CHRIS,
ED, AND THE MILITUFORCE BLOGAUD
CHAPTER
5
My
nabes are very fucking cunt annoying again, and bringing me lots of
their dirt bag fucking roaches also. I hear bangs all over the place.
They slam their fucking bathroom doors closed, and it makes a similar
loud fucking sound, as slamming entrance doors do. I think I
have a lot of new jerk offs around me, and they are dirty pigs, like
those Dellway Arms fuckiGN dirtbag nabes, the PIGGER-BACKERS,
back in 1972-1975, after that nice lady who originally
lived above me moved out, Mizz Joan Larosa, in
Oaklyn, No Joysey, USA! Oh the dam ass gods; does some cosmic
fuckiGN force hate my cunt chewing bastard pathetic little screwed up
dam ass guts, YO PEEPS!!!!
It
rained all day, and it was raining hard a couple hours ago. I am
about to retire for the night, and it is 11:40 in the Post Meridian.
The computer hackers won't ever fucking let up or relent a little
bit. Their fave-hack is the space bar bullshit fucking hat, and it is
always active, even if I do not mention it on blogs, YO!!!! Theses
diseased mother fucking toilet water guzzlers got to Eddie Himacane's
laptop computer too, even though the dumb ass insisted it was my
imagination or me being ignorant. He was fuckign ignorant, not me, as
I know what I know, and I won't let anyone tell me that I don't, not
the President, not the Pope, not my mighty transdimensional
PHASE-4-CUZZ Shorty MacInvondi, not my great daughter, and certainly
no one else. I may not be some fuckign gifted genius such as she is,
but as I said, and reiterate, “I KNOW WHAT I KNOW”!!!!
AND
THAT'S JUST REALITY, SON!
|
Mohr,
Mark Wayne, 1954-
|
PAu000204016
|
1980
|
V-1)
Our love was true, our love was rare
No
other love could ever compare
Now
that you're gone
My
spirits are low
And
baby baby baby, I love you so.
V-2)
I can't express the way that I feel
My
soul's in distress, and nothing is real
Now
it's too late, 'cause I let you go
Oh
baby baby baby, I love you so.
V-3)
What can I do to make things OK
And
bring back your love that sun fills my day?
Time's
flashing by, yet all much too slow
Oh
baby baby baby I love you so.
CRHS)
Oh I love you so and I want you to know
I
love you so and I want you to know
Oh
I love you so and I want you to know
Well
baby baby baby, I love you so.
©
1977 Mark Wayne Mohr
It
is amazing beyond any way to ever describe this in words, how
Sarah-Stacey Krassle did all of
these things, but she did, and it is all real and true, and actually
literally happening to me, Mister James Tiberius Burr, of
Gloucester-Sharks City, New Jersey, USA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But
she did and she is Almighty Jehovah, and I absolutely know this to be
factual. As for her very fave-game, “GTNOFG”, it isn't all that
difficult to figure this out. She wants me to
start wondering who is and who IS NOT
a Type-3-exploratron, as well as
a Phase-4-Entity, such as
Cuzz-Trump. I've got your number, lovely teen queen of eternity, and
it is not 231, but 00 when viewed on its side and without any space
in-between the digits. How do you say this, Sir Chester-Frank,
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE? Fine, then let's say it, YO, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
Now
how do we accomplish such a seemingly fucking herculean task, you may
just be wondering, or maybe you're not, as how can I fucking know
this for dam crissake, YO????
Powerful
illusion, or spiritual maya, as many great ancient eastern religions,
and philosophies teach; is surrounding us all. It is sort of
intentionally built into the system, as we seem to have a creative
force who discourages us from getting close to knowing it all, unless
along with that knowledge and wisdom, comes the ability to appreciate
right from wrong on some ultimate level, and be sufficiently
enlightened to a necessary point, where
absolute power WOULD NOT CORRUPT US absolutely. This
is what PINK GODDESS taught us, through
the very same way that our great bible got written and penned
by human hands, but influenced from beyond this realm, on invisible
levels, and in this case; from the exploratron who was controlling
the great writers and creators of the STAR TREK shows, and the one
near th every beginning of it all back in 1966, called, “Where No
Man Has Gone Before”. Now from unraveling this one tiny mystery,
look at the great lesson that I have claimed to have learned, and
that went over the rest of humanity's head. But this was not MY
DOING, but Almighty Jehovah, by way of her fantastic GTNOTG GAME,
(Guess The
Name Of
The Guests)!!!!
