GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 22

Thank the gods, the quarterly pest control building spray will be coming up on the eighth, not too soon here in fucking ROACHVILLE. This is the mother fucking first time, that nothing anywhere is killing these cunt lapping revolting miserable things, not the fucking motel square poisons, or the white round poison pill tablets. I believe, sir Sheriff Mascara, that they are not real roaches from my universe, but rather some type of hybrid mother fuckiGN imposters that have been sent here and they really are advanced humans from parallel worlds, and when I do kill them, they just wake up out of their dream, as ESS travelers. This is what our wonderful world authority is keeping us all from believing, as well as making people like you sheriff sir, believe that I am just a mother fuckign nut case crack-pot. Someday in the Astral Heavens, we'll be sipping on a Jeemalena Puhatuko Soda, as out there, you enjoy that an dis your fave I believe, with an incredibly strong tangerine flavor along with light cinnamon, and you'll be telling me how sorry you are for not believing me back here in this nightmare dream that we're having, well, I am, you are having a much better one than I am, sir Sheriff!

There are things going on fifth dimensionally, that are so beyond the possible abilities of any blogger, even if 100 Einstein's could all merge together, to successfully tell the message to those who in my opinion, do need to receive it quite desperately, and never will in the current lives that they are living as larger parts of their true PLANK ASTRAL SELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUTTTTTTT, I intend to conduct some thorough research soon, on the recording artist Marilyn McCoo and her great and powerful FIFTH DIMENSIONS, as I do not believe this seemingly coincidental yet quite unfathomable symbolism just defies Mister Yogi Berra and his very famous quote, “It's just too coincidental, to be a coincidence”!

Yeah, “I'm just your foolish toy”, PPK; so don't bust my poor little arm up too badly, big lovely goddess!!!!!!!!

We're two dead people, Mike, Dave, and Steve. It just endlessly goes round and round and fucking round.

You know what folks; I am going to just FLY AWAY!!!

GGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEE Wiligars, YO; what next Judge Judy?????????????? Like WOW, Mister 34-R. H. MACY!!!

JEEPERS-CREEPERS; this sucks hyper time!!!

Please don't even get me going here, Mizz Eckert Farma, from Berlin, New Jersey, back in early middle July of 2003. THANK YOU, flooding and all!!!!!!!!!!!

Talk about lawnmower men like JOBE, jacking in, YO!

Well folks, time to aim high now, and wonder what strange thing REALLY did happen, with my dad and myself; despite the fact that I never met Mister Einstein or came aboard the great Battleship Eldridge; yet both of us had our service paperwork interfered with, in ways not rationally explainable. My father was told to keep his mouth shut, and except for horrendous fucking nightmares that woke him up screaming, during the early years of his marriage to my mom, as told to me in vivid description by her upon numerous occasions, HE DID. Also, another small exception was his sleep-talking. In January 1974, he visited me and mom at our Dellway Arms Apartments on Oakland Avenue, in Oaklyn, New Jersey, just a couple of miles west along the famous Route-30-White Horse Pike, from where Congressman Andrews lived at the time, or just off of it, in Haddon Heights, on OAK AVENUE. The memories of this weird shit, right around the time of the mysterious death of my mom's cousin Ruth Huntington Gottwald from a ''supposed-flue shot'', was when I was told one day that I was no longer in the branch of the U. S. Merchant Marines that I joined and even had an ordinary seaman's card in my wallet, all legal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BLUCRAN---BLUCRAN---BLUCRAN---BLUCRAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Where will this all lead to, and end; great KING AKOSLEM (Lord Jesus Christ”????????????????????? Yes, JUJU, KING AK, and everyone else out here, now, and later on, via Lunar Satellite Delay Field Scattercloud, (LSDFS) in most parallel universes and here most likely; it is indeed time for me to AIM HIGH, and start investigating Mizz MCCOO and her great symbolic 5-D music group. The big-planet people of washcloths and hand washing are observing me quite carefully. Whenever they want me, it looks like they've fucking got me!!!!

YOU MISSED ME, HA-HA-HA, JANE WHORE BITCH NOTFONDAU!!!!!

END TRANSMISSION.

GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 21

For several days, the general area around my apartment had less activity. But doors were all day today, and of course, with these roach fucking nabes being back, so are my god dam fucking roaches. LIKE-DUH! I am going to have to contact the BOARD OF HEALTH, Sheriff sir, because to quote what I used to say to my camp counselor Mister Mack Kaiter in 1967 and 1968, at Camp Chesapeake, in Maryland; “THIS IS RIDICULOUS”!

Lots of facts don't change, but with time and experience, we all put those same facts into better light, at least we should unless we've been totally lobotomized by this mechanized social media garbage new age society 100%!!!!!!!!!!!! When you read a paste in like this below, you see how Morianity learns and grows, as does all life in hyperspace. Things do not stay the same. The old saying about cities is only too real. If they stop growing, they die. This is what happened to Atlantic City in the late sixties, despite all the great Donald Trump stuff that happened. Need more convincing? Fine then folks, see how things were a while ago, and how they always seem to be more clearly revealed when we ponder on them and meditate on them.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/////////////////////

1980 KEYBOARDS FROM PETA-HELL ®

Only the Vatican really understands MORIANITY, and even they are smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Lightning told me last night in Akoslem City, that I better tell the truth and not leave my Morians hanging in there with the Hammonton's and the Huntington's, so I must now obey her commands. After-all, she's my beyond hot and unfathomably awesome baby-blond love of my life, and the third part of a wild triple GODDESS, and no more needs to be said now or ever, or the entire thing will go right into the NUKESON can! Not yet, Mister McNulty, not unless you think a set of stairs in Suffolk County, New York, was real funny in the very early seventies as well; old pal from Exton, Pennsylvania! So here I am in my car with a tape playing, while doing guard duty one night, during my STOCKHOLM KIDNAPPING days of latter ohm-8 through most of all of ohm-9. By December of 2009, I thought I had learned the full depravity of my oldest daughter's sense of humor. I hadn't. Now laugh if you really are dirt bag enough to want to, MMCN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is like discussing Atlantic City, or Sarah Jacobson, or for that matter; the great United States Government, the Vatican, and the WOMO-MILI-2-FORCE. We can talk, we can cry, we can do a Disney cower speed away with Gramps Spears screaming his lungs out in the back seat for an ever greater metal pedal, but all of that, and so much more; I never until just today, really knew just how down right mean and frightening, my kid can be, once something you do pisses her off. There is no grabbing the minute hand, and trying to fling it back; as it is simply a hopeless cause. The difference between doing things via the ESS, and just lots of other great parlor tricks; is that all averaged out and then remeasured again, the agonies inflicted upon those victimized by either of these monstrous atrocities that dwarf any concept ever conceived by Hitler, the ESS causes way more lifelong everlasting deeper unhealed injuries, after all is said and done, after all the pieces of dog shit are swept up off the smelly floor, and after the fat lady finally sits down, stops writing, stops singing, and keels over like Shelly Winters' heart attack, after her heroic swim-dive, in that great movie, “The Poseidon Adventure”; the ship named after the true King of the sea, Mister Cavelantisocleevious Krassle, AKA Neptune-Jupiter-Poseidon. Him and his lovely wife, on the Astral-Plane, chase me away from their great daughter, Sarah Stacey Jehovah Krassle, and then I am the bad guy for being the victim of this hellish hyper video-game of the Lawnmower-Man-2 system, for roughly, 1.49720507 times ten to the twenty-five trillionth power year equivalent in Astral-Interaction-Event or (AIE); something never measurable to the last drop, any more than we can ever determine an exact relationship of a closed curve (circle), between its through-ness (diameter), and it's all the way around-ness (circumference). We can say 3.14, or take it out a bit more to say, 3.14159265, but it still never ever stops. Yet there is perfect connection, and we can see it with any circle that a child of two, draws on a piece of paper. So before you tell me there are no mysteries unsolvable, let me first take a good healthy crap into your brain, so that maybe you will think better after that. Who can ever know, with or without those cool ass breath echos, Copyright Examiners, AHA-AHA-AHA? Go back to 1971, Mike McNulty. You're not welcome here today, on Morianity. Thank you.

