AND GOOD DAY TO YOU, MIKE MCNULTY, AHA!
© MARK WAYNE MOHR, THE BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN, 2006-2014
JOURNAL TAPE NUMBER 25,831
MAY 27, 2014,
TUESDAY MORNING AT 12:24,
HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,
CURRENT TEMPERATURE, 79 DEGREES FNHT.
A belated happy birthday Sharon from HTHS, hard to believe you turned the big six-0h yesterday, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Next time around when you come creeping along that area across from Pyle Avenue, I will call you over and tell you about the time cycle, as I was going to do last time, but did not,this next time, I WILL!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX---Louise 1967-1968 Hendershodt. Maybe I won't write that letter to the ABC network asking them to build me a machine with a movie camera and a timer. These two things would alter this looping nightmare cycle I am in quite well.
Back in love sonnet year of Gary Glaring Eyes Star Trek Mitchell, 1996; 30 years after the 1966 Star Trek show; I fell into a major, to quote my pal David Roth, “SECOND BEARISH LIFE CYCLE”. It began in middle afternoon, in my Saturn automobile, in Williamstown; just south of the Black Horse Pike; by my spilling a can of soda, losing the drink, fucking up the car; and on the face of it, no super biggie; but is this an accurate reality on its face value for me to make this fucked up assumption, folks?
The simple answer to Professor Theodore Jackson, Shorty MacInvondi, and many other characters of PHASE-4, would go as follows to the question just posed in the above paragraph. NO-NO-NO-NO! CHRIST ALMIGHTY; AM I SCOLDING A NAUGHTY RAMBUNCTIOUS CHILD HERE, OR IS A LOT MORE GOING ON? I KNOW A MICRIOSUCKS FUCKING LIGHTBULB THAT JUST WENT ON TO ANNOY THIS BLOGGER, MARK WAYNE MOHR, SIR MCNULTY-AHA-AHA-AHA!!!!!
The year was 1996, and I was totally mother fucking unprepared for what was to be ushered in after the Dick Clark Parade that I never watched or cared less about. I never liked crowds, always hated gangs of people, and love serenity, peace and fucking quiet, and being totally away and isolated from the annoyances of society. But a lot of things were going to change, and did change; even before the real line was cunt lapping drawn in the cosmic sand on the sixteenth day in July that year, Mister Mitchell Crouch, hells bells, wear shades YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This was the year that the Haddonwood club mysteriously closed down suddenly in one day without notice, the year I left Highview and Williamstown, New Jersey, never ever to fucking return, the year I wrote the song SARAH, the year I met lots of strange and not all so nice adorable people, was terrorized and threatened at a public shopping mall and never given any justice at all by the legal system and the authorities that led to my mother shortly afterward becoming mysteriously ill and never ever being her old self again, to die in lingering agony and me along with her for 26 long grueling mother fucking months, and the list is endless. I met John King and the water-hose incident occurred in Atlantic City, NJUSAESMWG, I bought the home in Somerdale, New Jersey on Harvard Avenue settling the deal in late August, was raped by Patty-Paula King Exploratron and my memories blotted out, had my Saturn car damaged by a sixteen year old punk, named Nick Mallethammer, stopped doing my life charts, and ended a year long dictation project called OLD TESTAMENT MORIANITY BIBLE, on about seventy C-90 cassette tapes. I could go on and on and on. I also met Giant Gina late in the autumn of that year, and Paula Uwich, one was a pay for sex girl, the other a con artist fake psychic who went onto use my misery as a tool and weapon against me that allowed her to bilk and steal about 92 mother fuckiGN hundred dollars from me. I also was TAKEN by the great non nick@night dude, back in time to 1969 and to Haddon Township High School, where he and Boo and Warren managed to steal Zvonko's strange tablet-laptop invention, and they left me stranded in 1968 telling a lot of people I needed to get back to 1997, yes that is not a typo, 1997. Why did I believe ki came from 1997, a year in the mother fucking future? Oh and then there was the hit contract on my life by the Acastranova Club of Italy or however they spell that word that as usual the Microsucks is of no help at all for me to spell it in the correct way. It was a local bunch of drug thug wiseguys in the middle summer in 1996, and when my and I were in a diner one day in Egg Harbor City; the waitress came over and told us both that there was “a contract on my life”. This was not our waitress, just another one working the same shift as ours. My mom early shit in her mother fucking drawers. As I said, this was a wild year, but the wildest part was that I was searching for th egreat almighty fucking teenager, SARAH KRASSLE, and dared to write a powerful song about her and even copyright the material as well, not having a clue how she left the life that I knew her from in the sixties, and was right here amongst us, in the way she truly is in PHASE-2-Reality, the greatest entertainer of the Astral Plane. She has quadrillions of beautiful unfathomable tunes there all playing throughout the Province Olympia and well beyond in other surrounding provinces in all six ASTRAL directions, north, south, east, west, woust, and nest. When she sings in her great city on Monolazarium Boulevard at the great golden walkway that sits 200 feet above the 'Atlantic' or 'Krassle' River, the same word there; as many as fifty billion entities gather around, just to hear her, on her wonderful Enzemeter; an Astral Musical Instrument. She loves to sing, “LOVE IS FOR CARPENTERS” to me there; and I told a little about this in my book that I wrote and sent for copyright on Halloween Day in 1994, called, “The Permission Barrier”.
