SAGA
OF NON-MUSICAL SONGWRITER MARK MUD IN 1983, 32 YEARS LATER
CHAPTER
00007
The only thing that can ever really know for sure is
that we can never really be sure of anything. This can be thought of
as the quintessential oxymoron, ladies and gentlemen.
It is a bright sun shiny day here in Fort Pierce, in
case the great Johnny Nash may be interested for any reason. If not,
it changes no part of the weather conditions, here in south-central
eastern Florida. That much, I'll promise you folks.
I
know all my big lovely DEE-DEE hawks and ravens can hear me. They
love swooping around my window here, a lot. I would feed you if the
law allowed me to, my big gorgeous birds, you all know that. SSJKK
tells them all the things that I ask her to tell them, kind people.
Perfect
Day
- Posted By: David Jackson
- 2014-01-05
- Pensacola Beach
Related
AND
ALL PROPERTY EVERYWHERE IS ILLUSION!
I
TAHREN-TEE THIS TO YOU, MISTER GANDHI SIR.
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Please
colorize me, Jimmy NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE, Stuart.
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OH
THANK YOU, I AM SO HAPPY NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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LIGHTNING
LOCATION: YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU DIANA ARTEEMIS, MY
BABY-BLOND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Welcome
Atlantic
County is unique in New Jersey, in that it is home to Atlantic City,
the only municipality in the state where casino gaming is permitted.
Thirteen casino/hotels, which attract more than 34 million visitors
each year, currently operate in Atlantic City. Those numbers are in
addition to the many seasonal tourists who visit Atlantic County each
summer. Their numbers dwarf the figure of 271,015 permanent residents
of our county and contribute significantly to the need for
prosecutorial and related criminal justice services provided by this
office.--------OH
WOW,
But
Sarah was not done with me.
But
Sarah was not done with me.
But
Sarah was not done with me.
But
Sarah was not done with me.
But
Sarah was not done with me.
And
I pray that SHE never ever never ever never ever will be, as I
will always love the GREAT SARAH-STACEY JEHOVAH
KRASSLE beyond any possible way of describing our very special
endless love to humanity.
JANUARY
19, 2015, MLK DAY CELELBRATED
MONDAY
MORNING AT 11:39,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE, 66 DEGREES FNHT.
HUMIDITY
IS 49%, FEELING LIKE 66.
RANGE
SO FAR (H-66/L-44).
WINDS
ARE N AT 6, WITH GUSTS AT 8.
MARK
WAYNE MOHR
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN, (THE BOM)
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2015
Original
five blogs:
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Blogger since January 2006
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views – 3012
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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
for my bad attitude, beautiful Twinbay, JEEEEEEEEEEZ!
SAGA
OF NON-MUSICAL SONGWRITER MARK MUD IN 1983, PART TWO, 32 YEARS LATER
ON
(CHAPTER
00007)
HOLY
MOTHER FUCKING TOLEDO TECHNO POP, FOR THE LOVE OF JUPITER AND JUPITER
INLET, FLORIDA, USA!
THE
JUPITER INLET CAM OF THE GAP WEATHER BUG, YO!
Of
course folks, I've learned a thing or a trillion, since August of
1986, but in all that I have come to know, I still am powerless to
reverse what this all was, that I did back there, when Jimmy Carter
said to me on the boardwalk of Atlantic City, after I hollered over
to him with such fervor and certainty, “I'm dead Mister President”,
he replied instantly and without one small iota of hesitation,
glaring right into my pitiful pathetic eyes, ''I
know''!!!!!!!!!!!!
You
think I will ever forget that day in hyperspace, well people, oh
great people, please; then THINK AGAIN wonderful folks.
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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,
from the Library of the Congress. WELL FOLKS, I indeed was mailed
this a long time ago, and soon, will be going up for the fun of it,
to see on a new page, if my 2013 song remake from my old 1983 tune,
GITYA, is now my official number 29 music project registered up there
in Wash-Dock-13-600.
