MY
LOW VIEWCOUNT BLANDBLOGS CONTINUE
CHAPTER
001
Yes
sir, ma'am, I gave them a chance to have me pick up the pace into
some real major shit. Now since my views are running at snail pace
and never ever altering; I have decided to write only what happens to
me, and then a few things around that, without ever getting real
major, as this simply put wasn't liked or appreciated, so I'll give
them bland, as bland is what bland Earthlings seem to love.
After-all, look at all the bland stupid ass social media crap every
dam day of the year, kind entities!!!
Here
are five lovely photos from TWB.
AND
HERE ARE SIX MORE.
THE
FIRE ALARM IS GOING OFF AT 6:28 HERE AT PHA OF FORT PIERCE, PARK
TERRACE BUILDING. LIKE WEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
AND
IN THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASON, HERE ARE SOME MORE.
Trying
to live and survive in HELL is no easy task. I am the only one here
who seems to know they are in this place. A good possibility for
this, Mister Carter sir, is that all the players around my
Shakespearean arena are merely what the Hollywood crowd would call,
'EXTRAS'. Still, I have heard it said
for thirteen thousand years, near or not near great wild fences, that
there is no escape from this 'condition', notice I didn't say
'place'.
This
whole mother fuckiGN world can go to DOGTOWN, USA, or maybe said more
accurately, TO DOGTOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Never
again can scenes like this ever be interacted with, not from DOGTOWN.
At
6:39, the fire alarm was just now deactivated. I cannot see the
ladder number of the truck, as the winds are gusting and the trees
outside keep blocking the view with heavy branch swaying.
NOVEMBER
25, 2015,
WEDNESDAY
EVENING AT 6:43,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE IS 73 DEGREES FNHT.
RANGE
TODAY-------(H-79/L-70).
RELATIVE
HUMIDITY IS 69%, AND IT FEELS LIKE 77.
WIND
IS E AT 18, WITH GUSTS TO 31.
THANKSGIVING
EVE------HUH ATOM GIVENS???
Years
ago,
I told my Blogaud,
about that old example that never seems to die. There
was a man who lived and died in his home, with fifty million bucks in
gold,
totally hidden below his basement floor. He
and his family went onto live lives of poverty and want,
even though a higher reality was there all throughout his life, that
would have made things so incredibly easy, to change the entire
course of their lives. I very often find myself thinking of this, not
the money but the incredible and powerful principle, that's behind
this GAP super wisdom!!!!!!!!!! I absolutely fucking know that there
is something buried inside of my brain. If I could just pull it out
and draw on it, like plugging into the electrical grid and going from
log cabin life in the days of Abe Lincoln, to modern day bullshit; I
could immediately change my entire life on a mother fucking dam ass
dime!!!!!!!!!!!!! But what? What is this thing that I am maybe, as
with so many things all my life, ''BLOCKING OUT''??????????
You
missed me, you evil witch Jane Thistleweeds
Nastyassthorns!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TEE-HEE-HEE!!!!!!!!!!!
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.
The
FEDERAL
FUREAU
of INVESTIGATION
is
a really great part of the law enforcement system, and I always
respected the great Mister Hoover, who once over saw the ops, when it
was a relatively new organization. One day when I was a small child
of late single digit age if I am correctly remembering the story told
to me by my mother; this great outfit wanted her to come into their
Philadelphia office on her lunch hour from her job at the Lavino
Shipping Company, now the Inchcape Corporation after this British
firm bought them out. They showed her photos of my father, her
husband, in Florida in his diving suit, as back in those times, he
did a lot of work for two well known salvage companies here in this
state, the Real Eight, owned by Kip Wagner, and the more famous one,
Treasure Salvers INK, owned by Melvin Fisher! The FBI was very mean
to my mom, and did not believe her when she told them that they
weren't in contact with each other at the time. She was being
completely honest, but as well all know from watching any kind of
cops and robber shows or law shows, they cannot just believe stuff,
and have to give suspects a hard time, it is their job. I fully get
that, and hold no resentment at all. But one day after a few times of
this, my mom called her friend Helen Gregory. She was dating a top
general in the United States Army at the time, and were quite bosom
close, and planning a possible marriage, until Helen began getting
ill, from a fast moving cancer, that went onto take her not that far
later on in time. Having powerful friends is always great, and I grew
up with a lot of them, from family contact. I am not used to the new
life I live, IN HELL, without any of them. The entire mother fuckign
world has abandoned me, and that is why I know that I have had to
have died and gone to hell. I know I died a whole bunch of times, and
have blogged the stories with very perfect accuracy, for anyone
interested at all, to read! Getting back to the FBI in the late
sixties somewhere, this is why a tap was on the phone all of my life,
and there is a lot to the story of my dad and his diving, and the
treasure charts that he left to me, that I have no one to pass onto,
other than for a very ungrateful daughter.
Yes
sometimes, Jack McCoy, we both wish that all of them would go away,
and I don't feel all that cold and cruel in saying thistleweeds, or
THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! W---O---W!
The
night of Jerry and Sue and Mashell, at RPL, when my car was stolen,
in the RPL parking lot, is like many days and nights that I have been
forced to interact all over fifth dimensional fucking hyperspace. I
can feel it when it comes on as it hits like a freight fuckiGN cunt
train, even though others around me seem to be as insensitive to
these god dam fucking HALLS
FAWCES
as a corpse would be to a coroner's examinations and autopsy knife.
END
TRANSMISSION.
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