MORIANITY PART V, CHAPTER CLX, DOUBLING AS MY DYING DECLARATION LEGAL DOCUMENT

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THIS IS MORIANITY, PART FIVE, AND PLEASE BELIEVERS AND L-4 FOLKS, TRY AND HAVE YOURSELVES A VERY VERY NICE DAY.

YOU ARE NOW READING CHAPTER 00160. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! August 13, 2013, 9:03 PM-EDST, TUESDAY NITE.

Shortly past 8 of the mother fucking ass clock tonight, my scum bag nabes begin to persecute me, and indirectly, did me a huge favor, verifying something Resident Manager Debbie Marotto told me as well as helping me to reach a conclusion regarding something that happened shortly after their cunt eating arrival here near the 2011 Christmas helliday-holiday season, where they called me the ''radio singer'' out in the hallway, but I'll admit to not be ing totally sure how the two universes came together, and this was told about and blogged shortly after the incident, in some full detail, but we'll reexamine fucking shit now again.

First off around half past seven or so, strange loud annoying fucking sound began to emanate from not the normal place, yet it all does connect in many strange and powerful fucking ways. I don't need to blog the entire situation as it is not relevant to the shit I want to tell you all about with tonight's major nasty neighborhood fucking attack with these hip hop ghetto fucking ass thugs. The fucking jerk offs above me are in some way, also in communication with that bitch across from me, and lots of doors are still slamming away as I type this message now at ten past nine, and tomorrow, i'll be speaking to Debbie Morotto personally at her office here in the building as she is here normally on Wednesday's, SLAM BANG BOOM, it is a real bad fucking attack here, Pam Bondi, Florida Attorney General, but you ain't fucking heard diddly squat yet, YO!!!!!!!!!!! First off, I knew the market would fly today as it did, and I also knew lots of shit was about to begin, and more yet will be coming, and you do not need to mother fucking be some rocket asshole scientist to figure out why, merely someone with a memory and a pair of eyes, and a calendar hanging up on one of your god dam fucking ass walls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A simpleton sitting in a torture booth inside a Hitler Oven, could recognize what is going on, and even why recently I have watched my viewing audience dwindle down to about 30 percent of what I had for most of this year of 2013. When they know you have enough stuff to prove really far out fucking shit, EVEN THE WOMO BEGINS TO FUCKING GROW A BIT CONCERNED, YO DOGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes there's one hell of a fucking Richie Ryan 1406 Cinnaminson, New Jersey 1984 party going on around me tonight, but that is nothing, not next to what I am about to tell you all, BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

First off, I never told you all the shit about how to pull off a lot of these parlor tricks in time, and I also never told you what I saw in 2022 while being the parent of some cheer leader daughter who I have never seen before in all of my hyperspace travels, so it is not real localized hyperspace that I was moving in where that wild Google-repair computer program was running and wiping out hacks on a computer in the den of one of my more distant hyperspace doppelgangers. I told you I saw the computer and knew exactly what was going on, and I saw the calendar that read the year 2022, but I did not tell you that after my wife and I had removed the latest hack that was inside of the machine, we went to the website that is now defunct here in this universe, but that I had up for two years, called, ''Morianity-Foundation''. After we had gone there to post something up, we went to a private site that we owned, where we stored some information about our roulette playing, and this was my occupation over there ever since 1986 when I began playing it professionally over here in this parallel reality. The only difference was that over there, I was never wiped out by a WOMO-MILI-2-FORCE, and was still playing. We had designed and built four strange machines, kind of androids, that were permanently affixed to wheelchairs, manikin type hollowed out bodies with a very super advanced robotic program running them. The wheelchairs allowed them to be mobile, and extremely life-like face masks were molded over the manikin faces. They had thick eyeglasses made with large frames, wig hair, and looked and passed for humans. They spent their entire lives in casinos all over the world, just playing a roulette system that I will not talk about right now, it is way to fucking major and beyond believable. To say it kicks royal mother fucking ass is a major clit chewing understatement. Then every few days, they take the winnings and wire transfer them into a secret offshore bank account in the name of my wife and myself. In this other universe, I remember my wife's name, it was Merinda. Her maiden name was Hall. Now before going on further, she was telling me how many things were not being properly recalled by another me who she met in a strange way, by recently experienced powerfully lucid dreams, an exact quotation. I came to learn she was talking about the year of 1969, and my pal Brad Messenger, his girlfriend Diane, and also, another friend of his and neighbor, Cindy, and also, Roseann. She was reminding me how the great comedian of the times, Rodney Dangerfield used to call his apartment and ask for Brad's mom, Grace. When I got talking to her about how once I answered while Brad was taking a crap, and it was as though it was all cosmically arranged, as he wanted to warn me not to go to Atlantic City that summer, to stay away from the shore, to quote him exactly, and how a lot more was involved in all of this, right down to the movie that he went on to star in eleven years later in 1980, with the initials of Sarah Callio. All I am safe to tell and say right now, is that this all connects up to what I'm gonna' tell you all next, even though you may scratch your heads and say to yourself, how can it possibly, only it fucking does, so trust fucking me, YO! When Ann king said to me a year and a half ago and then a little, that she sent me several cassette tapes as well as CD's, she really did, and that indeed, BOO somehow who was instrumental in getting these hip hop thugs into that apartment across from me; and then had them somehow pay off the mail carrier, to accidentally deliver the package to their slot, as in this building, if something sent to a resident is bigger than the normal mail slot, the key to a numbered large-box of which there are about 10 of, down a hallway on the first floor, is placed into your mail. The key is numbered, so you simply use it to retrieve your package and then when you close the box, the key remains attached and only the mail carrier has some way of removing it. It is quite a clever little system for a rat-hole place like this. My daughter has caused me nothing but grief ever since 2008 when she made it unmistakably clear to me through her music project, that something was going on, and then as time went on afterward, came all the fucking dreams, and then the eventual kidnapping by her distant family relations, the Kings, and others behind it all as well. What was done to me is beyond unforgivable. What still is being done to me is unforgivable squared. And all of it together is nothing less than criminal, and yes, my rotten filthy cousin Donald is involved in it all up to his eyeballs, and has been since this all began in 1984, reverb added to monster tunes or NAUT, Miss AT&T BLAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In closin g for now folks, I will be leaving this evil rotten mother fucking country within a week, and you do not need to know one more fucking thing. Before I do leave, the story of my mother will be printed up and morianity will end forever. Thanks for nothing for helping me out, Attorney General Bondi, and President Travelama!!! You see peeps, when they have all the power, and you have none whatsoever, basically, and in a total nutshell,

YOU ARE TOTALLY SCREWED!

THIS IS A RE-POST COPY ON MY OPEN OFFICE W.P.

WHY SHOULDN'T A DOG LIVE IN A DOGHOUSE???

“Y SHOUDN’T A DOG LIVE IN A DOGHOUSE”

(The epitome of harassment, internet version)
(The millionth-council and me)
(Morianity project continues from 1995 on tape)
DATFILE: 021809.951

I liked it a lot more when my computer was a lot simpler, but genius Ed Himacane made some major changes when he was last over, and programs run and stuff happens, and it is really part of a hyperspace equation from the year of 2022. SLAM-SLAM-BANG-BOOM; AND AT MIDNIGHT PLUS ONE, I CALL 911. THIS IS A MAJOR FUCKING PILE OF PIG SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!