1996 was a mighty year in so many ways, and yes, IT WAS THE YEAR THAT I WROTE THE SONG FOR SARAH, CALLED SARAH, ON THE 12TH DAY IN MAY. IT MAY NOT HAVE HAD WINGS MISTER MITCHELL, BUT I FEEL THAT STM IS WHY YOUR SHOW ALL HAPPENED, and many already know this is most likely what is happening. Show me another way of explaining all of this fuckiGN horse shit and I'll kiss anybody's dam ass for a solid hundred and twenty months!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Mohr, Mark W., 1954-
Sarah.
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1996
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If I couldn't prove every mother fucking claim I make on these nearly 101 months of blogs, I would not be audacious enough to fucking print all of this, not in a million years, Robert Patterson Cheatley, sir!!!!!!!!! OOOOPS, here comes the fucking (`~HACK), FCC PAL, Bobby McDowell!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The year of 1996 was beyond fantastic and surreal, and deadly botbar, and viciously fuckiGN unpleasant; to put it extremely mother fucking super ass politely; Tommy Roe, and all other folks out here reading my puny whittle bwog, WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So why is 1996 important right now, you may be asking yourself? Well peeps it is, and it is all why I gave you on my last blog, all that detailed synopsis of the topic of the reality-triangle, you know, not standing Pruce-Mute, Your Honor, but DREAMS-HYPERSPACE-EXPLORATRONS. That's enough to make anyone stand mute with or without any help from the greatest law show ever made in the history of television entertainment!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My blogs this coming week will leave no one guessing, just how and why these middle nineties literally drew a line in the sand for me, every bit as huge as middle August in 1986, only with this, it was not so much my life altering on a quick wink of instantaneous flashes of strobe-light, but more along the lines of OTHERS ATROUND ME being brought into the circle of both me personally, and the entire huge cosmic equation that endlessly lays all around me. ASK PEE, Jimmy Stuart, SHE KNOWS, knife fights, sharks, and Island Aunts all notwithstanding, Mike McNulty!!!!!!!!!!!! AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA!
“ANOTHER MEAL RUINED”, HUH TREASURE HUNTER POPPY? I am wondering how bad the situation would have reached, if Monica and her dirty underwear, had been around in 1965 that day; smiling Sarah, from ''31 years ago'' up in 1996? “My Two Parents”; sounds like a dull boring title, huh? Well, if I ever wrote a book on this, Jimmy Patterson my friend; this world would alter in its STM orbit, Sir Chair Hawks!!!!!!!!!!!!! I PROMISE.
