BLOG
11 OF TWENTY NINETEEN
11:30
ANTE' MERIDIAN
LATE
WEDNESDAY MORNING
16
JANUARY, 2019
FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA
©
Mark Wayne Mountainpen Huntington Mohr--------2006-2019, BOM (Blogs
Of Mountainpen)
FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA
Well
I got my shopping all done yesterday, over at my local Public Grocery
Store. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! There
were a lot of mother fucking screw ups all day long. I had a major
mother fucking klutz out last goddamn night spilling a bowl of
fucking Chicken-Ala-Paula all over my
fucking bedspread, and the harassing telephone calls went on all day
until I just took the cunt eating phone off the goddamn hook. This
phone fucking shit has been real bad again, kind
SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA OF SAINT LUCIE COUNTY, FLORIDA, KIND
SIR!!! My mother fucking jerk off ILLEGAL
DOOR SLAMMER GUESTS ARE HERE TO STAY. They normally stay for
one to two weeks and then are gone about a week or so. All I can do
is tough it out, and I am saving to move out of this fucking
nightmare hell-hole, Sheriff, sir. Another mother fucking
WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!
Yes
that BLUEBOOK TV SHOW is vely
vely vely non-McDowell intelesting, from heredahelda and from here to
Cooley Hall High Hell. Death angels are off the scale too, folks. I
have had two now just since beginning this cock sucking blog a dozen
minutes ago, and yesterday it went on all mother fucking day, and I
counted more than three dozen of these fucking pass-bys. To quote me
as a kid, with my old camp counselor at Northeast, Maryland in July
of 1967 and again in July of 1968, “THIS IS
RIDICULOUS” for crissake, BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!! But Back to
BLUEBOOK now. It is beyond mother
fucking totally ashame that our own government has to act
thisSSSSSSSSS way, huh Mizz Erica Snakes of 1983,
speaking of the great “CONTACT-YEAR”, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO
YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO
YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO
YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO
YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO
YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO
YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO.
Instead
of them wanting to help those innocent peeps whose only fucking crime
was “being at the wrong place at the wrong
spring of 1985 Dave Roth Medport Diner Sarah Krassle time”,
THEY BRUTALLY FUCK WITH US AND OUR LIVES. SO WHY? Well, do I
look like fucking God with all of the mother fucking answers; kind
peeps, yo???????Don't fucking ask me, because I verily don't have a
goddamn Sherlock Holmes clue, me good ol'
braHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We can try to examine this a
bit and do some fucking super-sleuthing around, and then only hope to
be onto a little bit of the fucking dogshit,
yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
told how I had written a book in my late teens, another Mountainpen
fictional 'TPB' book I suppose. It was called, “Mega-water 1983”.
The PHASE-4-ENTITY who was using to me to this, is a story all its
own, but that can be saved for later on some time. So just why would
someone's own mother pull the fucking shit that mine did, regarding
that book, is another story all its own. Still, I suppose that my
mother was the quintessential suigenerous person when it came to why
she did say as well as never did say, certain major things, in the
grand scheme of life, huh Mister Spears of the great now Inchcape,
and back then, Lavino Shipping Company? No Emily wasn't why my mom
drank, just as Tommy said to me over at the JFK Horse Pistol the day
after Christmas in 1997, while my mom lay in that coma and was half
upside down in that weird medical contraption. My mom never told me
about ALLigators or quite appropriately here
Mister Microsoft SpellCHECKER, ALL of her great and meaningful
telephone calls, huh Mister fucking Orwell?????????????
Standing nude, Mister
Rip Off Town, huh Copyright Examiners of those wonderful and
marvelous fucking older days? And I thought nana's were supposed to
be nice people. WOW-THAT,
Planet-Earth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh yes folks, MEGAWATER-1983 and then
came eleven years later for real, and MY
WILD MEDICAL CONDITION that has plagued my entire adult
life, since the age of contact-28 years,
huh Mister Vulcan fucking Spock Nemoy, yo???? But again, CONTACT
was really more along the lines of December of
1969, huh Mister government coverup conspiracy Project
BLUEBOOK gang, yo yo yo yo bro?????????
At the exact time that Sarah Krassle
gave me that incredible unfathomable
chain-swipe 'dreaming interaction', in December of 1969,
PROJECT
BLUEBOOK
was 'TERMINATED'; Mister Governor Arnie Cali!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No,
NOT FUCKING ARNIE CALLIO, MIZZ GORGEOUS HAIR VICTORIA FROM JULY OF
1970!!!!!!!!!!!!
To
quote my great-late pal, Mister Roth right about now, “Ain't
life grand”??????? Well I suppose it is for some folks, such
as President Donald John Trump.
We're not all that blessed and lucky in this cosmic game,
CUZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HERE
IS A LITTLE SOUND BITE FROM THE PAST:
GUESS
THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 64
JUMPING
KITE FLYING SS-JEHOVAH KRASSLE, MY OLD PAL, FCC CHAIRMAN, FROM
MY DAYS WITH YOU, IN DAN MACKEY'S CLASS IN
1972, AT COOLEY HALL. REMEMBER THOSE GREAT JOKES YOU TOLD ME,
BACK WHEN DAN MACKEY SAID THAT YOU WOULD GROW
UP AND BE A MAN SOMEDAY, WITH JOHNNY FUCKER FASTER, AND LOTS MORE?
WOW; AND THEN THERE WAS THE OPPOSITE END OF THE COOLEY HALL, OUT THE
DOOR AND UP HOPKINS LANE JUST A LITTLE BIT AWAY FROM THE WEIRD PLACE,
CALLED LILLY'S LILIPUTIAN LIVERY. WELL, I DO
NOT THINK IT IS WEIRD ANY MORE, MISTER GULLIVER. IT ALL FITS LIKE A
MOTHER FUCKING GLOVE, RIGHT IRANIAN 1968 SHAH, SIR??????????
RIGHT LATE AUNT GERALDINE SNOW MASON?????? WO!!!!!!!!
YOU
BETTER ALL LEAVE ME ALONE OR I WILL WIPE OUT THIS ENTIRE FUCKING
PLANET; YOU COCK SUCKERS OUT HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Story Image: A baby is well
dressed in layers to keep warm during winter. (Andrew Vargas,
Wikicommon Images)
More
Your 5 Day Forecast
Fort Pierce, FL 34950
MON
Partly Sunny
65°/42°
TUE
Sunny
62°/42°
WED
Partly Sunny
68°/48°
THU
Partly Cloudy
72°/62°
FRI
40% Chance of
BOY
OH BOY, AM I WORKING HARD, CLEANING MY BATHROOM, KITCHEN, AND GENERAL
OVERALL APARTMENT AREA. IT WILL TAKE A WEEK TO GET IT PERFECT
IF I DO NOT WISH TO KILL MYSELF ON ANY GIVEN DAY. THIS IS FOR MY
ANNUAL PUBLIC HOUSING AUTHORITY INSPECTION ON THE FIRST.
During
this period of cleaning, I may have less and shorter blogs and
messages. Once my lease is reactivated for another year, I will have
time to get into some really wild shit. One week following my annual
inspection, is my lease signing day, Monday the eighth of good old
month #2. This is six days following Phil from Punksatoney Pennsy,
and his famous asinine winter-shadow prediction. And then they call
me a lunatic wacky crack-pot. Like-WOW, to quote the kids!!!!!!!!
