The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment": Chapter 00024, The Bum Classification

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The Bum Classification, CHAPTER 00024

I am killing roaches constantly again, and guess who is living here illegally again? MISTER ILLEGAL!!! This mother fuckiGN door slamming bastard is back to stay again, un til he eventually gets kicked out, and then he will keep coming back, you know, JUST LIKE THE ROACH THAT HE FUCKING IS. LIKE DADDY, LIKE KID; AND THIS IS WHY MY ROACHES IN HERE, FOLLOW THEIR PIDE PIPER PAPA FROM ACROSS THE HALLWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It is not just his music choices and door slamming, but his filthy fucking rotten ROACHES, that I have problems with; Florida Board of Health, and Attorney General Bondi. This dirt bag does bring me fuckiGN roaches. He is the reason that I suffered with these things ever since that mother fucking pig moved in here, a few months after I did, from another apartment on another floor; where to this day, he still has this other apartment, and a girlfriend from there, and SHERIFF sir; this is all totally against PHA policy, unless of course, you have the illegal fucking favoritism that he has, more payola from higher people taking family-money from the Macy-Bunch, in this local crooked area, K.J.M., sir!!!!!!! I never had roaches, not even here in this place, not until three months after I was here, and then Mister Stereo as I called him, left; and these pricks, (JAMES & THE GANG) all moved the dam hell in there. Then Sheriff sir, it was: ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. ROACHES. And I am killing them just this morning, and the dam roach poison tablets are not doing one dam thing to help me rid myself of these fucking cunt nasty ass things! This mother fuckiGN illegal son of a bitch, brings roaches into my apartment, AND IT IS NOT FUCKING CUNT FAIR; Mizz Debra Marotto, Resident goddess dam manager, YO YO YO!!!! No matter how many poison fucking pills you drop under shit in each room, or roach hotels you put around corners; when this mother fuckiGN dirt bag illegal prick comes in, SO DOES HIS COCK SUCKING FUCKING DIRTY BASTARD ROTTEN ASS ROACHES, YO YO YO YO YO YO BRO!!!!!!!!!

Again this Monday morning, he slams his door, over and over and over again. Doing exactly what, I will never know, but he's fucking doing it, YO.

Hell, maybe he's pickin' his nose and chewing it!!!

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NOVEMBER 2,2015,

MONDAY MORNING AT 11:06,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.

CURRENT TEMPERATURE 87 DEGREES FNHT.

TEMPERATURE RANGE TODAY------(H-87/L-69).

WIND IS SSW AT 10, WITH SMALL GUSTS TO 11.

RELATIVE HUMIDITY IS 61%, FEELING LIKE 94.

THIS UNGODLY HEAT & HUMIDITY, AND ILLEGAL NEIGHBOR, WILL BE THE CUNT HUFFING DEATH OF ME, IN CASE YOU CARE AT ALL, SHERIFF KEN MASCARA SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT!!!!!!!!!

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Treat them with respect, cousin Donnie-Boy. Boy oh boy did I learn my lesson as hell in eternity progressed along for me, Misses Mildred B. Young of Cooley Hall.

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The South Central Eastern part of the Sunshine State of ''PARADISE''!!!!!!!!!

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MY SPELL-CHECKER HAS BEEN HIT AGAIN, SHERIFF!

If you would allow me to prove a giant fucking conspiracy to wreck every single possible item in my life that makes survival totally impossible, in an organized plot, with powerful Scott Ransom car-bugged people from 1988 through right now in almost fucking 2016, Sheriff K. J. Mascara, sir; I would give you anything you asked for, and this is not a bribe sir, because it in not illegal to share things with friends. I know a lot about the law from decades of careful viewing of Mister wolf's great law shows, YO!

THE WEATHER BUG (TWB)

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Advisory Colors Key
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Note: The image above may not reflect the current alert state for your county due to a several minute delay between the issuance of the alert and the map processing.

Oh may the gods pity my poor fucking pathetic endless isness of being!!! In any case kind folks, I know that at the end of the dam day, I have done all I can do, and that is my very dam best. I don't have to hang my fuckiGN head in shame for any man, or any woman, or any child, or any entity, anywhere!!!!!!!!

Oh may the gods pity my poor fucking pathetic endless isness of being!!! In any case kind folks, I know that at the end of the dam day, I have done all I can do, and that is my very dam best. I don't have to hang my fucking head in shame for any man, or any woman, or any child, or any entity, anywhere!!!!!!!!

HEY ALL CUTE SAVANTS, YOU KNOW THIS ONE!

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Why do I get the mother fucking feeling that I have somehow pissed off my blog audience (blogaud) somewhere right around the twenty-sixth day of October. Gee David Leigh Blackboardman Smith from fucking 1970, can it be true, Aunt Barbara 1938-1988 copyrights from Camp Miquon, LBI, NJUSAESMWG? One thing is for sure, ACLU. Hackers took out my mother fuckign spell check program AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!! When one of their kids dies in their sleep soon, THEY'LL BE VERY MOTHER 'FUCKIGN' ASS SORRY!!!

HELP ME DIANA. THEY'RE KILLING ME GIRL. LIGHTNING, THESE BASTARD EARTHLINGS ARE FUCKING DESTROYING ME, PRECIOUS LOVELY WONDERFUL GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When I am dead in here soon, Sheriff, my spilled blood is on your watch and your hands, as my blogs will prove that I begged and begged both you and the AG for help, and went totally ignored and unanswered, sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Magic machine mind, Easter Sunday's, and magical lab technicians.

Go ahead and laugh at me AG and Sheriff K.J.M.

