MORIANITY
PART V
CHAPTER
CCI
7:56
POST MERIDIAN, 12 SEPTEMBER, 2013, THURSDAY
Thank
you so much for visiting with me again, lovely Diana, ''LIGHTNING''.
You mean more to me than anything and everything times infinity
cubed.
The
late great Donna Adrian Gaines Summer, quoting her as a teenager late
in the sixties, would have a very interesting thing to say on this
strange unknown graham-publicly anniversary of a sort, but I believe
it fits so powerfully into problems that never really ever began, nor
will they ever end, for me; that they need be addressed here and then
it wil ever so nicely segway directly into the point of this blog for
this day, good people out here reading the Mountainpen. When she did
her version of the great late sixties Broadway Hair Show, personal
album, nothing that connected her professional career in any way, and
those who have copies of it know this is no lie, and it in no way
compliments her great vocal talents, but it does manage to do
something approximately fifty and a half trillion more powerful and
important, than just the mere addition of another would-be famous
work from her, which anyone who's heard it, knows it most certainly
is not, still, it is no comparison to Whitney Houston's late nineties
version of the Star Spangled Vomit Banner, just as with this, anyone
with a copy of that, knows also, just what I am speaking about, WOW,
she had to have enemies or that would never have been permitted to
end up on television. Still, this is not the point, at least, none of
these things are directly my point, you can draw some part of any
point from a bird chirping in the middle of the red wood forests of
the American West. Shame on Spell Checker for being ignorant to
'Manhattan's Waverely'.
I
met a boy called Frank Mills, on September twelfth right here, in
front of the 'Waverely', but unfortunately, I lost his address.
He
was last seen with his friend, a drummer he resembles, George
Harrison, of the Beatles, but he wears his hair, tied in a small bow
in the back.
I
love him, but it embarrasses me, to walk down the streets with him.
He lives in Brooklyn somewhere, and wears this white crash helmet.
He
has golden chains on his leather jacket, and on the back, are written
the names, Mary, and Mom, and Hells Angels.
I
would gratefully appreciate it if you see him, tell him; I'm in the
park with my girlfriend, and please,
Tell
him Angela and I, don't want the 'two dollars' back, just you.
Now
this little ditty , along with a simple catchy quick 3-C progression
melody line; was all a part of her project. However, the entire
official HAIR ALBUM, done by both
the transdimensional McCoo Family, AKA and they admit to it by the
Goddess, the fifth Dimensions, as
well as a second well accepted version that was later done for
movie-television versions of this Broadway Play, ''HAIR''; seems to
have some songs that Donna's verison skipped on her project, but way
more importantly, her version had this mysterious ''OTHER TUNE'',
that contains two very wild things, the date following the great 9-11
back in 2011, as well as the words ''TWO DOLLARS. Two and TWIN is a
technical sameness, and on the Astral-Plane, we use the word of
'TOWERS' in the great capitol province of this 'spirit-world-reality'
that would be in a sense somewhat similar to our usage in the
material realms, for a money-exchange value system, in USD or in
American Dollars. The only different is that there are 1000 broken
pieces instead of only 100, our 'penny', and each of these broken
thousandths of a TOWER, is worth between a quarter and a half of one
ofour American USD dollars. We mneed not get into the name of this
unit or other broken fractional units of the Astral Tower, still, TWO
DOLLARS and TWIN TOWERS is a close weird coincidence by itself, and
quite forgettable, except for the fact that this slong in totally
unknown to the world, and also; mentions the very day following the
great day of terror (nine-eleven) and the theme of the song has it
happening as though it was indeed on the following day, and this was
all done in the year 19698 or right in there, shortly after this
great Broadway Musical Play was created by Mister Ragni, and Mister
Rado; or whatever their dam names are. Hollywood sure knows, and that
is all that is important; to all smokers, and non-smokers of the
Gaines family, and the EMIT MADE IN HEAVEN family. Can all of this be
real, Ray Young? Well, if it isn't, then what the shit is it, Mat
Japan? Well, can the Long River Bjork Blues of the Highview
Haddonwood days be real either; along with the eventual sky falling
super giant Duncan McLeod horseflies that cannot be killed or stay
dead, Mister LITTLE CHICKEN?????????????????? Also can it be real
that two teachers at my school, within the space of half a year, said
and did things to me, that go beyond Alfred Hitchcock, Dick Wolf,
James Patterson, and Agatha Christie, all spliced together; might
possibly come even close to being able to make up a similar story to
all of this, in a fictional form? You all know the answer to these
rhetorical questions that Mountainpen's posing with his readers
tonight on this blog, just as does the Mountainpen, himself. Anyone
able to deduce another answer, other than all of this wild stuff in
my life, has some gigantic cosmic reason to be happening, that has
not as of yet come close to all playing itself out; is a COMPLETE
TOTAL MORON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO OFFENSE.
Just
to refresh the memories of old readers, who I must realize have more
going on in their personal lives, than just reading and thinking
about me; as well as newer readers picked up, since these things last
were properly told and explained; let me now quickly tell these two
deals; first with Misses Marola in the spring of 1969, and then in
the autumn of that same year with Richard Marcucci. Mrs. Marola
totally would not take 'NO' for an answer regarding my doing a part
in a Memorial Day school play;
sort of the birth of my 'HOLIDAY-HELLIDAY'
problems, that as Father Lucci, and not lovely Erica Snakes Cane, put
it so well in that super well done great Hollywood production in
1988, if memory is serving me correctly; 'The
7th
Sign'; ''THAT WAS NO DREAM''. Now without getting all
weird and complicated about how real that show was that was voted the
greatest of all of the original Star Trek shows, called,''CITY ON THE
EDGE OF FOREVER'', and the part where the mighty logical mind of
Spock said to Kirk in that little flop house owned by Miss Edith
Split Universe Multidimensional Keeler; with or with the
Fowler/Bennett and the Mohr/Martin split-groups of the non-fictional
world, how I remember so clearly and well, despite the passing of
years and terra-tons of water passing below the bridge on this one,
that indeed, my locksmith from 1979, Mister Quinn, was destined to
become my neighbor at the Highview Apartments, 15 years in the god
forsaken future up in 1994, after I moved from misses Meeker's home
on route 561, in Gibbsboro, New Jersey. Hell folks, even the names
Keeler and Meeker are quite easily letter rearranged. All of these
things do not lie, but the problem is that folks are so low tuned and
close to the 'E'-setting-gauge on their so-called psychic energy
meters, that they cannot really follow along with me. First off,
there is no 'psychic' anything, and we all have but 5 senses at best,
some have fewer, such as 3-Senses Helen Keller, who went onto do
greater things than most of us ever will. Our sense of FEEL that we
normally think of as observing heat and cold and soft and hard, and a
few other things, is what is tuned down so low, well, all of yours
anyway, not mine. When people are in a party room, most
people-oriented types, can sense moods, read body language, and many
other things with this feel-sense. But there is way more that this
natural built in ability within all of us, is able to do. It
sometimes lets us feel many things that are not understood as of yet
in 2013, how it could be so, or if this is real, then why can't we
make it work all the time, and on and on. We won't be getting into
this, it would be a long discourse in and of itself, and is not
germane to the blog of right now, folks. But yes, many folks suddenly
FEEL that a loved one just perished on an airplane, and had no other
way to know this was a fact, in the real world, but they really did
FEEL it, and they know it. This is NOT a SENSE NUMBER-6. It is all an
expansion of our SENSE OF FEEL. There is no sixth sense but there is
ESP. This means extra-sensory perception. Tuning the sense of FEEL to
a much higher level can be done intentionally, and is done
automatically, just by surviving enough major horrific hell, such as
I have done. To do this intentionally, James
Redfield the great father of the so-called 'New-Age', and
great author; has written many MUST READ
BOOKS. Think of this as a roller coaster in a mode once it
has climbed its original needed height for the carts to roll and
coast, like duh, where did this name come from, not going there;
still and moving on; once the potential energy was expended to get it
up to its high point, the rest of the ride is motor-less, and is
known scientifically as the expenditure of only ''potential
energy'', in the case of the RC, it now can feed on the force of
gravitation of the Planet Earth where it was constructed and made to
operate on. Sorry about my 'nick-naming' this with its initials, so
let us move along and finish the point, that will bring us all to
where we need to be in this exact blog for right now. What Spock told
Kirk, regarding hopefully running into their lost ship comrade,
Doctor Deforrest-Kelly-Bones McCoy; was that cosmic connections tend
to run, and what Roddenberry just may have been secretly aware of and
this of course never was allowed to come out to the public as it is
way to powerful, if anything is Bluebook-classified, this shit sure