Yes, Lightning told me that I must be honest, and tell the truth. I admit I slightly made things appear just razor edge off of perfect truth when I said on a previous blog that Diana is scared to come around me, just as with many others, and I gave the one real good example around the time that Iraq invaded Kuwait, with the Resident Manager Nate, at the Echelon Towers Building of Voorhees, Township, New Jersey, USAESMWG. I'll bet dimes to cunt sniffing donuts right about now, my old ex-bizz partner PP, is heading straight for his local K-Mart, with his own dirty pants. He must remember the shit I told him through the phone back before he had me rolling on the floor with his voice-mail message that he left me, a year and a half back somewhere in time. He knows I do what needs to be done. He knows if you bastards won't stop hurting me, that I'll do exactly what is needed, to deal with the situation and take care of bizz, a lot better than he ever took care of making all those millions in the music business, WEEEEENA. Yes there have been a lot of very special and very precious girls in my life, and all anyone has to do is examine the United States Copyright Office records, under the name of MARK WAYNE MOHR, to see that this is all true. I do not get stuff from all of them. They get it from me; unless you want to seriously believe that I am a real live true honest to the gods,

T—I—M—E

T—R—A—V—E—L—E—R!

Dear Diary Journal Tape, another day has come and gone, without any teasing Nissan Cars, Finally I'm Free Clariton Clear medications, or higher stock prices. All that's left is my sweet song, Copyright Examiners of 1983, and it makes me very blue, 657 times blue, to be quite honest. Still, I doubt that I will be around very much longer, and cannot wait to make my exit from this prison sentence, called by most, our life. Whether I share any of these coded poems or rhymes with nobody or everybody, is as meaningless and moaningless as 100 great educational television stations. But to Anna at the Medical Institute, and her precious jet black cat back in 1982, I say unto you; wow, soon I will be out of here, paroled, and ready to finally indeed, be Clariton clear and totally free of these emmereffing Earthly bonds!

The women in the lives of heterosexual males, would make quite the biographies in and of themselves. History as the more intelligent souls out there know, doesn't focus too much on people's private personal lives, probably because what little information does indeed make it into history, is merely who did what to who and when and all of that happy crap clap, from John Lennon, to Sarah McLaughlin. Before I march on with this, I really like this SYLFAEN-FONT. It is nice, and not too bold or light, and clear; yet quite different from many others used recently by the ol' fucking Mountainpen!!!!!!!!! Yes, the women in the lives of 'normal' men, as this is saying it very POLITICALLY INCORRECT, but hey, I am saying it, so sue fucking me! The laugh was on you, Tom Glenn old buddy, from early in 1981, over at 1802 Robin Hill Apartments. He was convinced for reasons that made no Earthly sense, that I was a bit light in my fucking loafers, because he heard the song that I had written as a boy, or one of the two I had written in 1969 at age 14 and a half. I was hoping Paula King would someday sing it to me. She has such a lovely voice, and she even sang something underneath of Central Pier to me on that far out first Saturday of July in 1969, when she had dragged me under a very private place where no one could see us. I had written this song shortly after I had written, “THAT'S THE WAY IT GOES”. This song was called, “BURN WITH FIRE”. It was done in lyrics for a girl to sing for her boy. But the great musical arranger, Mister Glenn didn't believe a word that I said to him. He did not ask me any details, and just insisted that I was some fagot, in a nice way of course, and that the song was about some kid that I knew. This of course was beyond disgusting and revolting to me, and I actually was thinking that I wanted to walk into the kitchen, grab a sharp turkey knife, come back into the living room where we had set up some recording equipment and his guitar, and I was thinking for a quick second, that I wanted to cut his living fucking guts out. This is why the great National Rifleman's Associating cannot be argued with, much as I personally despise all guns and weapons; but I could have left old Tommy boy all cut to hell, and to bleed out, on Robin Hill's nice apartment rug; on that day, early in 1981; and I have never owned a gun, or any projectile firing weapon. But I do confess to loving meat, eating meat, and needing large cutting knives to prepare that meat. But getting back to the topic of the ladies in the lives of us normal non-gay dudes out there; Tom Glenn was totally convinced, and wouldn't listen to a very logical and true reason, for why my song lyrics in “BURN WITH FIRE”, were written as follows:

