MORIANITY-3-CHAPTER 5

MORIANITY-3-CHAPTER V

1:06 PM-EST, SUPER BOTBAR FUCKING ATTACK DAY

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY CUNT LAPPING FUCKING 30, 2013

MY NABES FROM HELL ARE SCREAMING AND SLAMMING, AND I AM E-MAILING DEBBIE MOROTTO WHEN THIS BLOG HAS BEEN POSTED UP.

L-4 folks, other entities, and whoever and whatever, Congressman RA sir and old pal from 1975 and the Albert Pileggi Band, of Westmont, New Jersey, on Pyle Avenue; THE WOMO MILI-2-FORCE has struck me hard, at exactly 12 noon, right on the cock sucking fucking button, YO YO YO!!!

On top pf these horrible cunt lapping nabes across the fucking cunt hellway, the WOMO has pushed that magic button of theirs, that my blogs discuss from time to time, called the ''TOOTHACHE MAJOR BUTTON''. Whenever they wish to cause me severe excruciating mother fucking agony, POW, out of nowhere, major pain in my teeth is suddenly just there, yet it goes away eventually with the same suddenness and totality of its original onset, normally anywhere from three days to three weeks. It began getting bad yesterday, but not enough to cause me to BOTBAR, and also, I had no problem with my sicko psycho nabes until noon today, when this entire fucking shit just EXPLODED out of nowhere. Obviously the DOW JONES has crossed over, with or without great talented daughters, the 14K point mark, and this is when my enemies go all out to destroy me beyond anything that I could ever even hope to describe to you people reading this, on some stupid fucking cunt ass blog!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let us examine these BOTBAR or wicked horrible bad days that strike me out of nowhere and don't even try and look back or cut me the smallest cunt eating break. Before I do explain this somewhat, HA HA HA, you missed me Miss Dirtweeds Notfondau!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It is nineteen past one now. Screw you, and screw 1993!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ever since god dam fucking 2013, and I AM looking at my calendar now as I speak to you all electronically through this keyboard right now folks, WEDNESDAYS are the day of MAJOR NABE ATTACK. The only Wednesday that it missed, was a week ago, back on the devil number, believe it or not, the twenty-third. But the second day of the month and the year, January 2, was indeed a horrible Wednesday, and a horrendous wicked SUPER BOTBAR. So also was the following Wednesday, on January ninth, and again the one following that, on January 16. Then I'll admit there was a skip the following Wednesday, last ?Wednesday, on January 23. But on the following Wednesday, TODAY, KAFUCKINGCUNTPOW ADAM WEST BATMAN SIR, and this makes 4 out of 5 January Wednesday's, SUPER BAD DAYS OF WOMO MILI-2-FORCE ''IF'' ATTACK NOW, and on no other day of the week this year, is this the case. For cunt eating ass example, let's walk through the other six days so far. Total January 2013 Botbars or (TJTB) are listed now as follows, taken right off of my wall calendar where I carefully record all of them, for the other remaining six days. TJTB for THURSDAY are goose fucking eggs, a bit fat ass zero, zilch, nada, zip, also statable as NONE. TJTB for FRIDAY is 1 and yes a lonely number as the old song goes, and one that I can live quite perfectly and enjoyably with. TJTB for SATURDAY is yet another lonely number, so far just one, and the last Saturday as well as Friday have already passed forever by, this year, for the month of nasty rotten ass January. TJTB for SUNDAY is still another lonely and gorgeous number, again, with a 1. But hold onto your socks with TUESDAY, as the amount of TJTB is NONE. The only other day that gave me trouble was TUESDAY, but only half the trouble that WEDNESDAY gave me, as there were a total of 2 TJTB days. Still, the big attack with these nabes seems to be the two days where RESIDENT FUCKING MANAGER, DEBBIE MOROTTO, IS NOT HERE IN THE BUILDING TO ENFORCE THE RULES AND REGS. Why else would the match up of the BOTBAR DAYS, be those same two days, yes folks, TUESDAYS and WEDNESDAYS?

