AFTER THE KNOWING, CHAPTER 8

AFTER THE KNOWING, CHAPTER 8

4:08 P.M., ON SATURDAY, DECEMBER 28, 2019

SUPER MOTHER FUCKING BOTBAR DAY AGAIN FOLKS, BUT THEM, SOSO-WEIN-SSDD AND A ZILLION MORE DITTO SOSO-WEIN-SSDD's following that as well??????????? Allow and 'permit me', sir ultimate illustrious latengrate UNCLE HEINZ Gozzwald Gottwalt, of 175 Peninsula Drive, in Baby-blond (Babylon, new York, LINY, USAESMWG; to tell you why this is another rotten ass fucking BOTBAR DAY, oh great people!!!!!!!!!

AFTER THE KNOWING, CHAPTER. 8

4:13 POST MERIDIAN

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

28 DECEMBER, 2019

FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG

STICKY AND CLOUDY WEATHER CONDITIONS, OUT AROUND ME' TOWN, YO.

I awoke at just around two of the cunt lapping clock, on this totally rotten disafsternoon; and when I went into my goddessdamn kitchen to take my medications, A HUGE FUCKING RODENT WAS CRAWLING AROUND. After I took my stinking rotten medications, I DRESSED AND WENT STERAIGHT OVER TO MY LOCAL ACE HARDWARE STORE A FEW BLOCKS FROM THIS DEMONIC ROTTEN CROOKED PUBLIC HOUSING AUTHORITY BUILDING IN THIS TOTALLY CORRUPT FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, and I purchased a HUGE RAT TRAP good for chopping large rats and small mice and any rodents into pieces, when I place peanut butter on the trap and lay it in my kitchen. The small traps that I bought before did NAUT do the job, mizz Blake. This time hpwever, I also purchased many poison pellets that can be scattered all around this entire fuckign cunt lapping apartment. I also was able to get naut just rodent poison pellets but also some of those roach killing large white pill pellets. The reason this did not work for me as well as before I was told is that these are naut good for 90+ days and the pellets need to be kept tightly sealed in their boxes and used every two to four weeks at most as after that the poisonous effects reduce to the point where the roaches just enjoy the taste but only get mildly ill and DO NAUT DIE, or go crazy, huh MIZZ AT&T BLAKE, the way the MILITUFORCE wants to drive me, huh lovely phone company lady from 1983, yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo mahm?????????????? I guess the great Mister 'Doctor Lockner Flint' of Medical Star Trek Center, has found some competition for itself here, huh yo?????!!!!!

