TAPE 25,733

MARCH 7, 2014,

FRIDAY NIGHT AT 11:08,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,

CURRENT TEMPERATURE, 54 DEGREES FNHT.

FOR THE RECORD, DEAR DIARY JOURNAL, YO;

THIS WAS ONE OF MY WEIRD DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

JOURNAL TAPE 25,733.

When Mountainpen has a WEIRD DAY, this means, weird for me, weird for the incredible wild life of Michael Mountainpen, AKA MARK WAYNE MOHR.

Shit fucking began with me awakening in the late morning to lots of FOOD-DAY-DOOR-BANGING that was also going on last night from about 1:30 through nearly fucking five in the dam ass morning, Captain Spock Whale Hotels. You know you owe me a thank you note, you fucking worthless prick, CAP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The second I was up and going, the word weird was attached to fucking me like pock marks on a Chicken Pox victim. First, I was convinced I had awakened in to a ''dream'', that it really was 1980 still, and that I was absolutely living at 1802 Robin Hill Apartments of Voorhees, New Jersey. It took me a quarter hour to orient myself, a rare but definite time to time occurrence in my screwed up life, not always that place or that time, lovely Donna, but you get the drift hopefully. Well, not you Donna, we would need Patty's candles for accomplishing that whittle mission my friends and fiends of cyber-village, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It goes from bad to worse, to worse-even-more, to holy fucking Jesus Christ; so be sitting down for this daily update and report, folks, pweeeeeeeeeeezw, BRO! I went up on the computer to check my e-mails which I had not done in about 4 days give or take, and had some real weird difficulty with my Comcast Account, where my address is mountainpen@comcast.net. I think your message finally went through, SEABOTTOM, as even though I got only a circle with a red line through it as a response to my hitting the SEND, I also did this on a few other e-mail places, and think they went through, but still cannot be sure, as one was the Copyright Office, and they sent me a confirmation that they did get my note, but I had also left a voicemail on someone's machine on the telephone, so there is no was for me to be positive, either way. Normally I get a flashing quick MESSAGE SENT prompt, but this is not happening, to quote lovely Judge Judy. Fortunately, I did check my back messages, as if I had not, I may have lost my copyright to my most recent music project that I mailed to them called, ''MY YOUTUBE MUSIC'' with the title track being the remade song from 1983, now titled, ''You'll Be Crossing Over''. ONLY THE OPENING TITLE ANNOUNCEMENT IS REAL. All the rest is the fake steak from the world of technology, and great synthesized nineteen-eighties techno-pop. WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! Praise the goddess, I should be receiving my certificate soon. That is one good thing that came out of this day. W-O-W!

Later on during lots of wild other shit I had to contend with such as speaking to lots of creditors who use very questionable practices for their debt collections, FTC in the FBI wants to share the conversations with you as I know my line is shall I say, otherwise always occupied, and always has been. I was wrong about my kid buying the debt just to mess with me with that ''YIP'' nonsense, or so it appears. Still, their story is that their computer is calling me and somehow is malfunctioning. Hay, if anyone should at least give the benefit of the doubt on stuff like that regarding computers and machines acting up, especially if I am somehow involved in the mix of things; this would be me, the Mountainpen Motor-mouth!

I was disconnected while talking to the Comcast Cable peeps, after they finished speaking to me regarding my account and a change I wanted to make to it, and they then put me into a third-party-automation-confirmation system, and as soon as it began, I was clicked off and hung up on electronically, obviously by the SNOWED-IN CROWD OF THE NON AUNT MASON'S OF NARBERTH, PA.

I was trying to lower my bill, as has been the case for months and months, and then the bill comes, and it is not what was agreed on, so I call again, and feel like I am in a cycle within a cycle, you know, an endless nightmare cycle of never being able to resolve this seemingly simple issue, all inside the bigger cycle that exists for me all the time, where I just cannot get that mother fucking light-bulb to go on in that horrible nightmare back in the middle seventies from that Oaklyn, New Jersey Games-Expert book burning apartment, and hopefully yes, I am for real, and not for REALE. The entire afternoon was one huge hell,and all the while, the ICPE of all of this shit was fueling their evil mother fucking DOW JONES STOCK MARKET, SOSO-WEIN???????????????????????? GINA GINA GINA, I DEMAND MY CUNT SNIFFING PROPS GIRL. I TOLD YOU TOLD YOU, TOLD YOU, TOLD YOU, TOLD YOU; AND ALL OTHERS, THAT THIS WILL JUST KEEP FLYING UP AND UP AND UP, FOREVER, AND EVER, AND EVER; AND IT DOES; JUST LIKE I SAID ALL MOTHER FUCKING ALONG!

UP-UP-UP-UP, FOREVER!!!!!

Folks, l+l=ll. This is reality in any universe. So is ICPE TECK, and so are all strange lab-technicians from 1984-1986, along with bumper sticker Camden boys who just are trying hard to be them, and letting all of the local ho's and bitches know it, that night back in fucking late 1987. WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!