Well
peeps, the long and short of it all, is that we do not decide to
build a MAGNESONIC. MAGNESONIC
decided it wanted to get built, and it used a human being in the
multiverse, me; to create and build it. Until my followers can
learn these truths are real, and awesome and powerful and outlandish
and unfathomable yes, but totally fucking true, well; forget about
ever being really truly free, my friends. Freedom is not taken from
us by masters, but is lost to us by our refusal to believe ''magic''.
To take this incredible saying spoken to me two thousand and fifty
one years ago by Mister Plato, not that far from Vatican City today
as it stands; I am shouting here on a street corner, with my space
cadet hat plainly on my head, and my jump suit with the word Roswell
on it all dark red and scribbled like blood drops, and the world
walks by, crosses the street a lot, does a lot of
Harner/Starr/Pedersen/Andrews/many-others stuff on me, we never knew
you, get lost, well, fine and dandy, candy pants electricians, but
I'm here to tell you, whoever is reading my words, now or in 100
fucking years, I now a lot of shit that nobody on this planet knows.
But I have great powerful fucking enemies stifling me and my
ability to get myself out there, and a child can see what's going on,
runny nose and all. Until and unless someone someday finds a way to
help me and plug me, no not with money or anything that I can put my
finger directly on, but if a small group of say just ten fucking
peeps would form a club and then contact me and say Mark, we did it,
we have MOTRIANITY, come lead us. I promise you one thing. I am no
Jim Jones. I don't want a cent from anyone of you. I don't want sex
from your daughters and children or from you. I don't operate like
the cult mentality, for one great reason, I an Morianity, is not a
cult. I am here 63 generations after my ancestor walked the shires of
Galilee, and I have the same enemies, only this time, they are much
stronger, and I am much weaker. How this all plays out with me, will
directly connect how a lot of huge shit all plays out with the entire
cosmos. Sounds like quintessential huberous behavior on my part,
doesn't it? Well, maybe it is, but the trouble is that just like the
paranoid nut case with people really after him, what are we to do. It
still really is real and really is happening. Tell me folks, just
what would you do if you were fucking me. I am very interested, but I
doubt my comment boxes will fill up. Peeps love to read, but they
move on, and forget this. That too is magic. Magic has positives and
it has negatives. The great
wiccans have my respect huge time,
because they know two huge truths, they know that, and they know the
triple goddess, as do I. Oh and don't let me fool you, I will
love her for eternity, as I love her in eternity, right American
Express Dowd old caveman Goldsmith?????????
NOW
WHAT IS THIS POTENTIAL
FUCKING BULLSHIT REALLY ALL ABOUT, FOLKS????? I
have the kind of mind that is slow to learn. Once I do learn however,
my mind takes what I learn and figures out dozens of things all
around what I just learned, that seem to go over the heads of the
vast majority of folks on this planet, even the great minds. This is
not a brag, and is merely the way that my mind works. I take
no credit for any of it, and many times am thought of as mildly
retarded for not being able to pick up on new shit as fast as the
average other folks around me. But when all is said and done, there
it is staring you in the face, a simple truth. I
took my math book home in the first grade at the Richland Avenue
School of Quakertown, Pennsylvania, and in one evening, completed the
entire year's assignments. Instead of being given special
attention and praised in even a small way, I actually found
myself in trouble for being a prodigy. So a few months
passed, and I had come to learn that I was negatively rewarded for
showing that I was smart and had ability to excel academically. So
one day when simply rhymes were being taught, I acted like I could
not do rhymes. My mom was called in, and eventually, I showed that I
could. I found myself in a lot of trouble now it seemed, back in
1962, for being smarter than the others, and then being dumber than
the others. It was then that I sort of learned in a 7 year old way,
even though the expression had not yet been invented to my knowledge,
my mind was going along the lines of a similar thought, to, hay, I
can't win for losing. I am damned if I do and damned if I don't. I am
just going to go through school and life and all of it, never being
able to please people, and always being fucking cunt picked on and
PERSECUTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was right 100%.
Well,
in 1988, my Epitome of Harassment cassette tapes, were COPYRIGHTED,
and lots of fucking shit got all explained, and totally hush-hushed,
by very powerful SCOTT RANSOM people!!!!!!!!!!!!
One
of these things were my inventions that David Charles Roth was
discussing on these tapes, that the great UNITED STATES © Office has
a record of permanently to this day and second; and lots of wild
details were discussed. The actual words KEYBOARDS
FROM PETAHELL were never used. What was used was ITS FUCKING
TOTAL TWIN, MAGNETIC SOUND MACHINE, or
'Magnesonic' for short. Dave was talking and saying, quote,
“That exact sound would be right there, in your living room'',
well, this is a far cry from ''digital recordings''. But this is only
one application of this invention from the days of SUNRAM, and not
SUNJAMMER-NASA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Aniwho, all of
any letters, POTENTIAL was and still is their worry, the
WOMO-MILITUFORCE'S WORRY that is, of me, and what this system can do.
We have nuke medicine and great things that atom splitting has led
to, but it also can blow up real nasty ass bad, and kill off
humanity. Magnesonic has good and evil too,
Goddess and atom, and Sarah, Mark, and Albert are more than just
three who know the diction involved, as GIRL, I DID TELL A LOT, did I
not, lovely strobelight,
oh love of my life, SSJKK?
Again
Mister Jimmy Rockford, not
only CAN WE, but WE WILL be getting back to all of this
and so much fucking more. I hate every evil fucking bastard who has
hurt me for 50 years since I have been nine cunt lapping years old,
and every one of you WILL PAY A PRICE, eventually, for what you all
have mother fucking done to me, that's a TAHREN-TEE-TOTAL-PROMISE,
Mister Gandhi!!!!!!
4
Harry-B, and my new followers, a cap-in:
WORLD
LABORATORIES OF 2293, M-5-00137
SEND-BACK-TEXT
DATE AND TIME FILE:
072213.015,
TUESDAY FREAKING MORNING
WITH
RE-POLISHED SHOES AND EMPTY CANS, LIKE
WOW-THIS:
WOW
MISTER TRUMPMACY, this is starting to
get real 'geuoood' as Dawn-Marie the mighty and late KING might say
it so 'well', Mister Pennock, old pal.
First,
every single clit huffing time that I activate my PC around just past
noon or midnight, down to 10 or whatever BOB and MI, or were we 10 or
whatever Callio Branch-code 16 divided by square GAGA roots? In any
case, here is what someone or something does to me almost without
fail should I not catch it and compensate for it by setting back the
clock inside of the PC-CP (personal computer control panel).Oh yes
sir and mahm, Marina Gottwald of Twisterville, lovely Glinda, and how
all of you can think I am a nut with all of this, escapes my tiny
mind 99 ways back from a naked fuckin g shore screwing her brother in
church Sunday Morn Mister Diamond, SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Or was
that Caroline Kennedy September, well in any event, try letting me
sleep through 11:59 unhacked PM on 0930, thank you, great songs,
folks, wish all fucking music sounded like this and what my kid used
to do B4 the dam chemtrails!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Don't
re-read this too lightly folks, Jeesh Surfer double time Fonty, and
triple time WOW, just examine this new Donna Fargo funny face, and
maybe it is why the clock got hacked, but still, Lenny sir, both
Lenny's even; no 36th Avenue, PRAISE GODDESS
ALMIGHTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEEEENA-W.
