Thursday, October 30, 2014

THE MIND DIMENSION, CHAPTERS 7-8-9---A/B---COMPILATION










/////THE MIND DIMENSION, CHAPTER 007









There is so much to speak about, there is nowhere to begin. We must talk about REALITY-3 as well as the MIND-REALM or sixth-dimension, in fact they are quite the kissing cousins. No matter how much wisdom I appear to gain as year follows year, I am never an ounce or an inch closer than when this all sprang into the hell that it is all around me; closer to figuring out how reality-3 figures into the entire freaking mess of it all, nor can I understand the most basic truths that exist in the great ELEVATOR-ROOM that these blogs talked about in the middle and late twenty-ohs. For one quick and obvious instance and case, why is it that as hard as I try to avoid seeing the time or machine counters or anything, with a string of ONES IN THEM, in fact, I DO, over and over and over, with absurd regularity? And why did Miserable Rotten Jane do that to me in the first place, at the Atlanta Braves Baseball Park, back in 1993? Why is this all happening since 1980, with the mysterious SCYLLA TREE ANGEL, or was it 1972, or was it 2008, or was iy 1986; and you can see how this would blow the minds of even the greatest scientific thinkers of present times, right down to the Quantum Dynamics dudes and duddesses in the biggest greatest laboratories the world over. WHY, WHY, and WHY? Remember in grammar school days, people, how we would meet that super annoying little brat, boy or girl, who either repeated what you said no matter what it was, or just came back no matter what you said with that same question; “why”? I know I sure do. I blackened a kids eye for doing this while at some playground in the sixties. Still, this changes nothing of what is being spoken of. Probably the greatest compliment ever paid to me, was from a very special person, I know deep down who it was, and whether this be true or not, I only wanted a shot at getting this information out to the public so that they could then decide for themselves whether to just chuck it or do anything with it at all. Thanks to a lot of hooligans and shenanigans in the criminal justice system and with the Atlantic County New Jersey Office of the Prosecutor, back in 2009, this website is forever lost and gone, along with all the other wild and powerful stuff that would most likely vindicate me in so many things, no matter who tries to send me subtle indignant messages day and night, how wrong I am in all of this. Basically, you can go straight to Dogtown, my friends, whoever ye may be. If I cannot overcome how R-3 fits into parallel event, and the weapon-tool of the evil WOMO-MILITUFORCE, called the PAWM-PIE-ETTOS; or ever get one inch or ounce closer to understanding simple things like the ONES ATTACK OF SLUT-FONDA; well; just tell me people; how am I supposed to ever accomplish anything at all? And this is why I am 60 years old, with a zero-resume to my name, not for lack of major determination, guts, blood, sweat, tears, and desire! Anyone who thinks I am just a lazy bum, only knows my life since I began blogging in January of 2006. You don't know Whoopee Diddly about me before that, and you never will, and you know why? Because you never wanted to , and you never will want to, and you know why? Because some force called the PAWM-PIE-ETTOS is interfering with an otherwise normal life I would be having, if they weren't totally screwing the hell with me 24-7-365.2422!











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KIND FOLKS, MY LIFE IS CURSED. I AM PART OF A SECRET SO BIG, NO ONE WILL FREAKING TOUCH IT. IT IS CALLED THE HUNTINGTON CURSE. 'WO', BILLY; TO QUOTE YO.































I was one month at 1802 Robin Hill, and it was on the night of June 4, 1980. I'll bet Doogie Howser remembers, even though his great show was yet to be falling into humankind's consciousness illusion of SPACE-TIME-MIND, in more ways than one, if a wee bit of NY ST humor is permitted me, uncle Heinz Gozzwald of great mighty purple Babylon of great prophets and visions, huh traveler Saint John, cut me a big ass brake, willya, Margie 1985 Leo, kammaan????????? Papas Island 1923 years ago, gimme a dam break there, mighty (GAP) EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND CHARIOT RIDERS of the AAT CLUB, like freaking WOW!





















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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. Fun is replaced with 'intense'.
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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 at the risk of sounding negative, the only thing one may be truly sure of is that you cannot be sure of anything. Sorry Twinbay, JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ!