is; but when time or the fourth dimension is interrupted from a
normal flowing direction and speed, based on mass and velocity,
again, we ''never can escape'' that great formula, 'E=MC-SQ.', can
we. Now when normal running time around us is altered, it alters two
dimensional realities beyond the three that we live inside of, length
and width, and breadth. Put simply, if that's possible; we are in
normal and regular time by staying well under 100,000 miles per
second and not subjecting the mass of ourselves, or not letting
ourselves be hurled too fast; but when we do increase our
ratio-density with that of time's reflection (LIGHT), hyperspace
alters, a gateway opens that allows the other two dimensions to fold
in on our other three, and this is why we can never really have that
silly worry that has been a favorite of science fiction writers
forever practically, you know, the bit about changing something and
then it makes you disappear or something along those lines. If the
density alteration did not alter hyperspace, allowing split universes
to enter into the equation when out of regular running time, the
universe would never have been able to be born in the first place,
and please don's even ask me to go there any time soon with any of
you, we would be all decade with that one!!!!!!!!!!!!! So let me get
back to these two teachers, and let me worry about why this is being
brought up, in lieu of the motive of my blog today regarding Donna
and her wild unknown song about the future day of terror, 33 years
after she recorded the song, a wild number by the way, thirty-three,
spelled out its GAWNUM-ROOT is 23, and on top of that, Mister Pablo
Checked off or not, it is also the special secret number of the
mighty MASON CLAN, and I don't mean my family, although, who knows
what really goes on? Inside of every millionth of a second, we all
could have a trillion lives that never will be revealed to our
right-now-conscious-brains. Many have had this experience that lets
them know my words are true. You know, you fall asleep for just 10
seconds while maybe reading or watching the television, and wake up
knowing you were part of a complicated lengthy deal, and you know you
must do lots of things, and it takes 5-15 minutes to reorient
yourself back to where you know you need not worry about that other
world that you just left forever behind, relative to your so-called
real you and real-life right here. Don't tell me that none of you
have had the experience, or I will call you all liars. Some of you
may not, as many do not ever remember a thing about ''their dream
life'', but don't tell me no one has shared this with me or I'll puke
in your soup bowl. So what did Donna really know, after-all, look
what she pulled with me, and she can deny it up through the day she
died, but it does not make her story true and my story a lie. But
still, if it got me a ticket out of living in Bridge City with the
bums, Mister Eckstein and Mister ?Garrigan, then so be it, YO! So
here is the deal with these two teachers. Marola always talked about
the future, as if she had really personally experienced it already,
and this was back in the year of 1969. The only other people besides
her, who pronounced years after two thousand; the way that we all did
for the first decade into this new century, and millennium; such as
2004 (two-thousand-four) and so forth, besides her; were the 'SYFY'
writers of the great immortal show called, ''Two-Thousand-One, a
Space Odyssey'', but even after this fantastic movie came out, syfy
writers continued with the old way, you know, if the year was 2002,
they would call it, ''twenty-oh-two''. If the year was 2007, they
would call it twenty-oh-seven''. Now recently, we have all gone into
the mode of saying twenty-ten and twenty-thirteen, but five years
ago, it would be a sociological norm to call these years at that
time, two thousand ten or two thousand thirteen. Now, many peeps
even, in hind view, will mention a year back in the first decade and
refer to it as twenty-oh-eight for 2008, but back then, no one said
it that way, yet MISSES MAROLA
did, back in 1969. I knew her hubby as well as her, and he practiced
psychology at the same special education school, only I never ever
saw him, only Garrigan and Eckstein, who I both knew as Mister at the
beginning, and later on as doctor, when they finished getting their
degrees. The office of this hubby of my teacher, was in a wild part
of the school floor plan, in so far as what happened to me in distant
hyperspace. One night I had this wild dream where I was in this
place, the Cooley Hall, and in the gymnasium. I found myself walking
into the Coaches Office at the east side of the gym, and the coach
had asked me to come in to talk to him about a test that I had
failed. I was always failing tests and was always very weak, and
still am to this day. He left for quite a while after telling me he
would be back in just a moment, and I went to stand up to stretch my
legs after that and as I went to stand up and touch his desk with my
hand, underneath, it activated a secret button that opened his
closet, and I for reasons I cannot properly understand, decided to
walk in, curiosity would be my 'best guess', Mister Humpwhales Spock.
When I got into this closet, the far wall that should have been the
Cooley Hall's hallway, with Marola's hubby's office on the other side
of it directly, was not as it should be, at least, not if what I now
tell you next, was done. I remember tiles on this wall, and I began
tapping combination patterns on each one at random, and after a
minute or less, a soft chime sound was heard, and then the wall just
vanished as if made of steam and the room just suddenly all cleared
up. I was waiting to see the hallway of the school, only instead, it
led me to Atlantic City, New Jersey, about 50 miles away. It led me
to the upstairs area of Sarah Krassle's shop on Tennessee Avenue, and
I stepped through this worm0hole-sort of thing, and looked back and
there was nothing there behind me at all. I was just in her upstairs
shop, where I remembered the dream a few months earlier where she
appeared to me in middle December in 1969, and had taken my
motorcycle chain away from me and placed it into her middle three
dresser drawer in this upper room or bedroom, but yes, it was an
upper room, like 2000 years ago when she was in another lifetime and
as a male being, Jesus Christ Himself. I never told Misses Marola
anything about me, but she seemed to know me and be able to see right
through me like a mother fucking ex-ray machine it was quite
intimidating for a little tike like me, she stood a few inches under
six feet tall in flat feet, and wore a good sized 3 or 4 inch heel,
and was very physically powerfully, and in fact, always went around
bragging how she could take all of us kids in her class, and tear us
intro pieces with her bare hands, making my heart jump inside my
chest like a base-drum doing a triple fast disco
beat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The only one who stood up to her, and
she liked him a lot, was fellow student, Grant O'Neil. If the pattern
of certain things seems to jump out folks, I promise you several
things,. I am not making any of this up or changing names. Also, I am
aware that you may or may not have enough FEEL-SENSE tuning, to see
stuff, but in case you do, I promise you that all these numbers,
names, and so much more, cannot be an endless streak of coincidences,
and whether Abbey won't let any of us boil water and go skating
without her Ok or naut, Miss AT&T Blake, I will tell you all this
much. If these blogs don't make you crazy and occasionally shake you
down to the foundations of your very spirit, then guess what, you
really don't belong here reading them, because you are missing all of
the in-between the lines power of the entire thing. Just without this
it is wild, but you are only living with 10 percent of the stuff in
the playpen, Judy. Without the other 90, you are Kim wild Clueless to
what you're really and truly missing, peeps, YO, and
I swear this to the GODDESS!!!!!!!!
Before
we get real heavy into Mrs. Marola, and her absolute insistence that
I do a part in a school play, on
the 30 May day of 1969, back then
this was always Memorial Day every year, right before the
MONDAY-HOLIDAY thing kicked in;
we will talk about the mighty and wild kind named Grant O'Neil, who
for all I know had a few things going with Mrs. Marola that no one
needs to know about right now. He loved beautiful women, and was in a
writing correspondence with the 1969 beauty queen, MISS AMERICA,
don't ask me her name, those things back then meant as much to me as
a bag of seashells that were broken and stinkier than dogshit. If I
had not had to come in on this weekend day back then, with my mom and
her boyfriend Sidney Cohen Crown and other name-shame; Ida been in
Atlantic City at a completely different time, where instead of
running into Sarah Krassle as her human form of Sara Jean Nurockey
Karge, in a psychic trance; who was projecting out an astral twin
doppelganger, down onto the street, for my benefit; as this really
was a woman of 72.9 years of age, born on the eighteenth day of July
in 1896; I never would have heard her say, and I quote, ''Your
friends are in the shop'', to a bunch of folks in an automobile that
came racing down Tennessee Avenue that day, stopping right outside
the shop, that the mighty and ever great Estelle Andersen Bassler
kept telling me was not a shop, but was the Piccadilly Hotel, across
from the Bolivar Hotel. Sarah needed to let me hear two powerful and
awesome things to me in the late spring and early summer of 1969,
fuirst this one, and then six weeks later or so in July, ''I'm darker
than you are''. The reasons why I make this claim would require a
book the size of at least five Moby Dick's, so don't lose it on me
Joe Paget, and Humpback Spock!!! Still
reading my great ghost stories, EB?