MORIANITY
PART 5
WORLD
LABORATORIES OF 2295
SBT
DATFILE: 072113.977
CHAPTER
00136
BEGINNING
TRANNY:
Smiley
faces or no smiley faces, no, there will not be a Morianity-C, soon
or ever. Also, all of Morianity will definitely be wrapping up, thus
Morianity-B which includes, Parts 1-5, makes up B, and this is now
towards the very ending of things, because I have already told in a
compressed way, the entire truth of what is going on, and in case I
am too mother fucking retarded to ever get it, nobody gives a mother
fucking rats ass about it. Amazing too, billions of folks all
trusting in some kind of stupid ass fucking garbage, and knowing they
will be physically dead before you can say boo, and turn to worms;
yet they go through life totally uncaring about this, and ignoring
someone who claims to know. I still think blood is thickest, and feel
that only blood knows this is real, and even told me so years and
years ago, and I very much appreciated that wonderful comment. All
that aside, things won't wrap up until I type in as promised on a
soon to follow blog, my mom's 1976 near-death experience as mortal
folks love to call things such as this, a story written word for word
by my lovely wonderful adorable mother and secret grandmother, in her
own words in 1977, and this along with tapes of my daughter playing
lab-technician; were some of the things that only divine providence
could have been behind, surviving my trip down here to Florida; as
this was the last thing on my mind to take with me when I left with
my life and the clothes on my back, the home of the great KINGS, in
early middle December of OHM-9, Mister Zane Hypnoses Ciprionni.
Here's to all Providence Avenues, providence, sound sampling, world
controllers of all things, and eternal hell residences of which
escape is impossible, AKA Black-High Einsteins of roulette-science,
Michael AHA McNulty. No that was not easy, and I got it, and we all
know, you've got it, Staples Store; but here is the way, to get it
every day in the fall; CBS Network, and yes; a
great memory S---U---C---K---S,
in my humble opinion, of which Mashell Daniels has entitled me to
however, as of 1980, WOW,
gee gads, golly gash darn gee whiz willagars, YO, silly stupid old
man that I am, James Stuart, sir. And yes folks, I
am all alone in a place called 'HELL'.
Hell is not describable. You live with billions
of mother fucking bastard assholes who refuse to believe a word you
say, mock and laugh at you 24-7, and persecute you in every
conceivable way without shame or mercy or humanity. It is real, and I
am unable to do one thing about it. I know theoretically how
to get out of it, but built into it is
something called the Brick Wall Bluebook
Syndrome (BWBS for short). Peeps trying to get the UFO shit
cracked open, understand my frustration. Yet these same jack off dick
heads turn right around and do the very same thing to me that they
despise so much that is being done to them regarding their UFO-space
alien situation. It is hard for me to have a speck of sympathy for
anyone, as everyone has demonstrated to me, for just about 60 years
now; that they all are in some black-ops private competition, for
receiving the 'Prick
of the Century Award'.
Thank
you LIGHTNING, my
wonderful love, for being around here with me both this morning and
this evening, displaying the most colorful and gorgeous bolts of CG
and RIB displays ever. Just when I am convinced that you cannot come
to me any more beautifully than you did the last time, you
blow my mind, Diana.
A
careful study of my blogs reveals that indeed, there were 4 of us in
that ADA Office on 5 December, 1989, Ron Wirtz, Mizz Spinosi, David
Roth, and myself. So now if you answer me this second question, I
will, before taking down the entire account, post up to The Youtube a
20 minute video that will make all doubters of ME & MORIANITY,
gulp very hard. Anyone following this who does not crap in their
pants after seeing it, has major control over both their emotions and
their intestinal tract. You won't need to prove authenticity about
any of it, believe that, you will know it as if Diana had just come
down right in front of you, and killed all of your kids. Not a nice
way to put it, but again, General Sir, loud and dirty, I don't want
any of you to like me, I want you to believe in Morianity. You won't
however unless I post this thing, and I will not do it unless the
second question is now responded to, accurately, ELIMINATOR! What
store did the NSA AGENT have a short talk with me in the early
nineties, on the Route 30 New Jersey road, that goes from Camden, to
Atlantic City? What is the name of the store,
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENA WELLS????????????? Also, you must in
some cute clever way, tell me how it might be connected to Mister
Jason Forrest of the great Internet Radio Station WFMU! Do that, and
I'll post something that will make the world take a week off like
back on 911, only without any violence, there has been more than
enough of that fucking shit, huh folks?
Yes
Leticia, you and I could do a real circus act together with our
animal impressions, but here is where MOGOSP
fits into the system. There never would have been that LOIS
FOCA INTRO, if some electronic trickery and magic, was not done, when
I originally went to record the version sent down in 2007 to the
Copyright Office, as the original was
just not something that included that introduction. But
after this force made me angry, I began doing a test-vocal, and that
is how the Dick Wolf sounds ended up as that intro, but you do a much
better dog than I do, Letty girl. Now I was great with cat
talk, but chemtrails have been so bad over the past few years, that
my particular DNA suffers an allergic reaction to an over abundance
of aircraft jet fuel. Those who wish to believe all the wilder stuff
about chemtrails, I never laugh at anyone, but I do know that just
these fuels when over concentrated in an area day after day, effects
certain DNA, such as mine, another powerful proof, only we need not
get anybody more pissed off, especially when I didn't do anything
wrong. Still bad guy me, YO. **(End
Tranny).**
I
tried e-mailing the fucking FBI, and it did not work. Yesterday and
today have been the worst mother fucking siege death assault in I do
not know how long, I am sure the DJIA MARKETS flew up 500 points to
some ridiculous all time record high price. I have not as yet checked
the charts.
My
computer clock was hacked yesterday, this morning I could not blog on
the WORDPRESS SITE, and was hacked; and this mother fucking
horrendous death day with my HELL FUCKING NABES ACROSS THE HELL-WAY
from me, is off the scale, as the ILLEGAL FUCKING SCUM BAG CAME BACK
YESTERDAY IN THE AFTERNOON, AND TODAY WAS TEN TIMES FUCKING WORSE,
WITH SHOUTING IN THE HALL FROM MANY HOODLUM HIP HOP THUGS, SLAMMING
THEIR MOTHER FUCKING DOORS ALL DAY LONG, AND AT MIDNIGHT THIS WILL
END, AS I AM CALLING 911 AND ONE WAY OR THE OTHER, THIS ENTIRE
FUCKING NIGHTMARE IS OVER AFTER TODAY, ONE OF US WILL BE LEAVING THIS
BUILDING IN CUFFS, THEM OR FUCKING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This
is what you get world, when you tell the true story of humanity, and
their triple entity all powerful exploratron being, and put it in one
compressed, or a few short compressed chapters; despite no ordinary
person being able to really see the entire picture that this paints.
It still is all posted up here, along with my otherwise totally
unexplainable YOUTUBE account. The hoodlum hip-hop peeps across from
me were paid to do all this, and an idiot can fucking see what is
going on. You have no rights in this world, not against the FORTUNE
500 AND THEIR BLESSED UNDERLINGS, one group being a group I had no
Earthly way of even knowing existed, back in July of 1970, other than
from a horrible sequence of recurring nightmares, while staying at
the home of a fucking rotten child molester, who molested me; Mister
Tom Reale, on Cornwall Avenue, in Ventnor, New Jersey, USA. A child
can see what has happened to me. It is all forever online, to be
witnessed over the next thousand mother fucking years. Again, my
apartment is re-packed up, and I will be running away for cunt
lapping MEXICO, as the next week comes in. I can't stand any more,
POPE YES! You cannot have the dirt bag EW and F-500 against you, and
live through it; not with any sanity remaining whatsofuckingever.