Someday soon, for my own record and screw whoever is or is not up
here getting the education of the fuckiGN cunt millennium, get into
the powerful shit from the first week in June
in 1980, and the great LOVE IS
FOR CARPENTERS
dreaming-interaction, when Almighty PINK GODDESS sang this to me from
her great Holy City of SAHASRA DAL KANWAL.
I already know that the great one and only Mister Kenny Rogers knows
a lot more about all of this than just his old flame from his boyhood
days, up in Warren Grove, New Jersey. You know SJK abnd I know you
do, Kenny. We can burry Superman and all of the great heroes, but not
th egreat SSJKK! I wish that someday, you'd come forward and make my
true story gain the needed dam credibility it must some day, if this
dam world is to survive extremely turbulent times that are both
imminent, and very soon to come, most likely in about 25 months now.
The last possible generation of biblical terminology is 70, and 70
plus 1948 is just less than one Adele from now, huh all great number
loving artists out there?
The
GAWNUM can take us all to unfathomable truths, but without SSJKK's
great game of 'GTNOTG', what good is
half of reality, perfectly accurate as it may be? If I saw how the
great SYFY SHOW, STAR TREK, was used by the Almighty
Pink Goddess
that I may call Alpigo for short, since
this name is special between us, as it, just as with
LOIS FOCA, takes the first two letters of those three words,
and makes this one name; then what will I unravel and begin to see,
kind folks, once I begin applying the rules to HER great game, on so
many other people and things in my 61 years of life as present-me,
Mark Wayne mountainpen Mohr, and yes, it is nearly half past 12 now
on December 4, so I am turning age 61 years on this date? Where will
it endocrinologists, or said without any prompting from
smart-programs-Microsoft, WHERE WILL IT ALL END????
Fucking
Disasterface Thistleweeds Sleazedisease Jane, just fuckiGN nailed me,
at page eleven of eleven, so I must now compensate with my FIVES
counter-strike, folks, YO!!!!
55555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555
I
fuckiGN hate your guts Jane for what you did to me at that god dam
fuckign baseball park back in god dam
1993!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WOW---WOW---WOW---WOW!
END
TRANSMISSION.
CHRIS,
ED, AND THE MILITUFORCE BLOGAUD
CHAPTER
4
|
|
|
|
|
Audience
It
rained the entire time that I drove to my nut job clinic to see my
Counselor, Jane. She is a very nice lady who really understands some
of the things about me that I admit, because I am inside of my own
self, do get past me; you know, the old forest from the trees deal?
Well; I know, whether you do or not! WO.
Notice
how on the other blog, Chapter-3, I was somehow hacked, and I could
not post up any part of my typed in sentences, that asked my local
sheriff to be watching out for me as much as possible while out
today; and he DID A FANTASTIC WONDERFUL JOB, may I add. But I did
have to type this directly onto the Blogger Dot Com block. It would
not paste up without what I have come to name, as I have a name for
each and every hack that the Milituforce
enemies give to me and my P.C.,
the RH or the Redact-Hack. This
is because it looks exactly like what one might expect to get if they
sent a request into the government, for some information, and then
were even lucky enough to hear back from them; all
hacked out with black rectangles, just like you will find on
my blog on Chapter-3, and folks, I am not doing this. I swear to this
under my God, my nation, and my good name; legally on my sworn oath,
under full penalty of perjury charges, should you prove me to be
lying. I am not lying! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes,
'Hello' to all those wonderful folks
in the land down under, where
the women roar, and the men thunder. Boy that was a wild song,
back around choke-year somewhere; you know, 1983. Well, it could be
worse, Mister Abraham Lincoln-16-P. Gawnum or no Gawnum, he was a
great man, and my personal fucking hero, YO. He also was our
sixteenth president, of these great United States. I never said I
don't love my mother fuckiGN country; ladies and gentlemen. Present
government needs to be major downsized, and obey its self; you know,
'we the people'. But the dam lobbyists and billionaires scum of the
MacInvondi Transdimensional Societies, the planet over; see to it
that this doesn't happen. One bigger and more important example
than bank failures and bailouts and all of that would be obvious to
anyone who turns on any electronic device, and that is the dam gun
issue. I won't even get started. And who the fuck would want to hear
a dam thing I say anyway, even though you all know, I know shit about
shit, that no normal human could possibly know. Oh well, 'SAY LEVY',
in or out of great nations such as France, YO! May Goddess truly
bless this really messed up planet of ours, peeps! It truly can
always be worse, Sir Abe. I'll keep the great family secrets, for
anyone related who just might know. And know, Copyright Office; that
I only scratched the tip end surface of shit on my
1994 book about all of that, called, 'The
Permission Barrier'.