She
was as clueless as American Kimmy Weirdchords, as to just how far out
my so-called 'BOOK' of the new-beach, really was destined to be, AKA
''MORIANITY FOR M-3''!!!!!!!!
Now
comes about six months later, gee, do you feel like we're watching
some fucking real cool TV show? You won't ever get it this fucking
good on any dam TV show, not from the ripped off Tomorrow-Peeps' to
anything anywhere. It is all right here, in this MORIANITY
FOR MILLENNIUM-3. So speaking of
Cooley Hall, Mrs. Marola vanished along with the cool breezes of hot
Florida, and the next school year came along,and now my special
education teacher was Richard Marcucci. It was in October of 1969,
and I was about to enter into his classroom from lunch break, where
Bob Mattison and I had been in the 'gymnasium' without any
transdimensional hyperspace effects; if this can be perhaps viewed
as the plus out of this day, years
and years before Twinbay was born, Jennifer Washburn, my old friend
from New Jersey, along with gorgeous Tiffany!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hell, my
kid wasn't quite here, YET! Of course, this is using what I call,
''forward-Mortal'' lingo. Russ Thaxton and I always called him the
count, or Vamcucci, as this was the days of Dark-Shadows on
television, and he was a rotten shaver. This dude cut his throat
apart shaving, on a continual basis. His wife really needed to buy
him some proper shaving equipment, as it looked like he and ?Roseann
Delaney were in a wild relationship with more than hockey sticks and
voice comparisons, but the great invention called, ''KEYBOARDS FROM
PETAHELL'' all fits into things, even back eleven years or less from
where some of you may be head scratching about, but for right now, we
don't need to examine this under the microscope of literary scrutiny.
This is what those 'NEXT-DAYS' are for, right big lovely GAB?????
Well,
next blogs, next days, Enzemeter's, and me not knowing diddly shit
when I was speaking to that wonderful Copyright Examiner back in
ohm-eight; great EDUCATOR-TRAVELOR, MM, and no; I never knew her
first name, but then again Margie Leo, cut me one will you? HI-MM. I
AM suddenly seeing a lot of stuff,
Mister Macy.
W------O------W.
So
out the door he comes, for no good reason, while Bob Mattison is
walking into the classroom, and all the other ditz jits classmates
were all present and accounted for, Bert Fruloe, Scott Frazier, Mike
Geblow, and the list goes onward. But Marcucci wanted to take me
aside, and had a very serious expression on his face, reminding me of
a powerful thing, that he was personal friends with the Beatles
Group, and told me they plan to break up soon and not to tell anyone.
Then I asked him why I care, as I don't like contemporary music, and
told him so. He reminded me how I liked that one song so much that he
brought into class and played one day about carrying that weight for
a long time, by these Beatles, and I said, yes, I did like it, it was
simple and cool, and I empathized even then in those fucking days
with those dam ass lyrics, but did not say this to him, quite
naturally. He took a hold of my arm and waklked me totally out of
earshot of the classroom, despite the door being closed, and he
glared into my eyes and said that he knows powerful stuff and that he
only wishes he could share it with me, and that he had recently told
his wife, and this is why it is so important for me to begin taking
an interest in girls, because someday I'll need a life partner to
share huge things with when no one else will listen. Just to shut
jhim up, I told him, I realize this is so, and that I have not yet
found anyone I like enough to make a girlfriend out of in the area,
but there is a girl miles away and maybve something might come of it
next summer in seventy. He smiled in a really wild way and then he
did what I will call, and I never saw anyone ever do this except for
this fictional character and this teacher, ''A FONTANNA''. You know
how on Law & Order, Detective Fontanna says something to a bad
guy with a smile on his face, that instantly turns into a real
frightening frown, it is cool as all shit squared, if you never saw
it, you need to watch the show JUST TO SEE THIS, you are missing
something until you do, take me at my dam word, good peeps. Aniwho,
he then looked at me and said, Mark, You know, I have to tell you
something, ''You could be a father, chronologically''. I just stared
at him in disbelief. Here I am a fourteen year old boy, still a
couple months away from even being fifteen, and here is my teacher,
with a wild look in his eyes, first handing me this shit with the
greatest rock band of the times; and then laying this wild pile of
amazement on me. I mean, crissake; I knew that. I was taught the
birds and bees by my friends at age ten, but Jesus Christmas Singing
angels, here I am in this fucking school hallway, getting all this
wild incredible bullshit dumped all over me. Then he repeated it
again, and I said to him, ''I know that, Mister Marucci, but why the
heck would I want to be, I'm like 14''? He then gave me another long
long ass stare, and said to me, ''Let's get back into class now''.
Mister Macy, where the hell are you, YO, and do you have my savings
card ready to be mailed to me yet, ''or NAUT'', Miss AT&T
BLAKE????????????????????????
Now
about TYPE-3-EXPLORATRONS and the various factions of them, being
from the highest group downward, scientists, educators, recorders,
witnesses, and adjusters. I was told in a powerful place, the great
Astral-Plane Briggbase, out in eternity, that these are the 5 groups
of them from the MOST POWERFUL AND IN-CHARGE, down the fifth level in
what they call, 'THE SOCIETY' or what I label now as the ESS, as
below these five actual groupings of cooperating organized travelers
on a mission, there are many individualized travelers with T-3-E
abilities, and this lower level 6, is considered by the Lambrigg Cult
folks, the lowest level, and they even jokingly call them, the
LOW-SIXERS, reminding me for the most part, of the Pro Philly
Basketball Club, unfortunately, as I was very happy those few years
that they seemed to win a few dam ass games. But LEVEL-2, the ESS-2,
the EDUCATORS, what is this REALLY all about? Well, do you have a few
fucking years to read a billion words? Of course not, nor do I have
the energy right now at this moment to write them. I will tell you
that something is going ion with Mikey, I do not know what, just that
it has to do with his family, and he has driven down to Miami, and
will be back early Saturday afternoon, and will be calling me about a
Sunday get-together up on the island at his brother Joe's real estate
empire. Nothing like distant cuzz Donald and hjis real estate empire
however. Funny huh? One minute we all hear about his newest troubles,
then it is all suddenly just forgotten, like POOF, and now we all
hear all this horse shit about some new hotel he is building. What a
fucking dirty rotten cock sucker this arrogant old bastard is. Oh
well, better him than me. I would not be him for all the love in the
cat house, and that WOULD BE A DEVLISH FUCKING TEMPATION. I do admit
to my weakness of loving gorgeous fucking women, and my life has been
very starved for love and sex, so I feel I have every right to be who
I am, and not to be embarrassed about admitting to it. This mother
freaking HUNTINGTO CURSE is one huge pile of HELL for me to endlessly
emmereffing endure, YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!
Hit
the X immediately when up here, if that hack pop-up shows at the
bottom screen.
''The
problems are many, the solutions are few''.
I
saw this on a billboard, in a parallel universe where the year was
2029. Right now it feels as if it was written just for me, maybe it
was. Other things that I have seen up there, are and I know it, go
ahead, you will call me a paranoid tin foil hatter one way or the
other. That is your right, and my cross to bear. Remind you of
paragraph one?
The
air conditioning is still not operable nor being repaired here at 601
Avenue B, in Fort Pierce, Florida's Public Housing System, Governor
Rick Scott. If I die in here, these blogs will be up at Wordpress and
Blogger, dovetailing right into my recently posted dying official
utterance and declaration pages, that I swear on my honor and
citizenship under a voluntarily self taken oath, to be the full and
only accurate truth, so help me great GODDESS, SSJKK!