Before they take away what tiny drizzle fizzle of life I have left
remaining, I AM SO HARRY CALLAS OUT OF
FUCKING HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
told you what has happened to me, and 99% of you are just the
MILITUFORCE READING THIS ANYWAY, but the other 1% dropped the ball.
They should have each told one who tells one who tells one, if I were
to have a chance. This did not happen, so maybe that 1% is not really
there either, and I must now deal with this new mother fucking cunt
chewing monstrous reality, and literally, MOVE ON, and AWAY, forever.
I did it before in late ohm-9 from fucking cunt Jersey, so anyone
foolish enough to not believe I'll run for my fucking life again, is
stupider than dead piles of vomit in the summer fucking sun, Mister
Jane. Well, you and me are FRIED, buddy, as was
Bob and Dan, hard as they 2 also tried to get the MILLIONTH-COUNCIL
Mary Carter message out to the world in late 1969 and into 1970,
through the great serial television show, “Dark Shadows”!
While I am here, I will go on blogging, and then when I settle into
Lake Chapala, Mexico; I'll again, resume it when I am all fucking
settled in, and reasonably fucking ass safe, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Of
course, the 1997 song tells me that Captain Picard Borg Futility is
an endless equation in this, but I still am only human, Bruce old
pal, and must try and escape this horrendous
goddess!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Satan bless the fucking Martin's;
all of them; from Toledo, to Egg Harbor, to
North Florida. Yes, I know you know, Mister
President
B.O., and am shocked
you were willing to reveal this whittle message for me tonight.
I knew you knew, Jesse Gov has the entire thing written down in a
secret safe and where else, but right near Hoffa's buried remains in
the Pittsburgh Hotel, on IO-SC
AVE, in ACNJ-USAESMWG! Have a nice life,
you, and all others on the Hill. I wish you all only the
best. You cannot fix this you know, you're all as powerless as I am.
I just carry around 'the knowing', 24-7-365; and you are all smarter
by just putting it all out of your conscious freaking minds. I admire
and respect all of Washington, even down to the age of sexual
consent. You don't pretend to be saints, as the NY-SVU peeps do on
fictional WOLF DOG TRUMP NETWORK TELEVISION! 2+2 is 4 in all and any
worlds that I choose to live in. You can all KM White-Lilly A.
If
I AM FOUND DEAD IN THIS UNIT APARTMENT, I WAS FUCKING MURDERED, AND
MORIANITY TELLS THE ENTIRE STORY, FROM 'A' RIGHT STRAIGHT DOWN TO
FUCKING 'Z'!
The
one lie that I told was to myself, in 1996, when I was totally out of
my mother fucking mind 100 times worse than right now if that is
believable, trying to find Almighty Sarah. At least this only hurt my
credibility and me, and no one else. Ed on the other hand promised,
SOSO-WEIN, that my blogs and my foundation would lead to somebody
eventually helping me against the tyrannical powers I face every
single mother fucking dick licking day of my life. Now maybe he just
should not have been so certain and sure of himself, but it still was
another of my endless string of jerk fucking offs making me one empty
fucking cunt promise after another, all my cunt sniffing miserable
life, and NEVER EVER is a lousy one, ever fucking fulfilled. You too
would be fucking miserable whoever you are reading these prick eating
words, and please, don't go thinking for a rotten second that you
wouldn't. But let's talk about that lie I told to myself so I
wouldn't go totally fucking nuts, about Sarah, regarding that night
on 12 July, 1970, on that public transit New Jersey bus at the
Atlantic City bus terminal. I said she was there with her great gang,
and came to my defense when one of these Quoddy Mockers said my face
was all messed up, and it was, I had a real bad nasty ass fucking
sunburn. Still, this did not happen, she was not even there, and in
fact, the last time I ever saw her was in 1969 when Peeky raped my
puny little ass underneath the Central Pier.
MegaWater1983
washington or WAS one hellishness or (1-hell of a BOOK), kind peeps
and folks and Morians/Blogaudians. The details regarding this topic
would more than fill a brand new book up hundreds of pages of
fascinating shit, IPYT, yalls out here and yes SpellCHECKER,
alligators and outlandish! Both terms apply only too fucking
perfectly, Mister MicroSUCKS Microsoft, yo yo yo yo!!!!
I
am not here right now to get into anything that is not pertaining to
very present times and events, and my revelation all too late as
usual, but still Lenny and all Lenny's, red lights, guns, and cops,
and all of it, yo Mister alligators. Yes sir folks, BLUEBOOK is a
sore to[pic for me. I did nothing wrong, N-O-T-H-I-N-G whatsoever.
Yet POW, I get mother fucking crushed and destroyed by my own mother
fucking country and government. Anyone of you out here could have the
very same thing HAPPEN TO YOU TOMORROW. It is like being struck by
lightning. It most likely won't happen, but goddamn fucking go to
hell folks, IT STILL CAN. Even those 300
million
to fucking one
odds-against
super lotteries, ARE IN FACT WON,
over and over, by someone, who at the
second that they purchased that winning-ticket, Misses COOLEY
HHH NON HUNTINGTON HILE-88 MAROLA; was luckier
than a landfill of leprechauns at light speed
squared!!!!!!!!!!!! So yepper folks, it most likely will never strike
you or anyone whom you know or love, BUT IT
STILL CAN. Then don't contact me crying like a fucking little
ass baby, because I can't and for goddamn hell shore sake WON'T, help
any of you then, yo yo bro! Hey, this isn't me being fucking mean and
nastyass. This is me just being honest and truthful with everyone of
you out here who may ever be reading these cunt huffing goddamn words
of woe whiz (is) me, yo!!!!!!!
Sure,
I will be getting into some really super hard punching pig shit, and
soon. BBBBut- ButTERCHEESE
and yes, and quite timely too if I may be permitted to add herein,
Uncle Island-snoots; when the right time to say just the right
thing, is at its best chance of having maximum desired effects. I am
not doing these blogs just to waste my mother fucking time, or yours,
yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M SORRY TO DISAPPOINT ANYONE OF YOU OUT
HERE WHO MAY BE IN DIUSAGREEMENT WITH THAT FACT. Just
the facts mahm, well yes-sir Sergeant Joe Dragnet Friday, yo!!!!
Hey Merry, I'll gladly quit squawking about
reptiles and alligators. Sorry about
pissing you off, and yes Microsoft, you
may say that, because my words are indeed quite official. So
I am not attempting to anger anyone for that matter, merely to keep
telling powerhouse ass truths, so no
piss officially piss offs, I do so agree with you, Mister
MicroSUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WEEEEEEEEE, Mister
SpellCHECKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes,
I may not be 'totally' driving-while-black,
Mister super talented Dick Wolf, BUTTTTTTTT and BUTTERCHEESE, and
big-ass-butt yo; I am one pissed off guy right now, Abbey Carmichael
and Sergeant Sawchuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ONE
VERY FUCKING PISSED OFF GUY!!!!!!!!!!