Jim
Burr knew some shit that went beyond Morianity but he didn't know one
powerful piece of Newsy Nastiness, on or off of golden mountains, and
very young coal miners from early in 1987. He was clueless to how I
now remember being told one thing that meant absolutely nothing to me
back in 1974, and I shuffled that memory of this, far away, and very
deep down under; maybe half way to great Australia, Mister Lex Loo
Thor; huh old buddy! Tell Will Smith to “get in the fuckiGN
elevator”! Oh yes, he was as clueless as good old wonderful cool
Poolroy-95! Or was Poolroy really so clueless, as I begin reflecting
back now, in a new and more enlightened personal hindsight, YO? Say
it Mommy Dear and Moomy Deaest, YO, as it is very proper and fitting
right about now, “Boy oh boy oh boy oh boy”! Yeah Jimmy;
Mister MacInvondi has boats and cars and planes, and a lot of other
things, but only when he merged with the rest of the great
Macy-Bunch, did he have access to the magical mastering machine,
called by me in partial jest, the RUSS-15-Dublow. Take better care of
it, says the great repair shop off of 95, back late in '80. Jesus, I
must have done something right. Gold fate my ass, Mister
Deathblow Merker Microsoft. You and me really know some
wild mother fuckiGN shit, don't we NYU-Professor? ONE
BIG BANG; huh Listener Theresa? Midge; tell my kid to take
real good care of you. I really loved that dam dog, YO.
All
I ever wanted out of life, Bob McDowell, and Bob Andrews, was a
little peace, quiet, and tranquility. All I ever got was being
misunderstood, robbed blind, ripped off, treated despicably and
ferociously by horrendous, incorrigible trashy world owners, who
think their vomit smells like pudding, and everyone else's rose
gardens smell like rotten infected fuckiGN shit sewage. But all that
aside, if we move from the third to the dam fifth dimension, the real
shit begins to surface. Most folks could never do this in a thousand
years, so why even type another fuckiGN dam word,
BRAHHHHHH????????????????
Back
in 1977, I met a real jerk off named Jan, who did sound recording,
and thought he was a little god, at the age of twenty-nine. He had a
little studio in a music store in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, where I
did a total of five songs between 1977 and 1980; and he did such a
rotten job, that Howard Solomon at the RPL Studios in Camden, New
Jersey, reworked the mixes to make them a little more alive and a
little bit better. This made Jan so crazy when he soon came to learn
about it, I thought he and President Jackson were both going to go
out in the woods behind the nearby race track, and duel it out with
me, with old Civil War dueling pistols. There is so much more to this
that it would fucking take years to tell it all. This person's name
was given to me in 1975, by Robert Andrews and Albert Pileggi, one
night in the basement owned by the parents of Albert Pileggi, in
1975; less than two blocks away from where I had attended two years
of junior high school, at the Haddon Township High School, in
Westmont, New Jersey, USA-ES-MWG. Studying symbolism around me all of
my life since I first met Sarah on Tennessee Avenue, in Atlantic
City, New Jersey USAESMWG, around the age of ten years; notice the
ANDREWS name being something that seems to pop up somewhere between
major and beyond normal statistical averages. I won't even start to
anger a lot of super-girls, sharks, teases, movies, people, job site
locations, and so much more. I am too fragile and way to old, and
puny, and soft, to get the crap kicked out of me, by all these rotten
potential enemies. This dude with this studio called, MAXFIELD, after
my situation with the MILITUFAWCES
all got going, and super 'twisted-sister-nasty'; this fine
'gentleman' suddenly decided to get his trading license, and he
became a stock broker; and moved out west to fucking California, with
Governors I'll Be Bahk, and Roller Derby Brown; right Leo
Quiggley???????
