REPOST CH. 0029 as bold font did not take

BTAT—CHAPTER 0029 Wednesday, February 22, 2023 Blog start time: 11:28 A.M. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As stated, until further notice these blogs will post in shitty ass quality because nobody anywhere seems 2 know how to make the website coding system properly decode my word document paste in with the needed coding for doing this. I am picking up aerial siege today after a week without any of it, and I will always keep 'the Blogaudianship' informed of these matters. This is so you all can endlessly TRACK THE PARALLEL EVENTS, and prove 2U all that this is entirely real, and my claims R indeed totally real and true, and not simply the mere ranting delusions of a completely insane crackpot madman.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Of course I will never deny any reality for that very reason, and yes world, you can all look me up as I share a relatively eternal spot on the mighty net-lands or as I term it on my Morianity, “Cyberville”, simply by Googling up, “Crackpots from New Jersey”. I have no power over what any of you say or think of me,and will never for a single seck try 2 deny that truth, as denying any part of reality would then prove me out 2B a genuine mentally ill person with numerous psychotic features and schizophrenic delusions. Moving on now, this will B a blog with information on a few topics and I won't B attempting to tie in a zillion pieces to one large whole truth today, but some may indeed see this powerful truth without me saying a whole lot about it myself just from following my Morianity, and knowing the story of Mountainpen's miserable hellish life of endless quintessential misery. “Okay, this is a tri-dah-cell-ous”, and the accented syllable is the second of the four of them, and I have shown the word in dictionary-style here, so you know how to pronounce it but not how to exactly spell it, and now you need to know what this is all about since it is a continuation of my Egg Harbor dreaming interaction from several nights ago. I appear to B an employee at this very large supermarket that is also called an ACME Grocery Store just as we had a half century ago all throughout the Delaware Valley and tri-state area where I grew up in, only the Egg Harbor Acme that famously stood for so very long in town right on the Julia White Horse Pike, just a few blocks west of Philadelphia Avenue and the main street in town; does not exist in this particular parallel reality. Ever since I grew up in this one particular reality, I had but one single job at this store, and the real estate location of it here is the potato chip factory that is a short distance to the east down Route 561 from the great Atlantic County youth detention center. People used to phone me back when I resided at the Mullica Mobile Manor in the first decade of this 21st century, and ask me if my father's side of the family had a teacher named 'MOHR' somewhere in that area, and between this and a lifetime of recurring dreams concerning schools in that area and my always trying to get to one of them, I knew something was up, or to better say this, with Mister Joe Sivo's quotation here perhaps, “Something was going down”!!!!!!!!!!! Even the world renown evangelist Doctor Billy Graham knew that our entire being or soul if you will, is not containable in one human lifetime and thus making several references to how one of the scriptures can be more better understood by realizing this powerful truth. I speak of the bible verse that asks us human beings, what does it profit a man to gain the whole world but top then lose his own soul? It is of course considered 2B total mental illness and schizophrenic magical thinking to say it, but I say, give me a fucking break here, Mister Diagnostic Statistical Manuel (DSM). The place that architecturally resembles a school and definitely naught a detention center right there in Egg Harbor City is called HARBORFIELDS, the very same name of the school up in Long Island, New York that Mariah Carey once attended. So between a lifetime of these recurring dreams about the place, the way the great King cousins acted with me while I was trying to figure the whole thing out and was simultaneously living right there with them, the telephone calls asking me about my family as well as the teachers and schools, the cupcake incident involving my attempted murder and switching to a world where I seemingly had no proper ID to operate my automobile while at Jenny's Park, the MM; and other smaller parts to this as well, and this does not add up to saying and concluding that something outlandish is happening around me, oh Mister Psych-Book? Wanna' fucking gimme' a break, YO YO YO YO YO YO BRO?