The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment": BLOG 61 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

BLOG 61 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

SUB-TITLE:

''GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS''

CONTINUING CHAPTERS IN MORIANITY'S RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM 3

Being nasty, and saying lots of spiteful angry mean hating words, just places me on 'their level'. I am not going to use this horrible rotten language. Jane Fonda attacks with those lovely wonderful ONES, as well as months of death siege persecution since the summer time; is my never failing absolute cue that things won't be going my way; and I already knew THAT, before the lovely elections took place; so there's no shock value to me there, none whatsoever! I am sorry you are not in a better mood tonight, Mizz Diana Ross, but hey, what can any of us ever do. As for me, and Florida life, that is my own fault for coming to a mostly RED STATE for many many years, and it was this way long before I arrived down here, and for that matter, long before sweet adorable wonderful Mister Trump ever took office on Pennsylvania Avenue, so again, no tears over spilled milk, just lots of very bad decisions. Hey Jay Jay Evans; really dude, what can I say, YO?

Only I can know just how real, how powerful, and yes folks, just how darn devastating, the misuse of PARALELL-EVENT truly and really is. I have fallen its incredible victim now for roughly thirty-two and a quarter years. That should be more than enough to qualify me as quite the darn expert! Yes sir/mahm, the death siege on me since the summer time of this year, 2018, is beyond describable, other than to say that it's right back on par with the late eighties and the early nineties, when all of this began; oh great powerful Resorts Hotel Casino of Atlantic City, and Dark Shadows' Sabrina Collins! Oh yes, my air conditioning unit was replaced today, but two sweltering months without air, has more than done its damage to me, and gave the cheated satanic Republicans and their Wall Street robotized slaves, their victory, and this has been ongoing now for a lot longer than any of you, or even I, have realized. Not only did they take away my AC, but AGAIN, they caused my apartment to be flooded again. Someone must have snuck in here a while back, and loosened the piping underneath my darn sink, and the leak started slowly, but grew to where my entire kitchen was flooding. Fortunately, as was the case also in late October of 2016, when my entire area just beyond my kitchen had been flooded out by some fire sprinkler system that came out of nowhere; the maintenance people were able to correct the problem, and yes, DRY ME OUT. No Spellchecker, it is indeed OUTlandish, but we won't use that word right now, if that's okay with you. And I was just blogging, what, “HOW DRY I AM, NOBODY KNOWS”, yeah, you go Patty Hollister. Now here was a lady who could fish it down, along with all of the great cousins in that marvelous family of KINGS and QUEENS, oh mighty United States 1983 SAGA © copyrights! Gee Wiligars, BRO!

It is eighteen minutes past two in the morning, on a 7 November, 2018. I live and learn, kind peeps. I truly would have placed a large wager on this year being a bit better for me, and definitely not WORSE, since it contains the exact same four digits of the apartment number back in 1980 where I moved into on the first day in May, at the Robin Hill, #1802. Back in 1980, we may indeed have had powerful goddesses telling us how love is for carpenters, but there were no hash-tags yet, just pound or number symbols. Oh I'm “SO SAHWEE”; Mister 1941 Japanese Ambassador! All throughout the Holy Words of the Christian bible, symbolically connected items are all tied together, with the grand theme of it all being The Almighty plans to come into her creation and be born as one of us. Personally, I do not care one iota who believes a darn thing that I say and tell on these thirteen years of blog texts. You all just go and believe whatever helps you get through the long and lonely rotten nights, YO. WEEEEEEEEEE!

I will turn age sixty-six in another twenty-five months, in the first week of December of 2021. At this time, my Social Security Disability benefits (bennies) as the term and slang word have come to be in the American culture; will become regular Social Security bennies. This means that my new goal in this hellish nightmare life of unfathomable misery, persecution, and torment; is to somehow survive another 25-MONTHS. At this time, I can leave this wonderful lovely marvelous place called AMERICA. I plan to. Don't clap too loudly. You're all pathetically clueless to what this will mean to all of you, that my message failed to get across. You're all awaiting something. Christians are waiting for the return of the Messiah. Investors are waiting for the Dow Jones to hit 100,000 points, and it will, just grab your calculator and follow my method of telling you all approximately when. Still others are waiting to find that perfect better half to themselves. The laundry list goes on and on. And again, you're all as clueless as two year olds alone on top of Mount Everest in dirty diapers! I truly feel darn sorry for all of you. I'll finish out my nightmarish existence somewhere far away from here, and away from King Trump and his nutcase following of soon to takeover the country rednecks. 99 percent of you do not know a thing about the Democratic Office Building in Washington, DC, and the plot of June 17, 1972. Even the mighty reporters, those who still live and breathe, I'll tell you right now that you're clueless if you cannot see what is happening. This is a plan that has been going on for almost the same time that the Second World War terminated. One party-rule, and a royal family to take control. It has happened in every single part of this globe since time immemorial, and it will happen again in early 2025, when he calls his generals to come over and begin the coup, outside of 1600 P. You will see, but THAN, it will be too late, just as it was when Mister H murdered millions of innocent people. No one saw that monster coming either. This has been well planned, and even Mueller knows that most likely, he and his investigative forces won't be able to stop this inevitable horrendous hellish plot straight from hell. He has the religious butt wipes believing in him, and a party that won't let him down, just as long as they continue getting their tidbits of power and glory. To me, the BIBLE is screaming and shouting so loudly, I literally have to put ear plugs in my ears to avoid going outright deaf! The buttwipe televangelists have magically and totally forgotten bible prophecy of the antichrist, yet those nutcase Crouch's have movie after movie on their Christian Television Network system about this very thing. It is beyond unfathomable to me. There honestly is nothing more to say or add here.

Hey, I know that no one person has a snowballs chance in Dogtown, to fight this powerful HALLS-FAWCE, and AKA the Republiwall Street Thugs Society (RSTS) as Morianity will label it, beginning on this failed for the democrats Midterm Elections Day of 2018. Don't cry too loudly lovely Diana; your son in law will find another way to fight this evil nightmare RSTS! There are two polarized forces in the nuclear universe that we all live inside of. The very intelligent Chinese population named this reality long before America was a shadow in the birth records, and we all know I'm speaking of the terms, YIN and YANG. When humans become part of the equation after the nuclear life (stars) spit out that precious element called CARBON, these positive and negative polarities become righteousness and evil. Taking this further into present day American politics, this can even further translate into Democrats and Republicans. If you strip off all of the fat and compress and abridge all of politics, everyone knows whether they choose to admit it or not, that Democrats care about the small and the frail and the helpless amongst us. The Republicans on the other hand wish to bless only the wealthy, and crush the rest of us miserable puny paupers into oppression, poverty, and eventual doomed slavery, right back to the cotton-field plantations, only color won't be the issue any longer! Actually, I don't believe that it really ever was. This entire black and white thing is just an experiment. As I said, you're all totally clueless blind bats flying into a giant fiery pit of pure unadulterated hell. You can tell McKinnon's Hollywood double on the L&O TV show, I know this to be a fact, just as I knew a whole hell of a lot more than I should have about the sixties movement, a long time back in the days of Mister Mackey and Mister Ciprionni. No people; I plan to run fast and far, and they'll have to kill me to stop me. There is no fighting this doomed empire called the USA. This time, Senator Thompson and all of you others from those “points in time”, they made sure that all of the darn key critical points all align up against the system eventually working, and stopping and thwarting this evil monstrous plan of theirs. Just as their horrible Fonda attacks are non-ending, and beyond totally relentless. I was just struck AGAIN, and must compensate with my darn FIVES.

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

This should clear me of page eleven and all of her nasty rotten assaults on me via parallel event symbology.

Oh no, an army as big and powerful as this one, CANNOT BE STOPPED. The Democrats didn't even really try; and nothing will be one bit different when that monster is reelected again in 2020. And they'll have me AGAIN, to keep hurting and tormenting through endless undetectable parallel event technologies, that are applied mercilessly, and monstrously! The old expression that we've all heard since childhood, “fight or flight”, you know it. So I know that fighting them is totally impossible, so I will run fast and far, just as soon as my SS bennies allow! WEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Any other mental reasoning would prove beyond any measure, total and complete insanity!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Florida has been a red state for a longer time by far, than my residency here. As my old record promoter would say it so beyond perfectly and eloquently, along with his CB-RADIO pal, Miss Chillie, “Ain't no doubt about it”! Well then, why did I come down here when I hate heat, on top of that? Simple. I ran away from my daughter's distant cousins, the KINGS and the QUEENS, and even the symbols; as her wonderful fans know precisely what's getting said there, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! All of reality is symbolically tied together. The human authors of the BIBLE know it, and so do all really intelligent human beings. When I ran away, I had only a few bags and only a few clothes, as space in my vehicle was limited, and I had to make my escape while Dawn King was very drunk one night, imagine that, all French grapes of wrath!!!!!!! At this time, the entire country was in a deep freeze, that is all except for Florida, as they were experiencing an early December heatwave, sunny and 90, back on that early second week in December of 2009. I had no coat, just some jerseys, some underwear, and some pants, a few pairs of socks, and the shoes on my feet. Anything more placed into my car may have just aroused too much suspicion from KING DAWN, and QUEEN PAULA. So Florida was my only logical destination, unless my plan was to run away and effen freeze to death. The rest as they say, is history!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me move on and tell you all a little story about a fellow student back at the Cooley Hall in Haddonfield, New Jersey, back in the autumn of 1969, or possibly the early weeks of January of 1970. His name was Mike Murray. I know I probably have mentioned how he came a half inch away from taking out one of my eyes, while I was sitting alone one day in Misses Marola's class, with that trustworthy kids best weapon, a long opened up large paper clip and a powerful good sized rubber band. I also know that I told how one Saturday, I rode my bike over to the school from my apartment in Oaklyn, New Jersey, and we got talking, and he told me a detailed description of a movie that he had just seen on television, called Brigadoon. Not Trump's Base, not the Briggbase, but the famous movie about the magical Irish town. Here is what the mighty Fascitar revealed to me back in the end of the last century while I was in an extremely deep Edgar Cayce type of tranced out mental state. On the Astral Plane, and in the Capitol Province of it, called Olympia; there is a method of translating many of the words used, into the Earth waking world English language, that I refuse to get into for now. I know that I have made a big deal about the Cooley Hall, and adding names to it such as HIGH HELL. I do all things for reasons, and they need not be explored in full detail at any one given time. It is not that this author is attempting t o hide anything or be at all evasive or cunning about one solitary thing. It simply is that time just does not permit me to get fully into all of the details of elucidation on all of these multiplex topics that these blogs have discussed for nearly thirteen years now. I literally could take a century trying to tell it all! But after this large defeat in the elections, for the good, and the defenseless, and the downtrodden, you know; the small poverty stricken kept down and under class; I've now decided to tell something, and in fact, I am going to tell a couple of things. But let me begin with why Mike Murray told me about this movie, and how this place called Brigadoon connects to the Cooley Hall, on and from an ASTRAL PLANE point of view, remembering that this is where the GODS come from! Province Olympia is a powerful and awesome 'place'. There are no real places, astrally, of course, as they exist because a lot of Purgatites all agree that they do in particular interactions. In this powerful 'place', I exist as Ricktafarius at the Ricktown Manor, and with me is the Goddess Diana Arteemis. I also am Zeranniss Arthur Yancy Jones, and my city name of YANCY is in the CAPITOL CITY registry, at what people on the Earth Planet might think of, as some type of a large City Hall. To have a city-pass, you need to have a city-name; and this name is registered. When the round-ups occur, your identity is then verifiable, and you are not deported out of the great capitol city of SAHASRA DAL KANWAL. If a deportation is strike-4, you are transported by the Callio-Squad to DOGTOWN, to serve a trespass sentence. My point to all of this folks, is this. We are so large in our true beingness, that we can experience a multiplex of lives and do it totally simultaneously. When we dream out into the nuclear universe as carbon clay beings, we also have many lives and existences throughout unimaginable amounts of time and hyperspace or parallel universes where alternate selves of us are living, but totally unaware of these truths, unless inside of deep dreaming states, where we advance beyond the state of what Morianity labels as TYPE-1-EXPLORATRONS. Making an ultra long story as short as is humanly possible, there is a word in the Province Olympia, and I'll spell it out for all of my Blogaudians. OKSNUSHELARZIUM. If spoken anywhere in Province Olympia, this word suddenly develops two English Language Earth waking-world equivalents, and I'll spell these words out now as well. ZYALEROON and BIDARENEMPTEALL. With almost 100% accurately translated meaning to Earth-English, those two words above are BRIGADOON and COOLEY HALL. The difference would be less than the accent that perhaps a Frenchman or a Latin woman would speak when perfectly saying to an American or an Englishman, the word September or some similar type of word. Now this was decades before my mother ever told me anything about my Great Aunt from Chicago, Illinois, Mizz Alice Gallagher. There are roots from the Gallagher family to Donald Trump's maternal side, and is why I call him 'distant-cuzz'. There also are family connections to the people responsible for making this fantastic movie. There is of course a whole lot more to all of this, but allow me to just whet your appetites a tid little wee bit for right now, me peeps! The story that moves much closer in, to all of the nightmare parts to Morianity, and Mountainpen's suffering's, is connected in many other ways; only beginning with the Gallagher line of my mom's Huntington family, and ending up all the way to the mighty Robert McGuire of Atlantic City, NJUSAESMWG. I believe that when a Masonic member made me aware about powerful secrets kept by this great brotherhood lodge system, pertaining to the HUNTINGTON FAMILY, and its roots before that name as the Stuart's, and even going back before the crusades to the very half brothers and half sisters of the Lord Jesus Christ Himself; this led to the covert plot to murder the man who told me and revealed to me a great family lineage chart. I speak of the murder by way of slow poisoning, of a Mister David Charles Roth, by a fellow Masonic Brother, Mister Jonathan Schau.

When I told the record promoter, Lenny McKinnon, that I could produce the Beatles for him if that would get him off my back, things began to get, to quote that great old fifties Superman television show about the racehorse, “dangerous around here”, for me. If you know anything about the sixties and the political system of that day, you would just maybe see, in light of all of my Morianity; just how incredible this plot is, and how stuff totally all ties together, in ways so outlandish and unfathomable, that no words could ever hope to give any of this one bit of true justice!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I will delve into it as November progresses along, as this is very effen necessary!!!!!!!! The odds of McDowell becoming a top man in the government, after Daniel Mackey told him that someday he would grow up and be a man, and he did, but the odds of all of these people from COOLEY HALL, all becoming big shots with a dark hidden past, are somewhere, and get this, around 372 quatorodecillion to one against it being possible. Want to see that number? Fine.

372,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000. Doubt me? Go to any mathematical department at any good university, and see if I am lying here, peeps!

Can COOLEY HALL just come to be and then vanish into the moonlight, like freaking Brigadoon did? Well, you investigate the things like Haddonwood, and this place, and all of the rest of my MORIANITY STORY. You just go right ahead and try to prove me wrong, kind folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUTButButButButBUTTTTTTTTTTTT, when 2025 comes in and all non-millionaires are the total slaves of the Royal Family at Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington; don't you dare look me up and try telling me a thing. I did all I could to warn all of you that this WILL HAPPEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY JIMMY WHY? YYY DID YOU TELL ME THESE THING, BACK AT THAT MOTHER FUCKING COMPUTER SCHOOL AND SHORTLY THEREAFTER AS WELL, FROM MIDDLE 1973 INTO EARLY 1974? YYYYYYYYYYYYYY JIMMY, WHY? 'How dry I am, nobody knows'. The old song about the poverty stricken drunkard, is both catchy and pathetic. But personally, I know for a fact, that a tiny few handful of people, have a very strange medical condition that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with being some side effect of taking some anti-psychotic or other form of medication.

I have talked about my cycle of life that begins each time that I find myself on a train in Westmont, New Jersey, heading into Haddonfield, on a cold wintry February day in 1969, as a youth of fourteen years. I am sitting on a seat on this train, on the side facing south, and began to think to myself, “This is where it begins again, here I am again, it has come full circle and I am back here, AGAIN”. Now this is NOT where the memory of this cycle-hell actually does start for me. My childhood is filled with supernatural experiences such as lightening communicating directly with me, dead children speaking to me at two different Pennsylvania play-parks and one of them telling me that he was from Heaven (Sahasra Dal Kanwal). There are so many items that time won't ever permit me to list them all, on this or on any blog. But one thing that I did do was insist that I had lived for a total of more than eight thousand years, and told a few students that very thing, at my high school. There were those mysterious and frightening SHADOW-MONSTER hooded giant thin figures who stalked me in my DREAMS, following me from one house to another, and turning everyone who I was trying to get any help from, into one of them. This was right out of the future horror films, and would make even hardened Elm Street fans and Evil Chuckie himself, puke and stroke out, simultaneously. This will all lead me to a point here, and as some already may have indeed already figured out, I indeed am now living, and have been for many decades, in some wild and outlandishly inconceivable life-situation, whereby the very same thing is going on around me, only the entities are not in hooded figures, nor are they super tall and thin, as in the endlessly recurring nightmares of my mother fucking youth. Still, it is the LARRY LEE SYNDROME over and over and over again, just as in the nightmares!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and my life, or the net effect and results of it, may as well be me, endlessly running and begging for help, AND NEVER EVER FUCKING CUNT RECEIVING ONE TINY BIT FROM A SINGLE SOUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

About Me, Mark Wayne Huntington Mohr:

ALSO KNOWN AS (AKA) MOUNTAINPEN

theansweristheqyuestion: Not boring, without hesitation nor concern for fibbing, I can honestly say with a knowing that out of 8 billion that live or have lived here, none have shared my wild ride through hyperspace, with awareness.

View my complete profile

Pageviews today

Pageviews yesterday

Pageviews last month

2,159

Pageviews all time history

101,512

Global Audience In Shade Ratio Popularity:

Graph of most popular countries among blog viewers

When I talked a dozen blogs or so back about comparing PCN-550 with PCN-550, the reason it fucked up, is my error folks, for those who fucking caught this, sorry. It was December, two-thousand-nine, but I typed into the blog 2010, my error; 'oh well' Bruce Allen Pennock of 1973, NOBODY'S PERFECT, not even Mini Great Jewelly, or Mini Great Ripperton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So sahwee Ambassador Bomb of December the seventh, in 1941, kind sir. Watch the audio volume. Hell my next door nut case nabe would wipe out Fort Pierce with that song I sent down there in 1983, sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit.

MAGNESONIC, KICK IN OR I WILL FUCKING KICK FUCKING ASS, YO!!!!

ENDING BLOG:

Posted by theansweristheqyuestion

Oh Dawn and Daddy; quit sliding that disgusting junk. YUK!!!!!