What
you do not know is that this connection to stocks, as well as Arty
Singer's son who was my own stock broker for several years a while
ago, Richard Singer; Arty wrote the hit rock and roll song we all
know and love, called, ''At The Hop''. This was the man who with
his associate back in 1995, during my Haddonwood days, and
right after meeting up with Poolroy, as I will call this really wild
cool dude; did something to me, that has no earthly explanation. He
would not let me trade with him and his firm, after trading with him
upon numerous occasions, when he was with other larger outfits; even
Merrill Lynch Pierce Fenner and Been, in the autumn of 1979. He and
his pal had some lame excuse of setting up the account in a way that
I could not make a dime no matter what, and this
was a year where nobody but NOBODY COULD LOSE IN THE FUCKING STOCK
MARKET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My
mother and I lost 900 dollars
while all those around me everywhere were making tens of thousands of
dollars. It was a total set up. The
one good trade I got into, he insisted I get out of, and into
a different one, that lost for me, but generated
for him a double commission; and this is of course where
stock brokers truly make their money. One percent of these rat
bastards are really able to make money in the market with their own
real trades, and just take a few extra profits by generated
commissions, from their clients. But this story cannot end yet,
because in the very early autumn in 1979, I am
the reason for the second gold rush in this nation, only this
time, it did not involve minors, miners, goldmines, mountains, or
songs, or stories, or sagas of these stories and songs; oh great
mighty PAULA and ANN KING, of Atlantic City, and WAYV-FM Radio. Here
is the beginning of my woes with WALL STREET, as the rumors
are, and always will fly around, like Poolroy and his fantastic
Gravigain Hypertronic invention, that he left to me one day, in the
pool of Haddonwood Swim Club; and then he left this world about seven
years later almost to the day. Not one of these things can be fact
checked on the internet. Only I know these things. If it makes
anybody out here feel like a hero, to accuse me of being the
quintessential liar of century-21; then you just fucking go right on
ahead with that!!!!!!!!
END
TRANSMISSION.
CHAPTER
3
CHRIS,
ED, AND THE MILITUFORCE BLOGAUD
STARTTING
TRANSMISSION.
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Monday
and Thursday of this week have been VERY BAD, while
Tuesday and Wednesday
backed off of me a little bit; Sheriff Kenneth J. Mascara, sir, of
Saint Lucie County, here in Florida, USA, ES-MWG.
I
will give today's fucking shit, and work my way backward, to going to
sleep Sunday night into Monday. I already knew that shit would be bad
on Monday, after getting a fire alarm, around quarter past two in the
mother fuckiGN morning, but we'll come back to this fucking bullshit.
Today at six this cunt eating dam ass morning, my dirt bag ILLEGALS
across from me, AKA JAMES & HIS ROACH-CREW
or the 'JRC', slammed in and out. Even these new
hurricane-doors can be slammed, but they are supposed to close by
themselves, and eventually; this can damage the property. This
is the one thing that can indeed lead to an
eviction
at Public Housing.
However, if you are in tight with those who own it, as are these
mother fuckiGN dirt hole roach lifers; even that won't get
them out. They would have to do something illegal and very big to me,
that I catch them red handed at, such as property damage; and then go
to the police, and file criminal charges. Before I would win
in the end, I'd be found shanked underneath a
bridge, decaying into maggots and centipede worms, with Geico
Insurance salesmen, eating away as well, as this Florida fuckiGN
shithole is literally over run with these miserable stinking fucking
worthless lizards. A blow torch should
be taken to all of them, in my rotten fucking opinion. But none of
that helps me, after these pricks murder me. After-all, I am sure
there is a connection here with Shorty MacInvondi, who you all know
under another 'Paula-King-somnambulism' type of identity. Yes, for
several days they have been back and more active, and for several
days, no matter how hard I try to get rid of these roaches, with
Combat Motel's and expensive
poison tablets; WHEN THESE PRICKS ARE HERE, SO ARE THE MOTHER
FUCKING ROACHES, YO!!!
For
the past week, I have not felt too good. I am doubling my vitamin
dosage this week, until I hopefully spring back a little bit.