ENDocrinologists, AND ENDocrinologists, AND ENDocrinologists, AND ENDocrinologists , AND ENDocrinologists, AND ENDocrinologists, AND ENDocrinologists, AND ENDocrinologists , AND ENDocrinologists, and never ending mysterious laboratory technicians from 1984, at all great throat specialist offices, everywhere. WOW Mister R. H. Macy, sir!!!!

There are way more mother fuckign horses asses than there will ever be horses. Try figuring out how that is even possible, wonderful people out here, YO!!!

But are there more roll clouds than there are rolls? How can anyone know thisTLEWEEDS or this, Mizz Buttwipe Fonda of 1993?

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At the risk of being pigeonholed as the Girl Who Writes About Crazy Cursing Dudes, I bring you Mark from New Jersey. Mark has far-ranging theories on time travel, Armageddon, roulette and Donna Summer (the DEVIL!), which he angrily discusses in various telephone conversations.

Station Manager Ken clued me in to this fella recently. He was given a CD called “The Meaning of Life.” The back copy states that it was made from a cassette found on the side of the road bearing the same title. He’s really difficult to listen to, for a couple of reasons- The recordings only capture Mark’s side of the conversation and they seem to have been recorded either by a microphone placed somewhere in the room or possibly while Mark was standing outside on a windy day. More importantly, he is insane. Completely, violently insane.

Mark claims to be both a time traveler and a descendant of King David. His family will bring about the apocalypse through the activation of the Christ Android, currently dormant inside the 12 Planet. And also that the 50 richest families in the world are trying to do him in. Covertly, of course. Also against him is Donna Summer, the Devil. (Whether he means the disco Donna Summer, or WFMU’s own Jason Forrest isn’t clear.)

Here then, are three selections from Mark’s version of reality:

Interdimensional Technology (MP3) Android & Angel (MP3) 12th Planet (MP3)

If you need more Mark from NJ, Aquarius Records would be happy to sell you a cd-r.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go cover my windows with aluminum foil.

Posted by Listener Therese on December 12, 2006 at 01:28 AM in Audio Mysteries, MP3s, New Jersey, Religion | Permalink

(Hey, at least I'm not for Tom Reale, YO).

This fella is MOST DEFINATELY for real! A friend of mine roomed with him for awhile at his home in Blue Anchor, NJ, and said Mark screamed and yelled into a phone that was off the hook, non-stop, for days on end. He believes lightning is a Goddess named Sarah Krassel, and that the Atlantic Ocean is the Goddess Stacy. Moreover, he is convinced that the Kennedy family, in conjunction with the Carey family (Mariah and them), in conjunction with the Trump and NJ Callio family, are conjointly conspiring to kill him, using black-op helicopter missions, spraying his immediate air space with chem-trails, and sending Atlantic City-residing life gaurds and bar tenders stealing into the night, waiting to catch him off-gaurd. The only problem being that he lives in Ft. Pierce, FL now, but still believes they’re out there. You can google “MOUNTAINPEN” to catch up on his latest blogs.

Posted by: Razzy McThaxton | March 16, 2012 at 09:00 AM

I was going to end the blog, and these fucking jerk off MILITUFORCE enemies are pouring on a WEEKEND THANKS-2-GIVENS DEATH SIEGE, AND FROZE UP MY OFFICE WORD FUCKING CUNT PROGRAM, SHERIFF MASCARA, SIR.

You just go right ahead and allow my death to happen on your watch. I have covered myself a million ways, an done will catch and this will all be fucking exposed after my murder is carried out, flames or no flames, Mister David Leigh Blackboardman Smith from fucking 1970, and Aunt Barbara 1938-1988 copyrights from Camp Miquon, LBI, NJUSAESMWG, from copyrighted Jerry Pliner homes, of Chuck Norris Greatkicks Avenue, in Atco, New Jersey, USA-ESMWG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Mohr, Mark W., 1954-

Saga of song writer Mark Mud.

PAu000501582

1983

In 1975, when Jim Burr rescued me from that horrible Halloween party, and those Satan worshiping nabes, ''the Kaufman's'' next door, Jim and I were escaping Halloween parties that were quite hellish, and he had just left his crib in Gloucester City, New Jersey, where Patty and Merry and all other wonderful patched pirates, and Jokester's, were hanging around, and securing their bags of sweets and candies. Well, and why not. We all are a bunch of hanging in there Huntington's. And today all day was drilling and hammering by maintenance men, but hey, they're just trying to fix up this fucking rats and roach trap, so who's to complain, SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT, YO BRAHHH!

Just shoot this poor old frikkin' horse 4-crissake, MY BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Are you going to try and rule the world now, Frank? Hey, that's my kid's job. She already decreed that from th etop of a very tall and beautiful scyscraper a while ago, shortly aftert turning thirty-eight in this lifetime. I don't think the Almighty has ever lived in thside her gamer-simulation for this long, but this is so way cool to see what may happen as th eyears keep marching by for heaven's gate sake. Gee Mister Flowers, what else could go wrong with that hockey game that early evening in May in 2007. Frank Callio had just left this veil of tears you knbow. No, not when I had that fatal heart attack on 26 December of 2006, at just minutes past five in th edam morning, at work, near the Cifaloglio Transfer Station. But when Sarah Whitecar zipped me from the opposite weamer side of this place, and into th efuture May, Frank had just died, and could meet me indeed, at the Black Horse Pike Mickey-Dee, in southwest Atlantic city or the Chelsea Heights section of town, as locals used to call that area back in 1970, an fperhaps still do. Goddess dam it, I'll be a mother fuckiGN horses ass on steroids, after surviving death so many times, or so it may seem to so many folks, YO!

Drama queen am I; bite me Detective Green!

Drama queen am I; bite me Detective Green!Drama queen am I; bite me Detective Green!

Drama queen am I; bite me Detective Green!

As I said, Jim Burr had just left his crib in Gloucester City, New Jersey, where Patty and Merry and all other wonderful patched pirates, and Jokester's, were hanging around. He came over since I had no car in 1975, and I was not yet working for any place, that paid enough money to purchase anything that was decent. When you are not mechanically inclined back in those days, buying a fixer-upper-junker-clunker, was ALWAYS a very stupid move. Perhaps it still is, except for a very few in the trade, that know how to fix and flip cars, enough to make a buck and have small enough consciences to sleep OK at night, for doing it. In any event, Jim picked me up on October 31, 1975, at 1118 Linden Hill Apartments, in Lindenwold, New Jersey, USA; and we left the area. I had some very satanic weird nabes. I am not against Halloween or trick or treating or even fairly well behaved Halloween parties. However, this was like being in a cult with some really wild shit heads. Jim and I were brand new Christians, and here we were in an apartment common where eight apartments shared one stair way, and several of my nabes, one in particular, had very loud stereos, and were blaring out some pretty ''SATANIC DEMONIC'' stuff, to put it mildly and politely. I can deal with a few photos of skeletons and a few silly kid type things, but these fuckign assholes had full blown photos of SATAN with his supposed tail and horns, and fire coming off his pitchfork, and it goes on an don and on, folks. IT WAS HELL, well, they were trying to offer their opinion of just what this ''place'' may indeed look like. They had a very active and vivid fuckign ass imagination, and I'll give them all that. As I said, Jim and I were new to the Born-Again Christianity movement that was tasking huge roots at that time, and we were almost panicked to get out of that place, that horrible day. But all the time, my fears were very close to where Jim Burr lived, actually about a mile away from where he lived on Congress and Constitution Avenue intersection. The home of Patricia Hollister is a major subject, and the internet is totally clueless to her, and her powerful secrets. She moved after a while, but while there, my Aunt Ruth came to me in powerful dreams as I got older, and kept screaming at me, “Shark, Shark, Shark”. Why would my Aunt Ruth Huntington Gottwald, who resided at 175 Peninsula Drive, in Babylon, New York, USA, want to be coming to me in these powerful dreams for absolutely no Earthly reason, and saying that? Well, do you have a hundred years, Mister Blackboards Kings 'highwaygate' Cooley Hall Wormhole Smith??? Patty has hacked out my Spell Check system AGAIN, and she has so much power, as does my kid, that I am most likely doomed, for saying all these mother fuckiGN things!!!!!!!!!

You know, if it is you Russ Thaxton; those Law & Order peeps, really profited off of your horrible nightmare story. I hope you gave them permission, unless they really didn't need it. As for me, they can all go blow rubbers out their tire mallets for all I care, but that horrible shit that you told to me over at my crib, or in those days, my pad; on Oakland Avenue, in Oaklyn, shortly after my fifteenth birthday in early December of 1969; I mean give me a break, gorgeous Misses Detective Hargitay, YO. Still, whether it is you or not, this is not some powerful set of zillion to one odds coincidence where if we had zillions of parallel universes that were very close to this one as far as events up to those times and even these times, and only one was that exact thing and all these things, and then one out of these zillions of them, had people making all these shows and this music for dam near 40 years, I mean this goes so far beyond any Macy WOW passes and WOW'S in general, that I have no words. When Mountainpen has no words, to quote Billy fucking Harner-Honda; “THAT'S SAYIN' SOMETHIN' YO”!!!!

Everyone thinks of stairways to heaven leading up, but this one seems to be leading down. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, Paula Uwich, and lovely BX sisters. I hope all of you sleep real well at night, and give my best, to the GAP MACY BUNCH, folks!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now what is cuter than this, unless, to quote the GAP whoever she really was, DMK, someone is ''totally soulless''!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Many people tell me that I can take what happened to me and explain it in 1000 different ways, and that I have merely chosen the one that fits what I would like reality to be. WOW, what are you fucking nuts or somethin'? WANT? Like I want all this fucking shit? Are you totally mother fucking mad YO? No wonder I heard expressions all of my life, and one of these was used quite constantly by my late pal, Dave Roth, “There are more horses asses, than there are horses”.

My otherwise cool and great life has been reduced to a mother fuckiGN worthless dam peanut, mister Bird!

Good old hot South-Central Florida on either coast, east or west. Lovely Liza from Cooley-Hall, back in 1972, really did a 'MY' in the classroom, singing along to that hit song, 'Hot Beautiful Sunday'. Well, when it swings into middle March and later around here, it does not require it to be any particular day of the week, Gloomy Sunday, Twinbay Happy Sunday, or Monday-Saturday!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here's a pretty flower for you, Frank Callio and family; and whoever your mysterious A&R dream-person might be. Quit giving me fatal heart attacks. Nothing seems to work for me. I am in eternal fucking hell, you dam dumb ass mother fuckers; YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Don't think for a fucking puke swallowing minute, great folks, please; that because I have ended the Atlantic City Escape Book, or inability to ever do so, actually; that this is some kind of an end to it. That would be a real fatal error on anyone's part, especially anyone who is in on my lifelong mother fucking obliteration and destruction, BRO!!! Take that to the BANK OF TORONTO, Mister Regis Philbin and your girlfriend. Well, watch out for her if she is, YO. She brought the Fascitar into my life, and that's not all she brought to me, only she keeps the cream and throws the crumbs my way. Don't take that beyond any surface message now, as there is nothing there, Rip and RP. DO IT MIKE MCNULTY, GO AHEAD. Oh yes sir; this book led to this book, and this book will be killer dynamite fucking cubed and beyond CUBAN; YO YO YO YO YO YO YO, SO AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA, MIKE MCNULTY of 1971, AT THE other FAITH-FARM PLACE, huh lovely latengrate Donna Not Jason-Forrest Summer???????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I promise you all, that yes, WE'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN. Holy fucking shit water to exponent 99! I promise you all, that yes, WE'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN. Holy fucking shit water to exponent 99! I promise you all, that yes, WE'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN. Holy fucking shit water to exponent 99! I promise you all, that yes, WE'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN. Holy fucking shit water to exponent 99! I promise you all, that yes, WE'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN. Holy fucking shit water to exponent 99! I promise you all, that yes, WE'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN. Holy fucking shit water to exponent 99! I promise you all, that yes, WE'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN. Holy fucking shit water to exponent 99! I promise you all, that yes, WE'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN. Holy fucking shit water to exponent 99!