THE GASME GODS GAMES are really getting on me' mother fucking ass “last nerve”, Mizz Latengrate lovely Dawn-Marie King. If anyone reading me' words, ever truly asks themselves if their own lives couldn't be thought of as some invisible thing around them, totally playing A GAME WITH THEM, in many instances, well; then you are simply NAUT being honest with yourselves, and that's all there fucking is to it, yo BRAH! With me in a much larger fucking way, I totally can see that this entire goddamn HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE bunch of horrendous and endless dogshit nightmares surrounding my life, is nothing but a GAME, played by bored to fucking tears mighty ENERGY-BEINGS, and also can be said as (GODS/GODDESSES), on the TIMELESS ASTRAL PLANE, that yes, could also be stated as, for purposes of the mighty McDowell phone-taped calendar proofs that frightened me' poor mother a lot more than her office co-worker Mizz Hollister ever did, the TIMELESS SATELLITE. We will only go as far here as to say that a dim witted moronic fucking small child with tooth pain would still be able to realize that this, along with Sarah Jacobson from COOLEY HALL, Mister tutor SIMON of the HTHS school, and Mizz Laughing-fits Davies of all ROYAL TUDOR'S, all fits together in this naut so nice package, straight out of the gates of DOGTOWN at the Dogtown Bridge, in the Capitol Providence of the Astral Plane known as Province-Olympia!One goddamn fucking day when I was about twenty and one half years of age, and living alone at the apartments that were on the second floor overlooking medical offices in Stratford, New Jersey, and across from the Stratford branch of the Kennedy Hospital, on Laurel Road, just a few blocks south of the Lindenwold PATCO High Speed-Line Train Station, I had alighted the train and was waiting to catch a bus at the station that would take me directly to the apartment as I was lazy that day and did naut feel like walking several blocks, and before the bus came along, I got talking to an extremely gorgeous twenty-four year old woman about the local transportation system, and I blogged this before, but I never told the real powerful part of this story because insufficient foundations at that time had been laid. She was so incredibly lovely that I didn't know here from there and I got on a wrong bus that took me west down the White Horse Pike, instead of south down Laurel Road to me' apartment. The traffic was tied up a bit on the WHP (Route-30), and the bus had to move at a crawl rate. Just as it passed Harvard Avenue in Somerdale where I came to live two decades out in to the photon projection of the eternal now, or (the future) as you all might say; the traffic light at the pharmacy where also I came to use often when I would take my ATIVAN medications that alleviate the unpleasant symptoms of me' choking condition that came on me in June of 1983, the light turned red and the bus stopped, and I happen to look down a side street to a house about two houses down from the WHP. Standing on the porch of this home was beautiful giant SARAH JACOBSON, from three years earlier at the illustrious COOLEY HALL!!!!!!!!!! When I saw her, she was able to see me too, even on a bus with darkened windows, and from a good sixty yards away from me; and then she spoke to me inside of my mind, and I heard her say to me, “Hey you silly boy, you're taking the wrong bus”. Then it dawned on me and only then, Jesus Christ Almighty, I am on a bus heading for Philadelphia, and not on the bus that goes down Laurel Road to me' whittle apartment. I jumped to the front of it and exited at the very next block where a bus stop was located. While living there twenty years or so in 'the future', those buses no longer ran, and commuters merely took the train service into Philadelphia rather than get off to transfer to the bus. That's why me' mom had to walk to and from the Harvard Avenue DEATH HOUSE to the PATCO TRAIN, to get to and from her office job in Philadelphia when we bought that Somerdale home at the end of August of 1996. Moving this along now, I began walking back towards Laurel Road, so that I could then head south and walk home to my apartment, across from the Kennedy Hospital there, and as I walked past that block where SARAH JACOBSON made some beyond weird psychic contact with me while on that damn ass bus; or 'telepathic', or “whatever”, since the great Congressman in the future would have a local office right there in the middle and hub of this entire mess; she yelled my name and said to come over to where she was standing on this really huge porch of an old home. When I got there, she laughed and reminded me of our talks at COOLEY HALL and how she said that Watergate and politics was all a gigantic part of my future. She told me to sit down on the porch step, as there were no seats or chairs or any place to sit down on the porch, or to quote me' great and awesome Mike Soft HELLWRECKER spellchecker here, there were no seats or chairs or any place to sit downloaderChrome. She then told me to wait a second while she got some lemonade for us to drink, and she came out with two glasses and a pitcher of lovely looking pink lemonade. As soon as I swigged down half a glass, since I was quite thirsty from bing in Philadelphia, applying for some silly ass job, and almost instantly; I dropped my glass and began to slump forward on the stoop area of her porch. Then within what seemed two seconds later I somehow told myself to wake up and sit up, and I bolted upright, only to me' total ass amazement, I was coming up on my stop on the bus, and it was the right bus, and it appeared that I had gotten on the right bus all along, and somehow had fallen asleep, and had this wild psychic experience or vision or WHATEVER, and all within about a minute or less of REAL/E TIME!!!!! I ran up and out of me' seat and off the bus, as it was approaching me' stop at the apartments, where doctor offices were all on the ground floor. Three days later I mustered up me' courage and walked over to the house where this had happened in that wild experience. The only person living there was an older couple who seemed very nice, and assured me that they had no children, and that they were the only ones who ever lived there for many years. The amazing second part to this however is that when I told them of my experience, and mentioned the lemonade; she lady said to me, “Oh that would never be us; my husband cannot have citrus after his delicate stomach operation ten years ago”.

This part of the Sarah Jacobson story only has true power when the original part is known, and I did blog a lot of it, including how she predicted WATERGATE before one reporter HAD EVER BROKEN THE STORY and before Linda Lovely Lovelace or her 'other Harrah's Casino strange verbal doppelganger' had ever fucking come into play with any of that political nightmare that once plagued our great nation. Then there was the Jacobson Bridge on Hopkins Lane in Haddonfield, NJUSAESMWG. This is where the stream at the Pennypacker Park runs down underneath the bridge, and where the lovely giant SARAH and the kissing episode all went down, along with poor Steve nearly losing his life to her awesome Kitchen Patrol photon-projected come-along from Abseacon, NJUSAESMWG; lovely D.Q. KATE!!!

END TRANSMISSION.