Coming back into this universe from being back in 1980 at 1802 Robin Hill, seems to have totally taken away my eye cataract, or whatever the shit it was. This is still just the beginning of this weird day times ten to the exponential power of about twenty-five, YO BRO!!!!!!!!!!! There are a lot of things on the UNBLOGGABLE LIST, that you must take my word for, at least for right now. I don't wish to step in front of a fast moving train, AGAIN. Lordess only knows where I'll end up, but speaking of LORDESS, or SAR-AH, of the great Tennessee Monolazarium Avenue Boulevard; Mister McNulty sir, AHA-AHA-AHA; and wormholes, and seeing Paula King on July 12 in 1997 right there next to Bob McGuire's botbar-BAR, speaking to the employees at the casino bus parking area, that back in the sixties, were all part of the Bolivar or Piccadilly Hotels, depending on what parallel universe we all are shifting in and out of, Misses Estelle Andersen Anderton Bassler; and the great Viqueen Elley, and so much more; common sense prevails and states that only a deranged teenaged girl with a wild videogame in an upline world, would be making this all up, and then jacking into it along with her great pal, the LAWNMOWER MAN, along with other such lovely folks known by David Roth and myself back in the nineteen eighties, and nineties; as the Scummy Landscapers Club!!!!!!!!! So my eternal question must always be, ''What if I had opened my door that afternoon, to that lady who owned the silver fucking Volvo car, while residing in late 89 or early 90 somewhere, and heard what this incredible person wanted to say to me, rather than my hyperspace decision of not allowing this to happen, and instead; hearing her say to me the following words; ''Your entire remaining life may depend on you letting me in and telling you something quite major, Mark''.

Oh sweet mother of Viqueen gangs of the human equivalent Quoddy Mockers, and other mockers of the great 1971 era McNulty Club of Exton, Pennsylvania; just what is REALLY GOING DOWN that pertains to me, in that mother fucking town called ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY, USA???????????? It must be bigger than all of the triangulation connect points of Sarah Krassle and Robert McGuire's wormhole, that much is easy to figure out, in or out of the Staples Store!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SO WILL GODDESS GET ME FOR THIS, LADY FROM LONG BEACH ISLAND, WOW, AND IS THERE SUCH A WORD AS PROPHETESS??? IF NOT, DON'T YOU ALL THINK THAT THERE SHOULD FREAKING ASS BE, YO YO YO YO?

Yes Terry Egghead Harbors, I am most definitely an imperfect little human being, in total control over the Endless Miseries Club of Planet Earth, but not in control of a whole lot else, mahm. Sorry about that 1986 Maxwell Smart Chief. Blare those video games at me, brother!!!!!!!!!!!

I could tell a few things that would prove this entire world is not what it appears, and all hell would break loose within 48 hours. Some out here know without a fucking doubt that I can make good on this 'promise'. Others think I am totally fullabulla times ten to the power of eighty-three. That is entirely your tornadic choice to make, GREAT FOLKS, YO!

Silwee WHAAAAABIT and others; I am here, just as I told the great UNITED STATES © OFFICE, back in dancing McDonald's 1988, with my tune called, ''PROPHET OF NOTHING'', WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! Very few things really change, as it is not things or people that change, merely energy movements rearranging in the vast hyperspace fifth dimensionally. W---O---W!

It is so beautiful and cool lately, right now it is 54, but a high humidity makes it feel hot to me in here. Then again, I am always like that pig beach anti pollution commercial of the late nineteen-sixties, HOT, not to look at, I know I am fat and old and ugly as shit, and I don't sit around faking and playing head games. Funny though, I go out on some days, and gorgeous red hot tomatoes, are just throwing themselves at me. This really does happen, BUT, it took me decades to figure out why I never respond to this in a correct manner. I have TYPE-3-EXPLORATRONS from many parallel universes, inside of me asleep but in total lucid control over me at just the precise second to make me act dumb and stupid. I'll bet THEY didn't understand that, or care, for that matter. The BRIGGBASE just loves to laugh at me. They always fucking cunt hated my guts, because they know I can do it better; just as the dancing 'Mickey-D' song lyrics said back from 1988. You go TIGER MARK! They can all burn in a hot fucking DOGTOWN, as far as I'm concerned, lovely lightning (Diana Arteemis). How I love it when you stare at me with those super long line type eyes with bright light inside of them. You are my Olympian Goddess, and my coil, and you don't belong to any of these other mortal slobs, big lovely girl!!!!!!!!!! Who needs hamburgers when I have Prime un-faked non-techno altered Steak, for the sake of shit sucking hell, good people reading my pathetic twisted life here in this nightmare dream I am stuck in for all mother fucking eternity????????????

JANE FUCKING WHORE WITCHBITCH JUST GOT ME WITH PAGE MOTHER FUCKING ELEVEN OF ELEVEN, SOSO-WEIN? LET ME CUNT PHLEGM RAPE with fives!!!!!!

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WICKED BITCH, KISS MY ASS!!!

This is going to be a real mother fucking nasty ass BOTBAR TIMES CUNT LAPPING INFINITY, BRAH!!!

Jupiter, Florida, welcomes you to Morianity; Courtesy of Channel 12-TV.

I have no time to get into shit, but I will say this much. I am going to be telling HUGE FUCKING SECRETS TO PEEPS BEYOND THIS PUNY BLOG VIEWERSHIP. 2020 IS A GOOD TIME TO GET SHIT ALL CLEARED UP, SYMBOLICALLY, BUT WE WON'T BE WAITING THIS LONG, JAMES T. BURR OF THE STAR FUCKING SHIT SHIP GLOUCESTER, YO!!!!!!!!

EVERY MOTHER FUCKING DAY IS SUPER BOTBAR

HERE WE GO AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW: