The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment": DOGTOWN TO EARTH COME IN PLEASE, CHAPTER 3

DOGTOWN TO EARTH COME IN PLEASE, CHAPTER 3

Robin Hill Apartments - Voorhees, New Jersey 08043

4:10 POST MERIDIAN

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

3 JANUARY, 2020

FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG

IT IS 85 DEGREES AND SUNNY, HERE IN TOWN.

Beginning at noon or just past, the noisy scummy shit next door in unit #605 woke me up, an everyday occurrence now so it appears. But notice the 'NOON' shit, RIGHT AFTER I JUST BLOGGED HOW maintenance never work during the NOON HOUR, at least never in my apartment when shit was being repaired, as they ALWAYS QUIT FOR THEIR NOON LUNCH BREAK. Same thing with the audio problem I recently experienced with my entertainment system that has left me unable to enjoy music any longer as once you know stereo sound, then reverting back to one channel or monaural sound (mono) is just a plain simple fucking NO-NO for any serious or critical sound listener. AGAIN right after I BLOGGED THIS, my photos of traffic cameras are going back and forth, FROM COLOR TO BLACK AND WHITE; and I blogged how going from stereo to mono was similar in a video concept, as would be going from color, back to black and white (B&W). If my blogs are ever carefully scrutinized by serious REAL PEOPLE someday, just if and ever mind you; then they will all SEE ALL OF MY PROOFS TO ALL OF MY CLAIMS!!!

These same HALLS FAWCES or ASTRAL-PLANE COINS & COILS (GODS), also can do things on a larger nonchrisblumof501, AND NON OLIVIA N.J. Level; oh mighty sir GAMES GASME GODS MICROSOFT HELLWRECKER SPELLchecker! I was in a parallel universe far away in a distant galaxy some time back, and on a weird space vessel where such high energy entities, (the gods), were cutting and pasting in entire solar systems from one place to another, and even creating them out of 'supposedly nothing', in an extremely similar, but merely far more technologically advanced way, that I use my 'CAPPING' to insert, and post, and copy things, from my document files, onto each other, as well as onto blogging sites such as the world famous GOOGLE-BLOGGER! I have also witnessed things here in my own reality in this very universe, or 'while being awake', to use a more acceptable lingo in my description. I have witnessed the entire horizon to horizon hologram suddenly totally alter upon numerous occasions while out on errands back in New Jersey, and stranger shit happening around me as a result than even I would dare to attempt to blog about as it would make anyone reading it dismiss me entirely as even possibly credible, very similar to the situation in 1994 with Mizz Jean Ruba Smith, and my book called, “The Permission Barrier”. There indeed are things that just cannot be said in this world. This of course is all due to the lawtronic GASME GAMES of the GODS that have set shit up in this way and to prevent those like me from EVER BEING ABLE TO EXPOSE CERTAIN UNFATHOMABLE REALITIES AND TRUTHS, much like the MUFON situation with their inability to ever GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THEIR DEAL! One tiny example is what morianity calls the 'J.C.U.R.S.' “Jesus Christ Unrecognizable Resurrection Syndrome”. Those closest to HIM did not recognize him after the raising from the dead deal “DDLTT” happened, BECAUSE it simply COULD NOT BE TRUE, and if something is beyond a TRUTH BARRIER so to speak; then an instantaneous 'other needed explainable deal' MUST pop up, and this is indeed one of the human world realities because it is created in this way on the ASTRAL-PLANE (the Purgatory), and called by Morianity “LAWTRONICS”! The made up term by me is quite self suggesting and very apropos and meaningful, the ultimate built in laws from the Astral-Plane and void infinity itself that CAN NOT EVER BE BROKEN, or at least not in any conventional way that human beings would ever normally be able to accomplish. I could make a short list of things not spoken of by humanity because for some reason that is beyond me, they have been Lawtronically formed to operate in this manner. Being even more specific would possibly violate laws even laws that protect normally okay free speech. This further shows that LAWTRONICS is behind it all, as by adding human laws into the 'spiritual laws', we sort of get what the Latengrate pal of mine, Mister David Charles Roth, would call it, “A double bubble”, and he would be absolutely correct!

When I do eventually die as Mark Wayne Mohr, I have one final fucking last laugh on these evil astral GODS and GODDESSES. Even with all of their powerful and inconceivable technological abilities and omniscient knowledge, EVEN THEY CANNOT RECOPY NEW SHIT WITH ME AND THEM here humanly, on this Physical Plane of human life. They can copy and copy all they want to, and recycle shit endlessly, but they will never ever have a way to make new material for their evil damn GAMES, using ME. My HELL seems to be their ultimate amusement, BUTTTTTTTTTTTTT and Buttercheese, and big ass BUTT but, I will have the final laugh, because by my perspective and relative viewpoint, IT WILL END SOMEDAY, even though of course IT NEVER WILL, AND IT NEVER DOES, by all of YOUR vantage points and limited horizons, based on a less than ABSOLUTE TOTAL ENLIGHTENMENT TO TRUTH! So with or without the Latengrate Sir LINY-USAESMWG Heinz Cameras Gottwald's “PERMISSION” I will simply COPY an old autumn of 1971 saying, from an old school chum from EXTON NON MCGUIRE PENNSYLVANIA here, Sir Wirtz Carlisle; that goes like thissssssssssssssss, Mizz Erica: “AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA”.

Every night I am back to having very lucid horrible NIGHTMARES. More accurately stated, my soul travels to very unpleasant parts of the localized hyperspace. Before awakening to the loud noises the past two sleeping cycles, I was either with my mother or else I was on Long Beach Island with other weird people, and last night it was the Jersey island that lays just east of fucking Manahawkin. I may have fucking misspelled the name of this town on the western side of the great causeway bridge there, but it is spelled as it sounds and the asshole Spellchecker System did not offer me any assistance heredahelda or HERE!!!!!! Still lovely COOLEY-HALL-AIMY, I don't wish to anger your great certified public accountant cousins for crying out loud, or the mighty RON JON SURFERS CLUB, yo!!!!!!!!!! As for last night's major nightmare, I was there all day long and into the night and it was quite different than here in this universe. It had all of the Jersey casinos and Atlantic City had none of them. I appeared to have been given my daughter's toy strobelight, and was using it on the beach after dark to signal some boats that were off the coast. I was attempting to escape the island but all the boats and bridges and ways off the island had been commandeered by my goddamn MILITUFORCE ENEMIES, and people were treating me horrendously when I told them that I needed their help to get out of there. It was almost as horribleas being back in Westmont in 1966 with the mother fuckig SHADOW-MONSTERS FROM DOGTOWN! Oh well, I AM IN DOGTOWN, so none of this should come to me with any real heavy shock value, and I will inform the great Count VON-MARCUCCI of the ESS that I indeed will learn to “carry that wight for a long time”, or at least enjoy listening to his portable record player that he brought into his classroom at the magical non mushroom COOLEY-HALL IN THE KINGS HADDONFIELD, back in the middle late autumn of that wild ass year of 1969, and other great and vely vely apropos songs from the unforgettable SIR Nathaniel King COLE!!!!!!!!!!!!! Talk about MOOD-CONTROL, that damn strobing toy flashlight seems to anger people, and make them get really MEANingful MEAN, oh wonderful lovely Mike Soft Spellchecker!!!!!! LIKE mother fucking SUPER ***WOW***!!! She may not want to sweep the sand alright, mighty and illustrious Library of the Congress © Office, but WOW does she WANT TO OWNB THAT LAND, at least decades later into the PHOTON FUCKING PROJECTION! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA JANE SLEAZEWEEDSDISEASE. You missed me, Miss Rottenbitch!!!!!!!!!!! WO BILLY HARNER from 2000. Talk about bicycles outside of shops, LONG HAIR, and endless mother fuckign JAMES REDFIELD SYNCHRONICITY SYNDROMES (JRSS)!!!!!!!!

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Hell, (DOGTOWN) I'll CAP in some lovely FIVE GROUPATIONS aniwho, yo VRO!!!!!

