HALLS
WALLS, CHAPTER 150
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Paula,
Sarah, Nina, Sandy, and the Shah of Iran, mixed with my good old
wonderful Aunt Geraldine Snow; wowzer-WOW; how would Doctor
Camping of Family Stations Incorporated say it, “MY
MY and OH MY”? I believe I have accurately quoted this
great religious scholar from days gone by.
The
universe screams loudly, and those who have taken refuge in
biological form, have made a chosen decision collectively, not to
hear most of it, no matter how this defies my ability to
understand it. You can do anything from nothing at all, to
watching television, to driving to a local store. If you ever
suddenly realize what I say is the truth, wow would all of you
wake up in one big rush. I am not saying I can do anything at all
that you cannot do. You merely have chosen not to, and I do not
think that I was even really ever given a choice in the matter,
and seem to be forced to hear it all. In any event, as Dave Roth
used to say to me quite often and repeatedly; “Take that and two
fifty-nine tomorrow morning to Dunkin donuts, and it just might
buy a stale donut and a luke warm cup of Joe.
I
also am totally aware that the FAWCES of HALL do more than just
the initial step stuff, if you will. They know the game of poker
and the art of the bluff a lot better than distant cuzz Donnie
knows the 'art of the deal'. That I totally promise all of you out
here, whoever you are, WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! By that, I
mean what all good to great players know without me going on, the
first bluff, the double and triple and higher bluffs, and so on.
In other words, I hear the messages loud and clear that go over
just about all of you every minute of every day, because I cannot
shut them out, because I know what is and is not REAL.
BUTTTTTTTTTT, kind peeps; I am fully aware that HALLS-FAWCES can
also bluff me all around to make me think person A did this, and
person B did that, and person C did this and that, while the D, E,
and F peeps are completely innocent, well, this time at least.
LSS folks, I know beyond the shadow of all shadows, that powers
and invisible forces in Atlantic City back in the sixties; did a
whole lot of shit to me, and other people; for reasons quite
incomprehensible; and I also know that the protection of secrets
to shit that makes the Roswell, New Mexico, look like kids in a
sandbox in comparison; are able to do cover-stuff that the great
White Houyse Situation Room of Wash-Dock 13-600 would envy.
Cover-stuff is like cover stories, only instead of already made up
lies and junk, I'm speaking about planed out events based on if
this secret gets blown, or that one, or these here and these
there, and so on. The biggest one of all is inside a book that few
of you out here in th etotal online community know about, and it
is even the name of an entire chapter that the author devotes his
time and subject to. I speak of a book called, “Time Travelers
From Our Future”, by Doctor Bruce Goldberg, and the chapter
title is “MAKE HIM LOOK LIKE A NUT”. None of you have much
concept or the slightest clue really, just what this is all about,
and just how powerful this shit really and truly is. It hasn't
ruined the life of Mark Wayne Mohr, period, to quote Redd Foxx on
the great comedy show of the 1970's. This has ruined the life of
Mark Wayne Mohr and COUNTLESS OTHER PEOPLE'S TOO, only 99.9% of
these other folks, at least IMHO, are totally and 100% clueless
that this was ever even a factor on how they went from productive
businessmen to homeless residents of below the bridge open real
estate. I know beyond any doubt, that what I call the family
“Huntington” curse, is in reality, a group of ESS powerful
Scott Ransom folks; who have declared me a long time ago when I
left school, a casualty of their war, which by the way amounts to
really one huge evil sick twisted game, for the purposes of
strictly their pleasure and their amusement. IPYT peeps!
Adding
stuff like love your brother as yourself would apply here, but
after that, You
may quote me as I have quoted the great Lordess SSJK, while here
as Jesus Carpenter, the uncle of my sixty-first Grand-Father,
quite a while ago, and far away from good old paradise sunny
Florida!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Hay
big lovely girl; are you Katharine or Mary Lee? Doesn't life bite
and chew?
 
Hay
LIGHTNING my love; where art thou baby-blond?
Folks,
I hope that you all have one hell of a great and wonderful day.
MY BLOGS: PLEASE ARCHIVE THEM.
FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA, UNITED STATES.
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR BLOGS 2006-2014.
MAY
22, 2015,
FRIDAY
AFTERNOON AT 2:23,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE, 86 DEGREES FNHT.
RELATIVE
HUMIDITY IS 70%, FEELING LIKE 95.
DAILY
RANGE-----(H-88/L-72).
WINDS
ARE ENE AT 11, GUSTING TO 20.
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Audience
Jeepers
creepers, forget the eyes, forget the G-men, and the golly gash
darn doo-doo-doo's of Donna Adrian Gaines, oh great powerful
Washington 13-600 Copyright Office. Boy oh boy, let's sit down to
a nice friendly 2011 game of poker, no dreams, no cards, no
McDonald's Restaurants, no big pretty girl employees from the
Harvest. Hey, but them what's left, some may ask? WOW THIS, Mister
R. H. M. Let Donnie boy fire all of us!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREW YOU!
Now
stay with me peeps, I'll try and make some of this real dam ass
easy for all of you, YO. Have a piece of bacon on me, David, and
listen up, BRAH. I do not need to wash my hands, nor did I that
day up at the Harvest on Twenty-fifth and Orange, back in
twenty-eleven; but I am glad that I got to wash my hands of you,
dude!!!!!!!!!
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
This
was the day where I needed to prove how every time I use my
telephone, and so much as speak; these jerk fucking off across the
hall neighbors, slam their door, over and over, super ass loud
until I hang up, and resume total graveyard silence; yet of
course, all day long, they can shout at the top of their fucked up
lungs whenever they want to, and slam their doors, and be in and
out a million times, should they so choose to; but don't so much
as make one tiny sound in your fucking apartment, poor
old jerk off Mark Wayne Mohr, not Egg Harbor City Bacon
Martin, huh Kevin Flatliners?
Yes
my Morians, I took a big chance reaching out to the State AG,
PCN-826, just like the stock market industrials, with 826 being a
Gawnumly self-compatible number, and all. You cannot, as I told JP
a while back at the turn of the millennium, make a total GOD out
of GAGA, and his magical numerology.
You
can hate me all you want to Macy and family, but I cannot resist
the temptation to say that word right about now, sorry;
W----O----W!
You can hate me all you want to Macy and family,
but I cannot resist the temptation to say that word right about
now, sorry; W----O----W!
You can hate me all you want to Macy and family,
but I cannot resist the temptation to say that word right about
now, sorry; W----O----W!
You can hate me all you want to Macy and family,
but I cannot resist the temptation to say that word right about
now, sorry; W----O----W!
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2015
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN (BOM)
Folks,
I will tell about what happened, both yesterday and Thursday, as
well as the few days leading up to it, and a little thing called,
“ROULETTE BAIT”, as we can worry about jail bait
another time!!!!!!!
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CALLIO'S
PURPLE FLOWER, BELOW:
What
would all of you entertainment worlders have done without me? And
more to the point, just what will you do in a month or so , when I am
fucking gone forever????????????????
Give
that message to Misses VICKI ARFLOWERS of the Astral-Plane, Briggbase
residents!
THIS
PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW.
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