BLOG
41 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN
SUB-TITLE:
''GUESS
THE NAME OF THE GUESTS'' CONTINUING CHAPTERS IN
MORIANITY'S RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM 3
Good
morning Sheriff Kenneth J. Mascara, kind sir. Please
share the past few blogs, AND THIS ONE FOR SURE, with a New Jersey
Sheriff, retired maybe, and maybe not, the Camden County Sheriff
Simons; and if memory is serving me correctly, the brother
of my friend and realtor of my most recent Jersey days, kind sir;
Misses Karen Simons! I never met
her husband Jim, but the story I need to tell you tonight sir, is
beyond totally huge. I was not only inside
the home of Sheriff Simons, WITH
PERMISSION OF COURSE, but a
wild event that I was not able to put together back then, is now
ringing with truth, as clearly as the damn Liberty Bell in
Philadelphia, with its famous crack in it and all; as far as to why
Karen told me that she refused to involve her husband Jim, in
assisting me with my “Atlantic City-Sarah
problems”, since he was employed
at the ATLANTIC CITY CCC (CASINO
CONTROL
COMMISSION),
ON TENNESSEE AVENUE, NOT TWO YARDS AWAY FROM PAULA KING'S WAYV-FM
RADIO STATION; inside of the 'Arcade
Building', at the Frailenger's Salt
Water Taffy Store frontage, by the world famous boardwalk!
Also RIGHT THERE at the on-off ramp to this Tennessee
Avenue boardwalk, you know kind Sheriff Mascara sir; where
this mighty PINK GODDESS or whatever she really
and truly is, sang her now world famous song to me, in a
powerful dreaming interaction, while I
was residing at 1802 ROBIN
HILL APARTMENTS IN 1980, ON
THE FIRST WEEK OF JUNE, called Love Is For
Carpenters (LOIS FOCA)
for short, © 1981 MARK WAYNE MOHR! Some really super mouse
hacking is of course ongoing, and gee, I wonder why? We both know
only too well, that this is a beyond
forbidden topic, and a beyond DO-NOT-CROSS
RED-LINES COMMANDMENT TO ME, FROM
'THEM'!!!!!!! I know 'that' I
know it. The computer went crazy, and tried to hack off my
entire blog; but my back-up and repair commands worked quite well. I
would like to thank the great local STAPLES
STORE, for offering me some free assistance recently, so
that I indeed was able to pull out of that hack, Sheriff, kind sir!
The hackers thought it to be real/e funny, Ventnor-Thomas J; to make
my name above come out as Nark Wayne Mohr, Sheriff. Do you see just
how clever these twisted emereffing toilet germs really and truly
are, kind sir? They won't ever miss a trick, and I am hoping that you
are smart enough to just maybe, praise be to the saints in purgatory,
to see through not only their wild smoke and mirror systems, but also
see how they operate above us in a very quick type of hyper-time. No
other rational explanation is going to explain a never ending pattern
of these type of computer word program hacks, that I experienced ever
since my blogs all began. Also Sheriff sir, let's be quite frank
about another matter. When Mister George Belton
first introduced me to the casino game of ROULETTE,
in early December of the year 1982, and two months before I left 1802
Robin Hill Apartments, and moved into Jerald Pliner's rental home at
134 Norris Avenue, in Atco, New Jersey, sir; I had not gone to
Atlantic City with any real kind of regularity, since after the
second half of the nineteen-sixties when my mom and I would vacation
there at the Trinidad Hotel across from McGuire's Pittsberg Hotel and
Erin Bar, or after the following year in 1970 when I stayed exactly
nineteen days at the child molester's home on Cornwall Avenue, in
Ventnor, Mister Thomas J. Reale, the place that later on became a
very spurious part of the great water works, ACMUA (Atlantic City
Municipal Utilities Authority), where Sarah Callio was employed for
most of her life. The second that I began to go down to Resorts
Casino with Mister George Belton, they began messing with me. Every
single time they saw me arrive at the roulette table, without fail,
for starters, on would come one of the songs of the great disco diva,
Mizz Donna Summer. Three times this could be a coincidence, but not
fifty times! Would you believe in fifty coincidences, Sheriff Mascara
sir, in one of your crime investigations? We both know the answer to
this. Believe me when I say that this is only one small thing that I
could discuss, when I say “They were messing with me”! As stated
sir, Karen Simons of Grassi Realty, in Somerdale, New Jersey, did
more than just sell my home at 112 Harvard Avenue, in town there. She
also sold it to me first. She always was willing to listen to my sob
stories and tales of woe. BUTTTTTTTT, the one place she absolutely
refused to go with me, was when it connected into Tennessee Avenue