Yesterday, I paid my rent, and mailed my bill into Comcast, for my
TV service. I also picked up some medications at my local town
pharmacy, and bought some Ivory bar soap, as well as a large liquid
antibacterial soap refill bottle. I filled all my tires with air, for
a dollar of quarters, at the place I buy gasoline at, most of the
time. It is the first time I ever saw the regular type of gas that I
buy underneath two dollars since I arrived here in Florida. It was a
tenth of a penny under, or as the pump says 1.99,
but people do not realize they are being
played, every time they shop, with intentional deceptive advertising
techniques. It really is 1.999, or in other words, say you are paying
1.95, it really is 1.95 and nine tenths of a cent; so always round it
up a penny, whatever you see. If it says 2.05, it is 2.06, and if it
says it is 1.92, it is 1.93. It is no different at a K-Mart and a
Walmart or anywhere we shop. Nothing is ever 15 dollars. It is either
14.95, or 14.99 for the very most part, and your mind
just sees that it is only 14 dollars,
when it is 15, except for a lousy rotten penny or nickel. Oh
well, why sit here complaining when at least it is 1.999, and not
5.999. I am starting to understand just why that girl, from Egg
Harbor Township, up in Jersey; who is the spitting image of the great
Beyonce Knowles; tells me, “Mark for crissake, say something
positive once a century, willya”? By golly she's dam right!
The
attack Monday was on my phone. Somehow they seemed to just know, the
way we all get those 'knowings', that I
wanted to talk about an important issue with my health insurance
provider, Welcare. The phone would not allow me to dial through.
After I would key in the number, it was just dead space, nothing.
When the great AT&T, my phone carrier service, said something is
wrong, unlike the great olden times, before social garbage media and
internet, when they would automatically place a repair work order on
the number; only they don't do that any more.
And these are the better days, people? Right,
sure they are. We all have to look over
our shoulder now while outside, so we don't become the newest
news-statistic. WOW, what is wrong with you, America? Then all sorts
of shit happened on the phone; crazy spacey sounds when I tried to
call another number, and I could go on and on, but it's typical; or
as some may say on great Hollywood movies, such as one that springs
to my mind, “The 7th
Sign”, “It's typical bullshit”.
Well, you all know I already knew, just as I said. We indeed did move
into this 15-YEAR and WEEEEEEEEEEEEE, now what? I doubt too many want
to know what I have seen in very localized hyperspace. Some things
may appear to improve in some pretty nice ways. But always remember
the greatest wisdom of the entire bible,
next to accepting that Christ died for our sins! That is that we need
to be aware as well as extremely wary, of wolves that are wearing
sheep's clothing. This takes me to something that Lightning told me,
back late into the nineties, over and over; and I may have shared
this info on earlier blogs, and I may not; as my great memory ain't
always 100% accurate, thank
the gods. She said that something beyond fucking
huge would happen to me shortly, that I couldn't possibly guess it if
I had a zillion years to try, and that as huge as it is, it won't
make my life better for its occurrence. This is a paraphrase, and
lightning doesn't curse and swear like I do. But,
WOW, she was right, huh? Well, so was Jim Burr, if you
insist on getting hyper fucking technical about it all. I can hear
him decades after last seeing him, “Mark,
it's got something to do with your family”!!!!!!!!!!!
I
won't be blogging a lot. I don't give a fuckiGN shit if a million
read my words, or if you all go away and leave me. I
am just saying what I need to, for my own records and files. I
crossed the 100 thousand view line, and that was all I wanted to do,
just to see if some huge cinder block would drop down from the sky
and scream at me, “Mountainpen sucks a dirty diaper at C-SQ”! You
know, or any one of a trillion other items that may have happened,
only they did not. Still, I was curious,
and you might chime in here, old Cooley Hall pal from 1972, who moved
out to Fort Wayne, Indiana, USA, Mister Bob McDowell, “Vely
vely intelesting”! I will shout out to Sheriff
Mascara of my county, PLEASE, YO, I
COULD USE ANY HELP AROUND ME THAT YOU CAN PROVIDE. I SEE MY
NUT JOB PEEPS AT ONE THIS AFTERNOON, AND COULD USE YOUR PROTECTION.
THANK YOU SIR!
Thursday, December 3, 2015
CHRIS, ED, AND THE MILITUFORCE BLOGAUD, CHAPTER 3
SLAM-SLAM-SLAM-SLAM,
RESIDENT MANAGER DEBRA MARATTO, YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!
Life
itself IS A HUGE GAME, far bigger than any of you out here have a
tiny clue about, Mister Poolroy-95, YO! That
night, watching
those Star Trek shows,
while living at 112 Harvard Avenue, Somerdale, New Jersey, USA,
Earth, Sol, Milky Way Galaxy, in 1996, in the autumn on the 30th
Anniversary of their TELEVISION SHOW PRODUCTION LAUNCH;
memories flooded in! I couldn't stop hearing this in my mind, over
and over again, “Sarah
Kessle, Sarah Kessle”!!!!
