 900 tera seconds gone to so fast, Mr. Crane? Any
there any hollow teens around for Keisha to break, Walter?
OK,
Mister John King, candles lit of course, huh Sabrina Collins; aniwho,
don't let Paula's daughter push your dogs off the top of WAYV-FM
Radio, just down the way from the Trinity Hotel and the great
entrance from the Monopoly Bruce boardwalk of cheaters, to the great
East Baywatch Tower of say-France!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wow,
how did I get stuck with this wonderful horrendous group of lovelies,
aniwho, Flo??????????????????????????????????????????? Do you know,
Mister Macy Junior????????????????????????
We
won't elaborate here on the dogs or the roof pushing, as I already
feel very responsible for the near demise of the great Roman Catholic
Church, and all for what, I never got my justice against those who
molested me, and it was a lot more than Sir
Tom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! when
is there ever any justice for me, and so why shouldn't I take the
symbolism seriously you know, as if for me justice is just what the
word says it is, huh big Dawn-Marie King, ''JUST
ICE''!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Folks,
it's sixteen mother fucking minutes past three in the dam morning,
here on the American East Coast, in Fort Pierce, Florida, and not
attacked electronically or physically by the madmen of Thirty-Sixth
Avenue, of lovely San Mateo, Cali Kali. Oh Tahren Gandhi, and Ice
Cream Stealer Patel; just what do you all want from poor pitiful
mother fucking Ronstadt little nobody ass me, YO YO
YO????????????????? May the gods be dammed to hell, what did I ever
fucking do to any of you mother fuckers, YO???????????????????????? I
will so gladly get down on bended Uncles Gozzwald knees, and mother
fucking apologize to anyone and everyone, but why does this have to
go on forever and ever and fucking ever, you rotten asshole bastard
shits, why, JIMMY????????
YES
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS
BY ALL LOGICAL ACCOUNTS SHOULD BE CHAPTER NUMBER 00156,
BUT WHAT IS REAL, WHAT IS RAEL, AND
WHAT ISRAEL? WOW, am I asking you this question, L-4,
what gives here, Johnny Fucker Faster McDowell of 1972, and shut off
the calendar recorders in Dan Mackey's classroom, YO YO YO YO, WEEE!
Fire
alarms are going off five times a day now, someone is messing with
me, a child can see it, and I will be going to the fire company soon
to discuss this, it is ridiculous, is it the same peeps setting them
off and why are they permitted to do this endlessly without reprisal?
If it was me, I would be PLIPPED, as they say well beyond the time of
the GOOGLE REPAIR left margin rectangles, Tom Guitar Glenn, so DON'T
FREAKING DOUBT THAT ANYTIME SOON, OR 2000 HYEARS AGO, PONTIUS
PLANEDRIVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes mister fucking
McNulty, you may do your thing right around now, good fiend from
1971!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On
top of this, all day noise from the illegal prick as a result of jit
bag Friday FOOD DAY, here at the building. It is not as bad as it
used to be, but this prick is a very annoying dick in the mouth,
BOB-100-MPH-JOKES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Slow
down there Johnny, you ol' fucker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh
joy-juices, I am about as fucking sick and tired as 1000 Readers
Digest American articles from the early frikkin' seventies, of this
gad dam shit eating monster problem I have had for 30 years now with
these cunt lapping pricks up on cock sucking Broad Street and Wall
Street, Man, Hat, Tan, I'll put you all under a 50,000 watt
ultraviolet light, strip you of your clothes and your head
protection, and then, OH MAN, or would it be way more mother fucking
appropos to just say, IO-IO-IO-IO-IO-IO, or even better, how-bout ten
ten ten ten ten ten, or still better, how-bout, uh uh I I don't know
why people go to sleep at fourteen and pretend to be Lab technicians,
or one in particular aniwho, FLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! All I do
know for sure is that I am really tired of this mother fucking
bullshit at
C-SQ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
felt like I was going to drop dead back shortly past noon yesterday,
Friday, the WOMO-MILITUFORCE struck me very hard with HEART-DESTRUCT
death ray beams, and I was ready to die. I told Diana how horrible I
fucking felt and to expect me to show up at her Code Cabin, not the
King Cabin of the Tulleytown, Pennsylvania Landfill, but the other
Mary bloody or not situation, Roseann Delaney, another WOW. How many
fires are going to strike before this all ends, Robert White McGuire
and kin?????????????????????????? Oh yes folks, within a minute or
less of my telling Lightning through my telephone that I was feeling
really bad, an invisible force grabbed my insides, I swear to
everything holy and unholy or may my one pair of pants catch super
McGuire Fire, Mister Kennedy, and named hospitals of unsolved
mysterious medical conditions!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Suddenly
my heart resumed a totally normal rhythm again, and my breathing was
perfect, and I felt like a million dollars pr maybe in this new age
where that seems to be peanuts and chump change, or a mere bag of
Jackie Gleason shells; I'll say I felt like
a POWERBALL WINNER, and hell folks, I don't play that dam
thing, so I know my exact odds of winning it, unlike any player of
it, ZERO.
AHA AHA MMCN!!!!!
I
actually felt so good, I got dressed and drove up to Twenty-Fifth
Street to the pookah Wabbit Harvey Harvest Food Center, Mister Stuart
Sir; but both things I wanted to do, were not cosmically permitted.
No one was working at the desk to help me renew my membership card,
the entire place is going straight to the fucking dogs. I checked to
see if they had an y of my Wheat Chex Cereal also, and another ZERO,
and Spell-Checker does not recognize a fucking world renown breakfast
cereal, WOW, Mister RHM-JR, again, sir. Yeah, I'm
in the sixth dimensional cement business, and personally
interacted with a fourteen year old Lab Technician back in 1983.
Well, you guys up there in fucking Washington have the cassette tapes
I sent you for my Copyright, called, ''MY YOUTUBE MUSIC''. Funny,
there is no more YOUTUBE for me, still, I did need to copyright some
new songs and some reworked old ones, again, WHAAAAA! You know the
real ''saddest part to this non mortal time game'', Mister I-Ching
and any and all others whom this may concern, from Ratatouille to
Jesse's freaking footballs of the twenty-ohs; is that I know fully
well this is all just a private whittle communication between the
great all mighty LAMBRIGG CULT and ME,
even if I were to have 1000 viewers, which ki do not, I estimate
about two dozen. But I am positive that they all read these words,
scratch their heads, and stay with Morianity only for sake of
personal amusement. Very very very sad, Ingrid, my
girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! To think we were on the first internet
all along, but then hay girl, Leticia Tilley; who else could send a
tape like I just sent except maybe for the non Doctor Ed Snow-Snowden
and his ex-pals in the BFA systems? Another WOW, RHM!!!!!!
Sheeeeeeeeeeeit,
how many wows or Dawn's can we take, ROSEANN, let me drive on,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
END
TRANNY, SWEET OL' ADORABLE WHITTLE GWANNY!!!!!
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