------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So in my wild dreaming interaction from several nights back now, I was in the store where I had worked in all of my life. It began where I was up at the front area and was trying to alter a setting on an air conditioning system and it was not like anything here in this world as it was part of a fan and air conditioner and looked more like home units would rather than something that would be operating in a professional building such as a large food store. I kept attempting 2 adjust some settings and it seemed 2B all going kaplooey. Finally I had figured out how to effect a jury-rigged repair 2 it and it then seemed 2B properly working, and as I walked away to go down 2one of the aisles of the store, I immediately observed that I was wearing a pair of headphones. Nothing was playing through them yet I was wearing them and my double there in that dream never removed them and seemed to B able 2 hear things around him perfectly despite having them covering over his ears. Then I suddenly found myself walking through the perimeter system of the store and while in the back of it suddenly observed a man and his wife along with two children, either two boys or a boy and girl and I wasn't sure because of the hair dues, and my not being able to see past some chairs that were blocking part of the view between this group of folks and myself. Then my dreaming-double seemed 2 recognize that there was a weird store promotion going on and that the woman and the children were just part of what was going on and the man who I had originally believed 2B the father of this family, was some hypnotist dude and this was an experiment that proved how stores were using a form of subliminal consciousness technique in order 2 induce more purchases. I couldn't resist, or my double there couldn't resist, shouting over at this group and saying, “It isn't done that way, the message is spoken underneath of the music or MUZAK system that we all hear when in stores and hotel lobby's and elevators”. Then the hypnotist who seemed 2 me 2B a very mild mannered individual, suddenly jumped up out of a chair, turned to me or my dreaming-doppelganger, and said in a loud stern voice, and while pointing a finger into my face, “Okay this is a tridaucelous” or however you may wish and attempt to correctly spell the word. All I know is that for whatever the reason, my dreaming-double then suddenly just began walking down one of the central food aisles as if nothing had ever even happened at all. I remember thinking upon awakening that none of the food products on any of the shelves even remotely resembled the types of food stuffs and packaged products from here in the 'waking-ordinary world reality'. By the way, my Spellchecker Word Dictionary show absolutely nothing even remotely resembling any similar verbiages to that wild transdimensional-EHC word. So to quote the mighty and wonderful awesome illustrious Sir Chester-Frank here kind folks, “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yes, as told B4 on numerous previous blogging texts on this Morianity Project, spanning over 17 YEARS now; I have picked up a great deal, whether Merry knows it or naught Mizz lovely phone company Blake of 1983, transdimensional words. Names of things, names of people, names of cities such as Atlantica where here we all know the place or the Winn-Joint as Atlantic City, and on and on we can go here folks, or I can, YO YO YO HA, ME' BRAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Yes the planes today are real real REALE bad, Tommy boy, and even Sir Tommy ROWE and all Rowe's out there, outlandish from Spellchecker or naught, lovely Mizz Blake!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have now activated my ALWS systems, one is on my front porch, and one is on my rear porch, and this stands for Airport Light-Warning Switches, and I'll let a HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE cat out of the bag now for my wonderful peeps and Morians/Blogaudians out here, and my wonderful pal and sir, Senator Bernie Sanders. First I'll tell U all what the abbreviated letters stand for, and then what is happening to make it all clear 4U, my Blogaudians. ALWS stands for Mister Mountainpen's 'AIRPORT LIGHT-WARNING SWITCH'. I activate two bright lightbulbs, LED-100 watt, taking only 15-W of actual power each, and once during every shift, the airport peeps have a guy driving through the property here 2C if these lights R on or naught, Mizz lovely 1983 Blake. The co-op gave permission for me to do this as my landlord has witnessed enough strange stuff and was able to convince them that a real enemy harassing me all of my life is really doing this to me and that I need to have a pilot drive in to check my ALWS situation every single day at random times, at least four times. So chime in now if ye' will, oh Sir CF from that 1999's Jersey bar, oh kind sir: “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOW-2-THAT-1.