Not only didn't I kick much ass, but I got the ass kicking of the century; to quote my old ex-business partner from the great SPR, Mister PP Pedersen. But I now now that I had lots and lots of help in getting totally destroyed, as if I wasn't mother fuckiGN wrecked, ruined, and totally destroyed in hell, long before I even came here to Sunny Paradise Florida, from up there in No Joysey! I believe it is even on the dam CD, but in any case, “What a family”! Boy oh boy, Mom and Diana, could I use some dam help out here in the hyperspace!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe Evelyn didn't tell the whole story to me, after-all she was just a little dam girl, up there on Heinz's yacht dock, in what many New Yorker locals refer to as South Huntington, and I remember it only as babbling on and on, of for short, and to keep the fucking Egyptian Pharaohs happy, BABYLON, YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh the gods, what a fucking crock of stinking ass shit, YO folks, GEE-WILIGARS! 08-08-08 HUH DARIUS. HEY BRAH, when you try using the link I posted, you still have to type in your name of Deezy slim in a search box. If there is a direct link to your great stuff, old pal, feel free to post it on my blog. Just promise not to choke me like nick likes to do, in these near-parallel places, such as that rotten dam lake house, YO DUDES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Or on Hilton Beach of ACNJ!!!).

Blog Archive

▼ 2011 (303)
- ▼ December (8)

Sunday, December 4, 2011

SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0281

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0281
world laboratories of 2296
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 12:42 PM-EST
DECEMBER 4, 2011, MY 57TH BOTBAR FUCKING BIRTHDAY
OFFICIAL RESIDENT OF HELL, AS PER JAMES EARL CARTER
FROM THE YEAR 1986 IN MIDDLE AUGUST
TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO
BLOG SUBTITLE NUMBER FOUR:
“WHY JIMMY WHY, UPDATED VERSION”
COPYRIGHTED BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN 2006-2011 ©
STARTING BLOG:

Monster Music Man next door, woke me again, blaring his horrific loud rotten-neighbor music at me, ruining my entire fucking birthday. There is no way to have peace and cunt lapping quiet in this world. Music is so loved by people, personally, I fucking hate it. I hate it when I am somewhere and a radio or something is playing, and some amateur begins to sing along, totally believing they are either Pavarotti or Carey. If they were, that is one thing; but if not, can't you please save it for your shower room while scrubbing up, and do us all a fucking favor. This jerk off next door is old and either hard of hearing, or like most peeps today, just love to blare away and wreck the only two ears that they were born with, believing wither they are indestructible, or that they live 90 years from now where even full ears and eyes are directly transplantable into the brain without any nerve complications.

I asked Gawky Gaukauk just why all of a sudden this neighbor is driving me up a wall and what and who is behind it, by drawing 72 paying cards, eight suits from two decks, containing all cards from aces through nines. The great black cat said the reason for this new hell and misery in my life, is number PCN-781. Now let us talk about this and a lot of other major mother fucking crap as well folks.

I am imagining none of this 57 years of Doctor Feet and his hell, who? No, that is the guy in the telephone booth with the Donald, exchanging phony weaves, dreams, and comfortable shoe insoles. But yes peeps, the other day, I asked this mighty black cat a question on why that horrific day of the 23rd of November was forced on me by these fucking ass monsters, and yes; the answer was again, PRIVATE COSMICODED NUMBER (PCN)-781. Today, before I began this blog of SJ-CH-0281, again, I drew the two cards that produce the PCN-ROOT DIGITS, these being the 7 and then the 8. The PCN is the difference between these root digits, if any Doctor, and using this digit as the 3rd one, creating a PCN or ROOT DIGITS 78 becomes PCN-781. My root digits are 87 for example, Donald Trump has root digits 23, and so forth. You must use your exact birth given first and last names to get your life-long PERSONAL PCN. By the way, you cannot exact the GAWNUM the same question, unless it pertains to different potential answers because it is asked at different times during ones life. Other than that exception, only once counts; and thus after that, you will get false answers. Do not try getting the GAWNUM to be your genie and give you yeas and no responses. It is designed as a mighty story telling systems of comparisons and matching's; & not to tell you in a direct question, if Johnny Marshmallow should marry Toni-Louise Macbeth. It is designed to bring a new skill to a user, and this being, learning how to figure things around a query, then by varying the words or phrases of query, they can match up PCN-number results to a second half, such as, “My boss is acting totally weird with me because he found out that I...” The dot-dot-dot are numerous possible things you may be wondering and worrying about, and they also all have their own PCN's, when figured out. Then your master PCN of the sentence with your boss is compared GAWNUMLY with numerous other PCN sentences until you start super sleuthing around and get matching answers. It is not six year old stuff, but it is addictive and also fun and entertaining as hell. It is totally real, and it totally works. Anyone thinking this is not so, needs further education on this exact science. I will tell more and more as time and persecution on this off the scales attack, continues to march fucking on to this demonic evil drumbeat. Now I had no particular blog planned out for this weekend, and really was fucking hoping to catch a break, but the WOMO is making me about as miserable as can be conceived, and is responsible for my first degree premeditated murder. It is official that I said I cannot take much more and will need to take my life, sop if this happens, these peeps all need to go to MOTHERFUCKING PRISON FOR THE REST OF THEIR DIRTY FILTHY TWISTED DISEASED LIVES, TO ROT AND SUFFER; JUST AS THEY CAUSED ME TO, for pushing 30 years or so now!!!! I noticed two other pretty much inescapable bullshit coincidences recently. The minute I say that Donald Trump will be president over my non breathing body, he pops up on his dirt bag owned and mobbed up NBC-NETWORK, floozies and all; and fairy god mother news bells; aha-aha-aha, Michele-1980 & family; he decided all over again that he will run, and then began all this persecution on me, as he is been behind the usage of this ICPE tool, ever since I told his peeps at his casino in the summer time of the year 1986, that I use PARALLEL EVENT SYSTEM, to beat the game of roulette, and this would piss off any fucking casino owner, like DUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!You cannot say that if you start with this blog, and read backwards, that I DO NOT HAVE PLENTY OF PROOF THAT BACKS UP MY WORDS HERE, FOLKS, NOT UNLESS YOU WANT THE AWARD OF THE DECADE FOR BEING AN ASS AND A MORON, THAT IS.

Well Gawky, despite many uncertainty's in this old sick world, “God's Dog” may have visited “Babylon”, and not in his doggie form, until he was old enough to do a Nancy Reagan, and just say NO to my dear wonderful sweet mom who took a vicious secret to the grave. But still, this “Prophet of Nothing” from “July twelve, nineteen-seventy” a few years back at that time; did not then know that these four things were all PCN-781, shown above in double-quotation. I have a listing matchbook of a dozen or more other less important things, but for now, these four need to be talked about, as something contained in one all any combination or all of them, is causing this real bad hell, according the magic cat of Copyrighted Halloween Day. I am not trying to win power-balls, that is your thing, MIZZ PAULA UWICH!!!!!!!

This is what is causing this neighbor to blare my wall down every day now without fucking mercy, perhaps at Trump's or Nick's behest, but since I have only what detectives call SOLID MOTIVE, I do not have any court evidence to this effect, so I blog out, maybe at their behest. If you see two mean looking kids in a park, you just got there and they are leaving. One is crying and more bloody and dirty than the other one, but you saw nothing, you can solidly speculate that these boys had been fighting since nobody else is around. But you cannot swear in court, one other thing other than this. None of us would have it any other way, it is to easy to get framed and innocently go off to fucking prison. Many guilty's are out walkin' and talkin', while the innocent's are all locked away inside. As I said to Paula, and some others, Regis sir, dog roofs and radio stations all notwithstanding, “BE CAREFUL”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What is good for the goose, you know. I have nothing against the American Criminal Justice System, except for when it doesn't work, which is quite often. IN MY CASE, IT NEVER DOES, AND NEVER HAS.

Let me quickly get into the song from 1988 that I Copyrighted and wrote from my home in Moorestown, NJUSAESMWG, a mile or so away from the home of baseball giant, Mitch Williams, AKA Mister World Series Gamethrow. I know he honestly tried his best, but some were ready in 1993, to shoot the poor devil. Bu7t baseball, at least not at this precise second, is not the topic at hand folks. The song was what led to the project sent down for copyright, called “THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT”. This is why since the middle of the past decade, my blogs on the web are titled this, along with the additional, “INTERNET VERSION”, LIKE DUHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dave and I had taken a trip in the first week in August back a couple of years, in 1986, one night, into New York City. He wanted to go to some club, and see some friends of his, a musical group called “New Shoes”. I could not handle Saturday night traffic in this incredible city so he took the wheel and parked us a few blocks from the club, as he was not able to find a spot closer than this. I relaxed in the passenger seat for close to an hour while he was inside this club, doing whatever he was doing. As soon as he rounded a corner block, along came a girl crossing from my right to my left, and I could not take my eyes off of this tall teenaged curly haired cutie pie. I admit I was pushing 32 and that she was half my age, but the statute of limitations will run out on what I did with her on the 2nd of August, back in 1993. I believe laws have altered, but grandfathers rights in more ways than one, keep me from seeing the inside of a prison. She told me that her feet hurt as she came around to the driver side of the parked car, and peered in at me, cautiously but confidently. I told her my friend is in the club down the street seeing his pals the New Shoes group. She smiled and asked if she could sit inside and get off of her feet. She removed her shoes and left me instantly wishing she had not, pretty as her feet were. Until 2008 ran around, I thought of this night only a few times ever, and remembered little detail. I know we had a little fun, not the only time I had fun in a car during this period in my life, and yes, with the under-aged, as I was going through the normal middle life crises, that went onto worsen ten to twenty years later, until I began blogging and telling my life story, which had quite a therapeutic effect, and calmed me down like a bottle of Ativan tablets. I thought her name was Maria Kelly, and thought no more of this fuzzy memory, other than to write a very mean song about the experience and copyright it on August 15th, in 1986, a couple weeks after the night in the city, called, “Real Good Girl”. Before she exited the vehicle as I had seen David coming back from the club towards the car; she heard some female artist playing on my car stereo, and had noticed my tape recorder in the back seat with a cassette all ready loaded into it, as I was keeping a life journal of things happening to me. She turned the music way up, and literally blew the poor artist, whoever it was, right out of the water, with a voice like nothing I had ever heard or imagined in my wildest mind. In the few minutes before David had been seen walking towards us from quite a distance, and there was a very bright advertising light right where he was walking past and easy to spot. She had asked me if she could have the tape, and I said that I needed it because it had stuff on it on the flip side, personal conversations with a man named Shorty MacInvondi. She giggled at his name and never knew it was a made up name and used for purposes of electronic metaphysics, unlike Donna Summer Jason, who knows all this so well, at least now, but she knew it then, and was convinced early in the eighties that I was sending magical signals to her, because I used a fast erase button that caused a bias playback high oscillating tone to be audible with good speakers, and she admitted it in her 1982 album. Anyway, I really liked this curly haired girl and we exchanged phone numbers, but I threw hers away near the Lincoln tunnel, as she would have ended up putting me on Rikers Island eventually. I had no idea at all, that SR would be the only charge against me if PK pressed charges on me, as she knew stuff that I did not. She insisted on having the tape, and even though I told her I could not give it to her, she faked out like she was putting the recorder back in the back seat, as it was attached by a short rope, around the seat head rest of the passenger front seat. She lifted the tape, as when I got home it was gone. I never heard anything like her voice, it was straight from the heavens.