///////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ 1980 KEYBOARDS FROM PETA-HELL ®









Of course, speaking of ICPE-APE TECHNOLOGY good viewers, even exploratrons need tools, such as the PAWM-PIE-ETTOS, ICPE-APE, and many more black stealthy super covert junky trashy horrific things; my inability to get to the bottom of whether reality-3 causes parallel events to exist, or the other way around; is the main part of what lies underneath and out beyond this 30-60 year pummeling assault that is absolutely unrelenting. I have experienced the great void, and visited the mind dazzling elevator-room, and still, I am no better off for wear, give me a break, Mister Kitkat. This makes as much sense as being back where I socked that dumb ass kid in the eye for saying “why, why, why, why” over and over to me for about a half of a freaking hour.





OH LOUISE HENDERSHODT, WHERE ARE YOU? DO YOU REMEMBER 1967 AND 1968 WHEN I TOLD YOU ABOUT THE MAGIC OF THE GREAT:



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Well, their DOW JONES flew after they killed me last night. You heard me, They killed me. I do not stay dead, I am the one from 1406 Highland Avenue, back in July of 1984, through March of 1985, when I left Cinnaminson for the first time living at the great marvelous untrumpable HIGHVIEW APARTMENTS OF WILL-I-AM-ST-OWN, NEW JERSEY.

















My pal, and Chairman of the FCC, BOB MCDOWELL, from 1972, at the great Cooley-Wormhole Hall, of magical locker rooms, belonging to gymnasium coach instructors; but who really do they belong to, and Y? Ouch, my dam eye, YO! I really miss the Johnny Faster joke!









I COULD NOT DETEST A PERSON, MORE THAN I HATE YOU; MISS J.F. OF ATLANTA, GEORGIA!













I rarely do blogs in excess of 110 fucking cunt pages, but when I do, guess who gets me real gooooud, with her filthy rotten ONES-ASSAULT on me? You got it; JANE the muscle girl; work that body, pump pump, Mister Hilton-Hack-'98!







Oh Goddess Scylla, without turning over any more rocks or barking and begging so you'll sing some of our special songs to me all eternity long; those powerful awesome outlandish moons sure love to float about, up above the night scys of where that charter school should be, and appears to be there, by light of day, only don't tell Roseann Delaney, we all know she will never ever be able to attend or even see that magical school. WOW, the cursed little bastard can laugh and find humor in nightmarish family fights and stair horrors! Don't you just mother fucking television. Rewind-99 on the LAW AND ORDER, you know, where that fat slob kid falls for that silly murderer teen blond. You can scream out for help online all night, Hammonton fuckiGN Police Department in New Jersey, Goddess help you while you lay there dying and stabbed to fuckiGN death by wonderful cousins of my wonderful marvelous kid!!!!!!!!! It's all on my 2008 blogs, during the times of my psychic revelations and vision-dreams, give me a break there, Memories-Babs, all suppressed so well under the great VSG Syndrome. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!







































Poor ENGINE-15 of Fort Pierce, Florida. The great Public Housing Authority is keeping you quite busy and on your toes.





























When the red leaves fall, I'll be coming home; in or out of the year of 1975; great wonderful Congressman Andrews, AHA-AHA-AHA!!!!!!!!










{{{{(((''BUT'')))}}}}, WILL THE LONG RIVERS KEEP FLOWING BLUE, IN 1980 AND IN 2014, HAY OLD BUDDY, TALK TO MY PAL HERE, YOUR TEAM MATE, I DON'T WANT THE LAKE TO POLLUTE MY COUNTY ALL TO HELL, YO!





Oh were those the day Bob, when you sang my two country demo tunes, and I was moving into Robin Hill Apartments at unit #1802, on May 1, in 1980, seems like twenty mother fucking minutes ago, my pal, my best to Al Pillegi and Angel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!















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CHANNEL 12, SOUTH FLORIDA TELEVISION!!!!!!!!







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``````OH FUCKING SHIT.













Oh Lordess Marcucci, it's getting heavier and heavier, and I know how powerful memory blocks can be, old hallway communicator.









































IT ALL BEGAN AT ONCE WHEN I'S TOO HAPPY TO SEE, THAT SOMETHING REALLY BAD WAS GONNA' HAPPEN TO ME, © 1969, ME, WHO THE FUCKING SHIT EATING HELL ELSE, YO?