UP-UP-UP-UP,
FOREVER!!!!!
Folks,
l+l=2. 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.
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The continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"
ALL
OF THIS IS THE AMP, OR AFTER MORIANITY PROJECT OF MARK WAYNE
MOUNTAINPEN MOHR.
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There
are lots of illusions and mirages the world over, and
'Victoria Winters' of 'Dark shadows' the
great sixties TV soap show about the supernatural; depicts how
things told, of events gone by, or today's
internet, and 'whatever'; just cannot
be implicitly trusted. It is filled with deceptive
lies, that we can more politely label as illusions or myths.
Why??? Well, ask
any REAL DARK SHADOWS TV FAN; and they will most likely, not
being so personally involved in the similar-to-life situation; be
able to give you a far better explanation than I can on these blogs;
and without truck loads of nasty swear and cuss
words added in! Still, before computer internet, and everyone
having a computer, not even to mention a computer in their pocket as
with 2010-2015 life; but folks; there were times when the stuff I
deal with was present and here; but there was
no internet as we think of. It was used purely and solely for
banking institutions, scientific communities, and very
non-interesting to the 'common-folks' junk. It did not contain
chatter and postings and chirping birds saying a lot of nothing and
all this time wasting nonsense. I say all of this not to offend,
hopefully; but a powerful point really needs to be made, or
I may as well just not say what I am about to. Let
me just gloss ever so carefully and prudently over a few quick
things. This will say a lot, but without saying too much, as long as
you are awake, and not 100 percent close minded to real truths about
this life. Folks, those © people are
great. They allow a songwriter and many other holders of various
intellectual type of property, to protect themselves from theft
through infringements, but as with all things, money always talks
louder than the poor house does, and this has not, nor ever will,
change in this garbage chewing nightmare world. Still
people, the simple truth is that people exist as me, who should have
succumb and died off decades ago, at the hands of total MOTHER
FUCKING MONSTERS. Many of them lead this nation, many control and
manipulate the minds of masses of people; and many others are simply
without the guts or decency, to ever be willing to come forward in
the defense of folks such as me, who
have been major wronged by these powerful SCOTT RANSOM PEOPLE, as in
1988, and that story was told and
retold, over and over and over; and needs no reiteration on this
blog today.
All
this is about right now, is that my music is a story of my life, and
none of it was written frivolously about a man walking on the beach
in the warm setting sun enjoying nature scenes, nor is it someone
enjoying a great meal of ham and potato fries in his kitchen with his
three little children at his side playing on the floor. Now most art
does have more than its outside surface reality, and most does depict
major things about the lives of artists, be it in dramatic works,
literary works, art works, musical works, and so on. Anyone really
alive and related to pondering Mister Rodan, knows I better shut up
1000 different ways from Sunday if I know what's freaking good for
me, but that's that, and I didn't make this world. You can merely
thank me, or not, for playing a major significant part of why it has
lasted this long with our civilization here to read or not read this
blog, you may know this as my tallest tale or the fence story.
Believe what you like, but I really have no time to create a nine
year blog that tells a story that's all rapped up in a bunch of
nothing but major rotten lies. Also, to be that nuts, I would not be
even capable of living alone and handling so much as basic
sociological necessities, and would be long locked away in a mental
institution or what today is more termed, a psychiatric ward or
sike-ward 4-short! Hay you wanted some more. I'm giving it to you now
in a small dribble, so don't cuss me to death, kind people. To know
all about anyone, is to get them not talking about their deeds the
way you see an interrogation on law shows on television. Direct
approach only works if you can do unspeakable unlimited damage and
all gloves are off, and the DA would be stupid enough to allow this,
and the judges, and the whole system. But anyone is right there to
see, and you will see and know more about them, just by doing a few
powerful basic down to Earth things that a third grader is able to
do. First, a closed mind is a dead mind, and that won't work at all
if your desire is in the mode to learn some real truth. It may sting,
or it may feel like you went 20 rounds straight with M.A., G.F. And
M.T. All at the same time, with your hands tied behind you. If you
can't take the agony that may result, then you need to be at the
beach building sand castles with your kids, or whatever,
'Congressman', and your pals Phil, Steve, and Clarence. Next, you
need to look at things they do in their spirit-part of themselves.