Still, and in closing; if it was ever easy to know real total truth, and if historical accounts of anything, were ever 100%, or even near 100% accurate; then we could all literally do without any religion, any instruction, even any laws. We all would live in a very utopian environment of peace, and wellness, and prosperity, for all people everywhere. The last thing we would do is turn on our cock sucking TV sets every dam night at 5 and 6, and hear the dam news with 25%+ of its content, being about American, and local area, GUN VIOLENCE. I for one am so sick of guns, and people getting fuckiGN shot; that I am about to take a very sharp turkey knife, lay down in my dam water filled bath tub, and cut my hands off, and bleed the fucking hell out!!!! Not that the Milituforce won't retrace me, of course! I have fuckign died way too many times, and I mean totally died; and yet, boom, here I am; with no dam explanation for it; and the entire fucking world afraid to be near me, and totally fuckiGN ostracizing me, as a result!!!!

To quote another great EW person of the past, Mister Albert Jolson, YO, “You ain't heard nothing yet”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SUPPLEMENTAL BLOG ENTRY OF MARCH 16, 2015

AS LONG AS THESE MOTHER FUCKING JERK OFF COCK SUCKING BASTARD TRASH SCUM HAVE ME TO PICK ON, AND 'FUCKIGN' CUNT PERSECUTE; THE DOW WILL ENDLESSLY KEEP FLYING FOREVER AND EVER; UP AND UP AND UP AND UP AND UP; AND I TOLD YOU THIS LOVELY GIANT FUCKING GINA, AND I TOLD YOU ALL, EVERYONE ELSE, READING THESE FUCKING ASS WORDS!! THE PROPHET OF NOTHING IS GETTING FUCKING MASSACRED HERE, COPYRIGHT FUCKING OFFICE, YO YO YO YO YO!!!!

RED ALERT RED ALERT RED ALERT RED ALERT

End fucking transmission, Mister Blucranrodden!

I TRIED TO ESCAPE ATLANTIC CITY MORE THAN ONCE!!!

Hey Mister Ped, at least I'd never swear on their eyesight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No bands of gold, no 1970, no hit songs played while staying at the child fucking cunt molesters home on Cornwall Avenue in Ventnor, New Jersey, praise Godd-ESS! Notice al of the recent fucking EWP or Entertainment World Punning in recent blogs where they fucking hack me and it seems to be not only fucking up my blog words, but an agenda to it as well, if you study all these machine and mind hacks, or RAW! I am not doing this, and swear that on both PP and my kids. Even I can be humorous during periods of hell. Hey Mister Ped, at least I'd never swear on their eyesight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No bands of gold, no 1970, no hit songs played while staying at the child fucking cunt molesters home on Cornwall Avenue in Ventnor, New Jersey, praise Godd-ESS! Notice al of the recent fucking EWP or Entertainment World Punning in recent blogs where they fucking hack me and it seems to be not only fucking up my blog words, but an agenda to it as well, if you study all these machine and mind hacks, or RAW! I am not doing this, and swear that on both PP and my kids. Even I can be humorous during periods of hell. Hey Mister Ped, at least I'd never swear on their eyesight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No bands of gold, no 1970, no hit songs played while staying at the child fucking cunt molesters home on Cornwall Avenue in Ventnor, New Jersey, praise Godd-ESS! Notice al of the recent fucking EWP or Entertainment World Punning in recent blogs where they fucking hack me and it seems to be not only fucking up my blog words, but an agenda to it as well, if you study all these machine and mind hacks, or RAW! I am not doing this, and swear that on both PP and my kids. Even I can be humorous during periods of hell. Hey Mister Ped, at least I'd never swear on their eyesight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No bands of gold, no 1970, no hit songs played while staying at the child fucking cunt molesters home on Cornwall Avenue in Ventnor, New Jersey, praise Godd-ESS! Notice al of the recent fucking EWP or Entertainment World Punning in recent blogs where they fucking hack me and it seems to be not only fucking up my blog words, but an agenda to it as well, if you study all these machine and mind hacks, or RAW! I am not doing this, and swear that on both PP and my kids. Even I can be humorous during periods of hell. Hey Mister Ped, at least I'd never swear on their eyesight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No bands of gold, no 1970, no hit songs played while staying at the child fucking cunt molesters home on Cornwall Avenue in Ventnor, New Jersey, praise Godd-ESS! Notice al of the recent fucking EWP or Entertainment World Punning in recent blogs where they fucking hack me and it seems to be not only fucking up my blog words, but an agenda to it as well, if you study all these machine and mind hacks, or RAW! I am not doing this, and swear that on both PP and my kids. Even I can be humorous during periods of hell.