Home >New Jersey >Voorhees Apartments >Robin Hill Apartments



ROBIN HILL APARTMENTS


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Apartment, 208 units 331 Preston Avenue Apt.2011, Voorhees NJ 08043 Map $989-$1298 1-2 Bed Cats OK






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Robin Hill Apartments - Voorhees, New Jersey 08043

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Sometimes having, is not as pleasant as wanting”. Does anyone give even a tiny little stinky fucking shit, why the grass is always greener on the other side, to us poor fucking stupid ass human beings? WHAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!



































NOTES TO MYSELF:





Journal Cassette Tape #25,766 has dalmatian photos.








DALMATIANS, their true origin far from Earth, in Sahasra Dal Kanwal. Still, the link below takes you all to a really cool co-blogger of mine at BLOGGER, check it out. You will be glad you did, it is really a cool blog.

























YEAH HE'S SAYING, “I LOVE YOU SARAH-STACEY KRASSLE, ALMIGHTY TEEN-QUEEN”.


































Well before the Samanski Sisters and I roll out the barrel of fun, with the also late Lawrence Welk, of Pikerville; to quote Mister David Charles Roth again, while water keeps right on seeking its own level, and jerk offs and assholes abound, and are dangerously out-breeding us; all quotes from this incredible fellow who once lived amongst us. His lover in the plank realm is the great Julia White; a story that needs addressing eventually, in major detail. Still, I have come to learn I write these things down for me, no one else. Only I understand the power to all of this dam shit. Others will only see a crackpot fucking nut case for a sike ward. Fine, I know better, and you can all know whatever makes you happier than dam ass Silly Puddy! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!



















OCTOBER 30, 2014,

THURSDAY MORNING AT 4:06,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,

CURRENT TEMPERATURE 63 DEGREES FNHT.

HUMIDITY IS 93%, WIND CHILL IS 62 DEGREES.





OH THIS NICE COOLER WEATHER, WEEEEEEEE!



I'M LOVIN' IT MISTER MCDONALD DANCERS!!!!!!




MY BLOGS:













Good old Robin Hill Apartments, Mister D. L. Smith!!!





SO WOULD I EVER TRY A FOURTH STAY AT THIS FARM OUTSIDE OF HADDONFIELD, NEW JERSEY, MISTER DAVID LEIGH SMITH? LET ME ANSWER YOU WITH A VOICE FROM MY PAST, EBENEEZER SCROOGE; ''AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA''!!!!!!!!!





The Mind Realm is not something you or I will crack in a lifetime or two or two million. Better entities than you and me, have tried, believe me, I TRAVEL, I KNOW!!!





DOW JONES INDUSTRIALS FOR 10-29-14.





Dow Jones Industrial Average (^DJI)













You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.

You are so BEYOND RED HOT, DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY ENDLESS 1-2-3 LOVER CODES FROM 1983.











HAY LOVELY DIANA, I AM HERE FOR YOU! I saw you the other night on the Jupiter-Inlet-Cam, lovely girl!!!



