This in the case of anyone at all who writes, be it music, be it any
form of art, be it letters to a lover, be it a letter to an educator,
whatever, but in such expressions, are all the hidden secrets of all
of us. We cannot escape ourselves, and really top one percent
psychiatrists know this only too well, and even have really
stupendous great psychiatric tests that patients or those applying
for very sensitive positions of power or authority, usually end up
being required to take, and pass, and these tests cannot be cheated
and faked, no matter who you are, and no matter what you may hear on
TV in the next year or two or so, that may come out discussing this
very topic, and making seemingly wonderful arguments against these
claims. Doing things while consciously dwelling on what we do will
produced a forced slant on our true selves, that a real pro is also
able to read quite accurately. Then there are things going on a roll
that I believe are not under design by mortals, but controlled by the
ESS, and this topic is so dam dangerous, that I have admitted to
merely dancing all around it. Should I get real specifically down to
cases, 80-95% even; you'll be picking up pieces of what was me
physically in this body, off of the streets surrounding where I live,
for the next twenty dam years, IPYT. There are things so hot, and so
taboo, and so MIB-SHUT UP OR ELSE; that if I came out and said all
gloves off dudes and duddesses, that would be the END OF ME! It would
come down swift, and probably painless, but you would hear about the
plane that flew over and a small blomb just accidnetally dropped out
and struck my building one night, or some other such never to be
proven wrong explanation. This has happened, and I know the cases,
and could pop off, and would never ever freaking dare to do so, and
they know it. I will not cross certain lines in the sand no matter
what they do to me, as I am not anxious at all to be MURDERED, and
then have my murderers get away with it, and laugh over some dam
beers, for the next 30 dam years!!!!!!!!!!!! Now I did not mean to
rhyme that; this was purely accidental, if anything truly ever is, on
a cosmic level. But I will dance around a few
quick things, so stay awake if you want to learn something,
folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The
Copyright Office and all government agencies know all about me, and
this my Morians, if any real Morians are anywhere that is; but if;
they did not just helter-skelter, before the internet became a
reality; decide to put my musical works into a categorical order that
totally defies both dated or chronological orders of the entire total
registration collection to date and the matching PAU-NUMBERS.
I only posted the really interesting re-shuffle so anyone who just
might see things in my favor some day and want to come forward; not
that there wouldn't be billions of dollars in it for them as I told
all along on these blogs that I would very generously share any
proceeds of any successfully litigated action on my part; as
cooperation is the number one rule in sociological order as well as
success. You don't need books written by Mister Napoleon Hill such as
''Think And Grow Rich' to know this, but every successful businessman
with seven figure annual incomes has seen and read these powerful
words, IPYT ladies and gents. When I do post the numbers of 1-28,
you only think you will get a mind blow, based on a third of that
amount in the middle, already shown as you see earlier on this very
blog work. If necessary, why not go back up a bit, and look at it
again, way more dam carefully, kind folks? But is this copyright
order thing all I am going to touch on or dance around a bit, on this
blog? NOPE. Here is another little morsel to slowly digest, but be
braced and warned, both a bottle of Pepto and Kao may be a handy item
to first be sure that you have in your bathroom medicine chest, kind
people.
Before
I lost my life, that I had in Mullica, New Jersey, THEY KNEW I WAS
GETTING ONTO SECRETS IN MY FAMILY that were way beond what I ever was
supposed to remember, green dresses, and Mary Balconies and so forth.