None of this by itself is all that amazing as far as PCN-781, but when you factor in other things, watch this all widen out. July 12, 1970 was the last NIGHT, and the only NIGHT, that Sarah's great gang called the Atlantic City QM, standing for Quoddy Mockers, was ever seen by me. They knew me and liked me a lot, they all called me THAT-BOY, and never knew my name. Cousin (SANDY) Sandra Shah Snowhite, of Narberth, PAUSAESMWG; told them my name, but they all insisted on calling me, THAT-BOY. I lied about seeing SARAH herself, the only lie ever told on MORIANITY, but enough to place my good name and credibility into question, unfortunately. It gets a lot better still so do not faint out on me yet peeps, please. Nightmares that recurred all through the late eighties and nineties of the past century, haunted me in series of ominous and outlandish vividly colorful dreams of groups and groups of huge air balloons. The girl running the entire thing that was going on, was always the same; and her name was Patty Lang. This name, Paula King, and many others, is one powerful entity and personality by the name Later I realized I had worked with a girl by this name at the recording studio and had totally put this out of my conscious mind from 1979-1981 until I quit on March the eleventh. Her husband was a commercial airlines pilot. They commuted from a place right near the Delaware Memorial Bridge, one hell of a spurious long commute to both of their jobs. Photos of air balloons were both on her hand bag at the studio, as well as a stick or peel on, where she was given permission to place. on the main duplicator machine near the master system; connected to the group of 10 or so electronic-slaves or “duplicators” both accepted terms in the recording business of those days, and I saw these balloons every night at work. This led to those nightmares beginning after I met and did the unspeakable with my own daughter, regarding balloons and Patty. As for God's Dog, our Midge at the Judge's place in Hammonton Berryville, Frank Raso; owner of the rooming-house, before I had been talked into moving in with these distant cousins of my kid; was the most adorable dog I ever met. Add got rid of poor little Midge because she had attacked and killed one of her [precious Cockateel birds. Spell fucking checker is no help whatsoever and I know the species of that bird type is misspelled, so no comments please, tell MICROSUCKS to improve their rotten spellchecker system. THANK-YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know for almost certain, Dawn-Marie called her distant cuzz MC, and sent her a pix. Right after this, she got the same dog. I could be wrong but feel that I am not. The empire ruler knows that on the Astral Plane, I can indeed talk, and that she is endlessly age sixteen out in her wonderful city of SAHASRA DAL KANWAL. This is why I ended up seeing her cool commercial on television that day with the treadmill.

I had my friend at the Indian River State College (IRSC) here in South Florida, run just a few things like this as mathematical odds for happening all just by random chance. He told me it would be trillions if not quadrillions to one against this all being just coincidental. I believe him. Do any of you? This is a tenured professor, not a disabled nutcase certified by the psychiatric profession as a life-long whack-job. Then there is Babylon and all its yacht clubs, banker uncles, astral trips, and balloon bank payments. This is where I was forced to go and visit these rotten and snooty relatives of mine, and was put to work like a slave, either in the yard or on that rotten boat that he loved to take out sailing around LI Sound every freaking summer, with his pal MISTER JIMMY DEAN, and his daughter Christine, who I hear in 1975, got as bit hot and heavy, oh well, who am I to talk, after that night with my own daughter in 1986? I wonder how far I was from Rikers Island. I suppose as close as the nearest cop, oh well, fortune favors the foolish, huh William Whales Shatner????????????????????????????

Suddenly Marcy Levy and Robin Gibb, from the famous BEEGEE assholes, had made a song, that was rapidly going into lower numbers, on the Billboard Hot 100 Music Charts, called, “Help Me”, speaking of major fucking symbolism, YO.

Take a dump in your mouth, with an asstomouthose. I think I invented this in some distant parallel universe, for a novelty shop, if one of my wild weird dreams from my teens is being accurately remembered and recalled now by me, the ol' Mountainpen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The latest motley crew would be the people I lived with from middle late summer time of 2008 until the early middle part of December in 2009, when I managed to escape them with just the fucking clothes on my back, and thus, ended up in Florida, where ever since that, I have been trapped in and totally imprisoned. Even more recent taking me to very present time circa called the here and the now, was the wild employee bunch while I worked up at the Harvest Outreach place, on 25^th Street and Orange Avenue, about a mile west of my building here, their web-site is as follows:

http://www.harvestfoodoutreach.org/

However folks, I won't sit in here crying out loud fucking crocodile tears over any of this bullshit. It has all been said and cried over before, for crissake!!!

© BOM 2006-2015 MARK WAYNE MOHR

BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN

KEEP YOUR BIG MOUTH SHUT NOW, DONNA!!!

This time, I really am back on that train in Westmont!

BUTButButButButBUTTTTTTTTTTTT, Cousin Donald; look at like this, why dontcha? If you think it stops there, then you were truly born on yesterday's fucking turnip truck, heading for a career in Hammonton, picking Blueberries with Lewis Laines's family from Guatemala. Hey Mister McNulty; AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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 Gaines Summer!

JANE FONDA HAS BEEN ON A ROLL, FOLKS!!!!!!!!!!

555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555

Lots of wild things are part of MOUNTAINPEN'S MORIANITY, AND YOU ALREADY KNOW THAT; ME PEEPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Publix is a fantastic store, and Chase is a fantastic bank. That is if you are a fan of Wall Street, booming sounds, glittering lights, and Donald J. Trump. Me, well; one for four, under this Huntington Curse, is livable. I DO LOVE MY PUBLIX! The others; oh the gods; don't get me going here, please; on or off magical of days and dates, of early millennium summer time vacations; Mizz Eckert Farma! Now some folks think the man in Orlando was Steve, back when I purchased that glass jar of M&M candies, and not for fitty-cent, AHA-AHA, Mister McNulty. These were two separate men, I promise you. Of course, when the ESS is involved wit you; nothing can be rationally deduced as a sure thing. This is why Bluebook is too scared to ever tell you that indeed, we all are dealing with the Menagerie of Star Trek's great Tellosians. This is the nightmare that they just cannot let loose as governmentally documented verified fact. Those such as Mountainpen who discuss it intelligently, are thereby, via the psychiatric world, labeled fruit cake crackpots. Steve, Santa Claus, and Patty, are their own private motley crew from hell; and are not part of the man from late-1983-Orlando, Florida-Publix. BUTTTTTTTTTT, I'll tell you who the Orlando dude did look a lot like, bearing in mind it had been almost ten years since I saw him on the beach in 1974, in Atlantic City. You guessed it people, the dude whop told me all those wild things, and then vanished as quickly as he ''popped-up''. Yeah, and he did it again. Is he an ESS dream-traveler (type-3-Exploratron) you wonder? Hey, we can get to further exploring those ideas later on. If this is what you all want, then let me start seeing 100-200 daily views. Your choice great folks, you the customer are always right. I am merely obeying your commands, YO! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! If SSJKK can be 10 and then 14, then Patty can be 12 and then 29, or whatever, huh Mister Polio Malyeska?

Hackers just fucked with my blog, kind folks. This occurred right at WALL STREET'S CLOSING FUCKING BELL, WHEN ELSE? WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I was able to close down and reopen. FUCK THESE DIRT BAG PRICKS!

You are also free to accurately scream out, for all the good it may do you, ladies and gentlemen,

Sarah Krassle Owns And Rules This Planet,

NOVEMBER 23, 2015,

MONDAY MORNING AT 9:37,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.

CURRENT TEMPERATURE IS 61 DEGREES FNHT.

RANGE TODAY----(H-63/L-55).

RELATIVE HUMIDITY IS 78%, WIND CHILL IS 59.

WIND IS NNW AT 8, WITH A SMALL GUST TO 10.

Kick up your heels and shout, “Mountainpen's life sucks a huge throbbing thick dick at light speed”!!!

Well 2018's MOTHER FUCKING November is nothing like the one back three cunt eating years ago, kind folks, YO! It is HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT~~~~~~~~!!!!!!!!!!!!