I'm sayin' this to you boy

You bring me thrill and joy

When you just touch me

What can I say

I want you real bad

You make me so glad

Just you and me boy

Please baby stay

The things you do to me

Beyond my fantasy

The way you hold me tight

Let's keep it hot tonight

Don't let it ever end

Oh baby please pretend

Just say you love me

Make me feel so right

You make me burn with fire like a soul in hell

You bring me more desire than I could ever tell

I wanna' love my baby 'till the end of time

Come on little baby, gonna' make you mine

This chorus is then followed by a second verse, and that can wait for another time, if ever, but my point is Tom Glenn's weird attitude about not believing that this was not a song for me to sing to some boy, but that I was hoping someday to have someone I knew a dozen years ago, to sing it to me, as she had a lovely voice. As I told him this, my memories of many things flooded into me; but so did lots of intense anger as he kept laughing, and saying he knew better, and on and on. The details that follow, leading to a block out of lots of my memories for about a month or so, that my own mom thought I was faking; can wait to be told, as more blogs are written in future times. But as stated, the real stories of men and history, are ALL ABOUT “THE WOMEN OF THEIR LIVES”, to quote the great and powerful cool wild dude from the middle eighties, Mister Bob Patterson Cheatley!!!

W---O---W

Gina my giant lovely night girl of the nineties, YO, I TOLD YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe you listened, but I doubt it. You and I were kind of busy in bed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'll bet dimes to donut holes that AT&T and Verizon, got a kick out of my speed dialer that they featured with voice control. I would just say 'GIANT GINA', and boom, her sex-service would ring. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Hay, under 18, stay off the dam MORIANITY BLOGS, YO.

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END TRANSMISSION.

SUNDAY MORNING, 27 DECEMBER, 2015

GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 20

It's 75 degrees here in Fort Pierce, Florida, USA; and the relative humidity is 89%, making it feel like 79. The time is 6:42 Ante' Meridian. Recently five things are happening to me on an ever increasing basis. 1) nasty fucking klutz-out attacks. 2) Nasty Jane Thistleweeds assaults with counters, clocks, and whatever. 3) Nasty utility and small aircraft siege increasing over a long term average measured in annual quarters. 4) Dreams about both of my parents on a steady basis. 5) Death angel attacks. When things are this bad and it starts and keeps on fucking going; I know that my life is on the line, and that this is DEAD-ASS-SERIOUS as a Clarence Harris 1998 heart attack!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Saturday was real bad. I had major private plane attack around me all day especially around my residence PHA building. It was there when I came home from driving to my local Subway Restaurant for a 'Footlong-Hoagie' Sandwich yesterday, while I was parking at my lot, and it was all around the building,both before and after I went out. Also, my computer is being super big time hacked, with some jerk off attaching themselves, according to a screen I got while trying to post up at Wordpress yesterday, telling me this is causing my Internet-Explorer system to keep going off and stop running, while trying to do any sort of blog-related item. This has been bad for two or three weeks now, and all of the computer woes that have become super fucking nasty again,began the last time that Microsucks did their stupid mother fucking updates to my system, also a couple weeks or so back, give or take some days.

As you should know, for those following me for any length of time; my mother was killed, and brought back for 26 months as a zombie, and was never the same person, and this happened around 5 in the morning on 26 December, in 1997. Now if my memory serves me correctly, and I'm not off a year; it was exactly nine years later, when I too died around 5 in the mother fucking morning, and on 26 December. This was, I believe, in 2006. This took place with my mom at our Somerdale home in Jersey, while she was sleeping and around the time she was to arise. With me, I was at my job at the Cifaloglio plant, on an early Sunday morning following Saturday Christmas; so the year was whenever Sunday fell on the twenty-sixth of December, be in 2005, 2006, or 2007. I am pretty sure it was the middle of these three times. In any event, give me a turd chewing break here folks; please. What are the mathematical fucking odds of both my mom and I dying, and somehow being brought back again, at around 5 in the morning, on the day following Christmas, on two years within a decade of each other?

National Outlook Video

What to do, and where they may possibly go, REAL WORLD, WOW Mister Shakespeare, what a question that would be, OR NOT BE, huh, YO???