Yes Mister Flint/Doctor Lockner, with that instant tissue regeneration of yours, you can be pierced through the heart and yet sir, “YOU DO NAUT DIE”. Oh those wonderful and endlessly JRSS connected SHOWS of so-called television-fiction, yo!!!!!!!!! I DRESSED AND WENT STRAIGHT OVER TO MY LOCAL ACE HARDWARE STORE, A FEW BLOCKS FROM THIS DEMONIC ROTTEN CROOKED PUBLIC HOUSING AUTHORITY BUILDING IN THIS TOTALLY CORRUPT FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, and I purchased a HUGE RAT TRAP good for chopping large rats and small mice and any rodents into pieces, when I place peanut butter on the trap, and lay it in my kitchen. The small traps that I bought before did NAUT do the job, Mizz Blake. This time however, I also purchased many poison pellets that can be scattered all around this entire fucking cunt lapping apartment. I also was able to get naut just rodent poison pellets, but also some of those roach killing large white pill pellets. The reason this did not work for me as well as before I was told, is that these are naut good for 90+ days and the pellets need to be kept tightly sealed in their boxes, and used every two to four weeks at most, as after that, the poisonous effects reduce to the point where the roaches just enjoy the taste, but only get mildly ill, and DO NAUT DIE, or go crazy, huh MIZZ AT&T BLAKE, the way the MILITUFORCE wants to drive me, huh lovely phone company lady from 1983, yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo mahm?????????????? I guess the great Mister 'Doctor Lockner Flint' of Medical Star Trek Center, has found some competition for itself here, huh yo?????!!!!!

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

'DUHHHHHH' END; TO THE DUMB SAVANTS!

DOGTOWN TO EARTH COME IN PLEASE, CHAPTER 2

(WHO GIVES A RATS FUCKING SHIT ABOUT WEATHER)???

THE WEATHER IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA:

SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT!!!!!

(WHO GIVES A RATS FUCKING SHIT ABOUT WEATHER)???

And then the next day, I GET RATS IN HERE. YEAH WORLD, WHAT A MOTHER FUCKING HUUUUUUUGE ASS IMAGINATION THE MOUNTAINPEN HAS, YO!

DOGTOWN TO EARTH COME IN PLEASE

CHAPTER 2

4:30 ANTE' MERIDIAN

FRIDAY MORNING

3 JANUARY, 2019

FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG

Even in HEAVEN and HELL, there are rules. I know this for a total fact because here in DOGTOWN, where I am, despite a powerful illusion that I still reside physically on the caporial Earth world system; I have observed certain absolute unbreakable rules around me. No matter what I do, and I have tried everything under the mother fucking sun; I am forever unable to break these invisible rules surrounding me, that no one will believe no matter how much proof I ever bring to them. This is the MAIN RULE, just what I said. No matter how much proof I bring to any authority, THEY REFUSE TO BELIEVE ME. Another powerful fucking rule is that I always have a will to fight and defeat this invisible enemy, and this enters me into endless CHALLENGES or said better, into ENDLESS GAMES (GASME GODS GAMES). These are of course GAMES THAT I CANNOT EVER WIN NO MATTER WHAT! Other rules exist in all of this shit, but these two rules are the MAIN TWO, and are all that the GODS truly ever need to bring them endless pleasure in their sicko GAMES with me. This takes me to the middle late first encounter with this MAIN-DUAL-RULE, in the year of 1986. I began to pass out a certain number of religious tracts in the city of Gloucester, New Jersey, for every botbar day I was given, as well as every grouping of botbar days, single botbars were 2 tracts, double botbar days were 4 tracts, triple were 6 tracts, and just four in a row began to total up to a monster number, 2+4+6+8=20. As soon as I did this, I was given about a 98% BOTBAR day-average that went on for mother fuckign years until I had to give up and surrender to the COSMIC DOROTHY OZ in all of this, as I just could not keep driving to Gloucester City once a week, to pass out a hundred or more tracts in the dead of night, while driving down street after street and playing the quintessential litterbug of New Jersey. This is when I learned that 'THEY' WILL NAUT back down, and then I came to remember just how the 1983 telephone harassment was impossible to ever get to the bottom of either, and I just had to finally mother fucking give up; as it was just utterly non winnable. Whatever this magical invisible Omnipotent powerful 'FAWCES' were, THEY COULD NAUT BE DEFEATED, NAUT MOTHER FUCKING EVER. Recently on my blogging project, I have once again attempted to see if this ABSOLUTE FUCKING RULE COULD BE BROKEN, and it CANNAUT! I speak of the RED-LINE-STAR-CROSSOVER SECRETS THERMOMETER SCALE, and my major unrelenting tattle tailing of great things. They would NAUT back down, and again, things only got progressively mother fucking worse and worse and worse for me! But there is indeed a positive, and an upbeat 'TWINBAY' note to this silver lined dark fucking cunt cloud. NOW I will do WHAT I WANT TO DO, and no longer do things JUST WITH THE MOTIVE AND GOAL OF ANGERING MY ENEMIES so that hopefully they will back off this shit that they do to me, because they WILL NAUT; and so I am just making a damn horrendous fucking shituation WORSE by continuing to fight a war that is NOT WINNABLE! By doing this, I will begin doing more things that I need to do and want to do without concerning myself one bit with 'THEM'. Knowing the rules is always 90% of any battle, and then successfully applying reason and some sort of logical science to what has been learned, is the remaining 10% of the battle, EVERY DAMN TIME! To quote David Roth in a wild security guard gatehouse conversation on Valentine's Day of 1988, when he got there to relieve me at the American Honda Plant on Gaither Road in Mount Laurel, NJUSAESMWG, just past twelve noon, while we were discussing these OTAMM ENEMIES, and the Copyright Office has a copy of this conversation to this very day and is obviously where Dick Wolf got his Alice Simmonelli idea; I said something along the lines to him of, “How can they keep always winning and doing all of this to us and getting away with it, and why can't we fight them”?, and he responded back in a deafening series of super loud shouted words, “Because we've got fuckign enemies, and these enemies have fucking power, and we don't”! anyone can go and listen to this at the United States © Office, as it is all a part of The Epitome of Harassment musical project PART 2, dated 1988, with the title track called, “Prophet of Nothing”, the song that had an entire Mickey-D dancing away one day while it was playing at a drive-thru on my car radio! My point is simple in all of this. POWER is everything,and these HALLS FAWCES have a totally mother fucking unlimited SUPPLY OF IT. Also, I HAVE NONE AT ALL, and they will keep me down and oppressed for ever, as this is part of the DOGTOWN GAME RULES FOR ME!

I sprayed an entire can of RAID, as well as placed an entire box of rodent, as well as roach poisonous pellets, all over the apartment; and IT IS NAUT STOPPING MY PROBLEM. I no longer can eat here, or cook here; and will be moving out of here in about three months. I will have to go out to eat, and I always sleep with bright lights on to avoid being eaten up alive in here!

There is a lot of logic behind why nothing works for me. If I do a music project, they mind control the people I pay at studios to produce it for me to do a lousy and unimpressive job, every single time. I can tell anything in the universe on these blogs, but it falls only on the ears of the same forty or so secret agent enemies who basicly are doing these to me in the first place, or to quote Ron Wirtz Senior, at the CCPO, back in 1991, changed and converted into Morianity verbiage here; I am merely communicating with “the enemies who are making funny faces back at me on the computer”. Ed Himacane's promise to me was totally WORTHLESS, and it was MY OWN FUCKING FAULT FOR NOT REALIZING THE POINTLESSNESS TO THE ENTIRE THING, and never even wasting my time! But still, one positive note comes from the full realization of all of this, and as said earlier and in reiteration now; I will simply do what I WANT TO DO FROM NOW ON, and realize the absolute futility of trying to ever secure help from a single damn ass soul. It is fixed in stone and fire, DOGTOWN that is, and my title on earlier year blogs here in Florida gave me that message way back then before I currently in 2020 came to see it as crystal clearly as Sir Johnny Nash!

END TRANSMISSION.

DOGTOWN TO EARTH COME IN PLEASE

CHAPTER 1

This is the worst mother fucking shit I have had to suffer through in decades, and is every bit like being back in the cunt chewing nineteen-eighties, only NOW, I know why it is all happening, and it goes far beyond MUFON or humankind religious bullshit, and Paul Evans Pedersen was correct all along when he made that wild statement to me late in 1998, “Mark, your problems go beyond religion”!

I am under a HUUUUUUUUUUUUGE SKY ASSAULT TODAY, 2 January of 2020, with giant menacing chemtrails all over me in my Fort Pierce town here in dick licking Florida.

I also have the next door maintenance peeps banging around and slamming shit next door to me, and last night at around half past nine or so, the jerk off noise from there was also bad for about a quarter hour. At the same time that this began last night, I began to get brutally assaulted with ROACHES and RATS. When I paid my rent today over at the mother fuckign worthless and corrupt Housing Authority, I told them I am going to be leaving very shortly and will keep them informed and updated. I told them what I think of this corruption and that after I am gone and out of here, I plan to write to a lot of authority agencies to describe what I suffered through here ILLEGALLY!