and Paula King, and her radio station down there. So I can quite
easily put two and two together. I now realize plain as damn day,
that Paula King obviously threatened her not to discuss my stuff with
her husband, Jim! Can I prove that? No. But I surely had many of
those type of discussions and conversations with a Mister Ron Wirtz
Senior, ADA at the Camden County Prosecutor's Office, ever since the
day when we met in his office, along with his side-kick, mizz Donna
Hottemper Spinosi! I say we, as there were four persons. I was there
with my late pal Mister Dave Roth, and then as stated, there was him,
and that girl with the horrible disposition, Mizz DS. I have jokingly
refered to her with Dave, as the other D.S. In any event, she was
nothing like the ADA in the television show that did indeed resemble
her physically, Angie Harmon played the role, on the 'L&O' show,
Mizz Abby Carmichael. Funny also, kind sir, that this original
meeting of the four of us, took place in his Camden, New Jersey
office, on the fifth day of December, in 1989. Right after this early
sometime the following year, on came the greatest law show to ever be
televised!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Another 'coeenkeedink', kind sir? Oh well,
whatever! If you are interested in why I was in Sheriff Simon's home
one day back in the late nineteen-nineties, down by the tributary
that feeds into the Delaware River, and not far at all from the great
psychic shop called, “The gathering Place”, let me tell you.
Sheriff Simons was selling his home, and Karen was showing it to me
one day, along with one or two others. He had a really lovely place.
I did not think that I was able to afford it.
Sheriff
Mascara, every effing time I try to use this weather information,
HACKERS INSTANTLY screw it up!
OCTOBER
7, 2018,
SUNDAY
MORNING, AT 3:15,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE IS * DEGREES FNHT.
TODAY'S
RANGE: (H-*L-*).
HUMIDITY
IS *%.
HEAT
INDEX IS * DEGREES.
WIND
IS * AT *
MPH, GUSTS AT *.
RAINFALL
TOTALS TODAY ARE * CENTI-INCHES.
Now
Sheriff Mascara sir, SOMEONE IS ILLEGALLY
WIRETAPPING ME AGAIN. How do I know this? Vely vely vely
simple, SIR!!! Certain type of telephones that have an exact type of
'electronic guts' (the FCC-specifications that come with any and all
electronic devices to ensure regulatory compliance's), where we read
exactly how electronic systems are put together on a board, and
include the famous FCC statement that this device must accept
interference as well as not cause interference. Anyway, many AT&T
landline telephones, and for all I know, maybe plenty of other non
AT&T devices, if they have a view screen, and a memory system,
where caller information may be stored up to a maximum amount of
them; and if you take the phone off-hook for a few hours or longer,
customers who faithfully pay their phone bills on time, and are not
left with 911-only service; will have a voltage on the line that will
hold this memory. Many times I can go for months without it erasing.
BUTTTTTTTT, when the wiretapping device comes on from time to time,
the voltage can do anything from altering in a way almost similar to
what is used by voicemail systems to create what they call,
“studder-tones”, to entirely changing to a lesser amount, as
though the user has taken their phone off-hook. This is what the
great and mighty Federal Bureau of Investigation, calls a
'POWER-DRAIN'. They try to make better wiretapping devices, but if
one has electronic knowledge, WE KNOW when there is a mother *******
power drain, hence when we're being bugged! For the third time now
since middle September, my caller-log is empty in the morning when I
go back on-hook. BUTTTTTTTT, for the majority of the year 2018, this
was finally no longer happening. Again, my civil rights are being
screwed with, AMERICAN CIVIL LIBERTIES UNION, YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!
Sheriff
sir, if these bastards would leave me alone, stop screwing with me
day and night, I just might stop crossing
red lines, and telling more and more and more damn secrets
about those abominable, despicable, and beyond horrendous monsters up
there in Atlantic City, New Jersey,
USAESMWG! Yes Sheriff; I truly believe that for reasons that I can
find absolutely no basis for in the laws of our country, that PAULA
KING, and ROBERT MCGUIRE, of
TENNESSEE AVENUE, IN ATLANTIC CITY, NEW
JERSEY; really and actually believe that they are the true
honest OWNERS, OF THIS VERY MAGICAL PIECE OF UNFATHOMABLE REAL
ESTATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jane-Sleazeweeds-Disease
just struck me down like the damn stinking Bubonic Plague of old
Europe in Constantinople. Let me compensate with my damn fives,
please!