Some oyut here revere me as some wild powerful psychic, no matter how
much I tell them, this is all nothing more than surviving an
incredible amount of HELL, and this is the formula for making the
sense of FEEL, one of all of our 5-sensory systems, come ALIVE and
really BURN. I do not, nor do any of you, now or ever, have a
SIXTH-SENSE. That is more powerful myth and illusion and mirage, just
like when we were young and riding in our parent's car on a hot
summer day, on an asphalt road, and ahead of us was water, only it
was not water. It looks very real, but it is a total
TECHNO-FAKE-STEAK! If you won't listen and believe me, then I cannot
help you to see really really really major stuff. Every so often good
folks, cosmos or perhaps a controlling organized majority part of the
ESS, but WHATEVER, decides to do something. It annoys the hell out of
me, and all I can do is remember what ADA Prosecutor Wirtz Senior
told me NOT TO DO, one day back in the early nineteen-nineties, as
things were getting beyond monster-bad, and I cannot in good
conscience, explain to a single dam soul; how or why, I
was meant to survive this awesome intense unfathomable HELL;
but he said to me, “Mark, you need to starve
the monster, not feed it by giving it your attention”. This
is why I can say no more, as if I say anything, it no longer becomes
just me dancing cleverly around stuff. Then by the very nature of
this beast, it gets fed, and my hands are the dam food, and that
people, IS NO GOOD AT ALL, at least not for me, YO!
I
could make this blog 500 pages instead of less than 40 pages, just by
going on a little bit with these few things and a few things that
would then arise out of all of that, but it would be very astute and
prudent on my part, to resist this temptation to do so. Over the past
few days, THE TBN CHANNEL has had some fantastic and beyond great
sermons from pastors of well known churches that are on their
broadcasting system. I hear it all, and would like to tell you that
your network has literally kept me alive, and I believe your relative
who I met in 2010, despite perhaps a lot of things that sound quite
demonic about it all, but you need to know this if any of you ever
stumble onto these words. First thank you for the great uplifting
words, and I think you just may know what is being said here. Also, I
totally agree with you. On top of that, do I have the ability to go
back and see things without knowing the ESS is real, and the answer
is an honest, NO. I cannot, much as I would love to, as much as I
personally love and adore the Lordess Jesus Christ in any form, I
just know a little too much for my own good, and although I know 100%
that without following the rules of this 'videogame', one of
countless trillions of SSJKK's games by the way, but I do know that
it is all true, and not by faith. I HAVE SEEN.
So die without Christ, anybody, and YOUR
HELL cannot be described by
this blogger!
Between
the shit they did to me in the casinos and the shit they were
stealing, these mobbed up Sinatra fucking jerk off PIGS,
in league with dirt bag Donald, enjoyed messing with me illegally,
every chance they got. It began when George Belton first took me to
Resorts Casino in Atlantic City, NJ-USA, and introduced me to
casino-roulette playing. From there things were down hill all the
way, leading to my first trip to Florida one year after George first
began doing this in December of 1982, during my final months at 1802
Robin Farm-Outside-of-Future-Haddonfield Hill Apartments, in
Voorhees, New Jersey.
The mysterious Warwick Auto Sales, owned by the even more mysterious
Mister Everett Simpson, well, this is a story that could go on for
1000 Moby Dick sized books, and I don't plan on boring you. I call
this the end of 82 set up that led to the land of mystery, or for
short, the EO1982SUTLTTLOM, my own little coded alpha-numeric
private, and one of so very many; headings to outlined stories for
future postings, when things are more in the swing for telling the
world about these things, one by one. I can say without a question,
that even beyond my choking condition that lasted for life, and my
nightmare crossover into hell in 1986 from some weird strange
''dreaming'', that these two events, huge as they are; both are
simply existing inside of this even larger truth, and that being,
this early December of 1982 situation at this auto repair garage
place near the intersection of the White Horse Pike and Warwick road,
in Magnolia, New Jersey; and just a little over a mile away from
Robin Hill Apartments Complex; and I knew this all along, but when it
came to doing blogs, I never actually made it appear this way,
focusing much more on the two large incidents that followed my
becoming connected with these people there, the owner Mister
Simpson, and then his two side kicks, Herby Letts, and George Belton.