I AM BEING MAJOR HACKED, FBI, ACLU, STATE POLICE, STATE AG PAM BONDI, THEY WON'T LET ME PUT UP MY BLOG ON THIS TUESDAY, IN A GOOD FORMAT, ONLY IN ROTTEN QUALITY, AT THE BLOGGER DOT COM WEB-SITE.
the continuation of "The Epitome of Harrassament" - 19 hours ago
http://youtu.be/Vqg3oty0JMU This is 100% machine created, techno-pop, sampled from the intro. *YOU'LL BE CROSSING OVER, TUNE FROM 1983*--------THIS HAS BEEN REMOVED. ALL YOUTUBE, FACEBOOK, ALL SOCIAL MEDIA SITES CLOSED. I HAVE NO TIME 4 GAMES!!!!!! NEW 2012 LYRICS TO FOLLOW THE HARMONY MUSIC TRACK ALONG WITH ARE UP AT THE BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN, SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0555, LIKE DUH: * Only the opening title words are real, so studder away, PROPERTY-RICH-TOM!* ***JCTE NUMBER 25,821*** ... more »
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Thank you folks, for staying with me. The more you want to learn, the more I will tell. Simple as that, John Games Expert Flatire Henningsen. WEEEEEE!
The Epitome of Harassment – Internet Version
Friday, August 8, 2008
pigs raised by pigs equals TNG pigs
‘PIGS RAISED BY PIGS EQUALS TNG-PIGS’
TEOHIV/TIMCAM—-DATFILE–080808.777
BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:
Well Gina my beautiful tall arm breaker of the nineties, I told U that the Philadelphia Phillies will go on LOSING AND LOSING AND LOSING AND LOSING. I also told U that the Dow Stock Market would go on WINNING AND WINNING AND WINNING AND WINNING. Yes, 1968 and 1997, and then came 2008, Patrick Jane. Hay George, with your permission, and to keep things strait around here sir, I just wish to utter this little comment here as it is quite content appropriate and apropos!!!!!!!!! “NEED I SAY MORE”. As for my pal PP, keep plugging away dude, I'm rootin' and tootin' for you me' freeen. Seeya!!!!!!!!
Then in a sudden glorious instant, I found myself alone with my wonderful lightning in a human form, my blond Diana Arteemis, and we were sitting along a strange lake that was inland from a mighty ocean type body of water. The lake was peaceful and serene until the tide was nearly to its highest point at the nearby ocean, and then waves would start flooding into to this very quarry-deep lake, and then it suddenly would get treacherous and rough as a storm out at sea. But when the tide no longer was high enough 2 support this connection of these bodies of water, the lake would begin 2 calm down as well as expel the ocean water out and eventually 4 a relatively short time, grew as calm as any normal lake on a windless day would in fact B like. B4 going on I knew trouble was freaking coming by the MICKERS when around one-eleven this morning just as I was about 2 retire 4 the evening with my tea and crumpets with Brit and Warper Gramps, a major loud and low scum bag Milituforce air vessel, violated my air space and my civil rights as well, by buzzing me at precise zenith over my residence roof, and all though the clocks were blocked, common sense told me when this attack happened, as it was about 20 minutes after I indeed blocked the clocks at ten minutes shy of 1 AM for the night. Actually Brit canceled and the tea and crumpets were really a bowl of Breyers Ice cream, wow the greatest ice cream on Earth is not Spell-Checker-recognized, imagine that. No I have a 0%-C with both of MC Cane’s able-bodied starlit choices, just 4 fun I ran all of them. The thing that makes no sense 2 me at all, is the Donald. I am either losing my mind, altering dimensions during retraces further than I think, or some other wild thing is occurring. Gee. Could this wild thing be the REALITY TRIANGLE OF DREAMS-HYPERSPACE-EXPLORATRONS? Hay, maybe if you insist on putting four sides on this, we would add in MICROSUCKS LIGHTBULB HACKS. What color would we use for a fourth color, 1989 coworker-Mashell and 'whatever'??????????
I am doing just about as monstrously horrendous as it gets, but as with all of us good Huntington Clan, ''STILL HANGIN' IN THERE'', right Atlantic City Disc Jockeys of fire reporting, nearly a decade back into time??????
YOU WILL NEVER KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE ALWAYS BEING CORRECT IN MY ENDLESS PROPHET OF 1988 NOTHING PREDICTIONS, HAY JAY-JAY-EVANS-BRO, “just what can I say”? Ask the mighty Manhattan Quantum Physicist, Professor Kaku; as you all ready have my opinion which does not count, since I have no walls filled up with degrees!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAAAAAAAAAAA.
THIS PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW:
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