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I
must be the only mother fucking songwriter who has a saga of
life, a wild unexplainable 'hypothetical daughter', incredibly
outlandish copyrighted material, and a mysterious Jim Pratt ESS
Traveler up his eternal ButTERCHEESE and BUTT, and last but in no way
least, a fantastic guitar player/arranger, who
does not believe in the possibility of male
writers who write songs for female
artists to sing!!!!!!!!!!!! Like
WOW-THIS
folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jerald
Pliner, owner of the L&S Nursing Home,on Jackson Road, in Berlin,
New Jersey, USA, ESMWG, must also be, that is if Morianity is worth
its weight in anything significant at all, and no, not alligators
Merry; but AT ALL YO; a 'traveler'. Now
I'm not going to sing you all a story about a man in all his glory
who learned how to be an ESS TRAVELER, or go around naming things
LOIS FOCA ABBREVIATIONS, BUTTERCHEESE and yes BIG ASS BUTT, YO;
I am going to say that for this fantastic
fucking dude to rent me that home in 1983,
and with or without thirst, dry throats, hoarseness, and other such
wonderful Bluebook signs and symbols of
needing lots of or mega water; there
must be a lot more to all of this, and to him; than just some dude
who dabbles in fucking nursing homes, and real estate; and who's down
syndrome wife, thinks I, the great motormouth Mountainpen, must
be the only one with “a mother”. Well you know, Misses
Pliner “may
have something there”, to quote the great stooge, Moe
Howard. One day in a local store in Berlin, on the famous White Horse
Pike (Route-30) and I think it was an Acme Grocery Story, my mom and
I were shopping and along came Misses Jerry Pliner who also was
shopping. We talked for a minute or so. The very next time that I ran
into her at the L&S Nursing Home,she said to me, “Aren't you
the one with the mother”? I said back to her, “We all have a
mother”. But you know what folks; I think more can be gleaned from
that tiny whittle encounter, don't you? I mean, first, I am the one
who has the mother, and yes Mister spears, no wonder she drank after
that fucking goddamn hype-daut-crap she pulled. But can I blame only
her, or should I blame her partner in crime, Mizz wonderful
P.H.??????? Still, Lenny, and all Lenny's everywhere for that matter;
she really was a mother. “Oh well”, Ann King Silva; at least she
did tell me that the great marvelous northeast-Philly throat-dock
said to her, and I heredahelda quote this Mister MicroSUCKS
SpellCHECKER yo, “That's not his problem, misses Mohr”. Maybe the
mighty house of horrors number one (of nakedness) wasn't my problem,
huh dock, but something sure was, as I needed that megawater1 and
lots of it, as did lovely Donna summer after
all hellishness and HELL BROKE LOOSE in 1980. But we all know
that Mizz Gaines Summer wasn't the only one involved with that
'waterproof water-mix, Mister Spellchecker, yo yo yo yo yo yo!!!!!!
Oh well, at least Karen Carpenter got out of this mess and managed to
escape before the Bluebook crew managed to pull her any further into
all of these nightmares, huh Jim
Pratt
Burr of the Starship Tiberius Gloucester, and all lovely giant
Katharine and Mary-lee fish everywhere, yo yo yo yo?
END
TRANSMISSION, YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!
BLOG
10 OF TWENTY NINETEEN
10:10
POST MERIDIAN
LATE
MONDAY BOTBAR NIGHT
14
JANUARY, 2019
FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA
©
Mark Wayne Mountainpen Huntington Mohr--------2006-2019,
BOM (Blogs Of Mountainpen)
Measuring
ones life by making exact detailed diaries, and then on top of that,
turning diaries into numerical equivalents by using mathematical
expressions, as did I beginning back in the spring time of
1982, is something that the cosmos/gods are not real fond of human
beings doing. When they do this, they are
mother fucking major PUNISHED, as was I, and AM I still being!
Yes,
detailed discussions, such as my Life-Journal on cassette tapes, as
well as meticulously kept graphs and records reflecting changes in
days and times, done numerically with a formula, is what the young
kids might refer to as a BIG-NO-NO! Well, nobody fucking told me not
to do this. I appeared in fact to be the only goddamn human being, to
my best knowledge and awareness anyway, who ever has done what I have
come to refer to as a numbered-diary. I have already explained the
details on many previous Morianity Blogging texts. I told how I rated
each day at the end of it, from one through five, and in various life
items or mathematical parameters. At the end of it all, and through a
fairly simple formula, this would equate to a value in numbers, for
each and every day. After this, all sorts of detailed further
research would lead to numerous other calculations that would
actually be able to show with incredible mind blowing accuracy, just
when trends and patterns would break or max out or do all sorts of
things. As I said, Earthlings just don't go around doing shit like
this. BUTTTTTTTTT, I DID! And I have apparently paid some kind of a
cosmic price for using what I can only label as “forbidden
knowledge”, to be applied to normal every day use situations. Yes
let us carefully examine and scrutinize 'the facts here, mahm', and
Sergeant Joe Dragnet Friday, from that super fantastic late
nineteen-sixties television-cops show.
It
was somewhere in the spring, back in the year
of 1982, and I began doing this thing, for reasons that in all
honesty, I couldn't tell any of you with a straight face. The fact is
that I simply don't fucking know why I decided to start doing this,
but I did and that is the issue here, kind folks. Then, all hell
slowly started to break loose, IN SECTIONS. First off, any real hope
of getting into any type of a lucrative financial career ended as
abruptly as two speeding highway vehicles caught up in a head on
collision. Then came the NON-AUDIBLE yet absolutely distinctive voice
inside of my head, warning me of a precise date that was nearly two
thirds of a year out into the damn future, June 4th of
1983. Then CAME that date, at 10:30 at night while watching
television in my living room at the home owned by Mister Jerald
Pliner, in Atco, New Jersey, USA; while I was munching on some
goddamn M&M candies and relaxing. Then came three years and a few
months later still when I literally somehow transformed directly into
some inconceivable nightmare hell that has no rational explanation
whatsoever. This would be August 15th, in the year of
1986. Then in just under a decade yet to come, and thinking that
things could not ever ever ever possibly get worse than this, BOOM,
along came my SARAH NIGHTMARE SITUATION. This was at the end of 1995.
That; to quote the mighty Atlantic City, New Jersey Resorts
International Hotel & Casino, and its great advertising public
address system loops; was where it all began, or if I may be allowed
to add in a few extra adjectives here, where and when the
quintessential bullshit of all of the potential and possible total
HELL, truly and really ALL BEGAN! From there, things kept worsening,
yes; BUTTTTTTTTT, and yes folks, BIG ASS
BUTTTTTTTTT; it was already so horrible and off any dials of
sanity measurement, that not only didn't any of this nightmare ever
even try to look back, but just kept doing the
nuclear-thing, you know, Mizz Diana Ross
said it all in here fantastic album in 1985, “CHAIN
REACTING”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then
there is another powerful truth that's all goddamn mixed up in this
horrible damn bullshit, people. It is called the hexadecimal-binary
truth. Ask any mother fucking computer programmer worth their salt,
and they will confirm for you, these claims made herein. IPYT.
Looking at this, it is no wonder at all why 2018 was such a nightmare
year for poor pitiful pathetic non-Ronstadt me! The number '16' is no
joke, and without it, none of your goddamn computers would work.
There would be NO BINARY CODE system, hence, no internet, no social
media, none of this new age digital world at all. It
is all here because of the usage of the great SIXTEEN. I
personally know that the creator of this entire
metaverse/multiverse expansion of cosmos IS IN FACT A 16
YEAR OLD GIRL, NAMED SARAH-STACEY
JEHOVAH KARGE KRASSLE, if and when a proper Purgatory to
Earth-English translation language system is properly applied. As I
speak/type, I am now receiving my twentieth
fucking DEATH-ANGEL ATTACK for
the day, on my RIGHT SIDE! Oh well, huh
Mizz Ann King Silva of Atlantic City?????????
So
if we take the year of 1986 and add 16 to it, we get 2002. Don't even
go here for right now. But we will add another 16 to that year, and
voile' my fiends and friends. Yes sir/yes mahm, we get 2018. As I
said, no goddamn fucking wonder I had such a bad time in 2018.
Concentrically, adding 16 from other good years, is no guarantee that
I am going to escape out into some mind blowing wonderful fucking
heaven. All poodles may indeed be dogs, but not all dogs are poodles.
Translation, when one is in the soup, things tend to work quite well
with that 16 number shit, ONE WAY. There's no magical fucking
guarantee however that 16 years past a good year will in fact produce
another good year. Still, 1986+16+16=2018, and yes, 2018 was pretty
close to being as bad as mother fucking 1986! Why this hexnumer as
Morianity has labeled it, appears to foretell bad years and not good
years, is along the lines of in the case of the chosen Huntington, or
me; there just isn't enough good in the mix to be able to make
accurate forecasts. I mean I'll openly fucking admit that 1980 and
1994 are spaced 14 years apart, and these were, except for 1969, the
greatest years of my miserable rotten ass lifetime, in my Mark Mohr
dreaming hyperspace persona. But I'll challenge anyone out here to
take the years of their own life, and with a sheet of paper, begin
with the year of your birth and then make columns where 16 is added
downward in rows. You'll see amazing fucking connections to this
powerful universal binary code reality, and IPYT times the speed of
light squared! Binary code computing in current state of the art
technology, without the use of the future cubit computer systems
that take advantage of the quantum flux dynamics of the sub-atomic
world, absolutely proves and verifies that our cosmic-expansion (the
universe), is literally built around this reality of binary coding
systems of a sort. These micro miniature realities will eventually
become realized in the post-atomic world. Hence, we come to not only
exist, sentient creation that is, but also, we propagate these
sub-atomic truths by then going onto create our world of computerized
digital technology. This is the ultimate further truth that all
things come full circle, just as all of the original ancient eastern
religions insist on teaching us all along. Actually, once fully
enlightened, our Christian Bible becomes a way more powerful
instruction manual book, that also agrees with all of this. It is
merely the ignorance of presently existing humanity that is incapable
of seeing that powerful truth and reality. “Sad”, to quote our
president, very fucking sad. “Oh well”, to quote Mizz AKS! Yes
people, take the year of my birth, 1954.
Start adding sixteen (+16) numbers to
that, and have a blast, in lieu of
reading and knowing something of me from my blogs.
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
OHMMMMMMM and Neo-Ho-Ren-gay-Key-oh.
Yes
folks, 1983, along with my unfathomably mysterious medical choking
condition, is filled beyond the brim and rim of connections into
multiple future hellish events and situations. In fact, this is THE
ABSOLUTE HUB of all things in my entire life, both AHEAD of it in
time, as well as EVEN BEHIND IT in time. Only really serious students
of Quantum dynamics understand that just because mass or matter
cannot travel backwards, ENERGY can and DOES. Morianity discusses
(STM) Space-Time-Mind on many places on many blogs. STM, when E
(ENERGY) or (soul existence at purgatory) is divided by the square of
the constant (CXC) and thus becomes our BRAIN inside of our
individual body-skull system; both Space and Time then become a
connection. Neither are there in true STM or (ENERGY). Space and Time
or (Space-Time) is REALLY NOT THERE unless and until WE MAKE IT BE
THERE, by blowing out from the Plank-Purg into 5th
dimensional hyperspace. This is why Einstein never understood, as he
would label this, “Spooky action or (forces) at a distance”. To
quote Ann again here, my wonderful Blogaudians, “OH WELL”. Now in
the case of effecting reality by doing things in a post-atomic world
such as the one that we Earthlings are all living and interacting in;
I made and created the somewhat pictorial foundation of the powerful
truths of numbers and a hypothetical gaming hall, and having a group
of people who literally go to a wheel and alter the reality that
otherwise would have occurred if they had never gone in there. Any
truly intelligent academician who is skilled and knowledgeable in the
laws of Quantum-Physics, knows that I am speaking powerful truths,
and not even yet opening up doors to real life and how things may
indeed become intentionally effected. One night, actually the night
of the 3rd of June in 1983, I was downstairs in the den at
Pliner's rental house, and I refuse right now to go into all of the
horrible details, other than to just say that I suddenly received a
revelation that frightened me so badly that it may have possibly
effected my glands. In theory, a frightening enough event where the
patient survives but is almost literally dead from a heart attack or
insanity beyond any known measurement, will cause a permanent
glandular disorder/malfunction, whatever medical terminology that
anyone may wish to use. The alternate explanation however is that the
revelation itself was beyond what would normally be survivable. So if
the patient did somehow survive, this would have a sub-atomic effect
that is not normally the result of the situation. Nothing ever again
has to make logical reasonable sense. Some things may, but other
things may not. So what was this revelation. Well, you won't believe
or understand it, but I came to full realization of all eternity. I
then knew that I was going to die as a result of this, and that
trillions of years from now, I would be born as me all over again, to
endlessly repeat this cycle. I made myself totally forget about what
happened, and went off to bed, since I had to get up the next morning
to drive my mom to the Lindenwold train station, so that she could
catch the high-speed-line Train, of the New Jersey Transit SEPTA
system, and then once in Philadelphia, she could walk over to her
office and to her job at the shipping company where she was employed.
So I went to bed, and when I awoke, I was physically sick as a shit
eating dog. I had the symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning. However,
my mom had her bedroom right next to mine. Why would only I be ill,
and for that matter, why then did I not die in my sleep? By the time
I had taken my mom to the train from Atco, and then had driven back
to Atco to the house, I was feeling much better. Two hours after this
around nine or so that morning, it was as if I never had been sick at
all, and yet when I first had gotten out of bed, I thought that I was
going to drop dead. I went down to my den again where I kept my
musical apparatus as well as my telephone connecting junk that all
fed into the IMMC PRIVECODE MACHINE. The
only thing that was kept upstairs on the upper level of the split
level designed home, was the Privecode itself, and the telephone that
sat on top of it. Just a couple of weeks earlier, I had disconnected
all telephone service due to a annoyance caller that to this very day
never leaves me alone. I think the world knows exactly what is being
said here. Still, what is real, and what is not real, after you make
ultimate contact with pure quantum reality? I was listening to a tape
that I had made on my RS1500US open reel semi-pro-mastering
recorder, and I remembered more and more from the night before where
this revelation had hit me while just sitting there in a chair in
that same den. I had no memory of making the tape, but I had made a
very strange tape that later was sent to the United States Copyright
Office. Again, things have cycled in both directions and have somehow
met in the middle of the entire cosmic hypersphere. Supposedly this
has no centers or edges, but that is too big a problem to tackle for
right now. I do know that this tape was real, and I do know that the
same voice would come onto it in following years, all the way through
early in 1989, “Mister Benjamin Franklin”. We all attempt to
explain and rationalize the unexplainable, but when it goes beyond
this, because some wild fucking quintessential intelligence is behind
it and playing powerful games with you, making people around me all
end up like McDowell and Emmy-Louise and Bob Andrews, and on and on,
this is that extra outlandish mother fucking icing on the cake, where
no one is then able to properly ever get to the bottom of things and
thus properly deal with them. Now how Shirley and Jane Davis
connected into things, would take a decade to sit down and get into
specifics. Florida, then and now all connects up as well. So did the
great Pete Smith and his pal the Hero dude, Mister non hazardous
Hazard. Again, it is complicated as all mother fucking get out. This
is why all of the powerful business persons and politicians do not
want anyone to ever help me, or for that matter, even so fucking much
as contact me. They are all afraid that somehow and in some way, I am
going to blow a giant hole in this cosmos and we'll all vanish and
disappear like a mist in the fucking moonlight. And who know folks,
maybe their worst fears have some goddamn merit in 3-D reality. I
would never second guess anyone. I will tell you that I am planning
to move out of here. I cannot wait for my 66th fucking
birthday, as they won't allow me to survive if I do. I have made
other plans. They never thought that I would have the mother fucking
balls to leave New Jersey in the dead of an icy cold christless
night, BUT I DID, and I'll FUCKING DO IT AGAIN, Mister Balentine
Beer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well
my goddamn Blogaudians, the WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCES
annoyed me with telephone persecution all day, struck me with another
video cut out signal at approximately 1:47 on Monday afternoon, and
they caused the TRIAD-NABES FROM HELL to make
me beyond fucking nuts as shit earlier in the cunt huffing day,
Monday! Sheriff Mascara sir, I will see
you on Wednesday afternoon, towards close of business, sir.