Herby worked for Simpson, while George was the weird 'hang-around'
guy, and had no connections with the place. I was there to purchase a
vehicle to allow me to get the money I needed to leave that horrible
Debbie Harry and her friend and their horrific loud weekend parties,
and move out of there and into Atco, New Jersey. So I needed to take
my nicer vehicle, and trade down on it, so that I could put the
needed moving cash into my pocket, and this is exactly what I did
back then, and how these folks and I all managed to cross paths,
Mister Redfield. There is some real loud hallway yelling at 7:26,
suppose the fawces of Mister Hall do not want me talking about
Everett Simpson, the man of mysteries. You only know a tiny
smattering of things that could have landed me in prison, there is a
lot to this powerful story, most will not be talked about for reasons
of my obvious safety, both from highly dangerous people, and even,
problems with the law which I certainly do not need, despite the
statues of limitation, I believe, running out on what was done, but
in case certain tings such as murder do not ever run out, and no,
there was no murder; still, I am not sure what is covered in this
cold period, so I am keeping quiet. Now the real joke is on me, as it
normally is, and I just got a major computer hack, bob McDowell
again, at 7:32, and am about to go BOTBAR today, as this is real
mother fucking bad. Then in the middle of these two major hacking
periods, was the hallway shouting which has not been bad for days.
Something is going down around me and a fucking cunt retarded child
with a runny snotty nose should be able to see it, if paying any
attention to this shit whatsoever.
Not
even two years after I met these creepy weird people, it was spring
time somewhere in 1984, and Trump was going to open his casino called
the PLAZA, his very first one, in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Why I
could not tell you in a million years, but I wanted to go down on
opening day, and began to drive from my residence to the casino in
Atlantic City. I was living right back at the Robin Hill allover
again, for my second out of three total stays in this hellish
nightmare place, other than for my first 14-24 months there in 1980
and most of 1981 when that mysterious incident happened that I
blogged several times about, where magically, that evil Playboy bunny
just popped up out of the blue one night, right after somebody heard
me tell my mom in that bugged apartment, that I was going to have my
friend Jim Burr look at the place downstairs as he is interested in
renting it. It was all fake, I had handed her a note to read, telling
her to just play along and I then winked at her, and then I went off
to work, and when I came back for the river at the Mac Andrews and
Forbes Plant where I did security guard work there, a light was on in
the apartment,and she had moved in just in those hours while I was
working. But this is old news, and we are on the exploratron subject
recently, and need to discuss what pertains most to this, not that
she and her friends were not also, host bodies to inter-dimensional
exploratrons coming awake in them from their controlled dreams in
their own parallel universes. Still I am more interested in
discussing another person who I know had an exploratron inside of
him, the young dude gasoline station owner in Hammonton, New Jersey,
named Jerry, back in 1984. My mother told me he has to be on drugs,
but looking back, NO HE DIDN'T HAVE TO BE ON DRUGS. Many weird acting
folks are, maybe the majority of them are; but some of them, ladies
and gentlemen, are not. Instead they are what in the old days would
be called ''possessed''. They are what in the new age Ufology days
would be called controlled abductees. Neither of these things are
real, but what is happening is very real. THEY HAVE AN ACTIVE
TYPE-2-EXPLORATRON INSIDE OF THEM, asleep in their universe, and over
here in ours, they have taken control over the person, and can do all
sorts of stuff to many innocent people, by using these basic sleep
walkers as pawns and tools and puppets and yes I'll say it, AS
WEAPONS! Another possibility for why people suddenly go and shoot up
malls and schools and work places, and you name it. This Jerry made
my life, and the life of my poor mom, a total hell. He was being
controlled by my cousin Donald. First, on the way down to his hotel
and casino, somehow, he had my car blow up, and I barely made it to
this gasoline station, the one in Hammonton, owned by this Jerry
character. This all was totally planned out millions of years ago. He
ended up putting a new engine in the vehicle, a total joke, as the
car was 10 times worse when the job was done, than before; and twice,
my mom and I went to pick it up, and ended up taking the bus down to
his station, breaking down 2 blocks away or less, and waiting for a
bus right back home again. He had us literally going out of our
minds, and the entire state was in on all of our miseries, as just
from watching shows on TV like Judge Judy, I know that these
repeating incidents that happened to us for 20 plus years back in
Jersey, just does not happen and that innocent folks who get totally
scammed and ripped off do have some legal recourse, yet each time we
tried talking to anyone about getting any, we were just fucked and
fucked and fucked, all the more. If you live in Jersey, have big name
enemies, and have no one in your corner to fight for you such as a
politician or three in your pocket, you might as well dig a hole and
jump in, or move the hell far away, as did fucking cunt eating I,
back in December of 'OHM-9'.