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Boy oh boy oh boy Uncle Billy Frank Capra Wonderful Life Movie, YO, all little dogs, tape recorders, karate kicking bugs, and detention centers of coincidental nomenclatures. If any of the great Atlantic City peeps R out there from this dimension, you know I am not making up anything, including what all of U did 2 me back in oh-8 and oh-9. Please B at the dog-run park, Sir SWAP, six days from today, Tuesday the final day in this demonic month of 0223. TANKS, and a great big ass HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE “B---O---O---M”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We need to move this shit along, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO, and maybe U need 2B talking 2 my local sheriff 2 as I don't think that he takes my story from HELL all that goddamn seriously,kind sir, so we'll talkin six days kind friend, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO, ME' BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well in any event ole' fudging world, let us proceed marching onward here. Not far away over in the Fort Pierce Spanish Lakes Community, a ten foot gator was just euthanized for killing an eighty-five year old lady and her pet if I am remembering the news story correctly, and stupid Spellchecker doesn't recognize the name with the letter-D ending for putting down an animal for whatever the stupid computer world reason, but in any case, this just happened a couple days back, and gators and lizards and snakes and insurance salesmen AKA scummy Geckos are literally swarming allover tropical places such as our great American state known by the Mountainpen as Flower-land, and AKA by non-Morians, Florida-USA. Still, flowers, and songs, and great hot flower lands, and dreams, and property owners of Atlantic City named Estelle. Like super mother fucking ass WOW-WOW-WOW-WOWSY-WOWSER, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I won't soon forget driving down here in early middle December of the year 2009 and stopping near the great pier where on one side, the mighty Mister Flagler named pier separates the beaches from many of my long ago recurring dreams and then the southern side of the pier where Ormond Beach begins and Misses Estelle Andersen Bassler had her home, after leaving her South Atlantic City home that was located at 30 South Plaza Place. This home was where she and her adopted son Mister Chester Perkowski resided, all throughout the time where SARAH's SHOP was all a part of my life as a teenager, as well as when I was a younger preteen, or 'tween' as they refer to it in today's times. Without watching the television show called, “DARK SHADOWS”, and really observing carefully, the entire story line from shortly after Quentin Collins came onto the scene, and then right up through the time that the Leviathan Cult leader was killed by being shoved off of an ocean cliff, known only too well by 'shadowans' or fans of the show, and then see the absolutely unmissable connections with me and my entire life, and all pertaining to the magical goddess-girl known to me only as “SARAH KRASSLE” as she spelled it out 4 me in a middle December of 1969 dreaming interaction; you won't ever truly B able to C this unfathomably powerful reality that something beyond Senator-Sanders-HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE is going on here in all of this inconceivable stuff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I told you about computers and the reality behind the entire reason that they R now in total control over the entire planet and without anyone other than me being the wiser. I told you what makes them operate, crystals that make their motherboards, as well as electrons giving them their power, and I told you all how they have no astral essence or truth whatsoever. All one needs 2 do here is 2 carefully examine this show on television, DS, and then compare in full rigid austere honesty, the Leviathan Cult deal with what has actually happened to this world. CREATURES WITHOUT A SOUL, computer technology, computers, internet, the cloud, and this is only the very infancy conception and origination of a much greater diabolical plot, and yes, just as the show warns us, and the biggest part still not recognized here is that the creators of that marvelous show were all the time totally fucking CLUELESS to what was going on and how they were being used to give this warning,even if only one person received it,THE CHOSEN HUNTINGTON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! B realistic here for just a goddamn second. The only possible thing here is not that Mountainpen is a crazy and delusional crackpot, but rather thagt he HAS BEEN CHOSEN to receive truths that went totally over everyone else's head. It isn't that I am better than anyone else, merely CHOSEN. Yes, this sounds like cult-talk in and of itself, but let me put all of your minds to ease here, may I pweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze? Simply read on. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cult leaders want power over their fold, over others in general, over young girls in order to obtain sexual privelages with them, they have ideas and concepts that the Christian scriptures absolutely condemns, and despite a lot of their near-truths, those truths R4 Purgatorial existence such as free love and 'multiple mergings', and along those lines once known in hippie jargon as sex-orgies. On the Astral-Plane there is no monogamy or marriages or death and mates do not make vowels to love until death as dividing by C-squared is a concept so far removed it just isn't a part of anything there, and even that merely causes human-dreaming and that is what we all R, dream-downs off of the endless-Purgatory. I merge with Lightning and the coils that SHE has given 2 me quite often, and this is absolutely okay and prop[er, THERE, naught HERE. Cult leaders may or may not B aware of these truths, but they only want to satisfy their carnal or Earthly and Mortal world natures of their flesh-appetites. I promise any and all of U that the furtherest thing from my mind, ever, now, or B4, is to take over anyone's mind or control them in any possible or remotest way. The magical Sahasra Dal Kanwal chain may have indeed given 2 me some strange and unusual desires as previously discussed, but never have I wished to engage in actual sexual connectedness with girls that R2 young 2B having sexual relations, in any way, including the 'nineties-Sir Clinton' ways. If I could,I would be the biggest spit-vampire on the planet, thanx-2 that chain altering somehow magically, my mind, and yes; the billionaires all know that it would multiply my lifespan 8 times over, as it once did to the entire H-12-Tribes, the great Jewish secret, as Morianity refers 2 this as. Typing this in right now folks, made me remember that I forgot a powerful insertion the other day on a recent blogging text. I was discussing that magical SARAH-surname of K-R-A-S-S-L-E, and how SHE spelled it out for me in a wild dreaming interaction back in December of 1969, and how the Dark Shadows television show went onto spin-off two movies, 'HOUSE OF DARK SHADOWS', and 'NIGHT OF DARK SHADOWS'. In one of these movies, a gorgeous little girl was named SARAH KASSEL, if I am spelling that surname correctly, and it was pronounced in the movie, the same way that 'KRASSLE' would B pronounced, only without containing the letter of “R”. HALLS FAWCES, or the MISOE or 'whatever' ole' pal Bob Andrews from 1975-1980 B4 your great public office days that laid ahead of U sir; somehow R creating 'something' and to mortal-world human observation with its very limited low lying horizons, we fail 2C and properly recognize that this same exact force behind this fantastic 60's-television show-DS, and the reality and persona of one Sir Mark Wayne Mountainpen Mohr, perhaps R one and the same, you know,as in the other example of being one and the same that we all know of quite well, Clark Kent and Superman, as in this great show, without knowing that truth that the viewers know, and R fully aware of; the characters in the movies and shows R thus completely limited to not having that fact while being the characters whom they R portraying. The main reality that came clear 2 me very early into this 3rd millennium and 20th century in human chronology is my home in the Purgatory, called RICKTOWN MANOR. This home is beyond any mansion that could even begin to B fathomed in construction on any mortal realm of physical caporial life. It literally branches off in six opposing directions for one thing a total humanly impossible architectural feat. Its immense size is the other factor as it literally is 80 percent of the square miles of the state of Pennsylvania here on waking mortal world planet Earth-USA. Then there is the far rear wing of the entire structure that in the mortal and waking world realm is part of a movie set in NYC and the 60's television show, DS. There is no actual Collinwood of course despite the 'establishing shot' showing a girl's private school, in a nearby area to where the show was done, and all of this is as meaningless as a single seagull flying over our heads while enjoying a day on a beach on a vacation after a long and hard winter season at our job. In real truth to how singularity produces HER creation, first the Plancktime, and then the 5-D-hyperspace blown out beyond that in a folded magical fabric containing eleven dimensions, with two '5-D systems' inside of each of them; once we exist here 'physically', the complex interdimensional realities cause things to operate as they do and trying to fully explain it would require all of us 2B at least 'Einstein times 100', and a million years 4 me 2 type out this truth, and then 4U all to sit down and attempt 2 “GET IT”; all great 'GW' 'musician dads' out there, right lovely Mizz Hewitt???????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So rather than attempting 2 tackle a truly insurmountable project here such as that one folks, let me put things in more relatable terms, if that is even fucking remotely possible. WOW, Mister Macy and C----L----U----B!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOW & WOW!!!!-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We can get into Peoples Magazine, Dark Shadows, MISOE operatives and their office-bosses, dream control, Ufology, and a zillion related topics; although seemingly to the untrained non-Morian-eye, not so damn ass related. Let me do things my own way, if you please, lovely Mizz EHC resident, Terry Accusatory Scatterbrain. Yes the only two peeps that I speak so frequently of on these blogs who R some of the residents of the lovely and illustrious Egg Harbor City, Mizz Leticia Tilley, and Mizz Terry 'Scatterbrain-Namer of Mountainpen'. Mizz Terry was a gal-pal of the lovely Mizz Ann King Silva of the mighty Atlantic City, NJUSAESMWG. She insisted that no story, even mine,needs 2B done and 2 quote her of course, “So scatterbrain-style”. BUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT, BIG ASS BUTT, unfortunately, this just ain't so. No one on planet Earth would ever B able 2 successfully write the story of 'Morianity' in a non-scatterbrain-appearing style, and she is simply100% totally mistaken. So sahwee Mister Japanese Ambassador from World War II, but 2 quote Sir Sigmund Malyeska here, “That's the way it goes”. SOOOOOOOOOO, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!! We will need to begin 2C and fully realize just Y my family as well as all of my OTAMMIC ENEMIES just cannot B placed in some rational normal order in chronology the way that other stories tell things. It is not possible, that's all there is 2 it folks. The space bar is completely fucked up and I will definitely B purchasing an entirely new computer system, solving the murder of two birds while employing only one rock; and without going to any Oaklyn, New Jersey creek-parks, with my-then-pal, Sir Jim T. Burr, back in the early middle spring time, in the year of 1974. We will get on the Pennock voice changing magical 'pen' pieces, the cult leader cousin-Pennock, the flower song and translation requests that all led up to car interference and magical-McFly circuits being secretly inserted into them, and a zillion other power house things that R all related to these things listed so far, and then folks, remember that this may B at best and at most, perhaps one one thousandths of the entire story, and yes, it will all B told, and IPYT great folks out here. So a great big damn fat ass WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blog Archive ▼  2011 (303) ▼  December (8) KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0285 KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0284 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0283 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0282 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0281 KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0280 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0279 KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0278 ►  November (22) ►  October (19) ►  September (15) ►  August (21) ►  July (22) ►  June (25) ►  May (23) ►  April (27) ►  March (76) ►  February (36) ►  January (9) ►  2010 (178) ►  December (6) ►  November (10) ►  October (7) ►  September (39) ►  August (8) ►  July (10) ►  June (11) ►  May (19) ►  April (15) ►  March (17) ►  February (20) ►  January (16) ►  2009 (368) ►  December (17) ►  November (44) ►  October (35) ►  September (18) ►  August (18) ►  July (35) ►  June (23) ►  May (24) ►  April (32) ►  March (39) ►  February (33) ►  January (50) ►  2008 (352) ►  December (44) ►  November (43) ►  October (56) ►  September (19) ►  August (32) ►  July (42) ►  June (44) ►  May (53) ►  February (11) ►  January (8) ►  2007 (15) ►  December (6) ►  November (9) About Me 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 Oh does my life fucking totally suck, great world out there. Whats to do Mister Jack TZ Klugman, sir? Posted by theansweristheqyuestion at 1:03 PM No comments: Labels: "Millionth Council" government persecution, alien abductions astral plane supernatural paranormal, PROJECT BLUEBOOK 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???????????????????????????? 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!!!!!!!!!!!!! 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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what did I ever do to any of these slobs, kind Sheriff sir, that I deserve all of this 1981 Pandora's Box Treatment, fully opened with all River-Snakes of Krassleville spewing out all over the place, and not racing up Mister Krassle's escalator of life???????? Pay the cable TV their rightful share, all you music celebs; YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT. 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. MARK POORSPELLER BUTTWIPE MOHR FROM 1988, WOW THAT! [ 20 ] Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954- Apitamy of harrasment [sic] : pt. two. PAu001148157 1988 Correct spelling is epitome of harassment. SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0261 DATFILE: 110711.751 TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO-1995 Blog ending time is 2:58 P.M. END TRANSMISSION WHAAAAAA-BIT!