***''YOUR HIGHNESS REIGNS SUPREME,

KING IGNORANCE''***

Pageviews today

Pageviews yesterday

Pageviews last month

2,118

Pageviews all time history

101,623

Audience

The world isn't hard to figure out, from all ISIS's to all Callio Terrors in or out of all shopping centers and public places everywhere. The problem is the relativity of things. If I am number seventy seven, then the number sixty to me just ain't that spectacular. However, to all numbers 12 through 40, that same seventy seven number is one big high king to look up to. I learned this on 2 August of 1996, and maybe I even learned it 3,652 days earlier on 2 August, 1986, only I was just a total moron then. Three cheers for Central Park, all boom boom magic, and all golden nuggets, right Cousin Don???

In or out of all stock markets, recording studios, great large parks, and digital technologies, truth will always equal truth, and people and mind will only be revealed in its fullness of truth, when mind in people so desire. Believing any other possibility doesn't make me a glass half empty kind of a guy, gorgeous Twinbay. It makes me someone willing to live with, and deal with, all of mother fucking ugly reality. Hey honey, I didn't say I like it; just that I accept truth. Because sweetie pie, take that away, and just tell me YO; what is left, besides maybe a ton of ugly ICPE-APES?

AS LONG AS THESE MOTHER FUCKING JERK OFF COCK SUCKING BASTARD TRASH SCUM HAVE ME TO PICK ON, AND 'FUCKIGN' CUNT PERSECUTE; THE DOW WILL ENDLESSLY KEEP FLYING FOREVER AND EVER; UP AND UP AND UP AND UP AND UP; AND I TOLD YOU THIS LOVELY GIANT FUCKING GINA, AND I TOLD YOU ALL, EVERYONE ELSE, READING THESE FUCKING ASS WORDS!! THE PROPHET OF NOTHING IS GETTING FUCKING MASACRED HERE, COPYRIGHT FUCKING OFFICE, YO YO YO!!!

W---O---W, MISTER MACY!

Take me away; small little boat! Otherwise, I will go to the Treymore Hotel, and then the following year; GOD WILL GET ME GOOOOOOOUD, lovely 1999 arm bomber non Prince-Keisha, YO BAG GIRLS MARTINEZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes lads and lassies, depending on my luck of course; I was not all that far from the rock, up in NYNY, around just past ten, on 08/02/1986. But that was not my destiny. Yet those dreams of me being in trouble with the cops, persisted for a good solid Briper afterward. Like WOW, R.H.M.

Oh yes, if you're out there somewhere Sherry, and your weirdo pal, who thinks he's fucking Mister Krassle; I could use your help, you lovely giant girl you. Holy Moley Holly Molly 4-Crissake, YO-YO-BOUNCE!!! Town to town, house to house, shadow monster to shadow monster, nightmare to nightmare. Hey Morty Mortino; I am stuck here in this life, YO angel of death!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Public Catalog

Copyright Catalog (1978 to present)

Search Request: Left Anchored Name = Mohr, Mark W

Search Results: Displaying 1 through 25 of 28 entries.

Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-

Apitamy of harrasment [sic] : pt. two.

PAu001148157

1988

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0261

DATFILE: 110711.751

TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO-1995

Every summer up north and spring down here in Fort Pierce, I can literally say as the mercury climbs, “Oh gee, WOW, YO; The forces of HELL ITSELF literally reared their ugly head like nothing in my entire life that I ever had seen, not before, and not since; and that is the honest to the gods total fucking truth, peeps, YO”!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Of course I would be lying to myself, since this happens over and over again. And then there is the actual life that I live, using that example. For many months, or a short few down here, the winter comes, and it isn't making me sweat and die and stink and miserable. BUTTTTTT along comes the end of winter time, over and over, and you know what? It is as if it is becoming hot and sticky for the first time, each time, as though there were no previous changes from cooler seasons into hotter ones. I know better, and even remember it accurately, but somehow, feeling an demotion always manages to creep into the cold harsh equations of reality. Guess which wins out with humans; logic, or emotions. Or just ask Mister Spock of Star trek. If he were not on the Astral lane, he'd tell you, as he had to work with and around these wild emotional creatures of passion and total non logic; you and me, or said in another way, 'US'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It is twenty minutes past four of the fucking cunt clock, on this cunt huffing horrible hot ass Monday, on this fifth day in November of twenty-eighteen. It is 82 degrees, feeling like 86. It has been about 90 for a high now, day after day. This is one hell of a miserable place to motrher fucking live. Well, unless you happen to be a lizard or something, and there are many lizards in Florida, the scaly and slimy kind as well as those with two arms and two legs. WEEEEEEEEEE. Sheriff Mascara sir; my maintenance department here at Park Terrace Building at 601 Avenue B, here in Fort Pierce, in your great wonderful Saint Lucie County, will not repair anything in my place, and this has been going on since the late spring of 2016. I began noticing this about four months prior to the arrival of Hurricane Mathew, in September of 2016. Trump has put in the word to kill me in here, just as Scott wiped me out with my dirt ball insurance man at State Farm, and their patsy blond Pam wiped me out by cutting off my lifeline and my medication, back in the end of 2014, leading to my onslaught of diabetes and other serious medical conditions that fell upon me as a direct result of all of this torture. I HOPE YOU CAN LIVE WITH YOURSELF AND YOUR FUCKING CONSCIENCE, SHERIFF, SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have mold growing due to unimpaired leaks, no air, and I am dying in here, and all so trhese mother fucking dirt bag criminal republicans can win their cheated evil fucking cunt elections. I hope you don't have too much trouble at the gates with Saint Pete, kind Sheriff, sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

'How dry I am, nobody knows'. The old song about the poverty stricken drunkard, is both catchy and pathetic. But personally, I know for a fact, that a tiny few handful of people, have a very strange medical condition that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with being some side effect of taking some anti-psychotic or other form of medication. This is not some quick easy thing to discuss, yet it is extremely urgent that I do discuss this on today's mother fucking blog; my great people out here, and those not so great ones also. I also know that all things that pertain to this strange mysterious problem, are not taught in any medical schools at least in this fucked up nation, and I also know that there is a cover up pertaining to this problem, larger and more incredible that the so-called fucking UFO-COVERUP! I do know this much. I don't know real large details, BUTTTTTTTTTT I do know that mother fucking much! I also know that someone who has any varying degree of this problem, such as my mother “Misses Mohr”, myself, and yes, gee I wonder why the computer just fucking crashed, FBI, yes, MY GODDAMN FUCKING DAUGHTER!!!!!!!!!!! All her fans know these words are true, but only a small group of persons, and I mean small, know all of the secrets that are, and have been major fucking covered up for a long time now, pertaining to all of this mother fucking dogshit! When the throat specialist in Northeast Philadelphia spoke to my mother in 1983 or whenever it was, his exact words to her were, “I don't think that's his problem, Misses Mohr”. He was referring to my medical condition. Since these mother fucking cunt lapping dirt bag persecutor enemies of mine, are wishing to take this shit to a whole new level of hell for me recently; my discussions of RED-LINE-CROSSOVERS, will now take a giant leap forward as well! I have now had a MAJOR FUCKING ATTACK AND ASSAULT AGAINST ME, BEGINNING BACK ON CUNT CHEWING FRIDAY, FOUR STRAIGHT DAYS; although I'll admit in all honesty that it was backed off on Saturday! As Ann King might say here, “WHOOPIE”! My late Aunt Geraldine Snow Mason, of Narberth, Pennsylvania would also throw in here, “I'm impressed”! Needless to say that she was being quite sarcastic and mean, to some poor lady who was visiting her home that day; while her other pal was visiting there too, the X-CIA Agent, and the Shah of Iran; however you spell that fucking word SHAH, as Spellchecker never tells me! I am totally fucking wasting my time with Sheriff Mascara, and I am smart enough to know it. If he was helping me, this fucking shit would be backing off of me, during this critical fucking time of these goddamn shit eating MIDTERM PARALLEL EVENT ELECTIONS, and its resulting HELLFIRE!!!!!!!! He either can't, or won't help me; just like twenty mother fucking years ago, with the ADA Ron Wirtz Senior, up there in mother fucking Camden County in New Jersey, USAESMWG! First of all, the closer that I get to exposing exactly the “WHO-WHAT-WHY” of all of this hellish and nightmarish shit; THE MORE SHIT WILL BE MAJOR POURED ON ME! BUTTTTTTTTT, as in any good crime and detective super sleuth work and operations, the real culprits will always at that point, attempt to frame some or lots of 'innocent others', so as to further avoid the suspicion that would otherwise be cast more and more on them, hence intentionally misleading and thwarting any investigative process. Although, when the “FAWCES” behind it all are totally as powerful as I believe them to be; they become part of the (TOO BIG TO JAIL CLUB), as Morianity and Mountainpen would describe it. Let us examine a perfect example here such as Mister Pukehead Mark Zuckerberg, and his FACEBOOK. That little crook only gives a shit about HIS BOTTOM LINE and his billions, BUTTTTTTTTT, they'll never stop him, or close down his ad-mill. No one will ever be able to make him pay for his reckless disregard of potential global damages that indeed have resulted as a direct effect of his organization. He and his group will never in any substantial way, pay for the damages to the entire world, caused by his all mighty FACEBOOK. Now when he started it, don't get me wrong; it was all fine and good. But as always, money and power rules the day, AND THE NIGHT! But interestingly enough, this all brings me to the second half of what I consider to be a very urgent point here, YO. There also is what I label, the (KING OF THE SHIT-CREW SYNDROME). There are many more of these types than there are, the Mark Zuckerberg people. When my Health-Care Agent, Steve, was over here in this very apartment about two years ago, to sign me up with the Humana people; we got talking about the welfare system, and those who totally take advantage of it. This is the local neighbors who are fully able bodied, and have no mental disabilities at all; who are lifers here in this town and this building, and never have worked a real job with hard work and forty hours, in their worthless miserable rotten fucking lives! I called them, LIFERS, as the previous Building Manager would refer to them by that name; Mizz Morotto. But Steve corrected me very quickly. He said that he grew up in Fort Pierce, and knew a whole damn lot of shit about all of this. He said they are not merely LIFERS, but rather, GENERATIONALS, to use his quotation. These worthless mother fucking people have been on welfare, and not worked, and just collected free tax payer dollars; for generations. That is what he told me about all of these great folks around me. But they are not happy making tidbit chump change monies, and are obviously paid money by the FAWCES, or those hired by these strange and unknown FAWCES, to harass me. They may be thrown ten or twenty Ben Franklin's each month, just for being available, and to make noise, and persecute me at certain times, when they get the phone call to do so. This is why I label people such as this, the Kings of the SHIT-CREW. Let me further explain my goddamn mother fucking rationale. Just like Harlem gangs up there in New York, they're perfectly okay with remaining in small ponds so to speak, just as long as they “GET TO KING-RULE IT”. In other words, they'd much fucking prefer being the generals of the hood, than to be hard working productive sergeant's of a city-run youth-off-the-streets type of organization. I proved this not long ago, when I told both the cousins, as well as the nabe across from me, that I would not mind paying hundreds of dollars to have that junk that I did over at BonJovi Studios (Avalon), done the way I want, you know; alive, real live type of EDM sound (Electric Dance music). They blew me off, and would not help me, yet they have thousands of fucking dollars of musical and DJ equipment, and are always throwing DJ-parties outside the building, so I know they can do a really great job. The man himself told me last year during the fucking hurricane, that he can do all sorts of musical work, and shortly after the storm, I saw him carrying into his apartment, all sorts of musical video screens and every type of studio apparatus that is imaginable. I just wanted to see if I would be ignored and lied to, even after I told him that I would pay him cash money, and lots of it, if he could redo and remix my shit. Enemies won't help me; they are only there to obstruct, harass, and make me miserable!

