Chapter
00016
The
Bum Classification
My
hurricane door installation will take place on Monday late morning or
very early afternoon, on 2 November. New month, new doors, new
whatever, to quote my old singing buddy, Bob, from Oak Street, in
Haddon Heights, New Jersey, back in 1975. If you run into Al Pillegi,
tell him YO dude, hey sup? For me! If you run into Bob, Al Pileggi,
same diff, BRAH! My point about all of this, is that HALLS FAWCES
won't ever ever ever ever ever ever fucking allow me to move into
anything closely resembling NEW. Stop making fucking fun of me,
Geico, or I'll squish that dam ugly polka dotted reptilian lizard
scum with both my feet until all that's left is dust and memories,
YO!
How
do I know I have nothing but enemies in my rotten family and
government agent spies who all hate my guts for no good reason?
Because they are freezing me underneath the 100,000 count. It is as
if these dirty mother fuckers are messing with me, and you know the
funny thing about it out there in cyber-village, YO? I
already knew deep down in my fucking cunt eating spirit,
that this would be done by you ingrate mother
fuckers. You have been given magical
fuckiGN shit by me, and you all sit there, and just laugh and mock
me, and spit and jeer all over me. Too bad my father planned all of
this, from his island fuckiGN universe diners of Akoslem City, or at
least that's what he imparted to me back in fucking diseased 1976,
when he drew those sea charts, for where the seven Spanish treasure
galleons were lost to hurricanes, centuries ago, YO BRO! You see, he
had the correct bloodlines in his mother fucking ancestry, to get him
into a very secret room at a Portugal museum, during World War 2.
This is where a lot of his extensive research was conducted, and then
later on, his pal who was in charge of ops on his naval vessel,
second only to the Captain, would allow a maneuver to be carried out,
known by treasure salvers as ''magging''. Powerful magnetometers are
used to get readings from long sunken metal artifacts and bullion
bars from where the actual vessels long rotted out and vanished. All
I have to do is to take these last positions, and there is a computer
program that will plot where this last known coordinate chart shows
where to begin at site-1, as from there, the other six sites are all
given in tenths of miles in compass directions; and this will modify
right up to a present point, where this all would be, based on tides
and storms, and other oceanographic and marine situations, that
pertain to all of these things.
The
problem after this is that some fuckiGN jerk off political deal was
made by unscrupulous dirt bags here in god dam crooked Florida. Now a
bunch of asshole private salvage company people, own the rights to
the entire fuckiGN Treasure Coast. So I will not ever just hand these
fuckiGN dirt bags squat after what my dad and I went through to get
this mother fuckiGN shit, THAT you can believe, YO! If my dam ass
daughter or her children, want to share 50-50 with these crooks or
make some deal with them, that's cool with me as I'll be fuckiGN dead
and gone, and I have willed this to her. Screw this shit, crooked
Florida and your crooked rotten Treasure Coast. My dad and I didn't
ruin our entire family just so a few dirty crooks can rip us off!
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There
should be a big fucking sign right here, saying welcome to the life
of Mountainpen, please continue a forward path to better observe.
I
can just put on a pair of transdimensional reality shifters, and make
the whole fucking word disappear.
A
very simple device can do something similar, and it doesn't need any
electronic parts. Now the only reason you don't pay attention is
because you think I am lying. I am probably about the most honest
mother fuckiGN jack off bastard that you will ever in any way be in
contact with, your entire lives, whoever is out here. So be stupid
cubed in Cuba. Go win for the lottery of Atlantic City and Camden,
Daddy Cuba; you whore from 2002!!!!!!!!!!!
END
TRANSMISSION.
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