When I came over to blog here, I put on my headphones and began playing my HU-CHANT, made by the great ECKANKAR religion, and something just fucked up for no good reason. The tape does not stick nor is it jammed, yet it stops a lot, and will need to be re-dubbed onto a new blank at high speed, as this normally defeats the problem, but for now, I am fucked. This is now the TOOTH fucking shit, the diseased sick bastard crude uncouth NABES fucking shit, and now this electronic or really, unknown 'UTILITY' related hack or attack. So now we have, count them Lex and others, three events so far, and the day is just starting. These fucking pricks over there woke me up with a huge door slam like nothing I ever heard, and since then it is slam slam slam slam slam and lots of hollering and shouting. They began this on the exact fucking cunt dot of twelve noon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Today is considered to be a total-ground attack, so far, but that can change on a fucking cunt dime, and go from ground assault up into the air, without warning, but for right now, all three assaults on me by my IF or ''INTERACTION-FORCE'', labeled many names, as my enemies; but as of now, during all of this ground war hell, the skies are both quiet, and devoid of lines and grids and poisons. Many days back in Jersey, it would switch back and forth during super BOTBAR attack days, as if these crumbs literally were trucked around, and went from being USAF Bluebook pilots, to these pricks on the ground. I know it seems fantastic, and I did say, and as all unknown things or magic tricks operate, by slight of hand and clever quick moves coupled with simultaneous diversions; I said it 'looks like'' or gave this impression. Somehow, I think I would bet a billion Trump lawsuits against beauty queens, that this is Not what actually is being done, but it most definitely produces this illusion, and I'll give you all another wild parlor trick, every bit as unexplainable as tropical island fruit juice late nineties real good television commercials, or 'MY' 1986 song introductions, done absolutely with no knowledge of it on any conscious level, and that would be my recent experience of nine days ago, over at fucking Avalon Recording Studio, in Port Saint Lucie, Florida, with ,my engineer, Ryan. Now to get any part of this in any fucking shit swallowing meaningful way, lads and lassies, you really do need to expand your normal thinking processes just a little bit. This man was a pretty heavy chain smoker since high school, and was so happy that he had recently quit smoking last year in the springtime somewhere, and was very happy on his electronic cigarettes, I believe he used the BLUES, for the smokers who know the various brands. Now he went away in November last year and did not get back until the first week in January. He was working at a sister studio on the West Coast of Florida, and then went up north to be with his Jersey family for the holidays. All seems perfectly normal so far, I'll give you that one, but it does get a whole lot better and wilder, so sit down, as I really don't want you standing and reading on. The shock may cause injury to your head while you faint and fall down, so please, sit, thank you. I had done a partial musical project with him back last spring and into summer time, and am still saving up to pay for it so I can both take the CD, and have him electronically register all of my stuff done there, with the United States Copyright Office. This makes the registration fee lower to register online, and he knows how to go up on their website and send the music data to them and fill out the forms. He also will be taking down all of my YOUTUBE accounts in full, when I see him next, but let us stay on point for right now, shall we folks?