THIS PARTICULAR WRITING TERMINATES NOW.

Starting just minutes after five this fucking evening in this daylight savings time and darkening skies; I FELL UNDER SOME MORE THANX-2-GIVENS DEATH SIEGE. First with major computer hacking, and then about twenty minutes later again, with these major uncouth filthy animal roach fucking nabes of mine, from across my cock sucking hallway, in this hellhole rotten PHA Building. These pricks are out there screaming and shouting and banging doors. Hey world, what else is turd chewing mother fucking milf licking new around my part of this twisted screwed up universe?

When I went to turn my computer on, the fucking dick sliding mouse froze up and I could not move the pointer on the screen no matter what I did with the turd sucking actual hardware-mouse thing. PEOPLE, IF YOU PUT IN A BUY ORDER FOR MONDAY MORNING ON THE DOW JONES INDUSTRIALS, and keep it there; you will make out like mother fuckiGN bandits, CUBAN-CUBED, YO BRO, I promise you!!!!

The Bum Classification, CHAPTER 00023

So who is Sarah Krassle? She is the absolute GOD OF YOUR WORLD, and mine; ladies and gentlemen. Lenny McKinnon said it, and I do not believe he said it live on that CB-RADIO as handle ops man 601, but had it recorded from 1980, the only year that I ever interacted with him, and this I'll quote, “There ain't no doubt about it”. He supposedly was talking to his co-radio friend, Miss Chillie. Yes, you got it people; the great and powerful non-OZ Copyright Office has all of this evidence tucked away in my music project files, UP THERE in good old wonderful WASHINGTON in the great and powerful DISTRUCT OF COLUMBIA. Oh Poolroy, go home already.

What the fuck are you laughing at, YO?

My life ain't one bit fucking funny, dude, and that's just realty son!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hay, I didn't fuckiGN say you have to go all crybaby over it either, YO!!!!

So who is Sarah Krassle? She is the absolute GOD OF YOUR WORLD, and mine; ladies and gentlemen.

Project Bluebook/Blucran ended in 1969, during her most recent tweencarnation-time; if we perceive time to be real as mortals, as we seem to do. It isn't of course. Neither is space, only MIND exists, and connects us to interactiveness, on any and all realms of the three heavens.

It would take me centuries to write down what I already know about Sarah Krassle, as my memories of her and myself go somewhat extensively. If forced to translate this into your waking world time realm, maybe about just over thirteen thousand years straight. I am going to give one tiny tid bit, not to this ungrateful blog-audience presently here, but hopefully to a future one tuning back that most likely does not effect things such as counter hits, due to very complicated shit. Before we can tune back to old radio or TV-radio broadcasts, or to an actual area so that a powerful nowhere near yet invented laser-printer can make a copy of an entire reality such as a room where a person is in and alive, who died the next day, but you are a year in the future tuning back through distance-delay; please; don't get me started here, Misses Eckert Pharmaceuticals, YO, but yes, before we can do any scanning of past time, a lot of distance needs to be synthesized, in an actual controllable real-world distance, and this is accomplished after a string of LUNSAT or lunar satellites are all strung around the moon. In a major compressed nutshell, the round trip light second distance (RTLS) distance being about three and a half RTLS from the moon to the Earth, give or take; needs to be beam bounced through extremely sophisticated laser systems mixed with major electronic gismos, so that this runs in a controlled field-area, many times, trillions of times, so that a distance of months and years can be virtually created without ever using more than this approximate 3.5 or so RTLS distance, and this will become known in many universe futures, as are already, as reverse-time-field-scanning (RTFS-technology). I know because as an occasional TYPE-3-EXPLORATRON traveler, I have visited some parallel universes, and seen these things. But my point for now has nothing to do, or little anyway, with that particular type of high super tech of the near tomorrow world, perhaps, right here in this universe. When I tried to get up on this machine, and had that mouse-freeze-up hack; I was thinking of both hacking that I have been getting, as well as machine-mind and its unknown control and effects to present day science, and even how the mouse was screwed with on my 1997 computer, over at my Somerdale, New Jersey death-house, as I used to refer to this place as, when those three Tandy employee dudes were all over there with me, and later one afternoon with just Fred Winstein and myself, and he called this a 'biosing hack', and he told me that only top billion dollar shit, can pull this off; you know, as in the Black File Agencies, (BFA). But there is a lot more to MACHINE-MIND and its interface with human mind. Many folks will tell you, computer software engineers and the great geeky gurus of all hackers club and know-it-all societies, that in fact, there is a lot more to the interface than is being released. This is the hugest secret I could ever let out, and am going to scratch a surface right now since they just won't fuckiGN ever leave me alone and quit mother fucking persecuting me, 24-7-365.2422!