Let me tell you some mother fucking shit, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My mother fucking seeing rotten JANE SLEAZEWEEDS FLEASDISEASE as well as my hearing Mister Mortimer Mortino the Angel of Death, is always on a major cunt huffing roll during times of really intense goddamn death-siege. And yes, it stands to reason and it goes to follow, BRAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is when you see those miserable mother fucking ONES, ONES, ONES, ONES, and I know for a total fucking fact that when you are in major danger, and enemies are plotting to literally wipe you mother fucking out of existence; this is when you need to be scanned by Mortimer!!!!!!!!! Nothing that is happening is without reason or logic. But let us throw in one other element that enemies would love me to fucking forget, and they can forget that, YO. MY PUSSY-COMMAND will eventually be off the charts, just as it was about five weeks or so back, on that cunt chewing day over at my local fucking grocery store, the Publix, where shopping is always a pleasure, as the commercial would say it so well!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, I'll get right back into the pussy swing and right back into the market, old as I am. Many women my mother fucking age are lonely, and if you want the stock market to crash for five years or so, then just keep this fucking shit up, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jane Shitpants Sleazeweedsdisease almost fucking got me again, but I caught the fucking shit just in mother fucking time, HA HA HA HA HA HA, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Yes kind folks; when I said that Cousin Don was looking into reality-spicing, and wouldn't be specific about the details; I don't mean for you to take the Olivia Newton John movie seriously, kind folks. After-all, how can any of us manage to do this with twenty-first century limited cave-days technologies? Well people, let us seriously ponder and cogitate upon this fucking shit, shall we, YO? All of the fucking shit since 2015, all this shit where reality has been turned upside down and inside out, to quote (HOPEFULLY), the state of Florida's next Governor's mother in law; from 1980 or 1981 somewhere; is what I am referring to here, and discussing very seriously. Way back in World War fucking ll, my peeps, 'PROPAGANDA' and fake news items, were all part of not only German, but Soviet intelligence systems as well; so don't go crediting the Donald for inventing ANY OF THIS FUCKING DAMN BULLSHIT, YO; as he did not. This was all around long long long long ago, YO, BUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT; HE DID come up with some cool new fucking spins on how to use it in more modern and high-tech times!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is what I meant to say pertaining to the early eighties ONJ movie, and REALITY-EDITING and splicing, BRAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Now a wee bit about my June 4, 1983 mysterious glandular and throat condition, that my mother had to a lesser degree, as does my daughter. We all know this is true, and they can cover all of this fucking shit up until Callio's fucking cows all come home from the corn fields, and the pasture lands; and then go onto learn the game of baseball, from Kevin Costner, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The same powerful HALLS FAWCES that created the 'COOLEY-HALL HIGH HELL', that I attended from February of 1969 through January of 1973; also created Judge Raso's hold and grip, on the Jersey town of Hammonton, as well as his strange unexplainable and totally beyond unfathomable house, at 65 Middle Road, that he rented to Dawn King and I, oh boy Patty, those endless James Redfield coincidences and synchronicity experiences; like WOW THAT; aniwho and moving right along here YO; that house is right out of THE TWILIGHT ZONE, and anyone doubting it just needs to check it out, starting with my 2008 blogs, and then going and seeing all of this for themselves, YO; but absolutely yes, these exact same HALLS FAWCES that put the COOLEY HALL in Haddonfield, also put Judge Raso and his rental home in Hammonton, there as well. IPYT. Still, if you do go and look at the 2008 blogs, forget about the World Series shit. How about the medical condition that my daughter was telling me all about, in this WILD AND POWERFUL DREAMING INTERACTION??????????? Would you pweeeeeeeeeeze gimme a bwake here, mizz Margie Leo, YO??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hey, as the security guard used to say so often up there in Camden, who worked sometimes with the great Officer Hall; “BE REAL”. How in the name of the fucking asshole gods could I possibly know about these things, if this is not totally real, and true????????????? As I typed this, a large black GIFLY appeared out of nowhere, and flew right into my mother fucking face. This entire fucking shit is straight out of the goddamn fucking twilight zone with a thousand Rod Serling's, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The possibilities are absolutely endless, but we could explore a whole damn bunchovem, YO! How can I ever know whether or not a parallel universe doppelganger of my daughter, did not temporarily take over my daughter; and then got her to write that 1997 tune of hers, as well as Fascitar her way into my nightmares back in June, that followed eleven years later? You can't know. There are literally endless mother fucking possibilities when it comes to the fifth dimensional hyperspace, and the fantastic concept of the Exploratronic Supermind Society!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HEY, if you want to be super fucking narrow minded and just say that Mountainpen is a total whack job nut case; that is indeed one possibility, but why limit yourself to just one, when without doing that, you have hundreds of similar and better ones to fucking ass explore, YO????????????????????????? Look at this shit in another light also, kind people. I told more and more and more shit on my blogs, slowly, and yes, very PaU-la-King carefully © without the higher two notes that returns us to the same place musically, only one octave higher, and with a nice Tango dance twist; but I was telling more and more, and then a lot was up on the world-wide-web, later called by almost all of us, the online world or the internet. Then I did that fucking fish song and copyrighted it too, after doing it over at that crappy BJ place, the great Avalon. Now, as 2008 turned into the next few years, and I was living down here in Florida, it was 2013; and I did this song that hopefully would prove that my medical condition is real, and yes, to further hope that what Eddie Himacane Lynch told me would most likely happen eventually if I keep blogging, and being diligent, and patient; maybe getting help somewhere; and then came 2014, and at the end of that year, the EVIL TRILOGY struck me down, the Trump-Scott-Bondi team, for a lack of a better description here, YO kind peeps! Mister Halls FAWCES and all evil fucking trilogies be damned, or really better fucking said here, and a whole lot more honestly; I GOT STRUCK DOWN, and they did not believe that I would survive being fucking kicked off my medication that was the only thing keeping me alive and not choking the fuck to death ever since June 4, 1983, where this all Resorts International began; and when was that elevator tape loop played, hm, yes sir/mahm? Good old '97, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No Misses Mohr, “THAT'S NOT HIS PROBLEM”. Well doctor Grant Avenue, you are correct, 100% fucking accurate. That was not, nor is my problem. My problem is the ESS and the HALLS FUCKING FAWCES!!!! 'Boy oh boy oh boy', then came 2015, and I did survive, but they all hoped I would die and disappear, and just fucking vanish away like an early morning mother fucking misty ass fog, YO, one or two G's, great L&O!!!!!!!! Now TRUMP throws in his fucking hat and runs for president. “OH WELL”, TO QUOTE ANN KING & the rest was history, I suppose; unless we can find a way to re-splice and edit out an awful lot of shit. As Doctor Bruce Goldberg said unfortunately however, World War ll made all the papers. Kind of hard to make that disappear away, with Mark Mohr and Studio Park Records, huh folks? WHAAAAAAAAAHA-AHA-AHA, MCNULTY!!!!!

