GUESS
THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 107
It
has now been four solid mother fucking weeks of death persecution,
SHERIFF MASCARA, with no let up
or mercy at all. Also, I know the chief beast doing this to me since
early last summer time, ain't the latengrate disco diva and it ain't
Paula King; and we can leave that right there, as there's no need to
type on an DON and on an DON, and on an DON; right? This cunt chewing
maggot has been using ICPE-APE-TECH on me and my poor frail elderly
mother ever since his the days when his chopper attacked us in
Camden, New Jersey, and his powerful ADA stooge dared to call my
mother a liar to her face at the Prosecutor's Office. This was worse
than a typical Jersey Christie rant, which I am also familiar with
from my days in Jersey. Not from him directly, but from his people
and others. It's OK and fine for them to ruin your world and wreck
your life, but dare to complain and so much as sigh, and you'll get
sworn at and doors slammed in your face such as on 5 December in 1989
with Camden County Prosecutor's Office ADA Donna spit-Nose Spinosi.
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
RED
ALERT-----RED ALERT-----RED ALERT
I
awoke a couple hours ago to major slamming doors again. Ever since
last night, that cow next to me has been slamming monstrously, and
Debra Marotto, I don't see how this inappropriate animal rude fuckign
behavior is not going to end up damaging the Public-Housing property
eventually. Then ma'am, who pays for it? I
DO. Honest people pay for shop lifters, property damager's, insurance
fraud, and you name it. Am I wrong,
great oh mighty powerful and wonderful Sheriff Kenneth J. Mascara
sir, of Saint Lucie County, Florida???????????????????????? See how
I;ll end up getting struck by the Mack fucking Mashell Daniels truck
twice? First I get persecuted with the horrendous monstrous noise of
the act, and then I end up paying more someday to compensate for the
losses incurred by the property owners. Shop lifting causes retail
prices to rise in this same like manner. It's always the good and
honest folks who suffer at the hands of vicious evil demonic mother
fuckign rotten worthless criminals.
Speaking
of criminals, I was shot to death last night in Atlantic City, by an
evil young drug dealer thug, about 22, AA, six feet and thin, mega
thousand dollar eye shades with golden frames, and bling all over him
coming out of his miserable stinking pitiful ass. I was living not
that far away from where the Hilton Casino Hotel stands in South
Atlantic City. Somehow some sort of a drug war was going on between
the people that I seemed to be living with who were friends with Ann
king and her family from up at the north shore end of town. I was on
my way to help ann and Dawn do some laundry, and somehow drugs were
inserted without my knowledge into my laundry stuff, and when I
returned home and came walking through the yard of the dwelling, a
large handgun was used by this dude who had followed me from across
the street and was standing with his boys on the corner, and he
capped me with one shot close in and I could smell the awful stench
of the firing gun. I felt no pain at all and I saw no blood anywhere.
The big heavy dude I was living with came running out with his piece
and blew the dealer thug away as he tried to make a fuckiGN cunt run
for it. I looked back only for a quick seck to see him leap up and
then fall and roll to the ground and lay motionless. I ran in and the
dude who had shot back had me sit down on a bed and I felt no pain or
discomfort, but realized I was leaving a really heavy blood trail all
over the place. As he was phoning the Atlantic City Atlanticare
Hospital System a short ways up the street to the north, I heard some
of his buddies telling him and I quote, “his daughter knew way back
in 1997 that those pricks in Egg Harbor were going to get him sooner
or later”. As I began to float out of my body and awaken back here
in my bed to some really horrible loud slamming doors, those sounds
at first appeared to be gunfire between the Atlantic City Police and
some of the gang from across the street from where I was living in
that parallel universe, or where my doppelganger was living, and now
lay dying, just as predicted transdimensionally by that 1996 Egg
Harbor City Diner Waitress when my mother and I were there before we
drove to the Turnersville Pathmark, the day when we were trying to
find a place for me to record my newly written song, SARAH!
Public Catalog |
|
Search
Request: Left Anchored Name = Mohr, Mark W
|
|
Search
Results: Displaying 1 through 25 of 28 entries.
|
Contact
Us | Request
Copies | Get
a Search Estimate | |
Frequently
Asked Questions (FAQs) about Copyright
| Library
of Congress Home Page
Then
after all this fucking shit, I go to turn on 'LAW & ORDER' and
some movie is on instead, on the Ted Turner Network. Then the cow
next to me is making a lot of noise, and was ever since yesterday.
Twice now I have had major negative mother
fucking experiences in these scary parallel universes
(nightmares) in the Egg
Harbor/Atlantic City area, up in New Jersey. When this is
going on, it means something is indeed happening that pertains to my
problems with all of these nightmare fuckiGN peeps, right here in my
waking world reality. IPYT lads and lassies, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Just
a week back or so, I was at that same diner on the White Horse Pike
(Route-30) in Egg Harbor City, where indeed back on 2 August, 1996; a
waitress who was employed there, and was our waitress, mom's and
mine, that day; and told us that a contract was out on my life by
local gangs in the city there. This is all true and very real,
Sheriff Mascara sir, and I will be driving over to your office, to
officially sign papers to this effect under oath, with full knowledge
of perjury charges if I be lying to law enforcement about any of this
shit, that some part of HALL FAWCES are going out of their way to
totally do a quintessential rug sweep over for decades now, no matter
how much I try to get justice, and how much my poor defenseless
elderly mother tried also to complain about as well. As
long as my cousin thinks he owns this entire world and can use his
parlor trickery of ICPE-APE-TECH on me to accomplish his miraculous
billionaire lifestyle, just as was all originally created on
that mother fucking RS1500US semi-pro mastering open reel recorder by
me, to bring his character to life in new and astonishing dimensions
and ways; he will go on using it to destroy me and leave not so much
as a trace of dust particles to ever let this fuckign world know I
suffered and died here on this planet. Disbelieve me all you want to,
BUT MY DAM BLOOD WILL BE ON A LOT OF DAM ASS HANDS once my murder has
been fucking carried out by Mili-2-Force scum bag enemies from the
deepest pits in red hot HELL!!!
END
TRANSMISSION.
No comments:
Post a Comment