It is now five past noon on this cunt lapping rotten second day in January on this miserable ass-wipe Thursday afternoon. It is hot and sticky AGAIN here as well, but as stated, ALL THESE THINGS HAPPEN TOGETHER WITH ME HERE IN ENDLESS FUCKING DOGTOWN, so what else is goddamn asshole new around here? SLAM SLAM SLAM BANG, WHAT A FUCKING ENDLESS NIGHTMARE, as if you could care less about a poor elderly legitimate and law abiding citizen of your rotten miserable county, my great wonderful SHERIFF, SIR!

The MILITUFORCE has brought in 2020 as bad as they could with a 100% mother fucking MAGNETIC PERCENTAGE FOR BOTBAR on this date of 2 January, 2020. Just to crack into an even 50-50, I would now need two consecutive NON-BOT DAYS, Mister 'Mayor Callio' of Dogtown-Halloweentown on the ATRAL PLANE, and yes, Mister Michael Crichton too!

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[ 20 ]	Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-	Apitamy of harrasment [sic] : pt. two.	PAu001148157	1988
[ 21 ]	Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-	Epitamy of harassement [sic] : pt. 3.	PAu001189027	1989

Hey, not to get T.S. or lovely 'other HARRAH' reality/casino deals such as QUEEN KATE from 1997, too wet and excited here, BUTTTTTTTTT YO; what can JAYJAY 'other' EVANS and I say right about now, yo; as there ain't no mother fucking way that GOOD TIMES has anything to do with my life. I believe an appropriate response to that idea, oh wonderful Detective Bobby Goren of the great NYC-PD-SVU (fictionally of course), would be, “SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT”!!!!!

[ 16 ]

Mohr, Mark W., 1954-

Sarah Callio of ACNJ.

SRu000362114

1997

SLAM-SLAM-SLAM-SLAM-SLAM-SLAM!

So why is both MAINTENANCE as well as actual people, BOTH in and out of this apartment? Only thisssssss explains all the mysterious shit around me that is endlessly fucking with me, “THIS IS DOGTOWN”!

HELL IS FIXED IN STONE AND FIRE

CHAPTER 112, AND FOR ALL ETERNITY AS WELL!

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAGNESONIC:

Computer, hear my MVP (Mind-Voice-Print). You will be totally absolutely crushing, obliterating, annihilating, and devastating, wrecking, ruining, and utterly wiping out, all of my enemies that are viciously persecuting me ON THIS SUPER BOTBAR JANUARY 2, IN 2020, WITH MAX-POWER AGAINST whoever is pounding this poor pathetic elderly man with major SKY DEATH SIEGE, MAJOR NOISE ASSAULTS HERE AT MY APARTMENT, AND ANY AND ALL OTHER SHIT INCLUDING WHOEVER HAS CAUSED THIS INFESTATION OF RATS AND MICE AND ROACHES, that never stop, as well as recent utility assaults against me, on a crush-destruct order, under GENERAL-ORDER-189, max.-power. Open-Command, General Order #7. Use G-901, G-1133, G-14, G-719, G-13, CG5555-QP4 sub-code, under G-917, CG-2, under CG-18, and HOLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Your old AT&T landline telephone old style 1983 built tone-commands have been data-transferred into the two highlighted long-EEEEE vowel sounds. The high-tone is colored RED. The low-tone is colored BLUE.

Computer (Magnesonic) under my command and precisely matching voice print, I have an image-object (I-O) now placed on your transpower-block (T-B) after I have crush-destructed this. Once empowered, all actual beings matching this I-O on your T-B will be exactly crushed and singed and destroyed as the original I-O. To accomplish the scan, use your ZD technology built into your system. To accomplish this sympathetic reality duplication, use your AD technology, (ZD-Zero-Dimensional), (AD-Atomic Duplicational).

Computer, 'MAGNESONIC', on an 'I' to 'D', A/B—TONE, PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM; you will now be transmitted the two empowerization-transmit tones, or ETT'S.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

GO TO G-189, under G-1133, CG-18, AND S---T---O---P

THIS IS MOTHER FUCKING WEEDEEKAWUSS LOVELY KATY AND GAL-PAL IN THE FUTURE OF CLINTON'S GREAT WIFE, 'THE HILL', OR AS THEY MIGHT SAY IN THE HARRAH CASINO OTHER ATLANTIC CITY CLUB OF ENDLESS GAMBLERS, 'THE OTHER HILL'; as we are certainly NAUT discussing the 3,010 ROBINS, OR THEIR ENDLESS STUPID TWEET-TWEET-TWEETS, OR THE BLUEBIRDS, OR THE GRERAT SIXTIES HIT ROCK AND ROLL SONGS EITHER, YO!!!!!!!!! There was a lot of fucking CUM-PUKE-HER (COMPUTER) HACKING GOING ON, WHILE I WAS DOING THAT PARTICULAR GODDESSDAMN PARAGRAPH; FCC, ACLU, FBI, STATE POLICE, AND LOCAL PEEDEE IN FORT PIERCE, AND OF COURSE, ME' WONDERFUL SHERIFF KEN MASCARA, IN ALL PARALLEL AND ALTERNATE REALITIES ENDLESSLY EXISTING ALL AROUND ME, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RIGHT ON MOTHER FUCKING TARGET, HUH JIT BAG JANE SLEAZEWEEDSDISEASE? SHE GOT ME REAL DAMN ASS FUCKING “GOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD”, me' lovely 1999 glorified-hooker 'girlfriend' Mizz Zebriski, yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!! allow and permit me now to CVUNT-PHLEGM-RAPE (compensate) with me' rows of fives!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS THE MOTHER FUCKING WORST SHIT THAT I HAVE HAD TO SUFFER THROUGH SINCE 1986, AND IT ALL BEGAN RIGHT AFTER CRIMINAL PRESIDENT TRUMP DID WHAT HE DID WITH THAT CUNT LAPPING ROTTEN DEAL IN THE UKRAINE, AND EVERYONE EVERYWHERE KNOWS IT, EVEN HERE IN DICK THROBBING DOGTOWN, YO! Let me add this little fucking tid bit morsel of facts today as well. The maintenance scum are slamming and slamming next to me and have blocked in the hallway making it impassible for me to get by, causing me a FIRE HAZARD, and they NEVER EVER work during lunch, not when they work in my apartment in all the cunt eating years that I have been here since April of 2011, SHERIFF SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So YYYYYYYYYY then are they NAUT even stopping for fuckign lunch TODAY? Something HUUUUUUUUUUUGE is either happening on WALL DISEASED STREET IN NYC, or in Washington with dirtbag IMPEACHED TRUMP!!!!!!!!!!!

THE END, ALL DOGTOWN-SAVANTS, YO!

BLOG STATS FOR 11-27-19 & CHPT. #24

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Wednesday, November 27, 2019

BOM-BLOG-STATS OF 11-27-2019

Nov 20, 2019 9:00 PM – Nov 27, 2019 8:00 PM

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AFTER THE KNOWING, CHPT. 12

3:27 POST MERIDIAN

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

1 NJANUARY, 2020

FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG

BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN (BOM)

Live Camera from a random camera within the United States

MMMMMMMMMMMMMAGNESONIC:

Computer, hear my MVP (Mind-Voice-Print). You will be totally absolutely crushing, obliterating, annihilating, and devastating, wrecking, ruining, and utterly wiping out, all of my enemies that are viciously persecuting me FOR THE PAST 65 YEARS, WITH MAX-POWER AGAINST ALL PERSONS AND FORCES BEHIND THE ASSAULT ON ME DURING THIS MONSTER ASS DEATH SIEGE ASSAULT OF 1 JANUARY OF 2019; WITH A MAJOR NOISE AND SOUND DEATH SIEGE, AT THIS P.H. BUILDING, ALL DAY LONG TODAY WITH THESE NEW SCUM PLAYBOY BUNNY NABES AT #605 WHO HARASS ME ON HOLIDAYS, IN AN ENDLESS ICPE-APE-TECH ASSAULT FROM DONALD TRUMP; on a crush-destruct order, under GENERAL-ORDER-189, max.-power. Open-Command, General Order #7. Use G-901, G-1133, G-14, G-719, G-13, CG5555-QP4 sub-code, under G-917, CG-2, under CG-18, and HOLD!!!!!!!!

Computer, 'MAGNESONIC', on an 'I' to 'D', A/B—TONE, PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM; you will now be transmitted the two empowerization-transmit tones, or ETT'S.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

GO TO G-189, under G-1133, CG-18, AND S---T---O---P

All mother fucking day here in DOGTOWN, AKA my Earthly illusion-life since birth at 9:30 on Saturday fucking morning, December the 4^th in the year of 1954; I have endured these cunt chewing bastards next door to me slamming and banging around. First they harassed me on the Christmas fucking time, and now as predicted, on the New Year time as well. This confirms the maintenance crew moving them in as did the fucking cunt ROBIN HILL MAINTENANCE CREW did that filthy scumbag PLAYBOY BUNNY GAL PAL OF DEBBIE SLEAZE HARRY IN LATE 1981. The JRSS is merely the same exact thing as the DCP (Dogtown Confirmation Proofs) of everything now and all of the endlessly seeming unanswerable queries of my life here in DOGTOWN. No matter where I go or what I do, it is still the very same fucking cunt reality, I AM IN DOGTOWN, and there is a huge and powerful illusion all around me that I am somehow 'physically alive'! The KJV of the Holy Scriptures will say it clearly to anyone reading the final verses in the final book, “outside of the GREAT CITY, are DOGS”, and also the residents of Sir Crichton's Mayor Calibar HALLOWEENTOWN, where the false prophet has a lovely dwelling, as well as all liars, and other evil wicked things that so incredibly effect the mortal world! Oh, another non-Mayor CALLIO-BOTBAR for poor ol' frail whittle mother fucking Mountainpen or AKA “ME”, YO! But try proving my truth and reality here to the MW (Mortal-World) for all the good it will ever do you, Mister fucking jit bag Mountainpen, yo! I'll just remain the endless NEW JERSEY CRACKPOT!

Well before lovely Kate at the Queen kicks my ass as she almost did in 1997, huh Congressman Robert Andrews' Assistant, Sir Clarence Harris of Sicklerville, New Jersey; allow and 'permit me' to say one more HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE ass mother fucking thing, since I have a day to kill here since my “L&O” television show has been taken off for the holiday today: I can prove a zillion mother fucking things, and IT WON'T PROVE ANYTHING, not if the one trying to prove it is actually existing ETERNALLY IN GODDAMN FUCKING DOGTOWN, OLYMPIA, PURGATORY!!!!!!!!!

“Be” cunt chewing “real” people, just as the great coworker of mine in early 1981 said to me at the MAFCO GATEHOUSE on Jefferson Street in Camden, NJUSAESMWG. In any REAL-WORLD where things such as what I will CAP IN BELOW, were to happen, we would have a 46^th United States president in Washington right now, and a quadrillion other things that have happened since just a decade ago or so, SIMPLY COULD NOT BE REAL OR HAPPENING AROUND US: I am viewing the fucking impeachment inquiry on one of the C-Span Channels, and shortly after it got going and before the late morning break, something happened that is very necessary for this blog to include, about my lifelong rival and enemy MILITUFORCE dirt bag, President D. J. Trump. While the Former-Ambassador of Ukraine was being questioned, the Speaker broke in and stated for the record, that Trump in real time, is tweeting out bad shit about this lady WHO HE WRONGED, but of course to hear him tell it, HE NEVER DOES ANYTHING WRONG and everyone else is always the BAD GUY. He then went onto say, and it made my day despite it already being a major fucking BOTBAR DAY, when he said that this is nothing short of “WITNESS INTIMIDATION” and it won't be tolerated as it is criminal illegal behavior, and that is my own paraphrase, but he said it in one way or the other, and IT IS TOTALLY ABSOLUTELY THE TRUTH, YO YO YO YO YO, and why NAUT, as Mister Chump-Rump IS a no good crooked criminal who cheated me and hurt me all of my life, ever since the day at the Jerry-Hammonton-Texaco, back in the fucking springtime of all great elusive non-butterfly laboratory technicians from PENNSYLVANIA, of 1984. I'll fucking cunt eating tell you all out here all over this damn ass globe, straight up and right powerfully on the square; this incredible shit, and I mean all of it, and all of its wild major unfathomable connections to the Mountainpen; ARE ALL STRAIGHT OUT OF MISTER FUCKING ROD SERLING'S TWILIGHT ZONE, yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Shall we never ever forget that the illustrious and vely vely vely dangerous, 'dick in the mouth' Bob McDowell Cooley 1972 Hall dangerous Mister ROBERT MCGUIRE OF ATLANTIC CITY, and how he went out of his way to tell me, that the peeps that I am searching for, all come from PENNSYLVANIA, and he said this to me right at his PITTSBURGH HOTEL AND ERIN BAR ON 10-SC AVENUE, in ATLANTIC CITY, NJUSAESMWG, on that fateful day of infamy all all great non P.H. DAYS, Patty or Pearl, on 7 February of 1997, two months after that wild major Mary Tyler Moore green dress wearing Astral trip I was I-Ching'd into, from my Somerdale, NJUSAESMWG **DEATH HOUSE**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So here I am in REAL TIME, watching the Impeachment Inquiry on TV on 15 November of 1019, and being ICPE-APE-TECH slaughtered; huh ALL MERRY'S and MARY'S everywhere, in any colored dresses yo; even MAFCO RIGHT DRESSES; along with horrendous LOIS-FOCA song-tears, from the very early fucking nineteen-eighties yo; and then comes the great comment made by the Speaker who interrupted his party-colleague, and said what he did about TRUMP TODAY INTIMIDATING A WITNESS, LIVE IN OPEN CONTEMPT OF COURT, AND USING TODAY'S EVIL SOCIAL MEDIA TOOLS, OWNED BY THE FUCKING CUNT DEVIL ITSELF, AS I HAVE PROCLAIMED ALL DAMN ASS ALONG, YO YO YO YO BREE!!!! SO WOW THAT, lovely BIG owner-'O'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In any BOB SCHLEIGH 'REAL-WORLD', I also challenge any thinker anywhere to realize that as soon as I began blogging how McGuire's friend Paula WAYV King had threatened to throw me off of the TRINIDAD HOTEL BALCONY one afternoon in 1967 while my mom was up at the boardwalk's Tennessee Avenue Frailenger's Salt Water Taffy Store getting some coffee, THAT SUDDENLY, THE NEW HOTEL CHAIN (SUPER-8) non super neurotic meteor girls who fly, REMOVED ALL OF THE BALCONIES on the structure, just as both the Cooley Hall at the Bancroft School as well as the New Jersey 'NJNPI' Neuro Psychiatric Institute, BOTH VANISHED AND DISAPPEARED OUT OF BUSINESS, also as soon as my blogs began and also began discussing these places where I HAD HAD GONE AS A YOUTH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Image result for images free funny faces

Mark Wayne Mountainpen Huntington Mohr

ANY PASTED IN POSTS WITH OWNER ©'s ON THEM, ARE THE SOLE PROPERTY OF THE CLAIMANT, AND WILL BE REMOVED UPON RECEIVING NOTICE TO DO SO.

But since I KNOW BEYOND A DOUBT THAT I HAVE DIED AND GONE TO DOGTOWN, and merely carry around some unfathomable Earthly physical illusion of life; NOW THE MYSTERIOUSNESS TO EVERYTHING, CAN ALL JUST VANISH LIKE AN EARLY MORNING MIST, WHILE THE WARM SUN BEGINS TO RISE UP HIGHER INTO THE FUCKING SKIES!

It is really a sigh of major fucking relief to no longer be quintessentially frustrated by attempting to explain so much around me with endless futility. Such shit for example out of about ten thousand other things, as: A while ago, a story was all over the local media in my area, and as if they knew I would eventually jump on this to vindicate my own reputation in similar matters, they very quickly ended the story, unlike so many others, such as when Mister Justin Beiber came to the area and raised a ruckus and went to jail for a while, like 'Boo'. What happened quite simply put, was a young college man wanted to buy sex from some homeless teen girl, who killed him with her bare hands when he did not pay her. The details to the story are totally irrelevant to my point for today. He was small and she was a big strong girl, who punched him in his throat, and then when he fell helplessly to the ground. She put her knee on his throat while he chocked to death. He begged Campus Security for help, and they were too scared to do much except run and get help; pretty much what I would have to do, so who am I to speak here? Anyway, when the authorities got back, the poor little dude was dead and gone, at the hands of this wild teen girl. No weapon was used in this killing, other than her powerful body. Whenever I tell things to people that resembles a story like this, be it my rape in the summer of 1969, or just how I love to say back to a TV set when the Lipator Medication commercial comes on, in a joking way, as it rhymes; “jip-a-whore”. Then I say after saying this, “There's no whore you want to jip if you know what is good for you”. In truth, I have arm wrestled a lot of the women in my life, to quote Bob Cheatley Patterson, and won only a couple times out of many tries. I have very weak arms, and street girls are very strong, Ann King used to call it, “JAIL STRENGTH”. She may have something there, to quote 3-Stooge, Mister Moe Howard! Still, I am tired of being laughed at, and then a story breaks that vindicates all the shit I fucking talk about and get laughed at for saying, and instead of anyone ever coming back to me and saying, wo, hay Mark, bla-bla-bla, no, fuck me, I don't matter worth a shit to this mother fucking ass world, do I Mister SNOWED-IN and Mister ALEX JONES? Bob McDowell, FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION, SIR AND OLD FRIEND FROM 1972, they are hacking my mother fucking computer huge time, please make it stop, ALL HOT HOSE BUCKET PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!!!! As for the mouse-hack fucking shit, explain to me anyone out here, how not only digital fucking shit can be hacked, but mechanical shit as well, such as this mouse that appears to somehow MECHANICALLY be screwed with so that during particular hacking that is done to me digitally, a mechanical problem, where the clicking of the damn thing seems to not be functioning properly is also somehow and quite fucking mysteriously done in total unexplainable TANDEM. Hey, I never said that I have all the fucking answers to it all, me; blogaudians, yo. I ain't the great Patricia H. Hollister H (Bitethroat), any more than even lovely 1969 Roseann Delaney was, or is, or then, could she be? This kind of thinking seemed to drive poor lovely Donna Lalassas Patterson nuttier than a full grown fucking fruitcake, but them how can we explain rationally that automobile crash in Berlin, or for that matter, the 500,000,000 dollar secret of the mighty Glassboro State College that ALSO-APPEARS to be where she studied music at some point. I mean, I know for a fact, and would swear it right now before Congress and the Senate, that I have a legitimately provided by the BOE from my then resided county of Camden-New Jersey, HIGH SCHOOL DIPLOMA stating that I have attended the West Collingswood High School in Collingswood, NJUSAESMWG, on West Collings Avenue, across this street from the world famous Knights Underwear-wetting PARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! At 12:31 P.M., Death Angel Mortimer Mortino is passing by my right side and annoying me, as he's been doing on a vely vely vely non-McDowell regular basis now for ages, yo yo BRAHHH!!! Now I can just relax ad realize WHY there is never any help or assistance to be rendered to me from those in authority, and no more pleas to Sheriff's, or AG's, or any of yesterdays wasted energies or efforts; such as countless asshole shit like this:

Duma Argon and Duka Agron is another fantastic example. In what real world would a total nobody such as me have things like this happen: There I am one day at Jenny's Trailer Park in Mullica Township in New Jersey, and this Philadelphia television news anchorman comes on, and is discussing a recent terrorism action at a Jersey military installation; and he says a name found only in my blogs, rather than the name of the actual SHOOTER. Where else BUTTERCHEESE and but MY BLOGS, will you find the name of DUMA ARGON? Go ahead world, GOOGLE it all up and see for yourself. On one hand it is wonderful to no longer be searching in vein for how and why all of this could be really happening to me, and literally actually happening to me as Jim Burr told me that it was on a phone talk that we had back in 1975. Now I can just sit back and live eternally with the wonderful fact that I HAVE DIED AND ABSOLUTELY GONE INTO AN ETERNAL UNCHANGING AND CONTINUING HELLFIRE that I have labeled as DOGTOWN because on the HOLLISTER-ASTRAL-PLANE, that is what it appears to be known as, yo! So yes, no more mysteries. For example, not even thissssssssssssssss is a mystery without rational explanation: In or out of 1984, Cinnaminson, or musical projects sent to the U. S. © Office, I will still say the following: How I adore one big happy family, even if it is TOTALLY CURSED, AND I HAVE TO BE THE GENERATIONAL chosen one, huh sir 'DUMA ARGON' of the MICK-CLOUDS??????????

My blogs, here in Dogtown:

I would wish everybody a fucking happy new year as well as a belated merry Christmas, only it seems that Merry has desired to indeed make this QUITE A 'MERRY-BLOG', despite my claiming that this is really NAUT a MERRY-BLOG, and no, it sure ain't a very merry one either!

FOR ALL THE GOOD IT NEVER WILL DO, I PROCLAIM A MAJOR MOTHER FUCKING:

RED ALERT---RED ALERT---RED ALERT

I can take my entire life and my entire recent last part of it called THE TIMES OF MY BLOGGING, and no more does the fog of mystery surround anything, not when I come to the ULTIMATE FUCKIGN CONCLUSION THAT I AM IN DOGTOWN, and that my life is but a physical illusion. Still, when I say you are all props, don't confuse things or misunderstand me on a major point because YOU ALL ARE INDEED COMPLETELY REAL, and even have a chance to play the GASME GODS GAME called “SALVATION” and it NAUT too late for you, as it is FOR ME! I merely say that I exist here with you and for my purposes, you are all just MY PROPS. I am NAUT your props. But yes, YOU ARE STILL REAL, and I do not want to be responsible for any of you saying gee golly, I will go jump off some cliff and fly now because I am just some mountainpen-PROP! NO NO NO NO, that ain't how this works, and I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN JUMP OFF OF A CLIFF, so don't anyone out here try that fatal ass dumb move, yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Still, when I read old blogs now such as the part of one from half a decade ago that I will paste in now, it allows me to sit here and laugh. I can even laugh at my endless pain and misery, BECAUSE half of the misery was THE NOT FULLY KNOWING, and NOW I DO FULLY KNOW!!!!!!!!! Just as for example the most recent shit that once would make me crazy, and now UI just know that it is explainable by saying, hey yo dummy, you're in fucking DOGTOWN, and all of this is just PAR 4 THE COURSE!!!!!!!! Today and yesterday twice in a row, A FIRE ALARM GOES OFF IN MY APARTMENT AT EXACLY 9:27 in the electrical number morning. This once would make me nuts, but NO MORE, oh now Prop Sheriff KJM, NO DAMN ASS MORE!

Harry Potter may have been written by a nice lady in England, but I assure you that in all probability, one of her advanced doppelgangers, wrote this through her, as for all I know, one of mine controls me and writes these blogs. I don't know. I said in all probability and perhaps, but magic in my life is a non ending loop of ever lasting event. To quote my conversation on the telephone in 1976 with Jim Burr, while living at Carriage Lamp Apartments that later became the New York Apartments for the gods only know what reason, as Clementon, New Jersey is 100 miles away or so from New York, but to quote him on the phone that time, “It will just continue and continue”. He was referring to my totally fucked up miserable nightmare hellish sub vampiric existence, that passes itself off as my life.

BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN

My 1994 book, The Permission Barrier, opens up a lot of doors to the following Morianity, and the story of my life, also known as (AKA) BOOK OF BEACH 2.

I copyrighted my four demo-songs on one open reel tape, at a speed of 7 and one half IPS, on a full track recording, copied onto my RS-1500-US, open reel semi-pro mastering machine, that I bought from the Martin Audio/Video store, in Manhattan, in May of 1980, and was delivered to my apartment by UPS, early in the first week in June, right before my powerful and unfathomable bizarre Lois Foca dream-HIE-RAW! Suddenly Marcy Levy and Robin Gibb, from the famous BEEGEE assholes, had made a song, that was rapidly going into lower numbers, on the Billboard Hot 100 Music Charts, called, “Help Me”, speaking of major fuckiGN symbolism, YO. After I saw the attorney recommended by my arranger, Mister Glenn, the song magically seemed to get pulled off of the air, and was killed cold; but no one ever spoke a word to me about shit, not Howard Solomon, not Lenny McKinnon, not Malcolm Rosenberg. I told the FBI that my life began to change in the negative even worse than it was before, when all of this went down and my shit was stolen back in the late summer time of 1980, while residing at 1802 Robin Hill Apartments. The book from 1994 that I wrote and copyrighted, “The Permission Barrier”, tells a lot of powerful truths, and it is no means a work of pure fiction. It has some slight exaggerations and lots of legal changes of names and places and items where I felt it prudent and necessary to do this. Otherwise, it is the truth, and it is real!

I LOVE YOU SO VERY MUCH, MY LIGHTNING!

More images for lighthouses

Click the link above the advertisement, for lots of beautiful lighthouse-images. WEEEEEEEEEE.

Yes Mister Alan Wolf from 1966; you, Wilson Jessup, and I; had some strange soul traveling experiences, regarding Tennessee Avenue, and the great Trinity-Trinidad Hotel, of Atlantic City, New Jersey, USA. And yes, right at that same spot, in July of 1997; I spoke words of great truth but did not yet understand why I had spoken them; to John the Greek, at his parking lot, right there at the Endicott-Tag Pink Goddess Games Hotel. I said and I quote, “My life ended in the year 1970”. Yes, Mister Wolf, it did, and you are 100% correct my friend. But I am not speaking to Allan, am I dear agents, and family, and 'whoever/whatever'----Congressman Oakangel Andrews????????????????

Sheriff; I have to go to my whack job place today, up in Oven Beach. Whatever you can do for me, will be much appreciated, as things have deteriorated for me to the point where soon, all fan shit will fly, and we all are going to wish for that great clock turn back, that seems to be the only thing Earthers understand. Screw it all up, you know, and then sit around for years wishing to go back in time and change shit!!!!

AS MIKE MCNULTY SAID SO DAMN WELL IN 1971 IN EXTON, PENNSYLVANIA, USAESMWG; “AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA”!!!!!

END TRANSMISSION.

'AFTER THE KNOWING'

CHAPTER ELEVEN

3:00 A.M. ON TUESDAY, 31 DECEMBER, 2019

HAPPY 71^st BIRTHDAY, DONNA SUMMER.

Okay, we finally come to it. Before we actually type it all in however, I fell asleep watching fucking television around shortly past two this morning and awoke to a nasty rotten ass roach crawling on my left arm. I managed to fuckign kill the shit eating thing so HAHAHA. I sprayed the entire apartment again and have gone through twenty mother fucking cans of raid and am all out and will now be using the PELLET POISONS for both the roaches and the rats that I purchased several days ago at my local ACE HARDWARE STORE. Monday was the most horrible fucking day since the last most horrible day several days back, which was the worst day before the one before that, and so forth and so on all the way back now to the 15^th of August in the year 1986 WHEN THIS NIGHTMARE FUCKING INCONCEIVABLE HELL AROUND ME ALL BEGAN!

AS MANY WOULD SAY IN THE DISTANT FUTURE, ''THE GREAT AND POWERFUL EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND SOCIETY TOTALLY ROCKS AND RULES OUR WORLDS''. WELL, NOT EVERYBODY AGREES WITH THEM, MISTER CHILD MOLESTER THOMAS J. REALE OF NORTHFIELD, NEW JERSEY!

BACK A WHILE AGO,

I was viewing the impeachment inquiry on one of the C-Span Channels, and shortly after it got going and before the late morning break, something happened that is very necessary for this blog to include, about my lifelong rival and enemy MILITUFORCE dirt bag, President D. J. Trump. While the Former-Ambassador of Ukraine was being questioned, the Speaker broke in and stated for the record, that Trump in real time, is tweeting out bad shit about this lady WHO HE WRONGED, but of course to hear him tell it, HE NEVER DOES ANYTHING WRONG and everyone else is always the BAD GUY. He then went onto say, and it made my day despite it already being a major fucking BOTBAR DAY, when he said that this is nothing short of “WITNESS INTIMIDATION” and it won't be tolerated as it is criminal illegal behavior, and that is my own paraphrase, but he said it in one way or the other, and IT IS TOTALLY ABSOLUTELY THE TRUTH, YO YO YO YO YO, and why NAUT, as Mister Chump-Rump IS a no good crooked criminal who cheated me and hurt me all of my life, ever since the day at the Jerry-Hammonton-Texaco, back in the fucking springtime of all great elusive non-butterfly laboratory technicians from PENNSYLVANIA, of 1984. I'll fucking cunt eating tell you all out here all over this damn ass globe, straight up and right powerfully on the square; this incredible shit, and I mean all of it, and all of its wild major unfathomable connections to the Mountainpen; ARE ALL STRAIGHT OUT OF MISTER FUCKING ROD SERLING'S TWILIGHT ZONE, yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Shall we never ever forget that the illustrious and vely vely vely dangerous, dick in the mouth Bob McDowell Cooley 1972 Hall dangerous, went out of his way to tell me that the peeps that I am searching for all come from PENNSYLVANIA, and he said this to me right at his PITTSBURGH HOTEL AND ERIN BAR ON 10-SC AVENUE, in ATLANTIC CITY, NJUSAESMWG, on that fateful day of infamy all all great non P.H. DAYS, Patty or Pearl, on 7 February of 1997, two months after that wild major Mary Tyler Moore green dress wearing Astral trip I was I-Ching'd into, from my Somerdale, NJUSAESMWG **DEATH HOUSE**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So here I am in REAL TIME, watching the Impeachment Inquiry on TV on 15 November of 1019, and being ICPE-APE-TECH slaughtered; huh ALL MERRY'S and MARY'S everywhere, in any colored dresses yo; even MAFCO RIGHT DRESSES; along with horrendous LOIS-FOCA song-tears, from the very early fucking nineteen-eighties yo; and then comes the great comment made by the Speaker who interrupted his party-colleague, and said what he did about TRUMP TODAY INTIMIDATING A WITNESS, LIVE IN OPEN CONTEMPT OF COURT, AND USING TODAY'S EVIL SOCIAL MEDIA TOOLS, OWNED BY THE FUCKING CUNT DEVIL ITSELF, AS I HAVE PROCLAIMED ALL DAMN ASS ALONG, YO YO YO YO BREE!!!! SO WOW THAT, lovely BIG owner-'O'!!!!!!!! The entire deal in the WHITE HOUSE and in WASHINGTON is not happening because of some random set of changing times. Nor is there any possible way of telling anybody anywhere in the entire galaxy, because nobody here is REAL and nobody here is REALE either, not even TOM from NORTHFIELD, NEW JERSEY. You cannot DIE over and over and over AGAIN, and continue to come back to what mortals call the land of the living, WITHOUT having something happen to you that HAS NO EXPLAINATION. Every person in the study of paranormal and psychic research will tell anyone any time that this is true, and that I am only echoing words spoken by recognized authority here. What I am not simply echoing here is MY OWN PERSONAL LIFE'S EXPERIENCE of seemingly being unable TO DIE AND REMAIN DEAD. The reason is so simple that a goddamn mother fuckign turd swallowing little moron child can see it while upchucking their candy bar. I merely THINK that I've COME BACK and really, I NEVER HAVE. Instead, I DIED and I WENT DIRECTLY INTO GODDAMN H-E-L-L!!!!! In NO REAL WORLD, could this entire thing with TRUMP and WASHINGTON POLITICS BE REAL, and I know this, and so do some of the PROPS HERE in my personal HELL, one of which is NEW GROUP LEADER (NGL). The magical PULL exerted upon me in the nineteen-seventies with Patricia Hollister and Jim Burr was very real, and it happened in a real world; and without any magical transdimensional newspaper boys, magical strobing flashlights or toys that might even be able to transform into moons. The absolute PROOF that this has not been a real place called the EARTH, for me, is not some wild tale told on a fourteen year old fucking blog, supposedly written by the craziest crackpot nutcase in New Jersey, Florida, or anywhere else for that matter. The PROOF is MY LIFE, and the PROOF is the unfathomable wild NEW WORLD, that has magically come upon us, without supposedly anyone else anywhere, ever becoming the smallest bit wise to any of it; and acting like this is all totally normal. One fantastic example is not only Donald Trump and what has happened since the middle twenty-tens in the world of American politics, but also how the Christian people have all sided with this monster demon and love him to death and claim he can do no wrong. Only in HELL could any of this make one bit of sense, and only in HELL could a life such as mine since August 15, 1986, BE HAPPENING. ONLY IN HELL could I be blogging to the same three or four dozen global traveling secret agents, labeled by me as the MILITUFORCE, and are anything BUTTTTTTTTTTTTT a kind blogging audience; and NO ONE ELSE; on this totally beyond sicko internet system thing, where no one is willing to ever show me how to work anything or how to do anything, and this entire thing makes 100 percent perfect sense, when seen in absolute truth, the only truth that COULD POSSIBLY BE REAL, and that is; I----AM----IN----H-E-L-L!

Only be realizing this quintessential mother fuckign HORROR, can things MAKE SENSE, and yes goddamn it mother fuckers; IT MAKES ABSOLUTE PERFECT SENSE!

But I did not truly die when I originally believed that I did. I now have come to realize that I died on the Atlantic City beach, one week after Patty had her way with me underneath the Central Pier. I had purchased a thin steak sandwich at the Denny and Cy eats place on the Saint James Place Boardwalk of Atlantic City, and had brought it to the beach, and I chocked to death on the sandwich, and I refused to believe that I had died, and I willed myself to continue on this physical life. After Patty Hollister did what she did, we talked for about an hour before parting ways on the fifth of July, Saturday, in 1969. she appeared to know my beach-pal Ziggy, and they began talking about some place in New York, I believe a neighborhood area somewhere in the borough of Washington Heights. During the talk that we had, she hypnotized me and made me think that I had walked through the low lying area under Central Pier and had hit my head on a cement beam. While we talked, she told me that she was going to be cleverly giving me a secret ancient wisdom technique after I reached the age of seventeen, and that if anything ever happened to me before I reached that age, I needed to say to myself, a magical grouping of chanted words that I will not give out to this HELL-PROP-WORLD I am stuck in for all eternity. Any time I ever have anything happen that will cause my demise, I automatically say these words and I DO NOT END UP A VICTIM OF MY FATE, and magically somehow circumvent around it. She wasn't more specific, but she made damn sure that I remembered the magical grouping of words. Every time any of us did, our brain always lives a short while, even if we are at ground zero in a nuclear blast, because the brain can change speeds, and will actually speed up so that a final one hundredth of a second can stretch into minutes of usable time. This is all a part of that known and shared truth of everybody where we all have heard that expression, “My life flashed before me”. Patty HHH explained all of that to me, and she then gave me the post hypnotic commands and then forced me to forget everything, and even when three years later appeared to come around, I never consciously remembered any of this. For five decades now, I totally believed that numerous times, I ALMOST CHOCKED TO DEATH on many different days in the summer of 1969 on many different Denny & Cy sandwiches, but it only really happened once, around the early middle of July. Still, 'CHOCKED' is a powerful deal here, because before I CHOCKED in another way in the late spring of 1983, nearly double my life later from the time in Atlantic City, I had been doing something with the FAWCES as Mister Hall would call them in 1990, that led me to this dual situation, at least in my opinion. When I made a major attempt TO ESCAPE something that I instinctively knew was being done to me and was happeneing all around me by way of the entertainment industry; and then attempted to get away from it, this was sort of acting like a TRIGGER, and it then caused me to have another CHOKING situation, but it also led me to a magical place just off of Grant Avenue in Northeast Philadelphia, where things would NEED TO HAPPEN in order to reset certain Marcucci/McCartney pathways, and schedules. I truly believe that this is the final and absolute explanation to many things once thought impenetrable as far as any chance of figuring any of this shit out with any reasonable bunch of logical concepts. The appearance of things all seemingly fitting together in connectable dots with numbers or dates or words or letters or places or any other possible conceivable thing, is merely the goddamn fucking byproduct of AN ORIGINAL item that then goes onto literally branch out in and through the lines of time or MIND-SEPARATION. My planning to run away to another country or attempting suicide or anything, is just a futile mother fucking endeavor, as I AM IN ETERNAL HELL, and there IS NO ESCAPE FROM THERE! I am too cunt lapping depressed to quote the mighty WORLD-PROP Sir Dennis Snyder here, with his somewhat now famous great quotation.

Nobody can be directly struck by lightning, and poisoned, and shot in a WAWA convenience store, smashed to shit in a fatal car crash in Woodbury, New Jersey, along with several other car crashes just as fatal, die from fatal heart attacks such as the one that I experienced at the Cifaloglio job site, and on and on and on, and keep coming back to HUMAN LIFE. But let's examine the magical PULL of JIM verses PATTY in all of this. My father woukldscream at me when we lived together at that fucking rotten apartment called the CARRIAGE LAMP in Clementon, New Jersey, and he would say, “Quit vacillating, pick a damn horse and RIDE IT, you can't keep switching back and forth from believing religious shit and then running off in the psychic world of the paranormal”. He would also yell at me, “Mark for crissake, this shit'll tear you apart”, you can't keep vacillating like this”. Now this was in the BICENTENNIAL YEAR of 1976, and I remember this hellishness like mother fucking puke sucking YESTERDAY, Mister MARCUCCI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Patty Hollister pulled me one way and Jim Burr pulled me the opposite way, and I began to feel literally as if I was back in the mother fucking days of the Inquisition, on a torture fucking rack, and being literally PULLED AND STRETCHED APART. One day while at the home of Joann Marney in Berlin, New Jersey, in that same 1976 year, two psychics who were known in the psychic trade were over at her expensive lovely home in the country, and one of them had invented an incredible machine. She would ask it a question and actual voices would come out of a small speaker, barely audible, but they were definitely there. When she asked if I had a question for her magical machine, I responded with, “Why am I under this curse”? There was a gurgling sound for about thirty seconds or so, and then came a very wild group of sentences that I wouldn't forget if I lived to be 500 years old, which I will, and far beyond that. First I would hear Jim's voice saying over and over, “Mark, there's something in your family”, and then I would hear Patty's voice saying over and over, “Remember the Fascitar”. After three times of this had repeated, I heard a very deep and bellowing voice say in a very low volume, “Remember the great clock and the two half sides, and remember the polarities on each of those sides, as this is the answer to all of your question”!

ROACHES---ROACHES---ROACHES

PUBLIC FUCKING HOUSING SUCKS!!!

BUT BEING IN ETERNAL HELL IS WORSE!

I mean, to quote Queen Katy and myself, “This is truly WEEDEEKAWUSS”! So I now say to this evil rotten wicked world in all parallel realities:

“YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO, AND A BIG-ASS,

VIVA MORIANITY!”

The time was back in 1984, and I said to myself in SPACE-TIME-MIND, 'VIVA-MORIANITY'; along with some 'other not so nice things', most likely! Now I wouldn't fucking give you a DAMN VIVA in or out of lovely May-He-Co, or in this rotten place either, yo! Because this rotten fucking place is nothing other than HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL---HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Week

***********************************************l

the week ending Tuesday afternoon, 12-31-2019.

So no wonder my kid, and my aunt, are all a part of the WFMU INTERNET RADIO HATE PAGE, after all of this is realized! Still, to my frame of reference, they are just props, and I AM IN ETERNAL HELL, and this CANNAUT EVER BE ESCAPED FROM!

I've got fucking roaches all over the goddamn apartment no matter how much I spray the RAID or how clean I keep the place. I have the ILLEGAL GUESTS around here slamming the goddamn fucking doors today, kind Sheriff, sir. It's more fucking fun around here than Alice Ciminelli, and her barrel of jail bird American Honda guardhouse conversations, sent to the U.S. Copyright Office, on 1988's Valentine's Day monkeys!!!!!!!!!!!!! I believe that I have been hit with another health assault on top of this, Sheriff. Another horrible fucking year is beginning for me, oh wonderful kind sir!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, my heavenly and marvelous life, measured by the standards of anti-matter, is just making me so thankful and appreciative of the blessings that flow from such a wonderful fucking GODDESS, who sends songs in my sleep that altered my life, and so many grand and glorious fucking things! So thanks a lot, Almighty Sarah-Stacey Jehovah Karge Krassle, Sheriff K.J.M., and “thanks a lot, DAVE”!!!!!!!!!!! YARRRRRR, Patty Hollister, maybe me buckin' hat's on crooked or something. WOW-THAT!!!!

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Yes folks, we can definitely call that my Mountainpen's Morianity Quotation or (MMQ) or anything else you may wish to, as this won't alter the following truth: When the famous and terrific agents, mentioned in that wild and cool report-documentary on New York City's WPIX-Channel-11-television show, back in 1988 non-Spellchecker monkeys; Agents Condor and Agent Falcon, said that people who open up their mouth, and say things that are not allowed to be said; those people will not be able to get a moment of peace for the rest of their lives; how does this then fit into those who were on the receiving end of all of this horrible monstrous mother fucking turd swallowing junk, LONG BEFORE they ever uttered a single goddamn word? THAT, oh great SIR ROCKDROID of the original STAR TREK SHOW, is the real Shakespearean query of the ages, on kind peeps and loyal Blogaudians!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes THAT is the question, Mister Bill Shakespeare, YO!