Now I admit that Thursday, a couple hours after that horrible shit in Cali, the markets went down for the day, and for all I know they were down and came up; but I don't know, and so I won't say. That is just fair, and I am fair, and play by the rules of fair, as otherwise; who would I ever be, to talk about those who don't, for crissake? But the very next day after a big drop, all the losses were made up, +++PLUS+++ nearly another hundred points of profit were gained. Now AGAIN, we have a stock market that is responding +++POSITIVELY+++ to terrorism, and that makes me more nervous than any fucking terrorist ever could, with all their dam weapons and horror. I said after the attack a couple of weeks back, in Paris France, the very same thing. WHY IS THE DOW JONES RACING UP A THOUSAND POINTS AFTER TERRORISM, it is not normal, it goes against 150 years of trading history, and it PROVES to anyone not totally fucking brain-dead, that something is going on here, and it ain't fuckign good one little tiny ass bit, YO. It seems that WALL STREET, by its very own trading behavior, is responding favorably to terrorism. If you can argue back with me on this, then do it. Comment, you buttwipes, but if you choose not to, then I am going to assume that you agree or you are major major Milituforce Enemies to Mountainpen and Morianity. The ONLY THING THAT RATIONALLY EXPLAINS WHAT IS HAPPENING NOW AFTER TWO HORRENDOUS TERROR ATTACKS FOLLOWED BY SUPER BULL MOVING STOCKS ON FUCKING WALL STREET, is that I AM RIGHT, and that this has nothing at all to do with national, or global events; or anything that used to apply, in some real world of my NON-HELL, ever since 15 August of 1986; when my life turned a major and inconceivable LIVING NIGHTMARE HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If my story of what has happened to me, for thirty mother fuckiGN years, is just lies, or a hoax, or is in my deluded sick mind; then there is absolutely no dam way that anyone with knowledge of the stock market and general overall business, can tell me that my point is not valid here. A rising market during the biggest peak in terrorism, the second half of 2015? Makes sense only if you choose to believe that fucking ISIS owns and controls the stock market. Somehow I think Cousin Donald and I would argue vehemently against that possibility, YO!!!!! Also, a technology that is super black ops covert, hushed up majestic level top secret classified, ICPE-APE-TECHNOLOGY; is indeed being used on poor Mark Wayne Mohr, and has been for 30 solid years; and this is the result, and the effect, of this being done; a market that went from 1,800 or so points, to over 18,000 or so points. That is not the standard amount of annual gain from the time these markets were created!!!!!!!!!!!!! They probably have already been experimenting on some of you without your awareness to it, so that it will begin with you, as soon as I kick the Christ off. You can laugh at me now, and think you will all escape this shit. And folks, you are wet in the head, and a lot of you will be targeted or someone who you know and love will be targeted. Laugh all you want at me, but that's just reality son!!!!!!!!!!!

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This map and legend is shared on the BOM.

Advisory Colors Key
	Severe Thunderstorm Warning
	Tornado Warning
	WeatherBug Dangerous Thunderstorm Alert
	Severe Thunderstorm Watch - Box
	Tornado Watch - Box
	Flood Warning
	Flood Watch
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	Severe Weather Statement
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Note: The image above may not reflect the current alert state for your county due to a several minute delay between the issuance of the alert and the map processing.

© MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2015

© BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN (BOM)

EVER SINCE 1980 THIS STARTED, AND TO QUOTE MISTER NON-DEEDEE ANDERTON OF THE SOON TO FOLLOW 'L&O' TV-SHOW; WHEN IT STARTS, ''IT STARTS''!

Boy oh boy oh boy, Mom, I am about to join Uncle Wonderfulife Billy in the transdimensional insane asylum.

All it's gonna' take at this point, is another Karen Simons/James Stuart “CRAZY-MAN EXPRESSION”. Put anybody through what I have gone through, and even fucking Mister Capra admits this truth, Miss Thistleweeds Microsucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Watch the movie and see it for yourselves, YO. Don't ever take my god dam word for fucking shit. I wouldn't respect you if you did, not when it is easy as all fucking shit to verify!

''JOJO-JOJO''; HUH NASTY ASS, SARAH C. M.