Computer Science and all sorts of related laboratories from the most famous ones up in New England, MIT, and others; all know one huge thing, and I mean the top dozen people who shut the fuck up about it, and I am out here now daring to kick this noisy can at midnight, so all can hear this poor old Fort Pierce town crier of present days of tears and jeers!!!!!!!!!! Fiction shows do the same thing as the real sciences. They try and imagine a virtual reality, or an artificial intelligence; and ways that a MACHINE MIND can hopefully someday create such a thing. This all naturally comes to be, but only after our technology grows quantum leaps and bounds ahead of right now in these cave age days of toy computers. With some slightly altered advanced tech, one item being the Q-Chip, and there are others; all present computers, even the best of them, will be like a ten dollar Walmart calculator adding machine, for sale at many check-out counters, in a comparison. But just because we will have machines that can self adjust into interactions or ''THINK'', and even be later placed into bodies so that they can feel and sense their environment and interact with outer stimulus, it still goes further than this. These dam secrets are beyond fuckiGN huge. An automatic link exists inside of MACHINE-MIND, that will automatically permit these androids, and not some silly small phones, to do all sorts of things, without limit, like the Star Trek Borg sort of, and also mixed with machines talking to each other, you know, one cell phone or computer, speaking to others all over the world, we call this internet, you know. Well, we and these droids will automatically become part of a very powerful cloud, or have we already been inducted, without our knowledge and permission, and does Bluebook Project, and Wright Patterson Air-force Base and Area 18, and all this shit; already know that this is the great Star Trek Next Generation “GAME” of Wesley Crusher? We most likely have all been indoctrinated into this Wesley Crusher game long ago, and only a handful of people who travel the hyperspace, such as myself, and Patty-Paula King Hollister; would be immune to some degree to its effects, and even PP SENIOR uses a cellphone. I of course only use this computer, and basically, just to do these blogs, and fight these Astral Plane forces of BRIGGBASE!!! Not that it has gotten me very mother fuckiGN far, in ten straight solid goddess dam ass years, YO BRAHHH!!!!

END TRANSMISSION.

So there I am on the weee-early morning non-TV hours of the day after 2006's Christmas, at my job site, Cifaloglio, and that loud machine kicked in, and made me jump a mile. My heart had been giving me trouble and was in a nasty irregular rhythm for a few days, and this caused me to get a fatal coronary thrombosis. I left my body and went out beyond my automobile, and looked back in it to see my body sitting behind the wheel, dead to the world, literally. I then began to notice things, even though it was night time, seemed to have a glowing brilliance to them and I had no glasses on my face yet saw with super visual clarity. I walked ten yards into the transfer station and what I called the trash-warehouse, and noticed that a white sports car had driven in and was parked there, and inside of it, the most beautiful goddess that I ever saw in my life. Now if something like this happened to you, not once or twice, but once a year since your dam ass teens, thanks to wonderful Patty-Paula the mighty GAP Exploratron, what would you do? What would your blogs look like? What WOULD YOUR LIFE BE LIKE? Do you think the FBI or the fucking Air Force Bluebookers of all Blucran mysteries would be wiping out your lives and making you invisible and ostracized? Darius and his extreme fighter pal and my distant cousin David, know. Oh yes, they know all right. They believe in 080808 and other more BOTBAR FONDA NUMBERS as well. Ask big lovely Jay-Lo too. She knows!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY SPELL CHECK PROGRAM HAS BEEN STRUCK AGAIN; FBI, ACLU, and World Court of the great powerful fucking HAGUE; however you spell it. Spelling was never my best subject in school; along with 'fizz-ed'!!!

I walked ten yards into the transfer station and what I called the trash-warehouse, and noticed that a white sports car had driven in and was parked there, and inside of it, the most beautiful goddess that I ever saw in my life. It was Sarah Krassle. She told me to go over to the other side of this place, as it is warm over there. I was laughing to myself, as how can it be warmer or colder in merely a different area of the same large room on a cold winter night, I'm thinking to myself, and I challenged her and we began discussing it. She said that she told some fishermen a long time ago, to throw their fishing nets on the opposite side of the boat and they were laughing, but obeyed, and caught an abundance of fish. She eventually convinced me to go over there, and I slowly did, maintaining my gaze of her and her car, and thinking she has no bizz in here on this property but I hope she never leaves. I was madly in love. Her beauty can be so far beyond humanly awesome, after-all, she has unlimited energy to work with being an almighty Goddess, the great Jehovah, and dividing the incredible energy by the speed of light squared produced her physicality or material self, you all know the formula but few know it in reverse, M=E divided by C-SQ. As soon as I obeyed her, the entire winter turned into a middle spring evening, of the following year, and it was early in May of 2007, and suddenly it was around just shy of eight in the evening, and the sun was low in the sky and setting, and the skies were bright, and it was warm, and I found myself in daylight savings time, nearly half a year in the future, only nobody could see or hear me. I realized that a bunch of people were standing out where my car should be only it wasn't there, and they were all talking about the Philadelphia hockey game the night before and how the Flyers Ice Hockey Team had lost and all the stuff that went wrong in the game. Suddenly I remember one of them walking over to me and telling me that he could see me and talk to me, that he was my guide as humans would call it, and that I had died and was only now my astral-essence or as occult practitioners might call it, astral-body. He said. After handing me two lovely flowers in a small vase, that I needed to take them to a lady, and that only Frank Callio knew who she was, and to go to one of his favorite spots to speak to him, which was the McDonald's place on the Black Horse Pike right near the Atlantic City Ball-field and the Badder Airfield. I had never been there at that time, and later went a lot to this place with Ann and Dawn who back then, I didn't even know yet. I did not know how Frank Callio could speak to me, he was alive and not a 'spirit-guide'. Well, it wasn't until I came to sunny paradise Florida, that I came to learn that just a few months back from this DEATH EXPERIENCE, not NDE, as I totally died and was re-traced; but yes, I learned only years after all of this, that Frank Callio had passed beyond this veil of tears earlier that year in 2006. Sounds like shit right out of 'Ghost Whisperer', but then; so does me talking to dead kids, in Quakertown Parks, back in the beginning of the fucking nineteen-sixties.