Search Results
©
BOM 2006-2015 MARK WAYNE MOHR
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN
She
used to say, and I quote; “If you don't like cats and dogs and
kids, there's got to be something wrong with you somewhere”. I am
speaking of the world's great and now sadly late, disco diva, Mizz
Donna Adrian Gaines Summer!
If
this was a real world; some fuckiGN attorney, or somebody, would
contact me; verify all my mother fuckiGN shit, and then split the
lawsuits that I legally deserve to pursue, on a 50/50
contingency!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is how I know that I died and went
to fuckiGN HELL, a very long fuckiGN cunt ass time ago; you rotten
old stinky world!!!!!!!!!!!! They laugh and mock me now, but they
won't in the future after I am gone. Of course, it will be too late,
with all of your gold fate, Mister Ernie Merker of RPL Sound Studios.
Shorty MacInvondi hated me, well, another me in another parallel
world. He
got me to use my RS1500US
to bring him here, and then my own flesh and blood, wanted that
machine, and managed to get it. Now if this was just Josie
Littlewall, from up the road, and working for Butler and Mayor
Insurance Company, for a meager salary of $29,000 annually; that
would be one thing. You all know who my dam fucking daughter is, no
matter what Google, and Planet Earth think. Now why would she want
the dog that Dawn had, and my tape recorder; if there is nothing to
all of this; CUZZ?!!!!!!!!
Some
summer of love, Mister P. Robertson Bitethroat,
of Hurricane Talkers. Well, I am guilty of being a Himacane talker,
so don't let me open up my big ass fuckiGN fat worthless loser trap!
JEEEEEEEEZ-LOUISE, PLEASE!!!
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MEOW-MEOW-MEOW-MEOW
Sheriff,
my fucking dirt bag nabes are killing me today, and here is why,
sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WELL,
SHERIFF SIR, IT IS OFF TO MY NUT-JOB PLACE, PLEASE TRY AND PROTECT ME
FOR CRISSAKE.
WELL,
SHERIFF SIR, IT IS OFF TO MY NUT-JOB PLACE, PLEASE TRY AND PROTECT ME
FOR CRISSAKE.
WELL,
SHERIFF SIR, IT IS OFF TO MY NUT-JOB PLACE, PLEASE TRY AND PROTECT ME
FOR CRISSAKE.
WELL,
SHERIFF SIR, IT IS OFF TO MY NUT-JOB PLACE, PLEASE TRY AND PROTECT ME
FOR CRISSAKE.
END
TRANSMISSION.
Sunday, November 29, 2015, 7:55 Post Meridian, EST.
CHRIS,
ED, AND THE MILITUFORCE BLOGAUD
CHAPTER
2, (AMP-CEMB).
My
entire audience has dried up. It amazes me that it happened after my
view-count hit 100K. If they were going to fuck with me, logic would
dictate they would have trickled it to a crawl after 95 or 98 K
somewhere. Things like this however have built in teachers and
professors all their own. I realize that things are not being done in
any way, in three-D. Further, I also know that this may very well be
happening, as the old poker game double blind bluff trick, just to
make me think and wonder about that very thing, and thus if
successful, annoy me even worse, because in addition to the item that
annoys, comes the fact that it ain't fuckiGN logical. Then they
succeed in their game of obfuscation. That is if I am dumb enough to
allow these dim witted mother fuckers to get to me! Also, nothing
around any holiday time, can make any real sense. Initially, the
M-2-F seemed to not care about their own
lives and families on holidays, and this topic has been thoroughly
discussed on many past blogs in my Morianity. Still, there are double
blind and even triple blind bluff experts in professional poker, so
why not 'Corbomite me', Captain William Shatner Kirk, with one of
those? To quote quite perfectly, my father, and Dawn-Marie King;
SHEEEEEEEEEEEIT!!!!!!!!! As I fucking speak-type at 8:06 Post
Meridian, my right side is being passed by Morty Mortino Dirtbags
Incorporated, the great and powerful Angel of Death! Two DA's that
nobody wants to start trouble with, huh folks?
There
is Tom Reale the chill-mo, and then there is just the CHILL of
Alaska. WOW, give me the latter one, pweeeeeeeze, people!
Boy
oh boy oh boy, Mom, and Moomy Deaest.
Later
on, we can get into those venetian blinds,
and the episode on the S.T. Show, called “THE
TROUBLE WITH TRIBBLES”, and a bit more, and NOW is the later
on from the past. Screw people; I need my own record, and this blog
makes a great new age fucking cunt way of keeping one!