Photo: Full moon and Earth
























































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I AM GOING TO TALK ABOUT GLARY EYED BILLY-C FOR A SHORT WHILE. I COULD BE A SKULKING BASTARD AND GET A PHONE AND GO SEE HIM, AND RECORD THE WHOLE THING, OF COURSE HE WOULD KILL ME, BUT MY POINT IS, I DO NOT DO STUFF LIKE THIS. EVEN IF I DID, I AM NOT LIKE OTHER PEOPLE. I WOULD POST IT, AND FACEBOOK AND YOUTUBE WOULD EITHER REMOVE ME OR PUT ME ON A STOPPER-PAGE, LET ME EXPLAIN. ALL YOUTUBE VIDEOS ARE POSTED AND GO TO A STARTER-PAGE. FROM THERE, ONE OF THREE ITEMS HAPPENS WITH AUTOMATED PRECISION. THEY INTO THE NEUTRAL PILE, THEY GO INTO THE TO BE PROMOTED PILE, OR THEY GO INTO THE INTERNET EQUIVELANT OF THE DEAD LETTER OFFICE OF MY DAY, THE (STOPPER-PAGE). IF YOUR VIDEOS GO TO STOPPER PAGES, AS DO MINE, IT IS NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE FOR ANYONE TO EVEN BE ABLE TO EVER FIND YOU UP THERE AT ALL, AND YOU WILL GET ZERO VIEWS OR A VERY TINY TEENY LITTLE TRICKLE. THAT IS THAT. THOSE THAT STRIKE THE MEDIA'S (ATTENTION-PAGE) ARE ALL SOFTWARE AUTOMATED. WHATEVER IS NEW OR HOT THAT WEEK, OR MANY POSSIBLE TRIGGERS AND KEY-ITEMS MY DO IT, BUT BOOM, THIS IS HOW AND WHY VIDEOS GO VIRAL, THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A VIRAL VIDEO, I PROMISE YOU. AS ALWAYS, THE WORLD OWNERS DECIDE WHO GETS TO MOVE UP IN LIFE, WHO IS ENDLESSLY HELD DOWN AND OPPRESSED, AND WHO IS ALLOWED TO JUST BE IN A SORT OF EARTH-PERGATORY, A NEUTRAL FILE, WHERE WHO KNOWS, ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN, AND MIGHT HAPPEN, AND NOTHING MIGHT HAPPEN, BUT AT LEAST IT HAS AN HONEST FAIR CHANCE TO HAPPEN. I AM ON STOPPER PAGES, AND ANYTHING I POST, YOU WILL FIND IT NEAR IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO, AND IF YOU DO GET THERE, THE HACKING IS BAD, THE QUALITY IS BAD, AND I COULD GO ON AND ON WITH THE WAYS THE FREE-MEDIA, LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH, HANDLES THIS, AS REMEMBER, THEY OWN IT ALL TO START WITH. YOU AND ME LITTLE PEEPERS DON'T OWN SHIT, THEY OWN IT ALL. WE DON'T OWN GOOGLE, MICROSOFT, YOUTUBE, ANY OF IT, THE FORTUNE 500 PEOPLE ALL DO. INTERNET IS JUST ANOTHER TOOL, AND WHATEVER WENT ON BEFORE IT ALL GOT GOING LATE IN THE NINETIES AND EXPANDED EVEN GREATER IN THIS CENTURY, IS ALL THE SAME THING, JUST USING THIS TOOL OF COMPUTERS AND CONNECTIONS, AND YOU NAME IT, IF YOU WERE A FAILURE OR A SUCCESS YEAR AFTER YEAR AFTER YEAR, BEFORE THE INTERNET; THEN THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WILL BE WITH THE INTERNET. IT IS THEIR PROPERTY, THEY OWN EVERYTHING, JUST AS MY SONG TALKED ABOUT IN ITS 1983 LYRICS; ABOUT NOT WANTING TO SWEEP THE SAND, BUT RATHER, DESIRING TO OWN THE LAND. I CANNOT MAKE A SOUL BELIEVE ANY OF THIS, BUT YOU ARE PATHETIC IF YOU THINK A VIDEO EVER GOES SELF-VIRAL, IT DOESN'T. IT IS ALL AS FIXED AS REALITY SHOWS, AND FOR THAT MATTER, REALITY ITSELF. SOMEONE DOES NOT LIKE THESE WORDS THAT HAS GREAT POWER. I JUST TOOK MY FIRST HACK OF THIS BLOG, OLD PAL BOB MCDOWELL, OF THE FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION! DON'T BEAT ME UP, OP.









I was hacked on the previous chapter, and lots of stuff I blogged, did not come out on my blog, on the office document, it was just poofed out and sent to the dead letter stopper box. Merry Christmas Patty Hollister and Steve Chanter. 'Knee-oh-ho-ren-gay-key-oh', to you too! Do those lovely Pointer Sisters still want men with slow hands and touches, or just a lot of frikkin' worthless fairy-tales, now, as well as 40 years ago, I wonder? Yes I know I forgot to wish you guys a happy new year, but which one. When Dick Clark was winding down his late night party on December 31, which fucking party, great peeps? What am I, psychic????????????? Shut up Mike McNulty!




























Governor Jesse Ventura talks about time travel, in ways that totally connect up with stuff from my own personal life; including the chance that his own distant relative, Salvador, was sent to me in 1965, to show me, and not Miss Wescott; how to tap my fingers in really cool ways, so that 'lightning' will respond to this, up in 1983; on a telephone receiver.

















I was holding back on telling, and I know I can post for safe keeping only, at least on the BLOGGER account, by hitting the ''DRAFT'', instead of the ''PUBLISH'' prompt. Still, it is being publicly continued for now, and holding back the largest part of that recent high school dream is just stupidity on my part, so I am telling it now. But I really have to make it so only the few who need to know what I am saying, will put the (2+2) together, and anyone who does not need to have this detailed information, might try, but may arrive at a 3 or a 5 or even a 9.368. I was going to say I must BE something, but PP and the first letter stands for paranoid and last one does not stand for anyone I ever conducted music business with; might get all bent out of shape and then proceed to come down here to my crib, and bend me all out of shape. So I won't say a thing, WAYV.







The high school was in a totally unfamiliar area, in whatever universe it was in. Still, across from it and a large baseball field past that, was a highway, and on the other side was a large building that was about a dozen stories tall, industrial, not residential. The entire building was owned by the makers of my PRIVECODE MACHINE from the tail end of 1983, when I purchased this wild device, and kept it in its shipping box until leaving 1802 Robin Hill to move into 134 Norris Avenue, from Voorhees to Atco, in New Jersey, on 1 February, of 1983.





Mark Minor as some of you know, along with Salvador, Peter, Wilson, Alan, and a few others, were all in one place in this ”waking world” but they were not all in this parallel universe of the dream world or the multiverse. Mister Minor had no sailboat, and was not related to the great John Dee of England, but he did want to go home, without getting into any fights or drinking all through the non daylight hours. He seems to have been connected with the same supernatural forces that both 'witch-doctor' Wilson and I both are also. Oh, that is what he called himself, until he graduated to 'voodoo priest', I merely quote things, tell news, you know, not make up stories,. But yes, I will tell stories, true ones, no matter how much they appear to be a must-be-fish-tale. Mark Minor and I walked across this baseball field, and the weather appeared spring-like, and there were no palm trees within the limit of sight, so I don't think I was in Florida, in whatever universe I was 'dreaming to be in' through a living double of myself. Suddenly Salvador came running out of nowhere, maybe left field if I can make a joke here. Then he pulled out a miniature KFP machine only a foot long, that also had a wearing collar, like that thing in 1986 I wore to play roulette, and got teased by the casino personnel in Atlantic City. It made access to two different money player chips more accessible, so I wore it, and let them all laugh at me. I was the one laughing making a clear grand weekly, off of their tables.













Instead of keys and knobs and dials and places for discs to go, was a long blank area like a rectangular drumming pad. He then proceeded to say hay there or some similar thing to Mark minor and myself, and then while wearing this thing that he put on directly after this, he put his two hands out as if to use a real KFP, and instead of music, he began doing what he did back in 1965 and 1966, over at the New Jersey Neuro Psychiatric Institute, now defunct; just like Bancroft Neurological Health System, as well, and Turnersville Pathmark; and so many other places; accomplished by powerful covert methods by the History Marker Remover section of the mighty ESS, the (HMR). Salvador Ventura then began tapping the way he used to at the institute, with his fingers, only as he did so, a tiny little speaker system on each side of the rectangle he was wearing, would speak what he was code-tapping, in any possible voice, and he laughed real smuggly while adjusting in-between tapping, with his left hand, a small set of almost invisible dials on the left of the contraption, I believe there were four of them. He had me talking, he had Mark minor, then he had Diana Ross, the Motown vocalist. I asked him why he was doing this and he began laughing, not loud and revolting or anything, just a soft unoffensive tonal quality laugh, but he just kept laughing, and laughing. Then he took the thing off, and put it back in some backpack that he had attached with a small double silver chain, into his right pocket, leaving it dangling half way to the ground. His laughter stopped abruptly, and he looked at me, and said, “You fucking asshole Mark”, meaning me and not Mark Minor. “You really believed that shit, and then you say how great you are at bluffs and fakes and poker and shit, what a crock”. I just stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the bastard, sort of angry, and a bit hurt also. I thought we were pals, and here he is fucking with me. Then Mark Minor spoke up and said back to him, “Hay, he doesn't want to get it, you know how painful some family shit can be, ya dork”. This is when I jumped in and said, “Will somebody please let me in on just what you mother fuckers are all quacking about”! Then we all sat down at some bleachers that were past the one end of this ball field, leaving us to stare off at a highway about 150 feet ahead of us, and on the other side of it, the building, completely owned by the one and only, multiversally famous, International Mobile Machines Corporation.