So who is Sarah Krassle? Ten years of these blogs have heard Mountainpen discuss the 'gods' of the great and powerful ASTRAL-PLANE, as well as the instructions found in Patty Hollister's trash can, as if that really was her name of course, at my mom's dam world famous office, to reach this Astral-Plane, called FASCITAR! You also heard how I seem to be impervious to death. I can die all right, as could Mister Duncan McLeod, the great Highlander of Scotland. The only man who ever had good words to speak of my wonderful directly related grand mother about 22 times, Mary of Scotland, the wonderful and quite gorgeous may I add, QUEEN. So let all of us bite the dam dust, from the Deflavia residence to the Lombardo residence!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah Steve in 2010 yup at the great Spaghetti can isle HARVEST place of all intergalactic proofs of people following me and my life around, Mister McThaxton. Yes, he always used to say to me, and not anywhere near the great detention center of Egg Harbor City, called Harborfields Detention Center (HDC) up in JOYSEY, where my younger daughter in a parallel universe, Paula King Junior or PEE as she likes to be called, went to, and yes, Steve said this down here at Harvest, and not down the street from HDC at the potato chips plant, “Mark, would you do me a flavor”. Then comes the entire isle filled with spaghetti or ravioli or whatever sauce cans, and the great Mentalist Show, aired late in 2010 for the very first time, that was re-aired the other night on the MY-15 Channel, down here in Fort Pierce, Florida. Queen to queens level three, Captain Shatnerkirk? HARVEST WEBSITE: http://www.harvestfoodoutreach.org/

Hay if you think there are a zillion Yogi Berra Bullshit coincidences right here, try my older dauts 2009 CD. I mean with an open mind, watch it carefully, and tell me if you know MORIANITY, that the odds of my making this all up would not prove to be exceeding ANY POWER BALL JACKPOT lottery winning odds. Just go ahead and try to do it, as you can't. WEEEEEE!

3-6-9, Frank Callio, Astral Realms, and Nicola Tesla. WOW, there was an old OUTER LIMITS syfy show about a fictional radio station called KXKVI. This entity that would be a little like my wonderful coil, the Lightning Goddess Diana, was contacted, and transported by accident to the human realm and to Planet Earth. It was a fantastic show, as all the Outer Limits shows were really super ass fantastic. Anyway, this entity spoke through a translator machine, in similar ways that the great powerful U. S. © Office knows all too well about from my 1988 music projects where Diana spoke to me, only repressed memories, road trips to relative's homes, and tape recorders were more involved with the reality of the situation, only I had not yet un-repressed my memory, and was not destined to until living with the great almighty King family, 20 years later. This is a very significant time period may I also add, 20 years, or one briper. On the Astral-Plane, the BRIGGBASE POWERS make many deals with humans, for one briper, or 20 years. The great television show, 'DARK SHADOWS' knows about this somehow as well, as in th elate 1967 and early into 1970 circa with Paul Stoddard, and the mighty Briggbase Cult deal made with him, and the name was changed of course to the Leviathan and not the Briggbase people. Lovely crossed over Jenny Ghost Whispering Hewitt talks about 'the breathers' on her great hit show. Well, the Briggbase, are the VERY HEAVY breathers. Ask ant real Dark Shadows fan, as they'll freaking ass tell you without any qualms or trepidation, let alone one tiny bit of hesitation!!!!!!!!!!!

Well Mister Peter Vitteritti, of Pleasantville, New Jersey; and friend of that beyond white-hot gorgeous Stacey K, not Krassle; of the Welfare Offices, on Main Street, there in town; all odds are that your name was misspelled by me, but I did spell it as it would be pronounced, and in case you remember me, friend of a Grammy Winner as you stated you are and wanted me to work on music with him, and is why most likely my hell began to get so horrendous all around these times; I thought you might be interested in the current weather conditions here in Fort Pierce, Florida, where I have resided now, since the middle of December in the year of 2009. Boy oh boy oh boy oh boy, that sounds super wonderful. The alarm was just deactivated by Engine Ladder #15. I love those guys, and that lovely girl who advertises locally and says that same thing, wow is that girl sexy as all fucking shit! I think it is called Linstrom, but I probably spelled that wrong also, but again, it is spelled as it sounds, WEEEEEEEEEEE, not TV!

HERE I SIT ANGRY AS SHIT. THE SIXTIES WERE GREAT BUT NOW IT'S TOO LATE. SO DO NOT SIT THERE BROKEN HEARTED, COME AND SHIT, DON'T SAY YOU FARTED!!!!!!!!

And I thought that nightmare was horrendous that was responsible for that Theraflu Cold Med Commercial, where Pee broke Gemma's face into pieces, like the guy in the dam ad, only his face never explodes as it would if he was really struck by powerful awesome PEE. And still I am always left to wonder, just what would all of these entertainment world peeps do without me? Still my daughters need to bury me and not the other way around.

**''ISIS-JUPITER HAS HER WITNESSES, NOW I NEED MINE''**

I TRIED TO ESCAPE ATLANTIC CITY MORE THAN ONCE!

Lads and lassies, a lot of things from my old blogs that need to be archived by clicking on them, when I post the prompt for doing just that; is being rehashed. Who reads old blogs, and for that matter, who cares about stuff posted in 2006 or 2007 or 2008, up here in the twenty-teen years? So I must re-tell stuff if I want new updated blog material to make any sense to my viewers at all, not that they do anyway, since in all odds, no one has experienced this incredible wild ride through fifth dimensional hyperspace, as have I. Folks need to personally relate in at least some way, or they just cannot grasp things such as what is printed by Mountainpen, and I totally 'GET THAT'!!! But now that I have told a few things that were quite key and major, and incredibly pivotal in my early life; it is time to go into adulthood and early adult life, to really tie together some powerful stuff. Now in order to best serve that goal; I will be taking you to the place where I had originally met my best adult friend, Mister David Charles Roth, at the Caldor Department Store, in early November of 1985. All things not only tie together, but when I get done with all of this, some people if they require any heart medication, please, I strongly urge you, have it dam ready and at your side before the next few blogs that I write, all play out for you. I am not responsible for coronary's, Joe Paget insanity attacks, or anything else, not after this legitimate dam warning, great people out there!

When Dave and I first met as security guards at this place in Woodbury Heights, New Jersey, USA, nearly twenty years ago now; and again, all of this was indeed blogged back during my first tri-blog, if we can sort of looking at my nine year blogging career as a pregnancy with three periods that are called trimesters, each lasting three months long, only with the blogs, each of these tri-blogs last three years, but yes, when we first met; he worked what is called in the bizz, 'in-house' meaning he worked directly for Caldor, the name of this department store that lasted about a decade or so and then went belly up. I on the other hand was contract-security, which in the security-bizz, simply put, meant that I worked for a security outfit who goes around getting clients, such as the Caldor Department Store and many other accounts. Usually, due to middleman costs, in-house security pays better and has better bennies as well. Now this basic information is out of the way, I'll get right to the heart of the situation without beating around any bushes. Two guards were on two twelve hour shifts, 8-8, both in the AM, and the PM; and David and I were the night guard force. Actually, I think the AM force had three or four bodies, while the night was only two; as no one was entering or exiting the premises, and they remained secured, and less chance of theft as a resulting factor. Simply put, they were bringing merchandise into the store, and stocking it up; and when we first started at the beginning of November in 1985, they were still constructing and finishing up carpentry work, and electrical work; in the offices of the place. Speaking of this, the office areas, is the exact thing I want to discuss here, and try to get all of you thinking and pondering, on what I'll now tell to you.

Dave was a cool dude and had a very similar life to mine in numerous ways. I won't bore any of you with details. But within two weeks, he knew all the stuff that had gone down in my life that was major, such as what the music industry had done to me, my job at RPL back 5 years ago from then, my dealings with the strange mysterious lightning goddess DIANA and my telephone situation in Atco, New Jersey, and most everything else from that time right down to good old jerk off ex-friend Jim Burr, who as you know, I still had contact with up until the end of the decade, when it was severed permanently. But what David was not made aware of, was the SARAH KRASSLE situation. This as some of you may know and remember, was done the following spring time in 1986; while David and I were just out socially as two guys having a good time on a Saturday and going to a diner in the Marlton, Medford Lakes area of Southeastern New Jersey, called the Medport Diner. Diana was talked about at Caldor, and Sarah was talked about in the diner at this Medford Lakes area, months after we originally had met and become best friends. Telling him about Sarah caused immediate counterstriking by some invisible force, and we can get into all of this later, and as stated, it is on many first tri-blog Morianity, accessible only through the five-blog archive click prompt. But the topic tonight is back into just two weeks into our friendship, one night at the Caldor Store, in the offices. I told him a lot about Diana and the phone stuff where this goddess could just get onto your phone line even when the phone company took me off line for a repair. This was the famous, “I don't need this, no how no nothing” incident. After I told him about an hours worth of these stories from my past of two and a half years or so; the phone rang. There was no phone service connected yet. This is a fact, just as in Atco, when there was no active line or dial tone during a major investigation by the Annoyance Caller Bureau of the AT&T, while working with the Account Executive, Miss Blake. Long story cut as short as is humanly possible; he would answer the phone and no one was there. But while he was in the Mens-Room an hour later, and I was alone in the offices; the phone rang again and I picked it up and said, “Caldor Store Security, how can I help you”. After a short pause, a young girl giggled and said a few quick words and giggled again, and then the line went totally dead. I never told Dave that this happened when he returned from the can. BUTTTT, the following night at the store, a few hours after we arrived there, a strange windowless van was outside the store with all kinds of antennas and blacked out windows. When David went to check it out after it moved around but was in our lot area for two hours, it sped away. It had no license tags, front or back. It returned several other nights, but as soon as David and I went out together with flashlights, it would just quickly drive away. But I want to discuss a philosophical conundrum with my blogging audience so that you all can arrive at your own ideas and conclusions, as this blog is not here to tell any of you how to think, merely to report a real life story from out beyond the gates of freaking hell for three dam decades!

If some covert agency was electronically cutting into the dead switchboard, why then would they come around after the fact, as if they are scared to death that some aliens were making contact or something; just as we all know happens, from watching any of those television shows on the History or Science channels on cable TV; and the original stuff that discussed all of this MIB TYPE BEHAVIOR on the WPIX-TV, Channel 11, NYNY documentary, called, “UFO-The Cover-Up”, back in the year 1988, with Agents Condor and Falcon?????????????????????????? If this van crap hadn't happened, then I would say the entire thing was done by human agents for reasons that only their twisted and deranged minds can dig. But since it did all go down like this, lads and lassies; then I say it is this GODDESS all along, that started all of this with me, back in 1980, at age ten; and who lived here as Sarah in Atlantic City, back in the sixties; and now is here as MC. This may indeed sound about as off the wall as it gets, but I will promise you this, folks. If Professor Kaku of the NYU were shown all of my thirty five year evidence file, he would not just check it off as delusion and insanity. He understands the powers behind Quantum Dynamics. Now this is a super condensed and abridged tid bit of information, this blog and the past few before this one, that will begin tying together, a major super secret truth, that GOD ALMIGHTY comes here to this world, over and over, most likely in almost every generation, and when you think hard on it, why not? If you had a super video game like this; why wouldn't you be Lawn-Mower Man or (woman), and ''JACK INTO THE GAME'' more than just once, as Jesus? What, are you all dense or something? Talk about crossing over.

END TRANSMISSION.

The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"

Monday, November 2, 2015

Chapter 00024, The Bum Classification

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