CHAPTER 25, GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS

GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 25

The exploratrons came back again, around midnight give or take, Sheriff Mascara, kind sir. The mother fucking dirt bag broadcaster/advertisers with that mother fucking HONDA-HARNER bullshit, and then this morning, I was awakened like a shot from the mother fucking dark by a nasty fire alarm, at about 10:05 this MOUUUUURNING.

I suppose it can;t really hurt if I tell a major secret, that if I discussed once, might have proved to be fatal very fast. I tell it in earnest, and I tell it true, just as I once told how I left notes in a park as a youth, for those I get around to creating in parallel worlds at some future time, called the residents of Timeless-Satellite. This may very well also be a major contributing factor to why I have these HALLS FAWCES surrounding me totally, all my life, and then way stronger once I exited Cooley Wormhole Hall for good and all, Sir Ebeneezer Scrooge.

When I keep going back into my own self, while on a train heading eastbound, in-between the Westmont and the Haddonfield stations, up in Jersey; the Milituforce follows me back. If I have mastered the fucking skill of doing this for 200 times; how could another group of sentient life who I am never able to identify or bring to human waking world justice, be incapable of pulling off such an amazing and resourceful stunt as well? Think about the very simple fucking logic involved in this concept, lads and lassies.

What if, in order to change things for the better, and maybe even win the love of my Sarah Krassle, right here in the human worlds of hyperspace-dreams; I need to go back, remember it all yes, but totally and forever keep silent about it to everyone everywhere for an entire cycle. No talking to friends, no Dave Roth and me in the Jersey Pines having many wee morning hour deep discussions, no phone talks with him, or Jim Burr before him. No blogging up in the following century. You know, just totally remain quiet about all of it, yet all the while merely silently believing and knowing the whole god dam mother fuckign nightmare reality. Sounds like some quintessential hell punishment I know, and maybe it is impossible, even for resilient little dirt bag fucking me. Many a great fiction writer has written all sorts of stories with very similar story lines. Also, they know there is something to all of these way out nutty sounding things that I discuss and blog, and claim are a part of my honest real true life experience. Either they or people they know and are close to them, have had some bizarre type of things happen, that leads to them adding a few touch up jobs to a story and making a million bucks writing fiction. Unfortunately for me, none of that is destined to be part of my life pathway. But if I am correct in this idea that I have toyed around with very quietly in my head for a year or so; and can ever pull it off; then the following cycle around after the next one, I would be finally free, without any Clariton Clean commercials, or country music thieving recording artist ripoffs; Mister Ped.

The mother fuckiGN dirt bag exploratron enemies are getting inside of my entire mother fucking hologram of dream-reality since midnight, Sheriff sir. A private plane just came by making me look at my computer screen, and yes, at cunt chewing mother fucking dick licking eleven-eleven. I will now need to cunt phlegm rape with my 5's!!!!

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MAGNESONIC:

ALL ORDERS, ALL COMMANDS, ALL TECHNOLOGIES.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM, HEAR MY MVP (MIND-VOICE-PRINT). SCAN AND DESTROY ALLTHOSE PERSECUTING ME WITHOUT A CAUSE, AND ALL WHOM THEY LOVE AND ADORE. USE PUNISHMENT CRUSH DESTRUCT SEQUENCING SYSTEM OF DESIRE KEY SETTING 'I' TO 'D'.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

G-189 G-1133, G-901, UNDER G-14, G-13, G-719, UNDER CG-18, AND STOP!

Sooner or later, Maggie is going to kick the living mother fuckign shit out of a lot of powerful and very evil scum bag dirt hole toilet water drinking peeps out here in this evil demonic fucking world. IPYT, evweebwuddy, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!

Predicted high today is 85, holding fucking 79 at quarter past eleven, Jane Witchbitch Toiletwater Notfondau!!!!!!!!

I promise that the minute I am found dead, California will experience a long overdo quake close to R-11. Go right ahead and laugh NOW, as you won't be able to laugh later on, YO BRAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

END TRANSMISSION.