This
Jerry character was literally, over a period of 10 weeks or so,
making my life and the life of my mother, a living burning nightmare
fucking hell, and no one anywhere would or could seem to help us
against this horrible fucking sick young monster, who held the power
of life and death, literally over our heads, and was actually
torturing us and our pathetic lives in ways inconceivable. Everyone
needs a car, and he was keeping us from having ours. And this all
started, because
I wanted to go down to TRUMPS NEW HOTEL CASINO in springtime 1984.
Where is Yogi Berra and his non belief in coincidences, when you
truly need him, Mister Voicemail Walmart, sir????????????????????
Now
this was all right after I had met and interacted with the throat
specialist in northeast Philadelphia, and his magical lovely young
lab-tech assistant. He seemed to do the very same thing with her, up
in the future by 20 years give or take, that he did only a few years
away with Donna Summer, naming his ugly harbor tub, the PRINCESS,
right after I copyrighted my EPITOME
OF HARASSMENT PROJECTS, really the first one in 1988,
misspelled on the copyright forms, and is why the
words 'sic'
appear on the title block
on these forms that I now will re-post so that you can all see; which
stands for Spelled In-Correctly. When patters continue to reflect a
repeating item of anything is happening, the odds increase
exponentially, that it is all just up in someone's mind or just a big
ass fucking coincidence. One time, that's one thing, but then there
came Mister Macy. Now at this point of things, I was at Jenny's Park
and living a hermits life, not yet blogging on the net, as I had yet
to meet Chris Bennett, who started all of this by telling me that
maybe I need to do this to tell my story. But my real point on all of
this is that all this time I had no clue how this was all done, or
even a clue as to why. Now with the ESS, it all comes together so
incredibly, that to quote the CCR Band of the sixties, I can feel
this thing's fucking disease. And no, Jane and her weeds are not the
only disease in town, not with all of this shit for the past 30-60
mother fucking years, great folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HIGHLIGHTED
IN THIS COLOR, FOLKS, TO SHOW YOU!
There
are powerful PC numbers,
as well as powerful other items all around us. But that old example
never dies, a man who lives and dies in his home with fifty million
in gold hidden below his basement floor, will live like a poor man,
even though a higher reality is there all throughout his
life!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MEOW-MEOW---PRIVATE
COSMICODED NUMBER-660.
MY
MATCH-BOOK LIST OF ITEMS FOR PCN-660 ARE AS FOLLOWS, DEAR DIARY FROM
1983 ADEG, BUT NOT ET, © OFFICE EXAMINERS!!!!!
FREDERICK
HINGER, DREAMS, POLICE, BERLIN, WEALTH, ESTELLE ANDERSON, MY
ENEMIES WERE SCARED THAT I.
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 all of
lucky co-citizens; let me tell you that indeed; 81
realities make up all the truth comprised inside of five dimensions
of time and hyperspace. IPYT people!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THERE
ARE TWO MOTHER FUCKING MAJOR SIEGES THAT STRIKE ME EACH YEAR, SINCE
THIS CUNT CHEWING FUCKING AUGUST 15, 1986 NIGHTMARE ALL BEGAN.