This is when Salvador reminded me that I was a type-1-exploratron, and “why should I tell you a thing”, he said, “get out of my pal's body before I kick your ass”. I told him the truth with unquestionable candor at this point, that I now remember this is totally true, but I did not mean to get here, it is all a sixth dimensional program that thinks and makes all of us pawns then move on a huge Packman type simulation videogame of a sort in five dimensions called hyperspace. Then he said, “I don't care about all that shit Mark, all that matters is that you talk a big game about poker and you're letting peeps pull all kinds of double blind bluffs on you, you know, like they would say those things with that much certainty on that show, and not know another truth”? Then I realized what he was talking about, even cornball idiot me has limitations to my VSG Syndrome and the stupidity that so many times goes along with maintaining more painless vacuums in memory. This is when I realized what was being spoken, and also I put together that I was here in this crazy place, sitting on bleachers, with the bleachers again, for heavens sake. Then he burst out into raucous laughter unlike the first time at the beginning of this, and said, “That wild so-called fictional book of yours in 1994, TBP, holy hell Mark, there is more happening than just port in the storm years, ya' dam dummy”. I then said, “hold shit, I know this now, stop making fun of me. Remember how you hated your father making fun of you and were screaming out for Miss Wescott to help you”? Then he retorted with, “That's your world, not mine. Here in reality, I never went to some sike ward with you in 1965, you fuckiGN butt wipe”. I then ended this conversation with, “Well Sal, all I can say is they do sound alike when they speak as adults, so Jesus, forgive me for not being almighty Goddess”. I jumped up and left Minor and Ventura just looking at me, and walked to a bridge for pedestrians to cross over the large highway, and went into the IMMC Building. As soon as I got there, I was grabbed bodily by security officers, bound, gagged, and carried off on some gurney type of item, into a deep sub-basement area. I saw myself on a large screen TV system that had to be 20 feet across, and brighter than a summer beach at noon. When my eyes adjusted to this incredible TV set, I saw them running my entire life in fast forward from the minute I moved into Atco, and all through the show, they kept saying, “We're always watching you, buddy”. They must have said this in a serious tonal quality at least ten dam times. I asked if they could go past this time era, and they said we can go up as far as twenty fifty five. They hit a skip button, that said right on it in big purple lettering, “SKIP”, and suddenly it was 1984, and I was watching myself living in Robin Hill again where I had left for a while, over in unit number 506. They eventually seemed to get bored with me and my questions and said to me that they were going on a coffee break, and would I like to be taught how to operate the scanner tendle, this is what they called it, I just report the dream, folks. There is no 'R' in the word, and I do not know what exactly a scanner-tendle is, but they showed me how to run it, and left the room. I realized I could make it go off of that part of New Jersey, and go anywhere. I learned some stuff that is so hot, if I ever told any of it, I would be dead in one minute from the time I hit POST PUBLISH.





Long Story Short (LSS), the school mates were breaking my dam stones about poker, and sure enough, I can bluff and I can read people, and I am a dam good poker player, and the average asshole would be cleaned out fast with me, I promise. But they were totally right. Some powerful people went way out of their way to seem to know something I totally believed had happened, was not the way I thought all along, and were quite adamant about it, more so than they would be if they did not indeed know better. 99% of normal readers not a part of this, don't have a clue why I had this wild dream where I was back in a high school, or why all of this was said to me, but I know, and the few involved in it all, they know. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.







Fire alarms go off every single day between the opening bell on Wall Street and shortly thereafter. I will not lie, it happens on the weekends too. If I wanted to skip that part and be dishonest here, I could have. The whole truth means do not skip a part of it or omit shit that negates the value of the crap you're trying to prove and make claim to. But my honesty prevails, and I am proud to be an honest gentlemen who may tell seemingly wild fish tales, but I KNOW THEY ARE TRUE, AND SO DO THE DAM GODS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe all of this IS where the shadows all dwell by day, or in Ireland with bands that like my Ernie song a lot. Give me a break Mister freaking Kitkat. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-BIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!









THIS PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW!





GOOD NIGHT TO ALL VIDEOGAMES, SIMULATIONS, SHADOW MONSTERS, AND OTHER GORGONS, VIOLENT WOMEN NOT WELCOME HERE, DAWN KING!!!!



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