Hope to see you on Midway Road then, at your office, as I am going to
bring you some wild and major proof that I am no goddamn nut job
whackadoodle!!!!!! See you then.
IT'S
ONE FUCKING DEATH ANGEL
RIGHT
AFTER ANOTHER. WOW-THAT J&J!!!
END
TRANSMISSION.
Sheriff
Mascara
of Saint Lucie County, Florida sir; I am under a major assault
AGAIN. Last night, the WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCES of Mister Camden Licorice
Plant Hall, decided to strike me again
with their extremely mother fucking annoying
“VIDEO-SIGNAL-CUT-OUT ATTACK”. This
happened last night, first at around 7:23 P.M., and then again at
around 8:50 P.M. I know for a fact that the persecuting bastard
satellite that is doing this to me, orbits this planet every 90
minutes, hence with a ten minute window each way, it always follows
one or more within the window time, followed by another attack that
is one orbit later, and sometimes it is done in following orbits of
this non-stationary satellite as well. The time line always fits
this, so I have come to believe it is one of mother fucking NASA'S
goddamn assaults on me. When I drove down here from New Jersey,
Sheriff sir; I was brutally picked on by them as I approached their
area, while driving southbound on Interstate,
non-daut 95!!!!!!!!! It was as though they were trying to bomb
out my poor little automobile or something, but I know it was done
for nothing less than to scare the shit eating hell out of me, kind
sir!
ALL
SAVANTS MAY NOW SAY THAT
“THIS CONTINUES ALONG HERE, ME KIND FOLKS”.
SO
GODDAMN WHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!
MONDAY,
JANUARY 14, 2019
10:49
ANTE' MERIDIAN
BLOG
09 OF TWENTY NINETEEN (2019)
I
am going to tell you a bit now about my dealings with this
SHADOW-MILITARY
that has surfaced after World War ll, along with BFA (Black
File Agencies) such as NRO, CIA, NSA, DID, DOD, and the
groupation of them is so extensive and many still are not known of,
so I've shortened the list to the Black File Agencies, or a
generalization of the entire rotten dirty evil mess, who make many
people's lives nothing but mother fucking miserable, and caused many
unexplainable suicides, beginning with the more famous one such as
Doctor Jessup, referenced from the great book that many have now
read, called, “The Bermuda Triangle”. For the sake of
Mountainpen's Morianity, I've labeled 'thisSSSSSSSSS', the Non-Erica
Cane-AMC-1983 Spellchecker; the
Milituforce, and AKA for better symbolic truths, the
(WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCES OF MISTER HALL)!!!!!!!!!
The largest connection with them and myself is not their decades of
inconceivable death assaults by them via air siege and covert death
blow body strikes, BUTTTTTTTTT, BIG ASS
BUTTTTTTTT folks, it is the 1983
MYSTERY-ILLNESS
given to me by THEansweristheqyuestioncontinued.com/,
or NO SPELLchecker, BY THEM,
yo yo yo yo yo!!! This is a multifaceted situation; Mister Kent and
Inspector Louigee, and here it is: That is for all real and true
Superman fans out here who remember all of the great lines from all
of these great black and white 50's shows. Let's mother fucking
explore here, shall we?
THIS
ETERNAL DOGTOWNITE,
AND
THIS HUMAN-HYBRID, WITH THE
Blood
type--A
neg. & Eye
color--green-hazel
IS
NOT SIGNING OFF QUITE YET,
FOLKS!!!!!!
NOT
QUITE YET BRO, THERE IS WAY TOO GODDAMN MUCH TO TELL FOR ALL THE
FUCKING SHIT THAT THEY'RE DOING TO ME, KIND SHERIFF KJM, SIR,
YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mark Wayne 'Mountainpen Huntington' Mohr
New
BLOGS ON Blogger since December of 2011.
Old
BLOGS ON Blogger since January of 2006.
As
of 2011, Profile views – 500
I
am very proud of my Huntington family!
©
BOM, BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN, MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2019
©
2006-2019
On
Blogger since January 2006
The
BOM © 2006-2019
INTERNATIONAL
BLOG POPULARITY, IN GREEN-COLORED SHADE
RATIO:
On
Blogger since January 2006
The
BOM © 2006-2019
AND
PAULA DOESN'T LIKE IT AT ALL!!!!!!!!!!!
So
forget about alligators, Mister
Microsoft Spellchecker. It's Paula King
that we all need to be concerned with here, yo yo yo yo yo!
On
Blogger since January 2006
Profile
views - 3009
MY ORIGINAL MORIANITY BLOGS:
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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. Fun is replaced with 'intense'.
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You
forgot your mom's birthday! What can you make out of super glue and
olive pits? To start with, I could make a VERY
ANGRY
MOTHER. Then, at the risk
of sounding negative, the only thing one may be truly sure of, is
that you cannot be sure of anything. Sorry for my rotten bad
attitude, gorgeous Desire' Twinbay!
SHERIFF
MASCARA SIR; USE THE HYPERLINK BELOW.
AND
ERICA, DO NOT USE THISSSSSSSSSS SNAKE SOUND!
The
damn death angel is annoying me to mother fucking death, what else?
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2019
On
Blogger since January 2006
The
BOM © 2006-2019
On
Blogger since January 2006
The
BOM © 2006-2019
AND
PAULA DOESN'T LIKE IT AT ALL!!!!!!
But
it was our daughter who claimed TO RULE, from atop the great
'ES' Building. I am now wondering if symbolically, this is not REALLY
the great Exploratronic Supermind Building, of NYNY??????? Still,
'Lenny', all Lenny's everywhere that is, and that was the day of her
high school score, as I call it in my
coded-poems of life, AKA, or so it seems by many out here, as my “2nd
Saga of Songwriter Mark Mud, 1983-2019”. Only the
'WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE'
can fit perfectly right about now, and into here; huh world? Those
mother fuckers across from me are driving me nuts today, but then the
entire mother fucking TRIAD NABE SYSTEM
or (TNS) for short, just about ALWAYS
MOTHER FUCKING DOES, KIND SHERIFF KJM,
SIR!!!!
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
This
is major mother fucking annoying, kind Sheriff Mascara,
A---G---A---I---N, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!