THEY ARE SUMMER SIEGE, AND
THANKX-2-GIVENS SIEGE. THIS HAS BEEN
DISCUSSED ON MANY A PRIOR OLDER BLOG, ESPECIALLY ON BLOGS THAT YOU
NEED TO FUCKING ARCHIVE TO GET TO, USING MY PASTED IN ARCHIVE ON
MANY BLOGS, SUCH AS THIS NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!
WHAT
ARE THE GATES OF HELL U ASK? The DJIA!
BLOG
STATS AS OF FEBRUARY of 2013. WEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!
|
HAY,
I CAN TAKE A HINT. I do not need to be hit by a mother fucking cunt
lapping Mack Truck, MASHELL DANIELS OF 1980.
I
AM UNDER A MINIDROID INVASION ATTACK. ALL THE FUCKING PEST SPRAYING
AND FUMIGATION AND EXTERMINATION AND OTHER FANCY WORDS, NEVER KILLS
THESE THINGS, EVER FUCKING EVER, JUST AS AIDS AND EBOLA AND ALL
OTHER BUGS WON'T LET US HUMANS WIN. WE HAVE INVADED THEIR SPACE, NOT
THE OTHER WAY AROUND. IF THIS WAS FALSE, THEN WE COULD GET RID OF
THEM. THE ALWAYS PRESENT TRUTH IS REALITY
IS. 1+1
IS 2, ALWAYS WILL BE AND WAS. MISTER SMITH'S 1970 MID-AFTERNOON
SCHOOL BLACKBOARD EQUATIONS, HUH ANN KING SILVA, AND LOVELY FAM?
Long
before the mighty lovely rotten miserable DAWN-MARIE KING said, “IT
IS WHAT IT IS”, that truth in 1969 when she was just teeny weeny
baby and forget the cradle rocking black gospel songs please, but
yes, “That's The Way It Goes”. Before that, great philosophers
such as my old buddy Mister Plato would say, “TRUTH IS” and
reality just interchanges with the word 'TRUTH'!
BLOGS
OF MARK WAYNE MOHR, 2006-2014
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN (BOM)
~~~~~~~
My
life is total hell!
On
Blogger since January 2006
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views – 2992
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2014
MY BLOGS:
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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
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ROBIN HILL APARTMENTS
(7)
Apartment, 208 units 331 Preston Avenue Apt.2011, Voorhees NJ 08043 Map $989-$1298 1-2 Bed Cats OK
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apartment. 'GEE-TANKS!!!!'
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''!!!!!!!!!
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
OH
FUCKING
SHIT.
Something
Mister Spock said, on the original show called “Star Trek”a
while back, in the sixties; applies very well here with all of
this, my friends. Actually he said this to his Vulcan Wife 'Tupring'
or however you might spell her character-name; in a reply and
response to her very logical explanation to him, of why she had done
what she had done; and I'll never forget his words from that show,
not ever. “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? This is another one of LIFES SUPER REVERSAL MIRAGES OF
THE TALOSIAN REALITY SYNDROME, you know, the world appears flat at
sea level, the sun seems to come up in the east and go down in the
west and waking life has always been what homosapiens believe to be
the realer life they call consciousness, while our great dreaming
lives are subconsciousness and less real? I could go on and on, and
most know that. NO HACKER SCUM BAG, I COULD GO ON AN DON AND DON,
BUT WHAT SENSE DOES THAT MAKE, asshole mother fuckers? Oh I
remember, it makes perfect sense. How can we fuck up his blog and
make him “LOOK LIKE A BRUCE GOLDBERG NUT”. Gee was it that easy
to see through that little water ahead of us that ain't fucking
there? W—O—W THAT!!!!
NO
BRAIN,
huh Lois Foca, ANTI
GRAVITY,
ROGER ALL OF THESE WILD YOGI BASEBALL BERRA COINCIDENCES; OH
GREAT AND POWERFUL (GAP) LOVELY WHITTLE WORL'?????????