When it was 1975, and just a few months after Santa Claus and Patty Hollister assisted my mom and I, in our move into the Linden Hill Apartments of Lindenwold, New Jersey; I was at the beach in South Atlantic City, and was roughed up and terrorized, by two lifeguard-mascots. My mother was visiting her Cuzz Ruth Huntington Gottwald, up at 175 Peninsula Drive, in Babylon, New York; a place in what is called the great New York Island, by the great folk singer/songwriter, Mister Woodie Guthrie, in Suffolk County. Jimmie Dean, who we all see advertising his stuff on television, was there with my 'Uncle' Heinz, and my mom, and his first wife Ruth, and Heinz and Ruth's older of two daughters, Mizz Christine Gottwald Myers. My 'Uncle' Heinz had a small yacht called a Ketch. The entire group made a day trip sailing all around the LI-Sound. While this was all happening, I was in Atlantic City; and for absolutely no reason whatsoever, I was assaulted by these two lifeguard mascot scumbags, and then mocked and jeered by the entire beach patrol, along with the Atlantic City Police Department; on that hot summer day back in 1975. I know now that Paula King, and Sarah Callio, and other local forces, told these dudes to kick the crap out of me that day. I cannot prove this of course. But my point is that as these dirt bag mother fucking big ass dudes were roughing me up on the beach that day, as well as scaring me to death later, on land, on Pacific Avenue, right by a small motel that I ran into, and locked myself in the bathroom, while the owners called the fucking cops for me; but these pricks grabbed me around MY NECK, symbolizing CHOKING of course. Now anyone who meticulously studies the great holy words that are written in the Christian King James Version of the Bible, knows quite fucking cunt well, that all throughout this great book, the entire theme of it is all about great prophets being given great revelations of great symbolizing messages, that pertain to a time yet to come, where this Almighty God is planning to visit our planet, as a human being; and I speak of our LORD, JESUS CHRIST. The entire thing is about symbolic messages of God's journey to our world through the womb of a young lady, the blessed Mary, mother of God. If this entire thing is all about SYMBOLISM, then please don't dismiss shit when I say that all this shit is totally fucking symbolically connected, right down to this assault on me, and my being neck-grabbed (CHOKED)!!!!!!! Thank You, kind folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You need to know one more absolutely fascinating item here, kind folks. On the greatest television law show of all times, “Law & Order”, sometime in the summer time, or autumn time, of the year of 2009; there was an episode that sometimes they title on the cable information about the show, calling it “Pledge”, the dude who was obsessed by that college girl who was all snooty, and wouldn't allow him into some Sorority Party in New England, causing him to lose his date with a girl by the name of Susan; he actually looked almost twinnish to my Uncle Heinz. After the ADA Mister Cutter, pulled that trick on him, so that he would confess to the murder of a young child in open court; Mister Cutter told him that his Susan was murdered in some drug crazed deal on a yacht, in the Bahamas, if my memory is serving me half correctly. Another random chance coincidence, Mister Redfield? I doubt that somehow, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, ALL EVIL PH-SNAKES OF HALLOWEEN; IS A MAJOR TWO STRAIGHT DAY DEATH SIEGE PERSECUTION, AND WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCE ASSAULT ON ME; SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA, OF SAINT LUCIE COUNTY, FLORIDA, USA, S—I—R!!!! THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, ALL EVIL PH-SNAKES ALSO IS A DYING MANS UTTERANCE AND A DYING MANS LEGAL DECLARATION. IF I AM FOUND FUCKING CUNT CHEWING DEAD IN THIS APARTMENT FROM THIS BEYOND PUTRID AND RUTHLESS DEATH SIEGE, I WAS MOTHER FUCKING MURDERED BY ALL THOSE WHO THIS NEARLY 13 YEAR LONG BLOG HAS DISCUSSED, AND ACCUSED!!!!!!!!!!

Shit fucking started sometime between ten and half past eleven while I was trying to sleep, this moUUUUUUUUUUUUrning, with my upstairs asshole cunt chewing nabe with her relentless mother fucking wall hammering that goes on faithfully every single cunt eating week without fail, in the eight and a half years that I've lived below this nutcase whack fucking job. Then after being up and awake about two hours, maximum, the phone fucking bullshit persecution began. Then at shortly past three, my dirtbag ILLEGALS slammed in across from me and cranked up their noise box system. Then a few minutes after that, the Public Housing fire alarm went off. Yes sir, it sounds like I am going to have to mother fucking contend with a goddamn Halloween fucking party across from me today. What fucking assholes. This is no coincidence. Two straight days and off and on for three or more straight weeks now, I HAVE BEEN UNDER THE MOTHER FUCKING GUN HYPER HUGE BIG TIME, YO!!!!!!!!!!!

MAGNESONIC: SCAN FOR WHOEVER IS PUTTING ME THROUGH THIS MONSTER DISEASED HALLOWEEN HELL OF TWENTY-EIGHTEEN, AND TOTALLY WIPE OUT AND CRUSH-DESTRUCT THIS EVIL THAT IS SURROUNDING ME, UNDER ALL GENERAL AND SPECIAL (CODED GENERAL) ORDERS. USE BOTH ATOMIC DUPLICATIONAL, AND ZERO DIMENSIONAL TECHNOLOGIES. YOUR OLD-STYLE AT&T PHONE-TONES ARE NOW DATA TRANSFERRED TO THE LONG 'EEEE' VOWEL SOUND, WITH THE 'A' TONE PRINTED BLUE, AND THE 'B' TONE PRINTED RED. YOUR DESIRE KEY IS BEING SWITCHED FROM THE 'J' NORMAL NEUTRAL POSITION, TO THE 'I' POSITION, AND ON AN 'I' TO 'D', A-B TONE, PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM; EMPOWER A TOTALLY CRUSHED, AND SINGED, AND DESTROYED IMAGE-OBJECT, THAT HAS BEEN FULLY SCANNED NOW, AND PLACED ONTO YOUR TRANSPOWER-BLOCK. G-189, G-13, G-14, G-917, G-719, UNDER CG-5555 AND CG-18, AND STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me tell you all a few quick powerful truths and things in general, YO. Ever since I went to the mother fucking ATLANTIC CITY CASINOS in December of mother fucking 1982, when George Bell-tone Belton took me to Resorts International Hotel-Casino, and showed me the game called, ROULETTE, fucking shit that always negative in my life, took root and suddenly grew as though it was on intergalactic fucking steroids cubed!! I totally know that these sick twisted fucking cunt eating diseased mobbed up scum trash casinos, have been, and are, and always will until my death, torture and screw with me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There is no other realistic target, because this is exactly when fucking shit all changed around me from lousy to super fucking mega-hell to the thirty-ninth power!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Still, the Playboy Bunny friend of DH moved into that shithole fucking apartment below me at 1801 Robin hill while I resided at 1802, and this was months before George and roulette, so I have no perfect answers, so as I stated, shit that already was about to fucking blow up in my asshole, actually did, after December of 1982. Still, all shit is connected. I met George at the fucking Warwick Auto Sales lot or dealership, on the White Horse Pike, in Magnolia, New Jersey, just a mile away from my apartment, and this was shortly after that bunny whore moved in. There was a lady at the Echelon Towers Building in Voorhees, New Jersey who told me I'm basically screwed, because the casinos are literally a country within a country. I now see how powerful and amazing that mother fucking statement of hers truly was, back in 1989, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!

At least it is 79 degrees, and has been all day since it got warmer in the middle morning. If it was feeling 100 or so, on top of this super HALLOWEEN DEATH SIEGE, I would be totally and absolutely mother fucking dead right now, SHERIFF MASCARA, KIND SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

END TRANSMISSION.

BLOG 57 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

SUB-TITLE:

''GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS''

CONTINUING CHAPTERS IN MORIANITY'S RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM 3

I admit that I cannot make heads nor tails of many mother fucking things; ladies and gentlemen. For one thing, the incredible wild nightmares for the past week or so. Patty was in one of them and it was so major that I absolutely cannot mother fucking talk about it on any blog, OR THEY'LL MURDER ME FOR FUCKING SURE, YO! I would be crossing over major countless RED LINES before I would even begin to get into any of the serious goddamn bullshit. I can only say a thinly disguised tiny grouping of tiny whittle wee-bit smatterings, and I will. But later on, as much ground needs to be covered, and I want to get up in time to drive over to talk to Sheriff Mascara, as well as have a major phone talk with COMCAST on this SENIOR ABUSE on my phone-service with them.

It is currently just after two in the goddamn mother fucking moUUUUUUUUUUUUrning, on this 29^th morning of SATANIC-DEMONIC OCTOBER, in this hideous, monstrous, horrendous, and horrific year of 2018; which makes totally no sense to me whatsoever, as 2018 and 1802 are a scrambling of the same four digits; and apartment number 1802 was an extremely magical and great number for me, well; maybe it really wasn't, and I just fell under a huge fucking ass illusion all this time, who can cunt chewing ever know a damn thing, Ziggy M.?????????????????

Before I tell the events of the weekend, after posting up my early Sunday morning last blog, YO; it is currently 54 degrees here in town, and we are having our first of the season cool-snap. It may reach as low as the high thirties, somewhere between my town and out at the lake, (Okeechobee). I do not know how far that is from my apartment, but somewhere between 40 and 60 miles would be my best guess, to the west-south-west of Fort Pierce. It only got up to the high seventies yesterday, which is keeping the apartment a tiny bit nicer. WEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! So moving on here, Saturday was pretty much church-mouse quiet, and then came Sunday. All day long, Sheriff; my damn triad-illegals were around, and slamming their mother fucking doors like crazy fucking people. Then at approximately ten minutes past eight last night, I was struck major hard AGAIN, with another DEATH BOWELS ASSAULT on my poor old frail pathetic puny weak defenseless body; sending me to the toilet lightning fucking fast, BUTTTTTTTT, I didn't make it, and they knew I wouldn't. I had to clean up three mother fucking nasty areas on my rugs, before reaching the toilet! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! These cunt chewers defiled my apartment, AGAIN, SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA, SIR, in total violation of my human rights, my civil rights, and my mother fucking constitutional rights, YO YO YO YO!!!

YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I cannot get two straight days and nights for the past six weeks, or damn near it seems, WITHOUT MAJOR WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCE ASSAULT AND DEATH SIEGE ATTACK. This is the cunt chewing fucking second half of the nineteen-eighties ALL OVER MOTHER FUCKING AGAIN, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!

Funny too, that my interaction with Patricia Hollister took place in Philadelphia, where she worked for a number of years a very long while back, only she never, at least to my mother fucking knowledge, lived there. Now several of her friends did. One of them was Steve, who I have discussed throughout numerous years of previous blogging texts. In this powerful nightmare-interaction slash hyperspace-adventure, or slash “whatever” kind Congressman who wasn't one yet back in good old 1975; we were in that horrible house of nakedness with all of the weird people. I had walked out into a back yard, and nearby our fence, and she came out and we got talking about harassment. Now back in the seventies, I never thought about that word, as I was told by the church, and those born again mother fucking folks; that I was under what they labeled, “Satanic oppression”, not persecution or harassment. I can only go with the flow of the times and the days, peeps, YO! I was later asked to leave a church, when I levitated myself a foot above the floor one day, in front of the pastor and a group of lovely teenaged girls, up there in Gloucester, New Jersey, right next door to the wonderful Camden, and RPL Sound Labs, and McAndrews and Forbes Licorice, and Ferry Avenue's great Institute for Medical Research, and so much more! WOW all of THAT! Today, tickets are sold, and people like Copperfield other great magicians are paid large sums of money. Go mother fucking figure anything, folks!!!!!!!!!!

Let me give you some insight about parallel-event and certain particular parallel events such as my connections every single time, with my being major death siege fucking persecuted, and my receiving extremely abnormal amounts of goddamn pussy-command. About five or six weeks while shopping for my usual grocery items at my local grocery story, the PUBLIX, where shopping is always such a wonderful pleasure; especially when not being persecuted to death, WHAAAAAAAA; I fell under a gargantuan amount of absurd and totally Mack Soapmouth Kaiter ridiculous pussy-command, that I thought that I was back in my younger days again. Nothing like that had happened to me in quite a while, nor has it since, THANK THE DAMN GODS!!!! BUTTTTTTTT, beginning that very day just a fucking cunt eating dew hours later on, after arriving back home, KAPOW, BOOM-BANG, ZAP, ZAM, ADAMWEST-BATMAN; all hell broke loose, and it has not mother fucking cunt huffing looked back, not in the tiniest whittle fucking bit; SHERIFF, SIR, YO!!!!!!!! This is a goddamn fucking PARALLEL EVENT that is annoying as all goddamn fucking get out; my kind sir, and all of my kind as well totally unkind freaking Blogaudians!!!!!!!!!!

Back now to Patty, in my house-of-horrors and nakedness, dreaming interactions. She was telling me that she is watching me closely, and so is Donald John Trump. I told her, and remember my exact words perfectly Richard Nixon clear, “Tell me something that I don't know, Patty”. Then she socked me right in my shoulder and I fell down onto the ground. She said to me, “You don't have to be a damn smart ass Mark, I'm just trying to help you and tell you some shit”. I just looked up at her, still sitting on the ground, and in some wet mud, with my bright red plaid shirt on, that was now quite filthy from being shared with mud, and recently fallen rain water. I remember telling her that “she hadn't lost a step”, since she helped Santa Claus and Steve, carry that super heavy couch, from my apartment on Oakland Avenue in Oaklyn, to the apartment that I was moving into in Lindenwold, called the Linden Hill, unit number 1118; with all bright flashlight holding, lunar maintenance men, notwithstanding, over at Cifaloglio. I remember in the dreaming-interaction, how much my right arm was totally killing me from her super heavyweight boxers punch. What was happening was that I had been sleeping on it in the wrong way, all night long, and this pain was transferred into the 'dream'. Still, all things always do and always will, fit perfectly together. I know this to be a 100% fucking fact. Aniwho, she went onto tell me that Cousin Donald told me way back in time, when I was employed by Building Maintenance Contractor, Mister Bernard Derakowski, who resided right next door by just a couple of houses, to my doctor in those olden days, Doctor Frank Addiego, on Park Avenue, in good old mother fucking Westmont, New Jersey; that people with incredible unnatural powers can edit reality itself just as regular humans do it with tapes and editing tools. By the way, I know for absolute certain, that many, or most of my classmates from school, at the HTHS (Haddon Township High School), know exactly who this doctor was; and even probably had him as his patients as well. Patricia Hollister then went on, in this powerful, outlandish, and esoteric 'DREAM', to remind me, and this is indeed the truth, how Cousin Donald had told me these things, way back at the very turn of the nineteen-eighties. Guess who just mother fucking got me with her cunt chewing PAGE ELEVEN OF ELEVEN, MIZZ DIRTBAG DISEASEWEEDS OF THE SLEAZEFLEAS! Allow me now to mother fucking compensate, YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!

But Cousin Donald, in this same area of the hyperspace; or where I am having these seemingly endless recurring nightmare dreams, where I am in that horrible fucking house, that exists in that particular area in fifth dimensional hyperspace, somewhere off of Interstate #95, near Grant Avenue, in Northeastern Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; has a property, that I also visit, and seem to be in; during many of these 'NIGHTMARES', and I think it is some type of a fucking looney bin. It is so goddamn fucking real, it comes right up and bites me in the asshole. But P.H. Was telling me and reminding me, that when Cuzz-Donald was telling me about reality-splicing, he also told me that soon he was planning to use this powerful idea and tool, to his advantage, through some inconceivably elaborate scheme and plot that he had, and wouldn't share with me of course. This was right after that goofy fucking movie that Olivia Newton John starred in, where after some car crash had occurred, someone kept rewinding a life-tape, and made reality-changes or EDITS. I had absolutely no idea just how incredibly diabolical and mischievous this plan truly was, not at the time, in the very early eighties, for fucking cunt crissake, YO, BRO! Patty went on with some incredible shit about how I am going to have to eventually fucking arrive at my own conclusions and that no one else is able to make things clear for me. Only I am able to see the clear picture in all of this, eventually; SHE TOLD ME! In this newly spliced reality, everyone seems to have just slipped through as if it is all so normal and natural. You know, no more fucking normal Presidential news conferences, non-stop rallies and party promotion bull fucking shit. On and on. It is all as unnatural as shitting backwards, you know, eating through our fucking assholes and then shitting out through our goddamn mouths, Again, I'll say it, YUK. Yet, is is a fucking lie, or is it the goddamn truth; my kind Blogaudians????????????? No other president ever ever ever, has endless fucking rallies since and after WINNING an election, endlessly supporting his party candidates, so as to strengthen his position of great power, that I promise all of you, HE HAS ABSOLUTELY NO PLANS TO EVER ABDICATE. I promised you long ago at the start of this fucking election shit, that he would win, and now I promise you, WE ALL WILL BE ADDRESSING HIM SOON AS KING TRUMP! This is what HOLLYWOOD was TOLD to pull that fucking '45' movie. Too fucking cunt bad too, as it was a really great fucking movie, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IPYT!!!!!!!!!

No more of the usual shit from the wonderful and NORMAL good old mother fucking days, huh? It's fucking just as if REALITY ITSELF is all being 'edited away'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! All fucking totally gone, maybe a bit gradually, and sometimes it isn't really being done through gradualism at all. Still, no one says boo, or no one even knows how to sit up any more and say fucking boo. Patty made me remember all of this stuff about editing-reality, along with that really cool movie staring ONJ. HALLS FAWCES naturally, are trying to get rid of her through illness, knowing that any of this can be used in some small way through my MORIANITY, if she remains a living witness, and were to discuss her great movie, today! I do not believe that illness or earthquakes, or hurricanes, or anything, strikes human beings by pure random chance, and I never ever mother fucking will, just as gorgeous Mary's dad, on that fantastic television show, 'L&O' does either!!!!!!!!!!!! But who really empowers this wild and ultra-mysterious technological tool that permits this reality-editing-splicing bullshit? Well, maybe the ESS directly, or just perhaps, maybe the ESS has worker fucking BEES that are not in the ESS, but still, they get some sort of a wild payday and quid pro quo. Just saying. P.H. did not make all of that clear in that wild nightmare, or did she, and that was all that I was fucking able to bring back to the waking world with me? Who can ever really fucking know, Mister Copyrighted Breath-Echos???????????????? Just who can ever know all of this; great 1969 Mister Sigmund Malyeska? I do know that around a quarter past ten on Friday night, I saw another one of NASA'S crappy missiles flying outside my window, and shortly before that, some weird hacking on my Comcast Cable Television System occurred, YO. That much, I DO KNOW, and to quote my kid, “I KNOW THAT I KNOW”!!!!!! Yes sir/mahm!!!!! AHA-AHA-AHA-AND WHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So yes Patty, thanx for the wild 'dreams' the other night. But “still”, to quote the great Detective Lenny L&O Brisco; REALITY-EDITING verses TOWEL-SEEPAGE-EFFECTS of fifth dimensional hyperspace; which is it, and when is it one or the other? I'll hear those marvelous wild breath echoes, endlessly and forever; huh United States Copyright Office? YES, WHO CAN EVER KNOW? I said it really well on that old fucking cassette tape, did I not, YO????????

END TRANSMISSION.

The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

BLOG 61 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN