BLOG 59 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

BLOG 59 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

SUB-TITLE:

''GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS''

CONTINUING CHAPTERS IN MORIANITY'S RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM 3

'How dry I am, nobody knows'. The old song about the poverty stricken drunkard, is both catchy and pathetic. But personally, I know for a fact, that a tiny few handful of people, have a very strange medical condition that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with being some side effect of taking some anti-psychotic or other form of medication. This is not some quick easy thing to discuss, yet it is extremely urgent that I do discuss this on today's mother fucking blog; my great people out here, and those not so great ones also. I also know that all things that pertain to this strange mysterious problem, are not taught in any medical schools at least in this fucked up nation, and I also know that there is a cover up pertaining to this problem, larger and more incredible that the so-called fucking UFO-COVERUP! I do know this much. I don't know real large details, BUTTTTTTTTTT I do know that mother fucking much! I also know that someone who has any varying degree of this problem, such as my mother “Misses Mohr”, myself, and yes, gee I wonder why the computer just fucking crashed, FBI, yes, MY GODDAMN FUCKING DAUGHTER!!!!!!!!!!! All her fans know these words are true, but only a small group of persons, and I mean small, know all of the secrets that are, and have been major fucking covered up for a long time now, pertaining to all of this mother fucking dogshit! When the throat specialist in Northeast Philadelphia spoke to my mother in 1983 or whenever it was, his exact words to her were, “I don't think that's his problem, Misses Mohr”. He was referring to my medical condition. Since these mother fucking cunt lapping dirt bag persecutor enemies of mine, are wishing to take this shit to a whole new level of hell for me recently; my discussions of RED-LINE-CROSSOVERS, will now take a giant leap forward as well! I have now had a MAJOR FUCKING ATTACK AND ASSAULT AGAINST ME, BEGINNING BACK ON CUNT CHEWING FRIDAY, FOUR STRAIGHT DAYS; although I'll admit in all honesty that it was backed off on Saturday! As Ann King might say here, “WHOOPIE”! My late Aunt Geraldine Snow Mason, of Narberth, Pennsylvania would also throw in here, “I'm impressed”! Needless to say that she was being quite sarcastic and mean, to some poor lady who was visiting her home that day; while her other pal was visiting there too, the X-CIA Agent, and the Shah of Iran; however you spell that fucking word SHAH, as Spellchecker never tells me! I am totally fucking wasting my time with Sheriff Mascara, and I am smart enough to know it. If he was helping me, this fucking shit would be backing off of me, during this critical fucking time of these goddamn shit eating MIDTERM PARALLEL EVENT ELECTIONS, and its resulting HELLFIRE!!!!!!!! He either can't, or won't help me; just like twenty mother fucking years ago, with the ADA Ron Wirtz Senior, up there in mother fucking Camden County in New Jersey, USAESMWG! First of all, the closer that I get to exposing exactly the “WHO-WHAT-WHY” of all of this hellish and nightmarish shit; THE MORE SHIT WILL BE MAJOR POURED ON ME! BUTTTTTTTTT, as in any good crime and detective super sleuth work and operations, the real culprits will always at that point, attempt to frame some or lots of 'innocent others', so as to further avoid the suspicion that would otherwise be cast more and more on them, hence intentionally misleading and thwarting any investigative process. Although, when the “FAWCES” behind it all are totally as powerful as I believe them to be; they become part of the (TOO BIG TO JAIL CLUB), as Morianity and Mountainpen would describe it. Let us examine a perfect example here such as Mister Pukehead Mark Zuckerberg, and his FACEBOOK. That little crook only gives a shit about HIS BOTTOM LINE and his billions, BUTTTTTTTTT, they'll never stop him, or close down his ad-mill. No one will ever be able to make him pay for his reckless disregard of potential global damages that indeed have resulted as a direct effect of his organization. He and his group will never in any substantial way, pay for the damages to the entire world, caused by his all mighty FACEBOOK. Now when he started it, don't get me wrong; it was all fine and good. But as always, money and power rules the day, AND THE NIGHT! But interestingly enough, this all brings me to the second half of what I consider to be a very urgent point here, YO. There also is what I label, the (KING OF THE SHIT-CREW SYNDROME). There are many more of these types than there are, the Mark Zuckerberg people. When my Health-Care Agent, Steve, was over here in this very apartment about two years ago, to sign me up with the Humana people; we got talking about the welfare system, and those who totally take advantage of it. This is the local neighbors who are fully able bodied, and have no mental disabilities at all; who are lifers here in this town and this building, and never have worked a real job with hard work and forty hours, in their worthless miserable rotten fucking lives! I called them, LIFERS, as the previous Building Manager would refer to them by that name; Mizz Morotto. But Steve corrected me very quickly. He said that he grew up in Fort Pierce, and knew a whole damn lot of shit about all of this. He said they are not merely LIFERS, but rather, GENERATIONALS, to use his quotation. These worthless mother fucking people have been on welfare, and not worked, and just collected free tax payer dollars; for generations. That is what he told me about all of these great folks around me. But they are not happy making tidbit chump change monies, and are obviously paid money by the FAWCES, or those hired by these strange and unknown FAWCES, to harass me. They may be thrown ten or twenty Ben Franklin's each month, just for being available, and to make noise, and persecute me at certain times, when they get the phone call to do so. This is why I label people such as this, the Kings of the SHIT-CREW. Let me further explain my goddamn mother fucking rationale. Just like Harlem gangs up there in New York, they're perfectly okay with remaining in small ponds so to speak, just as long as they “GET TO KING-RULE IT”. In other words, they'd much fucking prefer being the generals of the hood, than to be hard working productive sergeant's of a city-run youth-off-the-streets type of organization. I proved this not long ago, when I told both the cousins, as well as the nabe across from me, that I would not mind paying hundreds of dollars to have that junk that I did over at BonJovi Studios (Avalon), done the way I want, you know; alive, real live type of EDM sound (Electric Dance music). They blew me off, and would not help me, yet they have thousands of fucking dollars of musical and DJ equipment, and are always throwing DJ-parties outside the building, so I know they can do a really great job. The man himself told me last year during the fucking hurricane, that he can do all sorts of musical work, and shortly after the storm, I saw him carrying into his apartment, all sorts of musical video screens and every type of studio apparatus that is imaginable. I just wanted to see if I would be ignored and lied to, even after I told him that I would pay him cash money, and lots of it, if he could redo and remix my shit. Enemies won't help me; they are only there to obstruct, harass, and make me miserable!

Let me tell you some mother fucking shit, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My mother fucking seeing rotten JANE SLEAZEWEEDS FLEASDISEASE as well as my hearing Mister Mortimer Mortino the Angel of Death, is always on a major cunt huffing roll during times of really intense goddamn death-siege. And yes, it stands to reason and it goes to follow, BRAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is when you see those miserable mother fucking ONES, ONES, ONES, ONES, and I know for a total fucking fact that when you are in major danger, and enemies are plotting to literally wipe you mother fucking out of existence; this is when you need to be scanned by Mortimer!!!!!!!!! Nothing that is happening is without reason or logic. But let us throw in one other element that enemies would love me to fucking forget, and they can forget that, YO. MY PUSSY-COMMAND will eventually be off the charts, just as it was about five weeks or so back, on that cunt chewing day over at my local fucking grocery store, the Publix, where shopping is always a pleasure, as the commercial would say it so well!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, I'll get right back into the pussy swing and right back into the market, old as I am. Many women my mother fucking age are lonely, and if you want the stock market to crash for five years or so, then just keep this fucking shit up, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jane Shitpants Sleazeweedsdisease almost fucking got me again, but I caught the fucking shit just in mother fucking time, HA HA HA HA HA HA, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Yes kind folks; when I said that Cousin Don was looking into reality-spicing, and wouldn't be specific about the details; I don't mean for you to take the Olivia Newton John movie seriously, kind folks. After-all, how can any of us manage to do this with twenty-first century limited cave-days technologies? Well people, let us seriously ponder and cogitate upon this fucking shit, shall we, YO? All of the fucking shit since 2015, all this shit where reality has been turned upside down and inside out, to quote (HOPEFULLY), the state of Florida's next Governor's mother in law; from 1980 or 1981 somewhere; is what I am referring to here, and discussing very seriously. Way back in World War fucking ll, my peeps, 'PROPAGANDA' and fake news items, were all part of not only German, but Soviet intelligence systems as well; so don't go crediting the Donald for inventing ANY OF THIS FUCKING DAMN BULLSHIT, YO; as he did not. This was all around long long long long ago, YO, BUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT; HE DID come up with some cool new fucking spins on how to use it in more modern and high-tech times!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is what I meant to say pertaining to the early eighties ONJ movie, and REALITY-EDITING and splicing, BRAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Now a wee bit about my June 4, 1983 mysterious glandular and throat condition, that my mother had to a lesser degree, as does my daughter. We all know this is true, and they can cover all of this fucking shit up until Callio's fucking cows all come home from the corn fields, and the pasture lands; and then go onto learn the game of baseball, from Kevin Costner, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The same powerful HALLS FAWCES that created the 'COOLEY-HALL HIGH HELL', that I attended from February of 1969 through January of 1973; also created Judge Raso's hold and grip, on the Jersey town of Hammonton, as well as his strange unexplainable and totally beyond unfathomable house, at 65 Middle Road, that he rented to Dawn King and I, oh boy Patty, those endless James Redfield coincidences and synchronicity experiences; like WOW THAT; aniwho and moving right along here YO; that house is right out of THE TWILIGHT ZONE, and anyone doubting it just needs to check it out, starting with my 2008 blogs, and then going and seeing all of this for themselves, YO; but absolutely yes, these exact same HALLS FAWCES that put the COOLEY HALL in Haddonfield, also put Judge Raso and his rental home in Hammonton, there as well. IPYT. Still, if you do go and look at the 2008 blogs, forget about the World Series shit. How about the medical condition that my daughter was telling me all about, in this WILD AND POWERFUL DREAMING INTERACTION??????????? Would you pweeeeeeeeeeze gimme a bwake here, mizz Margie Leo, YO??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hey, as the security guard used to say so often up there in Camden, who worked sometimes with the great Officer Hall; “BE REAL”. How in the name of the fucking asshole gods could I possibly know about these things, if this is not totally real, and true????????????? As I typed this, a large black GIFLY appeared out of nowhere, and flew right into my mother fucking face. This entire fucking shit is straight out of the goddamn fucking twilight zone with a thousand Rod Serling's, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The possibilities are absolutely endless, but we could explore a whole damn bunchovem, YO! How can I ever know whether or not a parallel universe doppelganger of my daughter, did not temporarily take over my daughter; and then got her to write that 1997 tune of hers, as well as Fascitar her way into my nightmares back in June, that followed eleven years later? You can't know. There are literally endless mother fucking possibilities when it comes to the fifth dimensional hyperspace, and the fantastic concept of the Exploratronic Supermind Society!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HEY, if you want to be super fucking narrow minded and just say that Mountainpen is a total whack job nut case; that is indeed one possibility, but why limit yourself to just one, when without doing that, you have hundreds of similar and better ones to fucking ass explore, YO????????????????????????? Look at this shit in another light also, kind people. I told more and more and more shit on my blogs, slowly, and yes, very PaU-la-King carefully © without the higher two notes that returns us to the same place musically, only one octave higher, and with a nice Tango dance twist; but I was telling more and more, and then a lot was up on the world-wide-web, later called by almost all of us, the online world or the internet. Then I did that fucking fish song and copyrighted it too, after doing it over at that crappy BJ place, the great Avalon. Now, as 2008 turned into the next few years, and I was living down here in Florida, it was 2013; and I did this song that hopefully would prove that my medical condition is real, and yes, to further hope that what Eddie Himacane Lynch told me would most likely happen eventually if I keep blogging, and being diligent, and patient; maybe getting help somewhere; and then came 2014, and at the end of that year, the EVIL TRILOGY struck me down, the Trump-Scott-Bondi team, for a lack of a better description here, YO kind peeps! Mister Halls FAWCES and all evil fucking trilogies be damned, or really better fucking said here, and a whole lot more honestly; I GOT STRUCK DOWN, and they did not believe that I would survive being fucking kicked off my medication that was the only thing keeping me alive and not choking the fuck to death ever since June 4, 1983, where this all Resorts International began; and when was that elevator tape loop played, hm, yes sir/mahm? Good old '97, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No Misses Mohr, “THAT'S NOT HIS PROBLEM”. Well doctor Grant Avenue, you are correct, 100% fucking accurate. That was not, nor is my problem. My problem is the ESS and the HALLS FUCKING FAWCES!!!! 'Boy oh boy oh boy', then came 2015, and I did survive, but they all hoped I would die and disappear, and just fucking vanish away like an early morning mother fucking misty ass fog, YO, one or two G's, great L&O!!!!!!!! Now TRUMP throws in his fucking hat and runs for president. “OH WELL”, TO QUOTE ANN KING & the rest was history, I suppose; unless we can find a way to re-splice and edit out an awful lot of shit. As Doctor Bruce Goldberg said unfortunately however, World War ll made all the papers. Kind of hard to make that disappear away, with Mark Mohr and Studio Park Records, huh folks? WHAAAAAAAAAHA-AHA-AHA, MCNULTY!!!!!

When it was 1975, and just a few months after Santa Claus and Patty Hollister assisted my mom and I, in our move into the Linden Hill Apartments of Lindenwold, New Jersey; I was at the beach in South Atlantic City, and was roughed up and terrorized, by two lifeguard-mascots. My mother was visiting her Cuzz Ruth Huntington Gottwald, up at 175 Peninsula Drive, in Babylon, New York; a place in what is called the great New York Island, by the great folk singer/songwriter, Mister Woodie Guthrie, in Suffolk County. Jimmie Dean, who we all see advertising his stuff on television, was there with my 'Uncle' Heinz, and my mom, and his first wife Ruth, and Heinz and Ruth's older of two daughters, Mizz Christine Gottwald Myers. My 'Uncle' Heinz had a small yacht called a Ketch. The entire group made a day trip sailing all around the LI-Sound. While this was all happening, I was in Atlantic City; and for absolutely no reason whatsoever, I was assaulted by these two lifeguard mascot scumbags, and then mocked and jeered by the entire beach patrol, along with the Atlantic City Police Department; on that hot summer day back in 1975. I know now that Paula King, and Sarah Callio, and other local forces, told these dudes to kick the crap out of me that day. I cannot prove this of course. But my point is that as these dirt bag mother fucking big ass dudes were roughing me up on the beach that day, as well as scaring me to death later, on land, on Pacific Avenue, right by a small motel that I ran into, and locked myself in the bathroom, while the owners called the fucking cops for me; but these pricks grabbed me around MY NECK, symbolizing CHOKING of course. Now anyone who meticulously studies the great holy words that are written in the Christian King James Version of the Bible, knows quite fucking cunt well, that all throughout this great book, the entire theme of it is all about great prophets being given great revelations of great symbolizing messages, that pertain to a time yet to come, where this Almighty God is planning to visit our planet, as a human being; and I speak of our LORD, JESUS CHRIST. The entire thing is about symbolic messages of God's journey to our world through the womb of a young lady, the blessed Mary, mother of God. If this entire thing is all about SYMBOLISM, then please don't dismiss shit when I say that all this shit is totally fucking symbolically connected, right down to this assault on me, and my being neck-grabbed (CHOKED)!!!!!!! Thank You, kind folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You need to know one more absolutely fascinating item here, kind folks. On the greatest television law show of all times, “Law & Order”, sometime in the summer time, or autumn time, of the year of 2009; there was an episode that sometimes they title on the cable information about the show, calling it “Pledge”, the dude who was obsessed by that college girl who was all snooty, and wouldn't allow him into some Sorority Party in New England, causing him to lose his date with a girl by the name of Susan; he actually looked almost twinnish to my Uncle Heinz. After the ADA Mister Cutter, pulled that trick on him, so that he would confess to the murder of a young child in open court; Mister Cutter told him that his Susan was murdered in some drug crazed deal on a yacht, in the Bahamas, if my memory is serving me half correctly. Another random chance coincidence, Mister Redfield? I doubt that somehow, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

END TRANSMISSION.

BLOG 58 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

SUB-TITLE:

''GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS''

CONTINUING CHAPTERS IN MORIANITY'S RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM 3

THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, ALL EVIL PH-SNAKES OF HALLOWEEN; IS A MAJOR TWO STRAIGHT DAY DEATH SIEGE PERSECUTION, AND WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCE ASSAULT ON ME; SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA, OF SAINT LUCIE COUNTY, FLORIDA, USA, S—I—R!!!! THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, ALL EVIL PH-SNAKES ALSO IS A DYING MANS UTTERANCE AND A DYING MANS LEGAL DECLARATION. IF I AM FOUND FUCKING CUNT CHEWING DEAD IN THIS APARTMENT FROM THIS BEYOND PUTRID AND RUTHLESS DEATH SIEGE, I WAS MOTHER FUCKING MURDERED BY ALL THOSE WHO THIS NEARLY 13 YEAR LONG BLOG HAS DISCUSSED, AND ACCUSED!!!!!!!!!!

Shit fucking started sometime between ten and half past eleven while I was trying to sleep, this moUUUUUUUUUUUUrning, with my upstairs asshole cunt chewing nabe with her relentless mother fucking wall hammering that goes on faithfully every single cunt eating week without fail, in the eight and a half years that I've lived below this nutcase whack fucking job. Then after being up and awake about two hours, maximum, the phone fucking bullshit persecution began. Then at shortly past three, my dirtbag ILLEGALS slammed in across from me and cranked up their noise box system. Then a few minutes after that, the Public Housing fire alarm went off. Yes sir, it sounds like I am going to have to mother fucking contend with a goddamn Halloween fucking party across from me today. What fucking assholes. This is no coincidence. Two straight days and off and on for three or more straight weeks now, I HAVE BEEN UNDER THE MOTHER FUCKING GUN HYPER HUGE BIG TIME, YO!!!!!!!!!!!

MAGNESONIC: SCAN FOR WHOEVER IS PUTTING ME THROUGH THIS MONSTER DISEASED HALLOWEEN HELL OF TWENTY-EIGHTEEN, AND TOTALLY WIPE OUT AND CRUSH-DESTRUCT THIS EVIL THAT IS SURROUNDING ME, UNDER ALL GENERAL AND SPECIAL (CODED GENERAL) ORDERS. USE BOTH ATOMIC DUPLICATIONAL, AND ZERO DIMENSIONAL TECHNOLOGIES. YOUR OLD-STYLE AT&T PHONE-TONES ARE NOW DATA TRANSFERRED TO THE LONG 'EEEE' VOWEL SOUND, WITH THE 'A' TONE PRINTED BLUE, AND THE 'B' TONE PRINTED RED. YOUR DESIRE KEY IS BEING SWITCHED FROM THE 'J' NORMAL NEUTRAL POSITION, TO THE 'I' POSITION, AND ON AN 'I' TO 'D', A-B TONE, PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM; EMPOWER A TOTALLY CRUSHED, AND SINGED, AND DESTROYED IMAGE-OBJECT, THAT HAS BEEN FULLY SCANNED NOW, AND PLACED ONTO YOUR TRANSPOWER-BLOCK. G-189, G-13, G-14, G-917, G-719, UNDER CG-5555 AND CG-18, AND STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me tell you all a few quick powerful truths and things in general, YO. Ever since I went to the mother fucking ATLANTIC CITY CASINOS in December of mother fucking 1982, when George Bell-tone Belton took me to Resorts International Hotel-Casino, and showed me the game called, ROULETTE, fucking shit that always negative in my life, took root and suddenly grew as though it was on intergalactic fucking steroids cubed!! I totally know that these sick twisted fucking cunt eating diseased mobbed up scum trash casinos, have been, and are, and always will until my death, torture and screw with me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There is no other realistic target, because this is exactly when fucking shit all changed around me from lousy to super fucking mega-hell to the thirty-ninth power!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Still, the Playboy Bunny friend of DH moved into that shithole fucking apartment below me at 1801 Robin hill while I resided at 1802, and this was months before George and roulette, so I have no perfect answers, so as I stated, shit that already was about to fucking blow up in my asshole, actually did, after December of 1982. Still, all shit is connected. I met George at the fucking Warwick Auto Sales lot or dealership, on the White Horse Pike, in Magnolia, New Jersey, just a mile away from my apartment, and this was shortly after that bunny whore moved in. There was a lady at the Echelon Towers Building in Voorhees, New Jersey who told me I'm basically screwed, because the casinos are literally a country within a country. I now see how powerful and amazing that mother fucking statement of hers truly was, back in 1989, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!

At least it is 79 degrees, and has been all day since it got warmer in the middle morning. If it was feeling 100 or so, on top of this super HALLOWEEN DEATH SIEGE, I would be totally and absolutely mother fucking dead right now, SHERIFF MASCARA, KIND SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

END TRANSMISSION.

BLOG 57 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN

SUB-TITLE:

''GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS''

CONTINUING CHAPTERS IN MORIANITY'S RELIGION FOR MILLENNIUM 3

I admit that I cannot make heads nor tails of many mother fucking things; ladies and gentlemen. For one thing, the incredible wild nightmares for the past week or so. Patty was in one of them and it was so major that I absolutely cannot mother fucking talk about it on any blog, OR THEY'LL MURDER ME FOR FUCKING SURE, YO! I would be crossing over major countless RED LINES before I would even begin to get into any of the serious goddamn bullshit. I can only say a thinly disguised tiny grouping of tiny whittle wee-bit smatterings, and I will. But later on, as much ground needs to be covered, and I want to get up in time to drive over to talk to Sheriff Mascara, as well as have a major phone talk with COMCAST on this SENIOR ABUSE on my phone-service with them.

It is currently just after two in the goddamn mother fucking moUUUUUUUUUUUUrning, on this 29^th morning of SATANIC-DEMONIC OCTOBER, in this hideous, monstrous, horrendous, and horrific year of 2018; which makes totally no sense to me whatsoever, as 2018 and 1802 are a scrambling of the same four digits; and apartment number 1802 was an extremely magical and great number for me, well; maybe it really wasn't, and I just fell under a huge fucking ass illusion all this time, who can cunt chewing ever know a damn thing, Ziggy M.?????????????????

Before I tell the events of the weekend, after posting up my early Sunday morning last blog, YO; it is currently 54 degrees here in town, and we are having our first of the season cool-snap. It may reach as low as the high thirties, somewhere between my town and out at the lake, (Okeechobee). I do not know how far that is from my apartment, but somewhere between 40 and 60 miles would be my best guess, to the west-south-west of Fort Pierce. It only got up to the high seventies yesterday, which is keeping the apartment a tiny bit nicer. WEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! So moving on here, Saturday was pretty much church-mouse quiet, and then came Sunday. All day long, Sheriff; my damn triad-illegals were around, and slamming their mother fucking doors like crazy fucking people. Then at approximately ten minutes past eight last night, I was struck major hard AGAIN, with another DEATH BOWELS ASSAULT on my poor old frail pathetic puny weak defenseless body; sending me to the toilet lightning fucking fast, BUTTTTTTTT, I didn't make it, and they knew I wouldn't. I had to clean up three mother fucking nasty areas on my rugs, before reaching the toilet! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! These cunt chewers defiled my apartment, AGAIN, SHERIFF KENNETH J. MASCARA, SIR, in total violation of my human rights, my civil rights, and my mother fucking constitutional rights, YO YO YO YO!!!

YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!! YUK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I cannot get two straight days and nights for the past six weeks, or damn near it seems, WITHOUT MAJOR WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCE ASSAULT AND DEATH SIEGE ATTACK. This is the cunt chewing fucking second half of the nineteen-eighties ALL OVER MOTHER FUCKING AGAIN, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!

Funny too, that my interaction with Patricia Hollister took place in Philadelphia, where she worked for a number of years a very long while back, only she never, at least to my mother fucking knowledge, lived there. Now several of her friends did. One of them was Steve, who I have discussed throughout numerous years of previous blogging texts. In this powerful nightmare-interaction slash hyperspace-adventure, or slash “whatever” kind Congressman who wasn't one yet back in good old 1975; we were in that horrible house of nakedness with all of the weird people. I had walked out into a back yard, and nearby our fence, and she came out and we got talking about harassment. Now back in the seventies, I never thought about that word, as I was told by the church, and those born again mother fucking folks; that I was under what they labeled, “Satanic oppression”, not persecution or harassment. I can only go with the flow of the times and the days, peeps, YO! I was later asked to leave a church, when I levitated myself a foot above the floor one day, in front of the pastor and a group of lovely teenaged girls, up there in Gloucester, New Jersey, right next door to the wonderful Camden, and RPL Sound Labs, and McAndrews and Forbes Licorice, and Ferry Avenue's great Institute for Medical Research, and so much more! WOW all of THAT! Today, tickets are sold, and people like Copperfield other great magicians are paid large sums of money. Go mother fucking figure anything, folks!!!!!!!!!!

Let me give you some insight about parallel-event and certain particular parallel events such as my connections every single time, with my being major death siege fucking persecuted, and my receiving extremely abnormal amounts of goddamn pussy-command. About five or six weeks while shopping for my usual grocery items at my local grocery story, the PUBLIX, where shopping is always such a wonderful pleasure; especially when not being persecuted to death, WHAAAAAAAA; I fell under a gargantuan amount of absurd and totally Mack Soapmouth Kaiter ridiculous pussy-command, that I thought that I was back in my younger days again. Nothing like that had happened to me in quite a while, nor has it since, THANK THE DAMN GODS!!!! BUTTTTTTTT, beginning that very day just a fucking cunt eating dew hours later on, after arriving back home, KAPOW, BOOM-BANG, ZAP, ZAM, ADAMWEST-BATMAN; all hell broke loose, and it has not mother fucking cunt huffing looked back, not in the tiniest whittle fucking bit; SHERIFF, SIR, YO!!!!!!!! This is a goddamn fucking PARALLEL EVENT that is annoying as all goddamn fucking get out; my kind sir, and all of my kind as well totally unkind freaking Blogaudians!!!!!!!!!!

Back now to Patty, in my house-of-horrors and nakedness, dreaming interactions. She was telling me that she is watching me closely, and so is Donald John Trump. I told her, and remember my exact words perfectly Richard Nixon clear, “Tell me something that I don't know, Patty”. Then she socked me right in my shoulder and I fell down onto the ground. She said to me, “You don't have to be a damn smart ass Mark, I'm just trying to help you and tell you some shit”. I just looked up at her, still sitting on the ground, and in some wet mud, with my bright red plaid shirt on, that was now quite filthy from being shared with mud, and recently fallen rain water. I remember telling her that “she hadn't lost a step”, since she helped Santa Claus and Steve, carry that super heavy couch, from my apartment on Oakland Avenue in Oaklyn, to the apartment that I was moving into in Lindenwold, called the Linden Hill, unit number 1118; with all bright flashlight holding, lunar maintenance men, notwithstanding, over at Cifaloglio. I remember in the dreaming-interaction, how much my right arm was totally killing me from her super heavyweight boxers punch. What was happening was that I had been sleeping on it in the wrong way, all night long, and this pain was transferred into the 'dream'. Still, all things always do and always will, fit perfectly together. I know this to be a 100% fucking fact. Aniwho, she went onto tell me that Cousin Donald told me way back in time, when I was employed by Building Maintenance Contractor, Mister Bernard Derakowski, who resided right next door by just a couple of houses, to my doctor in those olden days, Doctor Frank Addiego, on Park Avenue, in good old mother fucking Westmont, New Jersey; that people with incredible unnatural powers can edit reality itself just as regular humans do it with tapes and editing tools. By the way, I know for absolute certain, that many, or most of my classmates from school, at the HTHS (Haddon Township High School), know exactly who this doctor was; and even probably had him as his patients as well. Patricia Hollister then went on, in this powerful, outlandish, and esoteric 'DREAM', to remind me, and this is indeed the truth, how Cousin Donald had told me these things, way back at the very turn of the nineteen-eighties. Guess who just mother fucking got me with her cunt chewing PAGE ELEVEN OF ELEVEN, MIZZ DIRTBAG DISEASEWEEDS OF THE SLEAZEFLEAS! Allow me now to mother fucking compensate, YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!

5555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555555 Jane Shit-Plants Scum-Eater, has been on a major mother fucking roll for making me see her ugly rotten face, digitally transposed!!!!!

But Cousin Donald, in this same area of the hyperspace; or where I am having these seemingly endless recurring nightmare dreams, where I am in that horrible fucking house, that exists in that particular area in fifth dimensional hyperspace, somewhere off of Interstate #95, near Grant Avenue, in Northeastern Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; has a property, that I also visit, and seem to be in; during many of these 'NIGHTMARES', and I think it is some type of a fucking looney bin. It is so goddamn fucking real, it comes right up and bites me in the asshole. But P.H. Was telling me and reminding me, that when Cuzz-Donald was telling me about reality-splicing, he also told me that soon he was planning to use this powerful idea and tool, to his advantage, through some inconceivably elaborate scheme and plot that he had, and wouldn't share with me of course. This was right after that goofy fucking movie that Olivia Newton John starred in, where after some car crash had occurred, someone kept rewinding a life-tape, and made reality-changes or EDITS. I had absolutely no idea just how incredibly diabolical and mischievous this plan truly was, not at the time, in the very early eighties, for fucking cunt crissake, YO, BRO! Patty went on with some incredible shit about how I am going to have to eventually fucking arrive at my own conclusions and that no one else is able to make things clear for me. Only I am able to see the clear picture in all of this, eventually; SHE TOLD ME! In this newly spliced reality, everyone seems to have just slipped through as if it is all so normal and natural. You know, no more fucking normal Presidential news conferences, non-stop rallies and party promotion bull fucking shit. On and on. It is all as unnatural as shitting backwards, you know, eating through our fucking assholes and then shitting out through our goddamn mouths, Again, I'll say it, YUK. Yet, is is a fucking lie, or is it the goddamn truth; my kind Blogaudians????????????? No other president ever ever ever, has endless fucking rallies since and after WINNING an election, endlessly supporting his party candidates, so as to strengthen his position of great power, that I promise all of you, HE HAS ABSOLUTELY NO PLANS TO EVER ABDICATE. I promised you long ago at the start of this fucking election shit, that he would win, and now I promise you, WE ALL WILL BE ADDRESSING HIM SOON AS KING TRUMP! This is what HOLLYWOOD was TOLD to pull that fucking '45' movie. Too fucking cunt bad too, as it was a really great fucking movie, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IPYT!!!!!!!!!

No more of the usual shit from the wonderful and NORMAL good old mother fucking days, huh? It's fucking just as if REALITY ITSELF is all being 'edited away'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! All fucking totally gone, maybe a bit gradually, and sometimes it isn't really being done through gradualism at all. Still, no one says boo, or no one even knows how to sit up any more and say fucking boo. Patty made me remember all of this stuff about editing-reality, along with that really cool movie staring ONJ. HALLS FAWCES naturally, are trying to get rid of her through illness, knowing that any of this can be used in some small way through my MORIANITY, if she remains a living witness, and were to discuss her great movie, today! I do not believe that illness or earthquakes, or hurricanes, or anything, strikes human beings by pure random chance, and I never ever mother fucking will, just as gorgeous Mary's dad, on that fantastic television show, 'L&O' does either!!!!!!!!!!!! But who really empowers this wild and ultra-mysterious technological tool that permits this reality-editing-splicing bullshit? Well, maybe the ESS directly, or just perhaps, maybe the ESS has worker fucking BEES that are not in the ESS, but still, they get some sort of a wild payday and quid pro quo. Just saying. P.H. did not make all of that clear in that wild nightmare, or did she, and that was all that I was fucking able to bring back to the waking world with me? Who can ever really fucking know, Mister Copyrighted Breath-Echos???????????????? Just who can ever know all of this; great 1969 Mister Sigmund Malyeska? I do know that around a quarter past ten on Friday night, I saw another one of NASA'S crappy missiles flying outside my window, and shortly before that, some weird hacking on my Comcast Cable Television System occurred, YO. That much, I DO KNOW, and to quote my kid, “I KNOW THAT I KNOW”!!!!!! Yes sir/mahm!!!!! AHA-AHA-AHA-AND WHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So yes Patty, thanx for the wild 'dreams' the other night. But “still”, to quote the great Detective Lenny L&O Brisco; REALITY-EDITING verses TOWEL-SEEPAGE-EFFECTS of fifth dimensional hyperspace; which is it, and when is it one or the other? I'll hear those marvelous wild breath echoes, endlessly and forever; huh United States Copyright Office? YES, WHO CAN EVER KNOW? I said it really well on that old fucking cassette tape, did I not, YO????????

END TRANSMISSION.