MAY THE PLAGUES OF THE NILE RIVER BE VISITED ON MY MILITUFORCE DIRT BAG ENEMIES, UNTIL WALL STREET CRUMBLES TO RUBBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SO TWEET-TWEET-TWEET THAT, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The only reason that I don't run far away to a place in South America and tell major secrets, is because until and if I can ever know for sure, just exactly who has wrecked my entire life covertly, Mister Crane sir, and exactly why; is something Dave Roth spoke to me in 1988 while I was living in Jim Wilson's shitty little doll house in Moorestown, New Jersey. He said it isn't right to shoot in a large darkened room filled with a few guilty enemies but also lots of innocent targets. I won't do anything wrong, not unless and until it is verified that it was my country that wiped me out, and for no good cause. I can never seem to get one step ahead no matter how much mother fuckiGN time passes by, as to just exactly who this MILITUFORCE truly mother fuckign dick licking is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is the only thing saving lots of rotten slobs from getting a lot worse than just some bad storms and other problems, from MAGGIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Pulsaton Directed Field weapons or 'PDF-WEAPONS', can be used to take out an entire area, up to a planet and down to a city, and all hearts, great and powerful as they may be, just go, to quote mister eighth grade HTHS teacher, Mister quay, “KAPUT”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ALL ADORABLE SAVANTS KNOW---THE END!

GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 19

It is a very strange feeling to know that you died and went to hell. No one on Earth will believe you, so if it should ever happen to anyone else, may the gods take pity, although that is doubtful. They sure as shit sugar take none on me. I was just in a parallel world with my father, who was acting strangely even for him. It involved some DVD movies, an area in Philadelphia that does not exist here in this world, and I don't think those particular movies exist in that one either, and I'll come to that in a minute, as it is major. It also involved a couple of very strange extremely overweight women that my dad seemed to know from the area there, and it involved my telephone, as well as the video store where I was trying to purchase those movies. First off, here in this waking world, I have a list printed up, or had one, on my word program documents. It appears to have mysteriously vanished, as I know that it can be in one of two places, the most recent NOTES PAGE, or the PERSONAL PHONEBOOK PAGE. However, after carefully checking those two pages, it is not there. I remembered wanting to get these movies from being me here, and although I was inside my double over there who was making the purchase, I decided to take over my double and become a T3E. I wanted to try and make him purchase these half dozen movies on my list. He had already begun to strike up a conversation with some dude who was employed at this local area video store, that was not a large chain. As I was about to tell him what I was looking to buy, only one movie came to mind, and my mind was totally blanked out concerning the others. I have come to realize that these movies don't exist over there, so when you lose memory of something that over here you would have a clear memory to, a gap-out or block-out, as has happened to me here as you all know; then this is when it could very well be being caused by a T3E indwelling inside of you and trying to take you over to have you do or not do something. It seems this is how it works. If you try and make your doppelganger buy a movie that never was made there in a parallel universe, he or she by merely being physically attached to their own universe, will try desperately to reason out what they are doing, and this causes you to have your own memories of it while there, blocked and gapped out as well. As I speak at 56 minutes past 11 on Saturday morning, 26 December of 2015, I am getting a fucking right side death angel attack. As for the telephone, my father was trying to do something questionable with my landline telephone, at the behest of these two huge lady friends, who he seemed to know from where we all were living, in some very high hilly area of Philadelphia; and it was not in the Roxboro section. The phone was the old square desk landline phone, with button tone dialing, and was white. Somehow in this parallel world, I had some weird cellphone with me at the video-store, that was just two blocks away from our place; and I was being given the warning signal, or my double was. I noticed that when I could not tell what I wanted, the employee had gone back into a store room area; so I just left and rushed up a hill, and back to my residence. when I saw what was going on, my double freaked out, and I was not in control, and just continued in the experience, observing the events there, as a TYPE-1-EXPLORATRON (T-1-E). This annoying mother fucking SPACING-HACK is cunt lapping murder; FCC Bob McDowell, FBI, and ACLU, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Anyway, moving on, I watched my double take the white telephone and do something to some connecting bunch of wires, that caused whatever my father had done, to become totally deactivated. Then I flipped and yelled, and sat down, and began staring up at the ceiling. This is when the two ladies walked in and just stood there near to where my father was still standing, also real pissed off. I began cursing out GOD, really badly. You know, the old spiel of all of the shit that is happening and wrong is GOD'S fault, and I was using horrible and disgusting swear words. When I had finished, I got up and began walking out onto my porch, and the ladies followed me out and began under their breath, saying all sorts of rebuking crap to me, and I got mad, and called them, ''fat old meddling fools'', and told them to get away from me. Then the black one, as one was white and one was black, and they had to weigh at least 350 pounds each; grabbed me and threw me about eight feet and I tumbled and rolled off of my porch, and onto the sidewalks of the Philadelphia streets. My head banged into a telephone poll and when I stood up, I was dizzy and fell back down. This is when the white lady grabbed me and lifted me up in front of her by my arms, with such force, that I thought my poor flabby arms were going to literally implode. Then she walked me up the street to her house about three down from mine, took me inside, and smacked me around, knocking me into all kinds of lamps, and just like in the dam movies, I heard glass shattering real loud as I kept continually flying into furniture objects, over and over. After about two minutes, she grabbed one of my arms super tight again and pushed me right into a thin wall that seemed to separate the house from a tiny one car garage, and I went went through the partition and struck an automobile that was parked inside of this garage, so hard; that I remember feeling my entire hip breaking. I tried to limp towards the open garage door that led out to the street, but I fell down, and then she began kicking me in the head, and in my ribs, breaking my ribs, and making me cough up blood. I tried to escape the horrible fate of my doppelganger at this point, and kept telling myself that I am in a parallel universe, and need to completely leave there. Instead however; I found myself eight blocks away, down this long city hill of small row type homes that Philadelphia is so known for, and I seemed to be totally OK and 'uninjured', to quote Mister Star Trek Spock. A beautiful young girl of twenty give or take a year or so was right there, and she seemed to know me from that parallel. We talked as we began walking back up the hill, and she told me that my father would end up wiping out my life if I don't find a way to either move far away or else have him arrested, as over there, he had a serious criminal record, and I later learned from her, that this towel-seepage was somehow connected to why the FBI wanted to talk to him back in the days when my mom was told to come into their Philadelphia offices, for some questioning upon several occasions, as told about on several previous blogging texts. Further details to all of this can wait for still other future blogs, but I did come to learn that this was the same girl who I used to like a lot back in the City Center School, on 20^th And Chestnut Streets, when I there, back in the days of the Kennedy assassination. Her name was Esther Pinkston. She was a white hot jet black lovely goddess, even at age nine, and I remember even back then, wanting to hold her and kiss her, and if I had been a couple of years older, I know I would have been out of my skull wanting to hit that, as they say! Time in parallel worlds does not need to make sense and be in some equally running continuum. In this world, Esther Pinkston would be my age, around age 61, yet over there, I was about fifteen years younger, mid fortyish, yet she was less than half my dam age at maybe 20. My mom was totally out of the picture in this parallel world, also. More about this wild 25-TRIP, Mister Marcucci, Beatles, and others; can wait for later on, BRAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DECEMBER 26, 2015,

EARLY ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON AT 12:28,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.

CURRENT TEMPERATURE IS 80 DEGREES FNHT.

RANGE TODAY-------(H-81/L-72).

PREDICTED HIGH TODAY IS 82,

ALONG WITH CONSIDERABLE CLOUDINESS.

RELATIVE HUMIDITY IS 79%, AND IT FEELS LIKE 85.

WIND IS ESE AT 17, GUSTING TO 27.

TOTAL RAIN TODAY IN CENTI-INCHES-0.

The U. S. Copyright Office has the copy of this, on a cassette tape, from 1988 and 1989.

Peeps; I only report the news, I don't make it.

Having the Exploratronic Supermind Society personally working against you and your life since birth, and connected into your entire family as well, as James T. Burr seemed to totally know about way back in the middle nineteen-seventies; is, to quote the Amazon giants of all types, totally soul crushing. I wish the mighty fucking MUFON people would try and assist me, and render some aid to a dying pathetic and pitiful dam dude!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!