I
can literally talk for weeks on end straight, and not begin to cover
this whole nineties thing with SARAH KRASSLE,
how it began at middle decade, how my book ''THE
PERMISSION BARRIER''
fits into it, and a zillion fucking zillion other things too.
But let's go to Pearl Harbor day in 1996, about
two years and one month give or take a week or so, from the time I
sent my book to the Copyright Office, TPB, on Halloween Day of 1994.
This is the time that I was beyond being totally beside myself and
bonkers nuts, even for me. I tried desperately hard to locate this
girl who just had to be there, after-all, I was right there, and so
was she; and the world told me they never knew her. Well, you know,
that sounds like our wonderful GOD. Remember that scripture that
basically says that if we deny GOD and its plan of salvation or game,
that JESUS or GOD jacked into its game, will say back to us after we
die and face eternity, “Depart from me, I never knew you”?????????
It's in your bibles, and if you can't find it, ask your fucking
pastor in church next week; and he or she will show it to
you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My
mother fuckiGN annoying nabes are making loud banging sounds and
annoying me to fucking death. Just a few minutes before I began this
blog, that loud fuckiGN jerk off scum ball on the motorcycle went by,
and made every dog in this part of town start barking. Then a few
minutes later, a loud door banged on my floor here. Are you out here
anywhere, Sheriff Mascara, old friend? I saw you on the news a couple
days back. I am very happy to see you enjoying the holiday, over at
the PHA place.
That
night, watching those Star Trek shows, while living at 112
Harvard Avenue, Somerdale, New Jersey, USA, Earth, Sol, Milky Way
Galaxy, in 1996, in the autumn, on the 30th
Anniversary of their TELEVISION SHOW PRODUCTION LAUNCH;
memories flooded in, that I could not handle; leading to the wild
dreams the following year, of the Publishing Clearinghouse's
PCN-231
PRIZE-PATROL truck,
with that co-ed named K. J. McAllister, who won that January of 1997;
and then the wild song that led to the 2012 production and 2013
Copyright, of “Wanna' Spend My Time”,
the fence at Eden's great garden, and a lot more. This is when I was
looking nearby the television set, little as it may have been Mizz
Britney Lavino, and Mister Stanley Crooked Bernstein; and as that
great voted-number-1 episode of STAR TREK was airing, suddenly a
voice kept saying, while I was staring off of the TV set, and onto my
venetian blinds, “Sarah Kessle, Sarah
Kessle”. In any event, where can we even begin with all of
this horrible nightmare shit, Sheriff sir; after these monsters took
away my entire life, child and adult, ruined my entire mother fuckiGN
education, threw me into an institution at ten years of age, for
doing nothing at all wrong or criminal, the great and now defunct
NJNPI, in Princeton, New Jersey, USA, sir; killed my mother late in
1997, killed my best and only adult friend, Dave Roth, in March of
2002; and I could type on, and on, and on; as if you could care in
the least, kind sir; you and Prosecutor Ron Worthless Wirtz!!! As I
said sir, this is why people eventually fuckiGN snap, and do shit
like the Colorado deal, and on and on and on and on! Now, the old
trustworthy Milituforce Word-Disappearing mother fuckiGN hack was
just used on me illegally, in total violation
of MY CIVIL AND HUMAN LIBERTIES sir, as a totally born free and legal
citizen of this rotten nation, SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It
is 64 degrees at half past eight on this Sunday evening, 29 November,
in 2015. Tuesday begins the final 12th month of the year,
good old December; where we have my birthday on Friday, Pearl Harbor
Day a week from tomorrow or two Monday's ahead of now, and of course,
three weeks following my birthday, as it does every year, comes the
one and only GAP Christmas Day. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!
And
no one gives a mother fuckiGN rats ass about why those venetian
blinds, and that Star Trek show, made those words keep popping into
my head, on that late autumn 1996 evening,
“Sarah
Kessle, Sarah Kessle”
“Sarah
Kessle, Sarah Kessle”
“Sarah
Kessle, Sarah Kessle”
“Sarah
Kessle, Sarah Kessle”
“Sarah
Kessle, Sarah Kessle”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well
fine and dandy. It was the fact that the great almighty PINK
GODDESS was letting me know, there was no escape for me,
not ever!!! I don't want to escape, you
lovely teen-queen.
END
TRANSMISSION.
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