555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555
In
the middle of October, twelve years ago, Sheriff Mascara
sir; my friend Ed and I, went to a library in
Egg Harbor Township, New Jersey, one afternoon. I posted up a
blog from a computer there, saying that he and I were coming down
now, to Tennessee Avenue. This was the day where that crime was
committed on me by Robert McGuire, kind Sheriff. Why
is he allowed to destroy numerous automobiles that I drive? Why is
Paula allowed to RAPE ME, TORTURE ME, TRY TO RUN ME DOWN IN STORE
PARKING LOTS, and make my life an endless living hell, coming
to me in nightmares and dreams, singing her stupid garbage song to
me???????????????????? WHY? If I did these
things, you would put me into prison for the rest of my life,
Sheriff, AND YOU SHOULD!!!!
If
there is a god and I serious freaking doubt it, Sheriff sir; you
will make sure that my information goes to Sheriff, or Retired
Sheriff Simons, of Camden County, up in New Jersey. Now sir,
the Atlantic County Prosecutor's Office, has or might still have, as
I am free to always keep hoping; a disc that
proves that McGuire came up to my car that day in middle October
somewhere back in 2006; but he stood right at the passenger
front side window, with his angry fist all clenched up, and
neither Ed Lynch or myself EVER EVEN KNEW THAT HE WAS STANDING THERE.
It was the damn video camera that picked it up. He somehow was able
to remain absolutely invisible to us. Ed and I
had parked totally legally on Tennessee Avenue, about twenty yards
down away from his hotel property, where any damn tourist is allowed
to park for a short time and take pictures of anything public on that
street, which is what Ed and I were doing for my website, back then
that was called the MORIANITY-FOUNDATION. This is now defunct as it
was a pay-site and I did not have the forty-five bucks to put it up
again for a third year, in early 2009. BUTTTTTTTT this damn video
slide-show taken on Ed's computer-camera system, was confiscated by
the Atlantic County Prosecutor's Office, after he was caught doing
something illegal on the internet, another major story in and of
itself, that I'll be glad someday to share with you, kind Sheriff
Mascara, sir!!! Right after this horrible day, my car engine went
slower and slower until one day shortly thereafter, it quit and died
forever. That horrible dirt bag monster had put sand in the gas tank
when Ed and I went up to the boardwalk, as Ed wanted to buy a
newspaper, and they have vending machines that sell papers, up on the
boardwalk. Yes, right there where that monster Paula invaded my sleep
at Robin Hill back in 1980, and sang her stupid song to me!
ED,
not short for education, but for Eddie Himacane, whose
real actual surname was Lynch, was the downstairs neighbor to the
King family of Hammonton, back in 2006. Both parties had recently
moved into this rooming-house that was operated and owned by our
local town judge, the Honorable Frank Raso, that was just two blocks
down a neighborhood street from the Hammonton Library, where I had
been going to blog when my blogs first began in early 2006. Nothing
ever just happens, and this was all planned by the GREAT
KING FAMILY, ALL ALONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The hackers keep trying to make
me call them the great KIND family. Yeah, real damn kind. They only
totally devastated me and wiped out my entire stinking rotten lousy
ass life forever!!!
Ed
and I. Yeah, Huntington, not Harrington, Mister Rod Serling! This
all goes so far beyond any possible coincidence, my kind folks and
wonderful BLOGAUDIANS, that no words could ever hope to express it.
If Paula hadn't done this to me back in 1980, I never would have
copyrighted in 1981, that stupid LOIS-FOCA crap. No time travelers,
no troubles, 'no nothing'. Oh yes, you tell them Mizz Ross. WOW all
of this, JOANN-A.
Boy
oh boy, and HO-HO-HO, Patty and Merry. I always wondered why
Christmas was such an endless time for me to be ruthlessly,
viciously, and relentlessly persecuted, by HALLS-FAWCES,
AKA the WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCES?????????!!!!!!!!!!
Then there was ten years ago back on Friday. Coming out of that
incredible dream, while residing there with those horrible nightmare
KINGS, at the judge's rental home at 65 Middle Road, in
Hammonton-Berryville. WOW THIS, kind Sheriff, sir. Psychiatrists call
the event that I had, a dreaming resurfacing of a repressed memory
brought on by extreme clinical level stress factors and other
underlying psychosis. Hey, I've said it before,
Treasure Coast Automobile RIP-OFFS, and I'm sure I'll be
saying it again as well. “I'd like to see anyone of you in the
entire world suffer through all of this nightmare since leaving
effing high school, and remaining one percent sane and
alive”!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But yes, the wild dream where I was back on
freaking Long Island with my damn snooty Uncle Heinz and the gang.
The road trip up the In-Law Cousin Myers branch of the Huntington
family, and the whole damn nasty mess that would have been so much
better all damn ass left alone!!!!!!!!!!!! Then
I had to always be taking Dawn-Marie King to her psychiatrists, just
one block further west down on Tennessee Avenue, near the Atlantic
Avenue intersection. Then there was that day with the
Rent-A-Center place. That was a
real damn doozie-whopper; huh old
pal, President
Obama? Boy oh boy do I
miss you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! God dog it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes
the entire world has gone to Dogtown in a hand basket. WOW-THAT! At
least I am not seeing my kid all plastered on three huge walls, after
she comes to me in a powerful dream and tells me that she'll be
seeing me the next day when I go to Atlantic City. One thing about
the great Donald John Trump, and nobody out here can say otherwise or
take his fantastic wisdom away from him. Back in middle-late 2015
somewhere, after he had thrown his hat into the political race for
the presidency, he said, and I quote, “I GOT OUT OF ATLANTIC CITY,
I SAW THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL”! You're a very intelligent dude,
distant cuzz. I'll effen fight anybody who dares to ever say anything
different!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You
see folks, the scientists of 2018 in this particular reality in
hyperspace, are clueless to how and why things are atomically locked
into time, as well as exactly why things work the way that Mister
Einstein's formula's show them to. If Leticia Tilley had indeed been
who Mister Trump thought it might be, incredibly complex things would
be happening, and unlike the fiction writers or the formula
researchers with all of their ideas, a ghost-image has an atomic
weight, because everything on the Astral Plane has some weight. It
may be one times some number with a trillion negative zeros following
it, but nothing is weightless, except in absolute singularity of
zero-dimension. Altering the velocity in certain acceleration curves
will cause the mind that is connected to the nuclear universe, to
indeed alter. It is not just a mechanical clock that runs faster, or
anything else that is physical that matters. None of these things
would change and there would be no speed limit, if not for the fact
that mind itself runs at a speed, for lack of a better way of putting
it. As a physical traveler would approach the velocity that the
photon runs on that is responsible for endlessly duplicating a
reality, there are other factors that come into play. Naturally to
really get into it all would take a book the size of a small hill.
Not Robin, not Sugar, not even Linden, but a small one nonetheless,
from here to the gods only know where. When we want to do a basic
experiment in traveling, the concept of numerous occult practices
always comes to mind with just about everyone in the entire world.
Seeing your mind in a truer way means seeing that you do not exist
inside of any time system. These are all dreams. Still, some dreams
take place where protons and electrons have one charge, and then
there are other dreams where an opposite charge is taking place. Time
cannot run in two opposing directions ever, in any physical space.
Even the Star Trek Syfy writers use the concept of a containment
field for these two types of truths. But rapping this up before it
gets too complicated, we all know that we dream, and we dream of
places and people and things that we never ever have seen here in
waking life. Any one of these dream places, should you be able to
'turn it into some physical reality', would have opposing charges in
these sub-particles, the electrons and the protons. Should this ever
be able to be done, most likely all of everything would instantly
find identical parts to themselves, and one side would run at the
speed of infinity in one direction, while the other would run at the
speed of infinity in the opposite direction, and there would be a
zero dimensional system in place of the nuclear universe, because all
of reality would cancel out. Tiny amounts of mass being turned into
energy, in theory at least, would cause some big problems. But when I
did that silly version of that damn song that Paula gave me, I wasn't
trying to scare anybody. I simply know for a fact, that the great DJT
was off his nut scared that day, because he thought that maybe I was
going to blow it all up. I have better things to do in this life than
be responsible for the end of humanity, YO!
SHORT-BLOG, BUT
MAJOR BLOG
BLOG
40 OF TWENTY-EIGHTEEN
10/04/2018-just
shy of ten A.M.
Sheriff Mascara,
sir, if I hadn't taken my anti-anxiety medication a few hours ago
around a bit shy of seven this morning, I'd be driving over to your
office RIGHT NOW, TODAY. But I know that when I do a bedtime dose, it
is not 100% safe for me to drive, so I DO NOT.
Here is what these
diseased toilet germ licking twat scum swallowers just did to me
about an ago back around half past goddamn eight.
I
was suddenly instantly STRUCK HARD WITH THEIR DEATH RAY BOWEL BLOW
OUT ATTACK. After my run to the mother ******* toilet, kind
sir, I had to clean up six spots on my carpets outside the bathroom.
I didn't mother ******* make it. No one could with whatever the ****
eating hell 'they' hit me with. This goddamn death beam ray of some
type of beyond subsonic perfectly aimed signal. Sheriff, I truly am
sorry. This has been ongoing now since the mother ******* ****
huffing middle of turd chewing 1986. I have to
use my ELECTRONIC-METAPHYSICS system to counterstrike these evil
soulless sub-scum monster filth wipe eating puke fems. I have
no choice. I am otherwise powerless to fight this hell on me for 32
years and 50 days, kind sir. It isn't even ten this morning yet,
Sheriff KJM sir, and yet my WeatherBug shows just under a 90 degree
heat index, and an actual temperature of 82. It is supposed to be a
brutal 90 degree day with a heat index topping a buck. Here
I sit, old and frail, with mediocre rotten ******* air conditioning;
and ON TOP OF THAT, these monkey puss swallowing hell whores have to
strike down my elderly senior citizen body and defile my mother
******* apartment with making me **** myself all over the damn ass
room like a **** sucking two year old! These
health attacks on me are relentless and frightening, sir.
They never ever stop, and they don't give a rats fart in holy hell
how old I am. They'll do this to me until
they covertly knock me into the ground forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well sir, this blog is posting up to the social media blog world, as
a LEGAL AND BINDING DYING UTTERANCE
AND DYING DECLARATION. When I am
found dead and murdered in this damn apartment, I
WAS MURDERED, and these damn blogs tell my true story of
all those people who I accuse of my goddamn murder; as Goddess
Jehovah Krassle is my witness, and if this is a lie,
please burn me in eternal damn hellfire, oh great Almighty I
AM!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MORIANITY
FOR MILLENNIUM 3
It truly is beyond a
stinking lousy rotten crying shame, that I had to be born with the
unfathomable and horrendous mission, of becoming the CHOSEN
HUNTINGTON. My sixty-first grand-father's Uncle Jesus of
Nazareth would be turning over in his grave, watching me suffer so
badly for so incredibly long; except for the fact that he is not in
his grave. We were all told that there was a resurrection. Still,
what a damn flying shame with or without any and all TV sets, or
Britney Speers song ripoffs, going off
inside her head. Don't pick on her? Hey wackos, don't pick
on me, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! “The
sand below me is so very brightly contrasted, white and black grains
just like the dots on my TV
set”.
THEE-MOST
magical and suspicious human being, that this world ever
gave human birth to, is Alias Julia White, and
AKA Patricia Hollister of my distant past from up north, as I
have been a Floridian now for nearly nine
years. More information on her will be forthcoming as the
BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN continue
along, kind people, pweeeeeeeze bear with me!!!!!!!!!!!
I
have discussed some basic instructions regarding PATRICIA
HOLLISTER, AND HER MAGICAL
INFORMATION KNOWN TO A HANDFUL ON THIS PLANET, AS THE
FASCITAR. I discussed my moms great shipping company coworker
also, up to a point. We can add a whole lot more at a later time. For
right now on this goddamn Thursday morning, on October the 5th,
of inverted Robin Hill Apartments, the first of three stays, (2018)
(1802); just know that we haven't so much as cut one slice of bread
off of this bakery shop pile a mile high. As I speak, and for about
the tenth time or more in the past five damn hours or so, at five
minutes past ten this moUUUUUUUUUrning, MORTIMER
MORTINO, AKA THE ANGEL OF DEATH by the great wonderful
Jewish folks, and yes, happy 70th birthday great dudes and
duddesses; is passing by my right side. He refuses to ever tap either
one of my shoulders. He seems to only keep scanning my position.
Obviously he knew that the damn HALLS-FAWCES,
or 'WOMO', would be striking me
with a death attack to my damn ass body, so he needs to stay around
to monitor the situation. Well, here is my situation, and as the
lovely Lizzy McGuire Hillary Duff would say so well, back about
thirteen years or so ago, “Right back at
you”!