I
have made a deal with something that cannot be spoken about, in order
to keep the deal in the first place, but if you find some strange
things in the coming several blogs, even strange for Mountainpen's
Blogs, now you have been given a reason that may be what is behind it
while you are wondering. Before I move along, I learned why the view
count has gone back to a crawl, after I worked real hard for a couple
weeks to get it back up into a tad bit of more popularity. The
enemies don't want me being read of course, as I say things that they
do not want said, this is a no brainer and a DUH all rapped up
together. So here is what they did, FCC AND FBI. They have illegally
on both my sites that I post to, without my permission, put something
onto my blog that viewers, and I can see why, are quite leary about
and don't want to log on. I have lost readers because of this, ACLU,
and this is a blatant violation of my mother fucking civil rights and
liberties, UNDER THE FIRST AMENDMENT TO THE UNITED STATES
CONSTITUTION. First it wiggles violently all around telling you that
your computer is about to crash, and to log onto their security
system to repair the problem. It scared me the first time so much
that I did just that, and fortunately, whenever I am about to click
the yes on those two squares on making changes to computer prompts
with the yes and the no rectangles, I get a pop up on the lower right
that tells if it is a trustworthy site or not, from Norton Security.
It said NO DON'T DO IT, not trustworthy, and I instantly clicked off,
but it keeps coming on each time you log in, as well as all sorts of
unwanted advertisements at the bottom area of my blogs on both of my
sites. It all began a number of days ago, and matches the time where
my blog view count on Blogger after going back up, began going right
back down all over again. This is the newest WOMO MILITUFORCE attack
on me, my so-called laugh-laugh freedom of speech, and my blogs. I've
had many through the years, several hacks that totally end a blog
where I cannot log in; and then there was the Rockin' Robin 'Tweety
Blog' time in the middle late summer time in 2010, when all hell was
breaking loose for me here, as a new Floridian.
WHERE
IS THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION? DON'T YOU HAVE A SWORN DUTY
TO PROTECT ME FROM CRIMINALS, EVEN GOVERNMENT CRIMINALS IF THAT BE
THE FREAKING CASE, SIRS? Well, dumb question, and dumb part of my
blog, quite obviously. We all do what we are told here in America,
just as they did in Communist Red China, or the United Soviet
Socialist Republic, back in the Cold War days; OR ELSE. 'Comply or
die', I believe was the frikkin' slogan! Hay, if not, I'll just make
it up today, out of whole cloth, or any other kind of material, for
that matter. It is no different now, and really worse, as no one
officially announces that we all live under this umbrella of silently
reigning fear-mongers, and world controllers, and owners. We're
not taught this in school, and instead, are given a lie
that Americans are free. Free to COMPLY OR
DIE, that is. Not out in the open of course. But suddenly
those such as myself come to learn it is beyond a coincidence that
all we ever can get are minimum wage jobs, if that, endlessly; and
try living anywhere nice, or having anything at all that this world
offers those not on the World-Owners black-shit-list. Just go ahead,
all you three time losers out there who really have tried, and the
Judge Judy's of the world scoff and scream at you telling you how it
is all your fault, with the sympathy level of a group of rabbits with
toothaches. You and I are imagining nothing, to all you who feel as I
do out there. All this shit for years and years that never ever
stops, that is in no way, JUST HAPPENING in some random way. Same
thing for those who try and start up a business or apply for loans to
grow or expand their operation. On one side of the table are those
who seem to magically keep on succeeding in everything they do, while
on the other side, no matter what you do or how hard you may try, it
is just endless repeated failures. Paranoid am I? You bet your mother
fucking bippie I am, and with REAL GOOD REASON, folks! I've lived,
I've seen, I've learned! In addition, I refuse to deny an unpleasant
reality around me, just because believing in it makes me a textbook
defined lunatic paranoid as per the holy bible of mental illness, the
DMS-5. If the number is higher than 5, remember that ticker tape
confetti thing of the scientific community, as this most certainly
includes the world of psychology. I apologize to my viewers. I have
no control over that pop up we all get now when accessing my blogs,
but I can tell you all what to do if you have read this blog this
far, and for those who have and wish to tell others, I'd really
appreciate it, as once they shut me down, it's over, they will have
managed to shut me up, with or without using more profanity or being
Pulsar star August 19, 2006, DEAD ASS SERIOUS, to quote myself six
days later ladies and gentlemen. All you do is look for the nearly
invisible non colored 'X' at the right of this illegal insert onto my
blogs, and click there and wait a second or two or three, and OFF IT
WILL GO. I FULLY INTEND TO REPORT THIS TO
MANY AUTHORITIES. It already has cost me viewers and is
ruining a blog that I have toiled over and sweated diligently to
procure an average of somewhere between 20 and 40 somewhat regular
daily viewers. It was on the higher end right before this newest
ILLEGAL-HACK to shut me up and kill the Mountainpen, and now it is at
best, hovering at the lower end. I think that is now a bit of a
Twinbay-Optimistic-View of things, (TOV) for short, and I may use
that on future blogs, if there are too many mother fucking future
blogs unless the FEDS get off their ass and help me here, and you to,
PAM BONDI, FLORIDA ATTORNEY GENERAL. You know it is not right to
violate my First Amendment rights, you don't have to like or agree
with some or any of my words, but in all good conscience, you know
you must agree to let me speak them without being covertly stopped
with this latest hack, LOCAL FORT PIERCE POLICE DEPARTMENT, AND
FLORIDA STATE POLICE, and FEDERAL TRADE COMMISSION. I do fully plan
to go to my local congressman, before I let this end my blogging
career. I'll even hire an injury attorney, and go AFTER
MICROSOFT FOR 20 BILLION DOLLARS. This is necessary
fucking therapy for me, psychologically; and I
have a doctor who will say so, IN
FUCKING COURT; and you CAN believe THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now
here is what this blog for today will open just a door-crack about,
and then will be followed up on, hopefully, if and when things ever
get the smallest mother fucking bit better for me, as things since
the twenty-eighth day of last AUGUST, have totally 100%
fucking SUCKED!!
I
have mentioned on many previous blogs, testing luck, and why this is
a very important thing, at least for me, to do on a regular basis,
but recently I've put together some even greater data on this topic,
and regarding this life-technology, if such a term can be created and
fitted into this present time sociological order, without too much
laughter and mocking, and forcing tin foil hats onto my head along
with plastering my walls with photos of WFMU staff and other such
vulgar stomach turning paraphernalia. First, let me put on the record
that it is currently 87 degrees here in Fort misery Pierce, Florida,
going to a high of predicted-90 degrees, and I am in here with a
broken air conditioner, and the PHA is aware of this. If I suffer a
medical catastrophe as a result, I will not stop until I am in the
league financially, of distant cousin Donald. So trump that one,
anyone that may wish to try, feel quite free, relatively free, here
in great wonderful awesome America. Remember, I have never said they
don't tell you you're free. This is what adds that extra, spice to
the already existing dangers involved, with having this great evil
super-power for an enemy, right Scott Ransom, Arthur Bancroft, and
Radio Shack Repairman Technician 'Joe' as we will call him here. I
listed those three huge things all together on my prior blog, to show
that if you still don't believe that I am being persecuted and that
my entire life has been covertly ruined by this wicked evil empire,
then you need to be wearing the ugly hats, NOT
ME!
You missed me Jane
sleaze weeds disease of one-eleven PM on my computer clock. I have my
little screen blocker up over it now, TEE-HEE-HEE Lilly-Jane. Now
about the testing of one's luck. This will sort of be TRS, or Today's
Revenge Secret, against this monster evil empire, and their monster
evil stock market system, that all began spinning out of control,
while my daughter was still twelve years old and about to become a
teenager, and all this other stuff happened, on both Norris Avenue,
and Grant Avenue, that 'cannot be explained', not by the Pope, not by
Demi Moore, and not by seven mighty heavenly signs, or great movies
either, straight off of the Lambrigg Cult's doppelganger human world
clubs out in Hollywood.
I
have told in plain English, on many blogs over the past nearly eight
years now, how to test your luck, average it, plot and graph it onto
a chart on graph paper that you can buy at most any store that sells
various items, from a grocery store to a large retail outlet. But
what I never realized all throughout decades of both doing all of
this as well as playing hypothetical or 'paper' roulette, where no
real money is ever made or lost in other words; is that to accurately
test this elusive mysterious thing that many call 'LUCK', and many
hate the idea and claim it is not real and is an insult to their
'GOD', and to their religious beliefs; and that is all fine and well,
and bullshit; but in any case, shall we move this along, good folks.
The best way to measure this little thing in all of our lives,
'short-term-luck', I always used to wholeheartedly believe, was with
a random 50-50 draw of a deck of playing cards for red and black
cards, or for that matter, a toss of a balanced and totally fair
coin. As time went on, I was able to more accurately show a
reflection of these luck test scores, when averaged out of course
with a moving numerous grouping of other ones that always precede a
current test that is taken; with real life luck, so that if for
example, you are showing to be at your highest personal luck on a
particular day; say it is today to keep this lesson more enjoyable,
and less boring for those many math haters out there; then if you go
and play some casino game, you really should, if not too greedy, be
able to come away a winner, with at least a small chunk of change
rattling around in your pocket. Concentrically, playing at bad times,
no matter what you do in a casino, forget it, you're gonna' fucking
lose your shirt, shoes, and maybe walk out thinking you just played
legal strip-poker in there, when all is said and done; that is if we
can do a little Mike McNulty impression here, with his 1971 ever
present and ever famous, 'AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now let
me get to the good part of all this before I truly successfully bore
all of you to total death, good folks. You do not want to test your
luck in any random way, not if you want to use this as a life
matching indicator, so to help you do better in any and all
situations that might pertain to chance and 'gambling'. By the way,
you do not need to be legally in a casino, nor doing anything related
to playing games or even with money, to be 'gambling'. A man takes a
gamble every time he really likes a beautiful doll and screws up his
courage to ask her out. He also does the same thing with the boss,
for a raise, and on and on we can go. As stated, it may or it may not
involve money, and games, but it does always involve
chance-situations, hence, 'GAMBLING' is the word that fits, when I
say that if you are attempting to mirror-image some kind of a test,
to a real life connecting item. Now long ago, I used a hypothetical
rotten roulette system, and they all are rotten systems eventually,
but skipping that part of things; I said to myself, why not play the
actual system on paper, when it wins big that day, be within an hour
or less of a gaming table, and then go and play this system in
real-life with real-$$$$$$. In reverse, when it craps out at home,
you forget about playing that day. Well, that was all tried, and had
its hay day as well as eventual failures as well. But I did remember
and retain something about doing that, and it all came together a
couple weeks ago, and who knows, maybe is why this death siege of
8-28 all began? It may or it may not be, all a dam non Yogi Berra
coincidence. Who can ever know that? Still, let me push this along
and keep discussing how a new luck testing method, may indeed really
help a person to know when to, and when not to, do anything in real
life, on a certain day or hour; based on low scoring on a test; or in
the reverse; if the scoring is high, to indeed, TAKE THE GAMBLE, and
risk doing it. Here is where I personally am currently in with all of
this, with my Oprah-83-OWN, land or sea, yes or no, Mister Revere,
from quite a while back; and another media and history hyped lie, by
the way, as this never happened; and we will get back to that one, I
promise you. Yes we are still thinking about you, Mike McNulty. But
back now on a more serious note folks, here we go, © Office, as the
old eighties song intro goes.
Before
I tell this fairly wild story about the best way to test your luck,
folks, it has gone down to eighty-one and a half degrees according to
THE WEATHER BUG APP, on my computer, and also, WEEEEEEEEEEEE, the
Public Housing Authority has successfully repaired my air
conditioning unit, praise GODDESS, and the maintenance
crew!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! They arrived around a quarter past one, and left
at around three, it was quite a job, but they did a great one, good
old paranoid me, hay, if you lived my life for 60 years, and were not
like me, all I can say is that I would worry about you!!!!!
Now
this might sound silly, but this is what you do. You have a system
that you never will really play, but in the back of your mind, you
sort of plan to play and use it 'someday' and thus it is important to
you that it wins and does not lose, over time, pro-gamblers tend to
refer to this, the old ones anyway, as ''long-run-play''. Built into
that system there needs to be ONE THING THAT KILLS IT, so that when
you are truly unlucky, those particular endless streaks of draws or
wheel spins or whatever your method that you may personally wish to
accomplish this luck testing goal with, will come flying in, and kill
your system, and proves to you that only when you are in this
extremely unlucky-mode, does this happen and at times where your
luck is normal or better (normal plus) if you wish to say it like
this; those streaks never happen. Here is what I do, and it is a
system that I learned from a player in that magical year of 1984, if
my memories are at all accurate, after half a lifetime of exposure to
the Abduction Memory Loss THAT-FAMILY, forcing me not to trust in my
memories, some of which I totally know now, have been messed with.
Coming to mind here is Tennessee Avenue, on not one but on two
occasions, the area in New York once owned by distant relatives of
mine at least a large section of it, and houses off of the great
interstate AKA 95, where things happen that go far beyond what I'd
dare to even put onto my ''Unbloggable Page'' in my 3.1 Open Office
files. But back to the topic. This person was playing at the
Tropicana Hotel Casino in Midtown Atlantic City, New Jersey, and you
need not know the details, so you won't be made privy to them, for my
good, and your good, all train trips and Florida trips and
EXPLORATRONS of the TYPE-3 nature, notwithstanding. What destroys
this system is when number spin outcomes begin to continue to produce
doubletons of right and wrong guesses. You never play the same
outside bet twice, so one of 5 possible bets is made on each
spin/turn, based on the past outcome number that always when not a 0
or a 00, will make three outside bets win as well as lose. These bets
are RED, BLACK, EVEN, ODD, 1-18, AND 19-36. Those last two can be
said as LOW or HIGH. This is how it appears on the layout however, as
numbers. When an outcome shows that is not a green house number (0 or
00), you never repeat it, and can select any other of these five bets
on the outside-bets-layout. If the number was 28 BLACK-EVEN-HIGH, you
never bet the bet you just were on, so if you had bet black and won
here, you now randomly choose that one of the other two outcomes will
repeat, so you decide to bet on EVEN or on HIGH. If it loses by
coming out number 32 and you had chosen to bet on LOW, your next bet
reverses the operation, so you now randomly choose to bet that an
opposite outcome will result, and bet on either ODD or on BLACK. This
is because number 32 is a RED-EVEN-HIGH number, and you never repeat
by betting LOW AGAIN, so opposite of the other two possible bets on a
32 number of EVEN and HIGH, is ODD and LOW. You then choose the bet
of LOW, and now it wins. So you go with another opposite. It came out
number 1, RED-ODD-LOW. You never repeat and you had just bet on the
LOW, so now we can select either the opposite of RED or the opposite
of ODD, this being either BLACK or EVEN, so we select EVEN. It comes
out 35, BLACK-ODD-HIGH. We never repeat, and cannot bet the ODD/EVEN
parameter, so we now reverse again as it just followed, so now we
follow, and we can randomly choose to select the BLACK or the HIGH
parameter, and so on and so forth. When your personal luck really
sucks, this is when switching from following with this method, to
choosing an opposite, with this method; DIES. Any system you create
that is like this, DIES when your personal luck is major low and bad.
If you tell people that four players with totally different systems,
at a roulette table, literally based on their own personal magnetics
as I have come to label this for 30 years almost; effects the actual
numbers that pop up at the roulette table where they all are playing
and interacting together as a group of players with various systems,
a dealer, and a roulette wheel and ball; you will tell me I am crazy,
and I know that. BUT, Library hack exploratron TAWF, I also know, it
is the truth. You can call me an over grown squirrel, but it won't
frikkin' make me one. Now by charting the units that you win or lose
by doing this, and then get an average, it is quite accurate, and
yet, there is a way to still improve this accuracy rating over a long
run play. You need to have in force, a standard method of playing, as
far as a bankroll. This is in units and no money conversions are
applicable here, as these bets are a luck test, and so these roulette
games are all paper or hypothetical games. Still, we enter the game
and merely play it until we are stopped-out, to use a stock market
term. To be stopped out, you bet one unit every time you begin, and
every time you win a bet. But when you lose a bet, your next bet is 2
units. If you lose a 2 unit bet, your next bet is 4 units. If you
lose a 4 unit bet, your final bet is 8 units. If you lose four bets
in a row, caused by this one particular streak that strikes when luck
is very very very Ingrid-1984 bad, speaking of 1984 systems in
roulette, lovely Ingrid; you are STOPPED-OUT of the game. Take your
winning units total, and subtract your minus 15 unit STOP-OUT, as
1+2+4+8=15, and this is your units of P&L, converted to merely a
LUCK TEST SCORE. If you play this every day, and especially 3 times
daily at various times, if you happen to be a serious gambler, and
need to know your PERSONAL-LUCK-FACTOR at all times; then you now
take your daily total, and every 5 days and every 10 days, average it
out by adding the 5-day-total or the 10-day-total, and then do a
third averaging that will slide and move every day beginning on day
number 11. You simply average the current day, the 5 day, and the 10
day total, always rounding off to the nearest whole number on all
totals, 0-4 rounds down, and 5-9 rounds up; a basic third grade
arithmetic, or it should be. Let us not get into the south lagging
behind the north with full school desegregation, GET THAT, from 2
years before INGRID and her great roulette system, wow is this fun,
Kimmy Wild, Stacey Lattisaw, and Cindy Lauper. Looking gorgeous as
ever Cindy, saw you here in Florida not long ago. I was in astral
form, you didn't see me, AHA MMCN sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Poor Cindy, she
didn't make the Spell-Checker Microsoft list along with two great
Mary Louise and Emmy Louise Madonna's. Jeese Louise Surfer Fonty, no
wave!
BANG
BANG HOLLER HOLLER, my uncouth scum bag nabes are at it again,
beginning around half past 3 and now it is nearly four; OBVIOUSLY
BEING INFLUENCED TO TO THIS, FOR THE SAKE OF THAT FUCKING ROTTEN
MONSTER ASS DOW JONES INPUSSTRIAL AVERAGE WICKEDNESS!!!!!!!!!
WATCH
IT GO UP 1000 POINTS BY END OF SEPTEMBER, AND 5000 POINTS BY END OF
THIS YEAR. MARK THESE WORDS DOWN, GOOD FOLKS, YO YO YO YO YO
YO!!!!!!!!!!
I
AM GOING TO TELL 3 HUGE THINGS THAT HAVE ALL BEEN TOLD BEFORE
OVER NEARLY EIGHT YEARS, ONE AT A TIME, BUT GET THIS PEOPLE,
PLEASE; N—E—V—E—R WAS THIS TOLD ALL TOGETHER. THIS WILL
BOOST MY CLAIMS THAT I WILL SWEAR AND DO SWEAR NOW ON A
MEANINGLESS BLOG AS
FAR AS LEGAL AUTHORITY IS
CONCERNED;
UNDER FULL OATH, WITH FULL PENALTY ATTACHED, SHOULD I BE
COMMITTING LIBEL, SLANDER, AND MOST ESPECIALLY, PERJURY; KIND
FRIENDS; AND speaking
German on this continent in 2013, HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF
IT, OR MY FRIENDS OUT THERE, AND MY FIENDS ALSO,
D---O---E---S-----------I---T???
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Before
I begin to get into anything, the peeps never came to repair the
unit, hopefully tomorrow; but my problem with the Dow Jones may
result in my perishing in here, and if it does; naturally, WALL
STREET IS totally responsible for my torture and demise, just as I
have mother fucking claimed all along.
Folks,
I sincerely do not apologize for
all my fowl mouth ranting, and some really nasty and disgusting
things that I have recently said. The WOMO-MILITUFORCE DESERVES THIS
AS WELL AS THIS TIMES TEN TO THE POWER OF A THOUSAND FUCKING MORE, YO
YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HERE IS AN
INCREDIBLY
beautiful
shot of LUNA, also known as the moon, and 'Goddess Diana', by the
Romans, AND ALSO KNOWN AS MY 'BB'!!
Florida
Attorney
General
Pam
Bondi
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I
know you are doing your best to watch over me, AG Mizz Bondi, thank
you. Feel free to contact the Wirtz detectives in Camden County in
New Jersey, Ron Senior knows my problem is all real, but his hands
are tied, I am quite sure that you know what I mean.
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Weather
Map is courtesy of CHANNEL 12,
local South Florida TV.
Note: The
image above may not reflect the current alert state for your county
due to a several minute delay between the issuance of the alert and
the map processing.
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Colors Key
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Storm Watch
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HELP ME PEE. YOU HAVE BEEN OUT OF HERE SINCE MARCH 29, AND IT NOW IS SEPTEMBER 13, LOVELY GIRL!
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First
off, I will be telling some stuff that is pretty out-there, even for
the 'Mountainpen'. If this is not a time where you're in the mood for
this; even though it will be a clean blog, with no dirty cussing, or
fowl suggestive filth of any kind; it may indeed be the time to click
that ''NEXT-BLOG'' button at the top of my blog, and come back here
when you have a stronger constitution and stomach. YES PEEPS, HERE WE
GO AGAIN, ALL OLD KIDS, AND ALL NEW KIDS, IN ANY TOWN IN CLUELESS KIM
WILD AMERICA OF THE EARLY EIGHTIES, OR RIGHT NOW, OR EVER!!!!!!
MORIANITY,
PART
FIVE,
AND
PLEASE BELIEVERS
AND L-4
FOLKS,
TRY
AND
HAVE
YOURSELVES
A
VERY
VERY
NICE
DAY,
AS YOU
CONTINUE
TO READ
CHAPTER
NUMBER
00201,
OF THE BLOGS OF THE MOUNTAINPEN, AHA-AHA MIKE MCNULTY!
****ON
BLOGGER SINCE JANUARY 2006
****************
PROFILE VIEWS---2840
My blogs, just click YO:
About me, who the hell frikkin' else would it be?
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Location
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Hammonton,
New Jersey, United States
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Introduction
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Not
boring, without hesitation nor concern for fibbing, I can honestly
say with a knowing that out of 8 billion that live or have lived
here, none have shared my wild ride through hyperspace, with
awareness.
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Interests
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Favorite
Movies
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Favorite
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Books
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You
forgot your mom's birthday! What can you make out of super glue and
olive pits?
An
angry mother. Also,
a little philosophy for you is as follows:
At
the risk of sounding negative, the only thing one may be truly sure
of, is that you cannot be sure of anything.
SHARKEY
SAYS,
THAT
HE WILL ALWAYS BE,
THE
GREATEST FISH IN THE WHOLE DAM BAY, WHO ELSE?
TIME
TRAVELER WRESTLER JESSE KNOWS THIS!
HE
KNEW IT IN 1965 AND IN 1986, HUH SAL?
GOOD
OLD BUDDY, SALVADORE VENTURA, TAP TAP TAP TAP!!
SIDNEY
AND ALL COHENS, THANK YOU, AND I THANK YOU, TRAVELER!!!!
Now
I see why I was awakened with major stomach cramping from the WOMO,
between 10 and 11 this morning. Forget about the fucking stomach
pains, THIS IS
HOW THEY GET THEIR DISEASED MOTHER FUCKING MARKETS
TO ENDLESSLY AND VERY CROOKEDLY AT MY ETERNAL MOTHER FUCKING EXPENSE;
TO GO ENDLESSLY AND UNRELENTINGLY UP AND UP AND UP AND UP AND
UP!!!!!!! By wrecking my air conditioner, and keeping me
BOTBAR-BOTBAR-BOTBAR,
starting cunt eating fucking cock chewing 28 AUGUST, 2013, ON THIS
NEW HELL NIGHTMARE FUCKING DEATH SIEGE ASSAULT, THE
WOMO MILI-2-FORCE CAN BREAK THE 500 BARRIER;
AND NOW YOU WILL SEE IT GOING
STRAIGHT MOTHER FUCKING UP AGAIN, TO 20,000
POINTS, BEFORE IT EVEN THINKS ABOUT CUNT EATING SLOWING DOWN, SO JUST
MARK
IT DOWN,
NOT 'MARKET DOWN'. YES, MARK MY PUSSY CHEWING FUCKING WORDS, GREAT
FOLKS OUT HERE, YO YO!!!!!! YOU'LL FRIKKIN' SEE!
OK,
so it is down to cases, and the three things, all TOLD TOGETHER.
FINE, THE WOMO WANTS TOTAL FUCKING WAR WITH ME WITH THIS AUGUST 28
FUCKING ATTACK THAT IS OFF ALL FUCKING DIALS AND SCALES, THEN, AS I
SAID TO THE U.S. © OFFICE IN AN OLD SONG, ''HERE WE GO''!!!!
Now
that I have totally caught my breath from being the biggest windbag
of the blog-world, and watching so much stair-chase activity in
Suffolk County, New York in the early seventies, through some wild
type of unknown psychic activities that resonate throughout this
mighty TAWF family; WHSEEEEEEUU, let us tell these three things, and
be done with it, bing, bong, bang, boom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
First
off, I'll list them, because there is no way a rational mind can tell
me, they all can happen to me, and I don't have real honest enemies
doing me in all these years, something that is always argued most
when I try screaming out for fucking cunt eating help to anybody,
tell us why you, and why so fucking long, Mountainpen, as it makes no
sense, and then there's Judge Judy. Fine, but the world is filled
with authority peeps like this, and she is not the exception but
rather, fits right into the crowd of those who govern over all of us.
My story makes no sense and I'm the first one to fucking admit to
this, but therefore to quote her, IT IS NOT TRUE? Well, sorry girl,
IT IS FRIKKIN' TRUE, and I've got nothing to gain here, and I am not
mentally ill. We all have some problems in this fucked up world, and
mine are horrendous with all this shitsapookna going on around me for
all of my life, but I know I AM NOT NUTS, AND FUCK ALL OF YOU WHO
CALL ME ONE, AND I TOO AM STATING MY
PERMITTED OPINION HERE.
Now it's my turn, everybody, so AHA AHA AHA AHA AHA MMCN
SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Welcome
now to MY
playpen,
Mariah, Judy, and other Morians, Lessians, and Inbetweenians, YO YO
YO YO YO YO, BOO, Warren, and Benny, and Roy's ex-girl on Fast
Island!!!!!!!!!!! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABIT DISNEY!
Here
it is quick, and then following it will be a relatively quick
refresher on these three major violations of my MOTHER FUCKING CIVIL
LIBERTIES.
I
came home from a 29 hour straight shift at my security job before the
government made it illegal to work that kind of a straight shift, and
we all know they are not going to stop until they run every fucking
aspect of our lives from how and when we fuck our spouses to what
shoes to wear and how many times to brush your fucking hair
follicles. I was living in Mullica, just east of Hammonton, in New
Jersey, on the WHITE HORSE PIKE or 'Route-30', at Jenny Plageman's
Mullica Mobile Manor, garbage fucking trailer park. I came home to
agents who had broken into my place and broke almost every piece of
electronic equipment that was in there. The repair shop operated by
Tandy Corporation, in Berlin, New Jersey, told me and I quote, the
units were indeed traumatized. This was a direct quote from the head
technician there earlier in this century, while I still was employed
by 'Assets Protection' of 'Pendell, Pennsylvania'. I was told in the
late eighties, by a licensed New Jersey realtor, that, and I quote
him; ''Very powerful people are disgruntled with you Mark, and are
preventing you from being able to sell your HUD home in Camden New
Jersey''. I illegally recorded it on tape, and back then; my car, my
house, my phones; were all bugged up by me. It runs in this family,
huh McGuire/Kennedy/1600 PA-AVE?????? And they all blamed innocent
poor R.M. Nixon, my big hero. Sure he was a crook, who the fuck in
WASH-DOC 13-600 AIN'T FOR GOD SAKES HENRY
SCHOOLSHOOTS?????????????????? Just YYYYYYYYYYYYYYY do you think they
make the legal age of sexual consent so low, 13, in Washington, you
dumb mother fuckers who are so convinced old Mountainpuke is a nut
case shit fucking head???????????????????????? Then around the time
that my daughter was in the twelfth grade, I was living in Woodlynn,
New Jersey, and was busy with my own connections with the great AT&T
true Whitney nightmare voice Corporation. I had a man named Arthur
Bancroft, who was quite high up in the firm; tell me that I am indeed
being messed with by the government; and that there is absolutely
nothing that I can ever do to get it stopped. He was the Chief
Lineman who was over at my rented home, at 1700 Woodlyn Avenue. You
know what peeps? If I don't sign off, between writing all of this
fucking glass fully empty TWINBAY nightmare horror show shitsapookna,
and the heat in this room; so that their DJIA could CROSS OVER back
above the fucking fifteen and a half mark, as every 500 basis points
is a crucial fucking level in the DJIA, if not for any other reason,
but for investor psychology and big-business confidence boosting, but
if I don't sign off now; I may just get a bunch of chemicals
together, and light up half of fucking FLORIDA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
HAVE FUCKING ASS HAD IT, YO YO YO YO!!!!!!
THE
FOLLOWING BLOG REPRINT ON MY WAY TO JESSICA GRANT'S MIGHTY 2012 AX!!!
SAFE
JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0352
DATFILE:
030412.927.55555555
WORST
FUCKING WEEKEND SIEGE IN YEARS.
TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO-1995
BLOG
SUBTITLE NUMBER FOUR:
“TIME
FOR SOME FUCKING TATTLE TAILING”
COPYRIGHT
© 2006-2012 MWM/MWM/MF-2/MOUNTAINPEN
STARTING
'WHATEVER', CONG. RA:
At
the risk of rivers running away with my mind, becoming lost in the
fourth dimension, or thinking that I know what life is all about
when in fact I do not know my diddly squat dirty ass from a freaking
hole in the ground; let me just tell a few things before I am soon
murdered, as the handwriting is quite blatantly on the mother
freaking wall folks. No mother freaking human being can take this
much unrelenting bull manure, because it would cause anybody's death,
and this is the motive and the goal of the filthy sick demonic WOMO
ENEMY. This is obvious to a brain broken monkey at C-Squared.
Ann
King never sent anything to me, and is playing a huge game. I cannot
get anyone to send me my music, I have tried. The few things that I
ever ask anyone for help with, including my own bastard mother, they
never try to go out of their way a single freaking ounce to help me.
All they do is play games with me, and lie to me, and treat me like
I am a piece of filthy diseased garbage. They all think I am deranged
and sick. Well, if I am sick, why don't you want to ever help me? See
the huge flaw in all of your theories,
MOM??????????????????????????????
The
minute I posted up the prior blog, the sky became a thick
checkerboard of the worst CHEMTRAIL SIEGE that I ever saw in my
entire life, be it in the skies of New Jersey, Pennsylvania, or
Florida. My heart and bowels were effected, and I got quite ill. I
will be dead and gone shortly, and be rid of these dick heads, but
let me tell you that Timeless Satellite has indeed heard the one who
built it, maybe the me in this exact signature of atomic reality did
not, but some other more successful version of me in hyperspace did,
and they came back here in transdimensional technology, and did all
the things, including put this entire solar system here. You know,
fuck you if you don't believe me, that is your privilege, your right;
and whether you realize this or not; your problem, and your eventual
funeral.
The
nature forces that exist as they do, is an illusion. On this physical
plane of existence, energy moves things around. On top of that, the
mind or the 6th dimension is fixed to operate, and to
'play the cosmic game' in certain pre-determined ways. The
PAWM-PIE-ETTOS is merely one small part inside a huge larger picture
that exists in the realm of the subatomic; many more religious folks
say, the 'spirit world'. On this realm, what we as is-ness of being,
become one and the same thing instantly, with our 6th
dimensional connectiveness, or our thoughts and feelings and
emotions; which are much more amplified on this Astral Plane in the
subatomic realm.
I
do not live all around 'PEOPLE' who hate me and want to do me in, but
the illusion that this is so, is powerful, just as looking out to sea
and it is totally visually obvious that if you go out too far, you'll
fall off of the edge of the Earth. Illusion is KING, not you Dawn and
family. You go anyway, oh great cleaning fluid, with any voice, or in
any Chevy Truck. In the nineteen seventies, the Briggbase and the
Lambrigg Cult of the Astral Plane, made contact with me indirectly
and made me believe a powerful illusion that they thrust right into
my face, the illusion that I am behind electronic-metaphysics, and
can control it in my human form from the waking Earth world. This is
a lie, it is all a fucking cunt total deception, and one of Satan's
hugest Uncle lies yet; right up there with telling Jehovah in Her
then human identity of my 61st grandfather's uncle, the
son of a carpenter, loved or not, Mister Joseph Carpenter of
Nazareth, that he would give the entire world to him, in return for
submission to him. In olden days, careers of a family, generated most
last names, and then sons many times quite literally took the name to
a step farther from say, Baker, to Baker's son, or Bakerson. The name
Jesus however was planned in my family line for more than 3,000 years
now. Still, it really was not, it will be planned and all sent into
reverse from an advanced spin off of the World Laboratories of 2290,
in New Jersey, just as Mister Roddenberry all ready seemed to know
about, after my chance encounter with my daughter; a quarter century
ago now. All of this can be further harped on at later times as well
as on later blogs, folks, YO.
Now
it is time to tell a powerful thing, and it will be believed by a
small group of my readers, because deep down in their groaning
freaking spirit, they'll hear a voice telling them in a sort of inner
wisdom, that there is really no denying my words of wisdom, so let it
be. CHEMTRAILS are the UFO phenomenon, as this is all one and the
same thing. First of all, anything not known or recognized or
identifiable by a ground onlooker, is indeed as the very word
implies, UNIDENTIFIED. Also, none of the posters of videos or owners
of websites pertaining to CHEMTRAILS seem to know that they were
around and bad, around my area, from December of 1987, right on into
the middle nineties when they all claim to know it began, and this is
just not the case. Even saying that it began in late 1987 is not
accurate. I saw a giant CHEMTRAIL over the Westmont and Haddonfield,
New Jersey area, in December, somewhere in the middle of the month or
earlier, in the year of 1969. It was a three way perfect asterisk
CHEMTRAIL, where three jets criss-crossed together at perfect 120
degree angles, creating this awesome gorgeous thing that had the
entire Camden County staring and looking up, and my lovely friend
Donna would put it so eloquently in following years on her great
music. Now this thing was not just there people. It followed a major
powerful DREAM given to me by the ALL MIGHTY GOD OF YOUR WORLD, Who
goes by SARAH-STACEY JEHOVAH KRASSLE; and why anyone calls this
wonderful energy being by the stupid name of 'god', when there are
billions of other gods, but all put together; none or all, would be
any comparison, to this lovely being that is not describable. Still,
SHE came to me in a dream, and took a motorcycle chain away from me;
and said that SHE needed it for HER great city. I am quoting HER from
this unspeakable dream that nearly drove me as insane as the next one
that came more than a decade later, in the first week of the month of
June, in 1980; and about 125 and a half months in the future. The
World Laboratories in the future exist in the same space where back
in the nineteen sixties, the Haddon Hills Apartment Complex existed
and still does today in 2012, in Westmont, New Jersey, USAESMWG. I
lived at Apartment number 125, in the 'A' apartment. Each number
block had A,B,C, and D, a total of four apartments in them. This
coincidence and clue tells me it is not a random happenstance, it is
just another too perfect thing here, like Welch Grape Juice and PCN's
of the great kitty cat GAGA. I do not know all things about Gawky
Gaukauk, but I do know he respects anything that is able to fly, and
told me as much; and whether he was 'born that way' or not, remember;
my blogs about Gawky were up on the internet in 2006 and 2007, quite
some time before the great 'lady' came along. Cool puzzle anyway,
Mister Welch, & you make the best juice in the world in my
opinion. My daughter of course enjoys the Cranberry Juice. Moving
this on and back on point with CHEMTRAILS appearing in the skies of
this planet before the nineties and the YOU-TUBE came to be, this
1969 one was a doozie. It was a beauty queen of a CHEMTRAIL, and I
only wish I had my 16 millimeter movie camera on that day, but my
pal, the perfect Bruce Allen Pennock of 2 Beaver Drive, in
Barrington, New Jersey, in the early nineteen-seventies; had not
bought his yet, nor let me borrow it yet. I call this the great
ASTERISK CHEMTRAIL OF 1969. This chemtrail followed me from a
powerful dream, just as all of life seemed to also follow me from a
powerful dream on the night of August the 15th in 1986, 17
and a half years later. 17 is one of Sarah-Stacey's very favorite
numbers, along with 7, 12, 23, 40, 70, 1000, and finally 144,000.
These all have unknown powerful meanings for this wonderful awesome
being that Christians call Jehovah. To my knowledge, before I came
along, the last person visited personally by SSJK, was Joseph Smith.
This is a huge story in itself and no time exists right now tonight
to even begin doing any real justice to it, so we'll save the topic
for a future blog text.
Now
before the start of CHEMTRAILS in late 1987 and before the one
isolated asterisk one known about by me in late 1969, a long period
went by where there was no activity from this UFO phenomenon.
However, late in the 19th century in-between the Civil War
and close to the beginning of the 20th century, there were
a few photographs taken, and yes, up in the sky, were CHEMTRAILS.
Now, this will not be talked about further for a little while. I will
say that when I need to use these horrible things to transport myself
through time, I do. However, doing this is hazardous to the health.
Certain folks such as myself need to begin right about now to think
of ourselves as retired astronauts from the NASA Program. After a
certain maximum limit of time in space due to radiation's harmful
effect on biological cellular structure without the inclusion and
connection into cyborg technologies a thousand years from now in most
parallel worlds, as Streisand and Summer would put it in their early
1980 song so well and accurately, “Enough is enough is enough”, I
agree with you, ladies. You have timed out as well, Ding-man, so
rather than leave my grand-kids fatherless, please stop messing
around with this chem-box. Many wonder what a chem-box is. Well, I do
not have the time to get into this right now, but will later on. Some
out here all ready know why my life was threatened that hot early
August day in 1996 in Egg Harbor, New Jersey, and Turnersville, New
Jersey. Some may know a little bit about Sherri-Lee Pote and the
Saturn Automobile and why she was so diligent and persistent in
selling me a car that day, so she could get the magic box hidden in
the Saturn car.
I
hope you are not angry at me for anything P. I know you were really
sick as a dog the last time we spoke on the telee. I will be working
all day over the next three days at my hell hole job, and have a lot
of local errands to run as well, so I hope towards the end of the
week to hear from you.
In
closing this out tonight peeps, let me say that all things are on the
blogs. The early blogs are on the www.blogger.com/
website. The URL connections after typing this in, are either
“theansweristheqyuestion, or drunkenrussell, I believe. I am no
computer geek, so all I know is that if you Google up BLOGS OF
MOUNTAINPEN or KING NEBNOOSHOO, shit will pop up from the old blogs,
and from there you can access shit all the freaking way back into
2006, with the OLD TESTAMENT of the original MORIANITY BIBLE. These
words at the start of all the blogging, match word for word, what is
on the 1995 tapes that later on, one was sent to the United States
Copyright Office around early into 1997 somewhere from my home on
Harvard Avenue, in Somerdale, NJUSAESMWG, where Paula King used her
mighty Exploratronic powers of somnambulism, to enter my mother's
dream, using waking human mortal language, and after that, my mom
never was the same from the moment she woke up until the day that she
died in early March of 2000 after 26 months of tortured suffering,
from something no health care professional anywhere could ever get to
the root cause of, but we know what happened, right
PEEKAY?????????????????????? Where is my commercial, I love seeing
you, my love? 1969 and 1996, wow, Mayan Pee and Harry Callas inverted
Phillies Champions digits, can the clues jump out any better than
these synchronizations, Mister James Redfield, YO??????????????????
I
KNOW WHAT I KNOW, SSJKK, DO NOT BE MAD AT ME, AS I WOULD NEVER DARE
CLAIM TO RULE YOUR EMPIRE, NOR THAT I KNOW THAT I KNOW. The clues are
all there, and I can follow them, my brown eyed Goddess Scylla. I am
so sorry for being a shellfish so often, disappointing you and not
obeying you. I know this is why you had your distant cousins kidnap
me in 2008, and I know what you wanted me to do, and I disobeyed; and
wow; it became Jonah City 4 me, like dog, when am I ever gonna' learn
that you are the boss? I'll always love you in my own special way
here on this Earth, Scylla; and you know that. 880-880-880.
ENDING
'WHATEVER' CONG. RA:
GEE
WILIGARS GOLLY GASH DARN AND GOOOOLLLLEEEEY SARGENT CARTER SIR, USMC,
LIKE DUH, A DOWN DAY ON THE DOW? SHOULD I PINCH MYSELF TO SEE IF I AM
DREAMING? FOLKS NEVER TRY THAT, HYPERSPACE IS A MAJOR ARENA THAT'S
FILLED WITH VERY ADEPT AND EXPERIENCED TRAVELERS, THAT PINCHING
YOURSELF THING, AND LOOING AT YOUR HANDS, GIVE IT A REST FOLKS, AND
JUST KEEP STUDYING MY MORIANITY. I WILL KEEP DOING MY BEST TO EDUCATE
AN D ENTERTAIN YOU, ALL AT THE VERY SAME TIME, I PROMISE YOU MO &
WOMO.
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