Where are you when I fucking goddess dam need you, Professor M.
Kaku, NYU????????????????????
HOLD
THE MOTHER FUCKING PHONE, RON WIRTZ, SENIOR, MISTER ADA AT CAMDEN
COUNTY NEW JERSEY OFFICE OF THE GEREAT PROSECUTORS, YO, POOR OLD
DISEASED MOUNTAINPEN HAS A QUESTION WITHOUT TRYING TO DO ANY DAM
MONSTER FEEDING HERE, BRO???????????
Yes
of course, it is always about the 'ESS', and the dream traveler
TYPE-3
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS
EXPLORATRONS,
Oh
yes sir; I know all of this, Ron;
my old buddy, and old pal. 'BUTTTTT',
since they all seem to love playing with time and computers and
hyperspace, and also a mans wonderful daughter's; not one, but both
of them 4-crissake; still,
at the risk of being a
MF
(monster-feeder),
so
let's not start all that nasty ass cussing now;
I doubt that I ever cared at all, not one tiny little freaking iota,
between 1980 and 2007; about
those lyrics to Robin Hill LOIS FOCA dreams in June 1980 But
I also never knew the real ones, and admitted on many old blog from
my first two blogging years, 2006 and 2007, that the song lyrics had
to be made up since Goddess Scylla-Jehovah Krassle wasn't allowing
me to remember anything,
except
for the title that repeated all through the song,
you know; as most songs need to have a hook, and that was the hook,
over and over; “Love
Is For Carpenters”.
Of course, Jesus happened to BE A CARPENTER, and believed in LOVE,
but then, don't let me tell you how to do your own detective job,
ADA Ron, old buddy! SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Only the opening title words were remembered, and 27 years later,
only the opening title words in 2007 were real. As I speak, another
rotten fire alarm is going off here at the Public Housing Building
of Fort Pierce, Florida, at 601 Avenue B, just off of Orange Avenue,
at eight past Melanie Safka two in the radio psychics afternoon.
Speaking of the first two years of my blogs, after-all, but then,
debris was all over the place sir, and so was lovely Goddess SSJKK.
Still, I made up the dam year, old pal. You know this. It just had a
nice fitting way of being song-pronounced, but it could have been
other years, Ron, so don't get all weird with fuckiGN me,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! National Park, New Jersey, WOW; does this
have any REAL beginning, Thomas J. Jitney Bus
Anger???????????????????????????? Holy MO!
Pam Bondi, Attorney General of Florida
Like
Boo. Where
art thou????????
Please
make this all stop, ALL HOT HOSE BUCKET PEOPLE EVERYWHERE, and Mizz
Bondi.
WHERE
ART THOU MY BEAUTIFUL LIGHTNING? I REALLY NEED YOU MY ENDLESS LOVE.
PROTECT ME FROM THIS GARBAGE SWALLOWING MILITFORCE, PWEEEEEEEEEEZE
BABY-BLOND; YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!! Let's bring April swinging
around nice and quick, as I really need you, lovely Diana
Zuudlacroneesha Arteemis. What did you just fucking say to me, Mike
McNulty, AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA????????????????
Engine
15 just deactivated the FIRE ALARM, at 2:19 in the POST MERIDIAN, on
this Monday MLK DAY afternoon, here at PHA at 601 Avenue B. Thanks
guys; I owe you one, or two billion, YO!!!!
CRISIS
LILA ISISCYLLA AND
PHONY
BOLOGNA BATONY MARONI
BUNT-TAPPING,
RUNT-SLAPPING, ROCK-CHUCKING,
FLOCK-DUCKING,
STOCK TRUCKING,
ESS
THE CESS-MESS
YES
THE FLAME OF THE PESTS
HOLY
SMOTHER, FEEL MY SNARE; MISTER PAVAROTTI.
YOU'RE
HOPEFULLY ENJOYING,
AFTER
MORIANITY FOR MILLENNIUM 3
THIS
PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW.
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