We discussed how I was not all that totally satisfied with the way he synthesized my kid's harmony vocals, taking that old telephone conversation where she tells me, ''You'll be crossing over'', and pitching it to the exact notes of the harmony vocals on all four verses of the song. I reminded him of how I used to play around with keyboards from local music stores, as early as 1980, and by using numerous mixed input and output signal mixing, equalization effects, sound samplers, and the notes on the keyboards, I could make words turn into perfectly pitched music singing, that did not sound so electronically produced. He said he would look into all of this, and I even gave him detailed information of various machines that I had all assembled together, and over the phone, he suddenly told me, back before he left last autumn for a long time away; that he knows just how to do what I want and that it would sound much better. He told me that word for word. Now remember, he is someone who takes honesty and integrity to the nth degree, never lies, never misleads, tells it straight, etcetera. He also told me that he will never smoke those nasty 'real' cigarettes again, it made his clothes stinky, his girlfriend did not like it, and he went on quite colorfully and vociferously about the matter, and absolutely told me he was forever done with the old smokes, and loved his new electronic BLUES smokes. Now I stress, here is a dude who I've known and would vouch for his character as honest to the point of almost sacrificing his life to a stranger if it came to that; and yet, two major things suddenly SHIFTED out of normal reality, back on 2012 King Day, when I went over for my scheduled noon session with him. He knows I don't want something that is anything less than great, after-all, we are talking about taking the greatest singing voice on this planet, and using a talking only younger version of it from early in 1984, for the digital sampling; and hence, I wanted something that sounded far better than what we already had done before when we made this harmony track, that is up on the paulaking2011 channel of the youtube right now, and is viewable by clicking on the video showing the railroad tracks that are all bent and twisted out of shape, sort of like my entire life. But my point is that I got there, and he played what he was now going to change it too, and it was worse than listening to fingernails on chalkboards. It is not like Ryan at all, not one little bit, to even suggest to me, that I would want to copyright such a horrible and mickey mouse version of my wonderful great daughter's voice. How could I have done so much better 33 years ago, it makes no sense at all? Still, the point ties in with the cigarette smoking that he was back all over again to doing. Now UI know that quitting is very hard, as I have known my share of really fucking hard core smokers, with my own father being among this crowd. But he told me straight faced last spring, that he was done with this, and was totally happy with his new smokes, the BLUE ELECTRONIC CIGARETTE. I am now totally convinced, that the RYAN that told me that he would be able to make me a much more lifelike and better quality harmony vocal of my daughter, from that sampled intro where she in 1984 was giving me some driving instructions. Instead, I get there, and he is smoking real cigarettes again, and then totally blew my mind with that awful sounding new version, that I politely told him he could file under 'TRASH BETTER LEFT FORGOTTEN'. If either one of these transdimensional differences or reality shifts of seemingly major consequence, had happened solely and independently of the other one also happening, the rotten new voice creation and the going back to smoking, I could believe it is all normal circumstance. But given my personal life and all of the continuous switching of reality on a dime, just like the way today at noon just banged into my life and reality out of nowhere, as if I had been taken by an alien UFO SHIP, from a dream, straight into this so-called same apartment where I appeared to awaken up in, only it is not the same, and just as in the bedroom in Richard Karpf's Cherry Hill, New Jersey home, at 1931 Route 70, or Marlton Pike, same road; when I came out of whatever I really came out of on the morning of fucking cunt lapping August fifteen, in 1986, things forever shifted for me, into this death nightmare, never ever being able to return to the life that I had known before that witrh at least a small semblance of order and reality that made some small sense, even to me, and relative to my screwed up Huntington cursed life!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was not going to discuss this powerful last session date at the Avalon Studio, but now that the flood gates have been opened, ciggs or no ciggs, beauty queens or no beauty queens, Mister Dick Wolf; let me tell you in addition, that I had a nice talk with Tony Bonjovi, and he admitted to me, that he had figured out right away, that this song was so much like that intro done by MC in 1997; and the one with that powerful message to me, 'put on top or not'; and he told me that he is quite sorry that things turned out so bad with everything; and he hopes the lawsuit does not get too ugly. That is when I came to learn that there is or was, an industry buzz, that I was trying to make trouble. That was the last thing on my mind. I was proud, and I also was flattered; and it was not that much of a copy; merely a short musical idea perhaps, that nobody really owns; any more than anyone owns tales such as locals hearing things in the winds, yet the great 'MENTALIST' television show, did edit that part out of that 2012 episode, with the treasure that was on a few nights back, Monday night if I am not mistaken about it. I thought it was way cool, that the greatest female artist of all time, did this; and I told Mister Bonjovi that word for word, and hopefully, he will get that circulated around that rotten industry, where I am hated so much by so many; for no good reason whatsoever. However, one thing is about as plain and easy to see as a lightning bolt that just missed your head. That god dam mother fucking 1983 remake song, ''YBCO'' has caused more grief than it is worth. I just want it copyrighted, to keep the yellow sheet lady happy, as she obviously 'knew the end from the beginning', and needed to 'keep her dam Ed Green job' too much, for her to tell me anything too directly, when she called me up that late spring day, in 2008; at the Mullica trailer that I was living at, before the great King Kidnapping occurred.

Folks, when shit is made to be real fucking bad for me, with neighborhood shit, computer hacking shit or utilities or neighborhood attacks, or a heavy sky attack, it causes me disastrous fucking loss in ability to work gaming systems, and the entire evil fucking gaming industry knows this super well guarded all time secret, and they do use it against a few peeps, who normally just die, found dead in some obscure stenchy old hotel room near Vegas or AC, and no one is ever the wiser. Morianity will hopefully allow a lot of real honest lawsuits against these suit punk corporate cheater owners, who have indeed wiped out my life, and that will never stop persecuting me, knowing fully well, that doing so, causes me an endless lack of GOOD COSMIC AGREEMENT INTERACTIONS, or (LUCK). Wipe out a person's entire life, and their luck goes down right along with it. Someday, I will fucking find a cunt lapping way to prove all of this in a controlled environment laboratory setting. Until then, I sit here, an eternally fucked duck; with the ugly laughing jals of the USAF high ranking covert officials, and their endless COVER-UP of the BLUE-BOOK truths, and there ain't dick licking asshole squat that I can seemingly do about it. That is because freedom is a pure illusion. Anyone who says this is a free country, is not properly educated. It is a republic, and it stands for one nation of non democracy, but the overkill power of the super wealthy to endlessly rule, own, and totally control all of our lives, picking and choosing literally, who lives and who dies, in medical related decisions, and cleverly and with great fucking stealth, who is permitted to live in poverty forever or forced to really, and who is permitted to occasionally make the system look good or appear to be free, and climb out of it, miraculously. This is truth, folks. I'm not insisting you like truth, most peeps throughout the fucking ages, despise truth, and kill those who dare to speak it too ofter and or too fucking loudly. Look into your history books, and remember that this is merely a very sanitized Victoria Winters Dark Shadows Family bible, version, as she learned so well, back in 1795, on that fantastic daytime soap show that ran from 1966 into 1971. WOW. SHEEEEEIT! 55555555.

'E/T', PUNS, NO PUNS; YOU PICK THE DEAL FOLKS! FREE!