MARK
WAYNE MOUNTAINPEN HUNTINGTON MOHR AND THE
BOM---------------------------
On
Blogger since January 2006
The
BOM © 2006-2019
On
Blogger since January 2006
The
BOM © 2006-2019
AND
PAULA DOESN'T
LIKE IT AT ALL!!!!
Well
for that matter, neither does my arch rival-enemy, Mister lowlife
shit eating, Robert McGuire. Wonderful
lovely Atlantic City, New Jersey, huh
Cuzz Donnie boy? I remember that day when you were running for the
fucking presidency, up on that stage, and your exact words, like
fucking all Joann and Joanna WOW's times the square of the constant.
You said and I quote you sir, “I got out of
Atlantic City, I saw the handwriting on the wall”. I always
tell people who insist otherwise, you're the smartest mother fucker
in the room, and you always will be; cousin. But
then, you already know this, yo!
MAGNETIC
SOUND MACHINE:
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
Computer,
OPEN COMMAND--G-7, and hear my MVP
(Mind-Voice-Print). You will be totally absolutely crushing,
obliterating, annihilating, and devastating, wrecking, ruining, and
utterly wiping out, all of my neighborhood and PHA Building neighbor
enemies, and nearby street residents enemies, on a crush-destruct
order; also including any and all enemies given to me by any
of my Atlantic City enemies, including Robert McGuire and Paula King,
under GENERAL-ORDER-189, max.-power.
Scan and totally wipe out and destroy whoever is hacking my video
systems, and causing cut-outs when they so choose to do this.
Open-Command, General Order #7. Use G-901, G-1133, G-14, G-719, G-13,
CG5555-QP4 sub-code, under G-917, CG-2, under CG-18, and HOLD.
Your
old AT&T landline telephone old style 1983 built tone-commands
have been data-transferred into the two highlighted
long-EEEEE vowel sounds. The high-tone
is colored RED. The
low-tone is colored BLUE.
Computer
(Magnesonic) under my command and precisely matching voice print, I
have an image-object (I-O) now placed on your transpower-block (T-B)
after I have crush-destructed this. Once empowered, all actual beings
matching this I-O on your T-B will be exactly crushed and singed and
destroyed as the original I-O. To accomplish the scan, use your ZD
technology built into your system. To accomplish this sympathetic
reality duplication, use your AD technology, (ZD-Zero-Dimensional),
(AD-Atomic Duplicational).
Computer,
MAGNESONIC, on an 'I' to 'D', A/B—TONE,
PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM, you will now be
transmitted the two empowerization-transmit tones, or ETT'S.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
GO
TO G-189, under G-1133, CG-18, AND S---T---O---P
Every
mother fucking time this cunt eating building I'm living in has their
stupid Monday meetings, POW, and yes Spellchecker, 'POWerhouse' too;
THIS HORRIBLE DOOR SLAMMING NOISE GOES ON AFTERWARD, SHERIFF MASCARA
SIR. Why these cunt chewing stupid meetings are held every week now
suddenly since this all started a couple months ago in late-eighteen,
I do not have a mother fucking cock sucking smallest clue, yo!
BUTTTTTTTT, BIG ASS BUTTTTTTTT, every single time this happens, I put
up with this horrible fucking monster ass noise persecution
afterwards, sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is
totally Mack 1967 Kaiter ridiculous!!!!!!!!!!!!! But I need to tell
the shit about the MILI-2-FAWCES and the
THROAT-CONDITION OF 1983, before folks start to lose interest
and go to the “NEXT-BLOG” button. So here goes kind folks out
here, yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I
had left the 1802 Robin hill Apartments
on the last day of January, moving into the Atco rental home on 1
February of 1983. Yes this has indeed all been told over and
over before kind folks, BUTTTTTTTT, BIG ASS 2006-2007 BUTTTTTTTT;
never put into true perspective with all of the damn numerous
connecting items and situations, and for that matter, I seriously
doubt that time will ever permit all of that to be fully done in
proper elaboration, yet containing easy English
words that all of us use and hear every day, so as to avoid
lots of potential confusion and ambiguity, yo. So let me lay down a
few foundations here, peeps. First, you all know fully well about how
I was sitting in my apartment bedroom while still residing at 1802
Robin Hill in Voorhees Township, NJUSAESMWG, and it was some time in
early or middle October in 1982.
Suddenly, and for absolutely no rational or logical reason, I
heard words inside of my head without any audible voice
whatsoever, telling me, “Mark, you just wait
until the 4th
of next June rolls around, ha ha ha”. Religious peeps like
Jim Burr would insist that this was “demonic activity” and who's
to ever say who is right or who is wrong, since not one mother
fucking person on this goddamn Earth-Planet can get up and prove a
damn thing scientifically about anything. We are literally all a
bunch of fucking five year olds playing a game in a large closet
after our parents have gone outside in the back yard to rake leaves.
When I had left Robin Hill for this rental home
in Atco, New Jersey, I had just purchased a very strange machine
called the PRIVECODE, invented by the International Mobile Machines
Corporation, later becoming the InterDigital Corporation of today.
This machine was only used by a handful of peeps, and I was one of
those peeps. Also, it never caught on back in 1983. The makers of
this machine are part of the Exploratronic
Supermind Society, which is a group of totally bizarre
stealthy spirit-travelers, with objectives and goals that are all
merely part of a gargantuan sized cosmic game. Also, a part of this
entire mess is the BFA and or the
WOMO-MILI-2-FORCE. All of these things
happened to me at exactly the same period and circa of my life,
between the age of 28 and the age of 29. These are also two extremely
powerful numbers for both myself as well as humanity in general, that
time simply won't permit me to even begin to address right now on
this goddamn fucking blog work. Inside of my throat and my body is a
connection-system. I call it this
because I have no better name for it. Sheriff,
I am going to call 911 and sign a complaint against these enemies
here on my floor, as they are simply fucking
killing me in here with this horrible fucking persecution
noise, AND THEY KNOW EXACTLY WHAT THEY'RE DOING
TO A SICK OLD MAN; ME KIND SIR!!!!
No,
Paula King and her evil nervous all MCGUIRE'S MILI-2-FAWCES, don't
want me to say many things, beginning with whenever I wake up out of
extremely fucking horrible nightmares, as I DID AGAIN TODAY, things
go extremely fucking badly for me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I
feel that my very life is in danger from these loud disgusting
dangerous criminals all around me outside of my door, kind SHERIFF,
sir, and MY FUCKING BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS, AND THE HANDS OF YOUR
WONDERFUL FUCKING SAINT LUCIE COUNTY, FLORIDA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Things are very bad right now, and I am going to drive over to see
you now, kind Sheriff and sign my complaints against these horrible
fucking neighbors!!!!!!!!!!!!! We can always get back to Mister Jim
Rockford and his troubles and beat ups as well as my own hell and
nightmares, as well as my GLANDULAR
CHOKE STORY OF 1983, AND HOW IT FITS SO WELL INTO ALL OF THE UFOLOGY
AND ALL OF THE HUNTINGTON FAMILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
END
TRANSMISSION.
THIS
ETERNAL DOGTOWNITE,
AND
THIS HUMAN-HYBRID, WITH THE
Blood
type--A neg. & Eye color--green-hazel
IS
NOT SIGNING OFF QUITE YET,
FOLKS!!!!!!
Mark Wayne 'Mountainpen Huntington' Mohr
New
BLOGS ON Blogger since December of 2011.
Old
BLOGS ON Blogger since January of 2006.
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