Man,
could I use some help, old friend, Bob McDowell; Chairman
of the Federal Communications Commission. Someone is
trying to hack into my machine and fuck it all the hell up right shy
of fucking seven this evening, Sunday the sixteenth of February,
2014, sir, and old school chum back in Dan Mackey's class, in Cooley
wormhole Christmas Tree Angel Singing Hall of powerful supernatural
mysteries!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Would a fucking god dam WOW go good here,
sir, R.H. MACY, at any front window on any Christmas
eve?????????????????????????????????
THIS
IS JOURNAL CASSETTE TAPE NUMBER 25,709,
IN EQUIVALENT.
Well,
it only goes a small piece of time, at best, and the enemies always
love to endlessly mother fucking attack me and never allow me to live
even close to a cunt lapping normal life, and then peeps wonder why
my blogs are so god dam fucking different that other blogs out there
in the fucking cunt eating blogosphere, YO!!!!!!! Jesus fucking
Christ Almighty Goddess.
Boy
am I sick of this mother fucking pig shit, at the speed of goddess
light squared, folks!!!!!!!!!!
People,
I am only human. Ask a dude who grew the fuck up in
a home at 2 Beaver Drive in Barrington, New Jersey, by the name of
Bruce Allen Pennock, without the stupid rip off echo delay group
name. Give me a fucking break Jeff Kit-kat Piker of 1972 in the dam
ass autumn, YO! Crissake this is on my nerves, American Networks,
with your coming to Cooley Hall right after I left Mackey and
McDowell in the start of the month of February of 1973, to nose
around about me, thinking Laurel or Donna or one of my classmates
from Mildred Young's class would rat out any of my
''big-ass-secrets'', YO!!!!!!!! I fucking hate all of you bastard
entertainment world people, with a fucking ass rotten Italian passion
times ten to the power exponent of three nonillion and a fucking
half!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Do
these King's and Callio's and McGuire's and Hickey's and Levy's have
nothing better at all to do with their miserable fucking lives than
to just sit around, 24-7-365.244,
thinking of ways to pick the fuck on poor little fucking MARK WAYNE
MOHR, Goddess Shit, I'm sick of this crap at
C-SQ!!!!!!!!!!!!! Dam ass bull-shit.
FEBRUARY
16, 2014,
SATURDAY
EVENING AT AROUND 7,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE, 59 DEGREES FNHT.
BITE
ME, YOU WOMOTAMM---MILITUFORCE
HALLS, OF COOLEY AND NON-COOLEY
HALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
just left a parallel universe, just as I did before, back in middle
freaking August of 1986. This is really getting on my bloody nerves
and shoes, ADA Investigator Ronald Carlisle Wirtz Senior!
So
indeed, we all have those varying crosses, not over, but ON OUR
BACKS, and they tend to get heavy, as even the stories tell how Jesus
fell down twice and needed to be aided by some big strong dude who
helped him to carry his burdensome cross all the way up to the top of
Calvary's great hill, where the Roman Empire executed its criminals,
with this horrendous, agonizing, torturous, monstrous method;
called, crucifixion. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!
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Live Camera from Jupiter Inlet
Lighthouse, Jupiter, FL
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MORIANITY
may have
moved from Hammonton, New Jersey, down to freaking Fort Pierce,
Florida; but other than this, nothing ever changes, my friend Mister
McThaxton. Hope all is well with you, and your pal, the gadfly from
oh-six, WEEEEEE!
This
entire world can go places where the sun does not shine. I never pick
on anyone or hurt anybody, and all some cunt lapping mother fucking
invisible enemy has wanted to do to me since the day I was born and
it tripled after I fucking left school, is swallow me up alive and
scream the word JONAH into my fucking ear drums at a million
decibels, Uncle Heinz Gozzwald Copyrights!!!!!!!!!!
I
DON'T BUY THE COINCIDENCE FOR ONE FREAKING MINUTE, NEW YORK OR LONGER
ONES ELSEWHERE; THAT AS SOON AS I LEFT THE WORMHOLE INFESTED COOLEY
HALL OF HADDONFIELD, NEW JERSEY; THE NETWORK TELEVISIOB CREW ALL CAME
FLOODING RIGHT IN TO TALK TO ALL OF MY EX-CLASSMATES, MISTER MACKEY,
SIR. IF YOU ARE OUT HERE, WOW WOULD I LOVE YOU TO COMMENT, OR BETTWER
STILL, TO CALL ME COLLECT IF YOU HAVE TO, AS JUST BECAUSE I WOULD NOT
HELP MY DAUGHTER'S PAL 'BOO' GET OUT OF THE LOCAL JAIL, IN THE LATE
SUMMER TIME OF TWENTY TEN; YOU ON THE OTHER HAND, ARE A WHOLE OTHER
MATTER, EX-TEACHER, AND FRIEND. I REMEMBER ALL THE FUN WE HAD GOING
TO THE MCDONALDS ON ROUTE 70 IN DECEMBER AND JANUARY, WITH YOUR PAL
MISTER COSDEN. WOW, TALK ABOUT THE GOOD OLD DAYS WITH ROLLER SKATER
KEYS MELANIE SAFKA AND ALL THE OTHER GREAT TALKS WE SHARED. YOU KNOW
THIS IS ALL REAL, RIGHT DOWN TO THE STUDENT TEACHER IN YOUR CLASS,
COME ON GENERAL BERRA, I WAS BORM NOT EVEN AT NIGHT, LET ALONE NOT
LAST FRIKKIN' NIGHT, JEESE FONTY LOUISE, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As
I finished the last paragraph, Mikey called me from down in Miami.
It seems my hyperspace magic parlor tricks are
being met with other exploratron travelers and their auto-reverse
parlor tricks, as he is on his way to the homeless
shelter down there, awaiting an
appointment with the VA as he is a veteran, but this cannot be
scheduled until around the eleventh, nearly a month away. He will now
be in the shoes of your lady friend, who you shared some of those
many letters of correspondence with, ADA Ron Wirtz, how I remember
late 1994 and into 1995 when things for me went straight into a fiery
fucking hell at the speed of light squared. Yes, he will call me
again on his cellphone on Tuesday, with personal updates. He only
knows that I am playing a magical game called HSE, and he has no
concept of what this all is, or anything about quantum dynamics and
the strange weird subatomic reality of entanglement and forces that
literally are responsible for keeping the entire seven dimensional
structure the way it is, and permits Lawtron-Escape from the
Void-Infinity. He just knows that a magical game is ongoing, and that
these gods love to play games, and he know only this much. They have
no feelings at all about any of us, they only feel the cool shit from
being a viewer and an audience , that is watching as well as
participating in the coolest cosmic Shakespearean show imaginable,
and they need to do this to distract them from a hell that none of
you reading this understand one bit, and that is fully realizing your
endlessness. If I could make anyone out here reading this, feel
REALLY DEEP TIME or the effects of this, for even one minute, you
would be a babbling imbecile in a psych ward for the rest of your
life. So don't try to relate to me, but know that Yogi Berra and I
know the truth about things being too coincidental to be a random
bunch of nothingness, and James Redfield and Abbey Carmichael know
exactly what is going on with all of this horror. Notice
it was Mikey's home on the island,
that I left, when the MILITUFORCE took
out my AUTO REVERSE SASSETTE DECK SYSTEM in my car,
while I was playing the song on it, ''YOU;LL
BE
CROSSING
OVER''.
I NOW NEED TO PLAY TAPES ON THE
AUTO REVERSE SIDE ONLY.
But all of this shit, is of course totally and absolutely
meaningless; unless
you know the 2009 story of me at my work site at the Cifaloglio place
in Folsom, New Jersey; and my
playing the song, also on this same car stereo system that is in
there today down here in Florida,
called, ''Real
Good Girl'';
and only when a particular cassette accidentally
got played on a side I never listened to, THE AUTO REVERSE SIDE;
did I notice the word
of ''MY''
announced by me, right before the music began to play on the song,
''REAL GOOD GFIRL'', COPYRIGHTED IN 1986, AND I WILL SHOW YOU RIGHT
NOW on the © Office legal form from the internet download, good
folks!
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