©
BOM 2006-2018 MARK WAYNE MOHR
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN
YUK-YUK-YUK,
WHAT A SUCKER!
YUK-YUK-YUK,
WHAT A SUCKER!
YUK-YUK-YUK,
WHAT A SUCKER!
YUK-YUK-YUK,
WHAT A SUCKER!
YUK-YUK-YUK,
WHAT A SUCKER!
YUK-YUK-YUK,
WHAT A SUCKER!
YES
ULTIMATE FIGHTER DAVID, I AM STILL WASHING
MY HANDS
OF ALL OF YOU, SO TELL THAT TO THE ROMAN
EMPEROR,
AS WELL AS PAULA
THE GREAT KING!
YO, a
full blown 'TYPE-3-EXPLORATRON',
is someone who really and honestly is in full control,
when
they wish to be.
I do not say that this is every time that they sleep
and dream.
It requires lots of effort to master even basic introductory
meditative concepts, that even approach the simplest forms of
dream-control.
Mortimer
Mortino is now passing by my goddamn left side at 10:18, for about
the thirteenth mother ******* time since midnight. This is goddamn
totally wedikawuss, Mister Mack Soapmouth Kaiter, YO!!!!!!!!! Still,
this
has been going on for 32+ years, and things in my **** chewing life
were definitely NOT
JELLY AND JAM
even before August of 1986.
So WOW and Boy oh ******* boy, Joann-a!!!!!!!!!!!
What
an ***hole I am, BRAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Still, without fail, ever since those times where this nightmare all
got a damn foothold on my hellish life; whenever
that dirt bag piece of scum (P-45), needs to have things go his way,
LIKE
MAGIC, POOF, HARASS AND PERSECUTE HIS OLD ARCH RIVAL, MARK
WAYNE MOUNTAINPEN MOHR,
and this causes
him to win,
while sending me endlessly into the **** huffing doghouse of endless
pathetic hell!
'BE
CAREFUL',
PAULA KING & ROBERT MCGUIRE, YO. Maybe Regis and I are watching
you when you least damn ass expect it. WEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes
Sheriff sir, my life is beyond total toast.
Every single time, since my nightmares all started going from frying
pan intensity,
directly into FIRE-INTENSITY,
on August 15, 1986; it was all a result of ICPE-APE-TECH;
something not from this world, Mister David
Childress,
and Professor Michio
Kaku
of NYU.
One
damn minute, a
chopper turns into the great pulsar star,
and then ten damn years later almost and 1,350 miles away, some
fireworks
turn into this thing.
My shrink at the Behavioral Health Clinic, where I get my
anti-anxiety prescriptions, tells me that this is a normal event that
happens a few times to most people in their life. They think they are
awake, but they have fallen asleep. I promise you that I
was not asleep at Cifaloglio, when that mind bending chopper on
steroids, flew over, and almost landed in the property's parking
area.
Good
old Hydroglacia. She
is a very beautiful star.
A real star too, not some man-made celeb! So WOW all of that, great
Joann and Joanna.
My kid thinks so much of this is a laugh a minute. Hey, if it makes
her happy, I say that whatever gets her, or anyone else for that
matter through the damn long nights; is fine by me! Yes
Almighty Nuclatron (GOD),
we know what the real deal is around here. I merely have the damn
mother ******* testicles to say stuff, BRO! Then
it turned back into the Pulsar Star,
and it rose higher and higher into the early morning sky. And then
states away, and a decade ahead in time; the fireworks never came
down on the fifth shoot up, over the lake outside of Mike Patterson's
apartment, down in Hollywood, Florida. Then
there it was, just there, the great Pulsar Star, or as I call her,
Hydroglacia!!!!!!!!!
MY BLOGS TOLD ALL OF THIS POWERFUL TRUTH LONG
BEFORE IT EVEN GOT THE SMALLEST START
IN SPACE-TIME-MIND, and
the goddamn RUSSIA FOLKS know this to be 100% the truth.
THAT,
SIR ROCKDROID ROTTENBERRY, is why
they have been reading these
blogs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
AHA-AHA-AHA,
MISTER MIKE MCNULTY, YO!
Somebody
very soon is going to be super super efen sorry for these attacks on
innocent poor little MOUNTAINPEN!!!!!!!
END
TRANSMISSION.
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