How I'll never ever fucking forget, ADA Ron Wirtz Senior, telling me how all of my damn answers to all of this nasty-ass mess; lays in the town of Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Right after he told me this incredible fucking shit, kind Sheriff KJM sir, POW, “My goddess non son of Sam girlfriend”, came over to my apartment and raped me, and this led to the miscarriage of my younger daut, PEE! And then there was the wild dream a few years afterward, where I was back at 1802 Robin Hill Apartments, and Paula came over to visit with me and tell me how I was too immature and that she refused to marry me, and that she had recently miscarried our child PEE. This is how transdimensional hyperspace works. We cannot go getting ourselves all fucking hung up on minor whittle details such as an event happening in one universe and not happening in another one that lies in localized hyperspace. No Spellchecker, the hypERCHRIST has absolutely nothing to do with any of this, OR DOES IT, come to reflect on it heredahelda and here, kind folks!!! I mean for crissake, it isn't every day that I am stopped and searched like a criminal by the authorities, for just sitting and telling a man about something from my childhood. But it sure happened that particular day in Medford Lakes, in the springtime of 1986. Maybe this is why the satanic demons of hellfire itself, struck Dave Roth and me so very hard, as after-all, it was directly following all of this, along with a tiny whittle detour through another Mister Rod Serling's Twilight Zone; called that special talk that took place in the spring time in the following year of 1986, at the Medport Diner, in Medford Lakes, New Jersey; regarding the “Great Sarah Krassle”. Along with these whittle pirate facts and YARRRRRRR's, and buckin' fuckin' pirate hats, I am wondering how Patty and her pal Santa are doing these goddamn days, yo????????????? But then, like who gives a fucking shit, to quote the kids who cuss?! Alligators or ALL I'M SAYING is that long B4I ever had a blog, or even shot off my mouth on RED-LINE-CROSSOVER topics, or said boo about shit; I have been given a no-peace persecution by these monstrous evil mother fucking HALLS-FAWCES. So it is not like anyone out here can go screaming into my ear, “Hey Mountainpen, this is all your own fault”, as my kid did about alligators, when I complained about all of these horrible things all over this place, and she said that I had made my bed and must now lay in it. Hey, she's totally right. Still, was this all my fault for real? Was this all my fault for REALE, for that matter? Was it me who teased you or you who teased me, every mother fucking time that I came down in 1997 to try and relax on the beach, and you tormented me with your sick demented evil WAYV radio station, oh mighty Patty-Paula?????????

WOW THISssssssssssssssssssssssssssss, Mizz Susan Erica AMC Snakes from 1983. Yes, Patty-Paula may very well be Sarah Krassle, or spelled with a fuller ASTRAL-PLANE name, SARAH-STACEY JEHOVAH KARGE KRASSLE. Yes there is pure magic in this incredible entity named Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle Sarah Krassle!

Why go to so much trouble doing all of these things, beginning with Misses Cooley Hall High Hell Marola, on Memorial Day of 1969, May 30^th, and going all the way so far, up to the stunt pulled in waking life while I was at my non-choker Darius Evans Cifaloglio security job in 2009, two years before the transdimensional-choking deal, and right around the Lakehouse-choking deal, but yes, always (choking-1983 deals); with that WAYV magical stunt she pulled on me with the Regis Threat and magically getting me to tune into it from my car while on that job. Things like this JUST DON'T HAPPEN, not in any real life or real world, and not with this sort of endless fucking repetitiveness; and I know that you all know that, and I'm not being WAYV-cute heredahelda and HERE, yo! There was a night a few years earlier where I was at my trailer, #10 at the great and illustrious Mullica Mobile Manor of Mullica Township, New Jersey, USA-ESMWG; and watching one of those two famous magicians on television. I forget whether it was Blaine or Copperfield, but it was one of the David's. Tee-Hee-Hee. He told everyone out in the TV audience to think of a card. We all did, and HE GUESSED IT; and that would be a one in fifty-two chance; and I don't buy into chances, or long shots like that. Yes longer shots than this do indeed happen, and with more frequency than we all might think would be the case, BUTTTTTTTTT folks, I know that he did something, and I know that night at Cifaloglio with Patty-Paula, that she did that very same 'something'; and then things happened. Just because I am unable to properly explain it, I STILL AM ABLE TO FULLY REPORT IT to the goddamn mother fucking world, yo, and you can bet I do, and will go right on screaming out my pain. This monster and all of her FAWCES are behind it.

Since I am no expert with these computer systems, this will begin with a short note TO MYSELF. Hey dum-dum Mark, you screwed up. When you are looking for blog 4 and blog 5 of 2019, reverse it on your office-dock-file, you know, if you want blog 4, type in blog 5, and if you want blog 5, then type in blog 4. I don't know how to get back into the damn file and repair my error. Sheriff sir, at least PK released the damn hack on my 'making-lines program, as you can see from below! So thanks a lot, Almighty Sarah-Stacey Jehovah Karge Krassle, Sheriff K.J.M., and “thanks a lot, DAVE”!!!!!!!!!!! YARRRRRR, Patty Hollister. Yeah, it's under me buckin' hat, lovely lady from Gloucester. Watch out for Katharine and Mary-Lee, Aunt Ruth!!!!!!!! For those who may be unaware of all of the nightmarish circumstances involved here; David Roth and I would have many serious talks over a totally fucking 'Ed Snowed In' bugged up telephone, Mister BLUE-NUNNGEN; and he would always joke about that exact song, “Feel Real”, and how as he put it so crudely, Thomas J. Reale of both Ventnor, and Northfield, New Jersey, USA-ESMWG; molested me back when I was fifteen years fucking old, at his home that he sold to the ACMUA waterworks of Atlantic City, on Cornwall Avenue, back in July of 1970. There is a connection and a message, built into every single event in the entire universe and multiverse.

So why do we choose (in our spirit), to explore the various parallel doppelgangers (doubles) of ourselves, in the virtually limitless fifth dimensional hyperspace? To begin here with this, we must still open up a whittle bit of additional foundation, and so we shall, kind peeps and great wonderful Blogaudians!!!!!!!! Yes sir/mahm, allow if ye will, 'THIS DOGTOWNITE', AND

THIS HUMAN-HYBRID, with the Blood type---A neg., and Eye color---green-hazel, to continue along heredahelda, and HERE!,

Miscalculation, and Mister Spellchecker!!!! BUTTTTTTTTT, if I didn't get Paula King that radio, she would take me back to the hotel balcony in the year of 1967, and this time, THROW ME OFF OF IT FOR REALE. Maybe I should have said FBI, or just REAL. Or, hey maybe I should NOT HAVE SAID FBI, to Debbie Harry's friends at ROBIN HILL, back in the spring time of freaking 1981. WOW!

So now we come to more of it; the BIG 'Y' of the 'dream-realms'? Is this series of sleeping visits without reason, and merely happening by random? Well, as the great BRITS would put it, “NOT TAT TALL”! And the very same process of our waking mind supposedly choosing to make a decision to do or not to do, any particular Shakespearean thing; is not one bit different than our spiritual or higher mind, equally acting out a multiverse, literally, of decision processes, that we on the mortal world, mislabel as mere 'dreams'. Every dream that we experience is for us and only us, and it is given to us, BY OUR TRUE SELVES. Allow me to further elaborate and explain this to my great Morians and Blogaudians here.

SOUL MIND VERSES WAKING MIND:

Well people, soul mind explores, fully retains any and all 'non-alligator' items, is a natural super-sleuth, completely knows our absolute truest desires, sends itself when allowed to (while the lower mind is shut down during sleep), into multiple realms of hyperspace so as to better shape our grasp on so-called 'REALITY'.

And yes great people, waking mind always agrees fully with our human sensory perceptions, is extremely easily deceived by waking reality's many confusions, deceptions, and illusions, and does all that it can, whenever it can, to conflict with our truer and higher selves, that are labeled by our Almighty Goddess SSJKK, in Her great and powerful Scriptures; as the Carnal Mind!

This should in multiple ways, make any really thinking person, see how powerful our 'dreaming-life' truly is, as well as how the carnal Earthly/worldly mind, really and truly for the most part, NEVER HAS OUR BEST INTERESTS AT HEART! It could almost become song lyrics, but the powerful nonchrisblumof501-Buttercheese situation here, is anything butTERCHEESE-BUT A SIMPLE SONG, kind folks out heredahelda, and out here as well, MISTER Microsoft Spellchecker, so WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!

You can try and explain and rationalize until your mother fucking teeth turn pinkish brown and it never does one bit of good. Why? Because IN HELL, none of this fucking shit matters in the smallest way, just as THE BIBLE WARNS US ALL, or USED TO;

BEFORE IT BECAME TOO GODDAMN LATE!!!

END TRANSMISSION.

The rules of Dogtown for me anyway, are several large ones and a dozen smaller ones. No matter what I do the SAME MISERY UNITS will be given to me, but still, I cannot remain endlessly in any one situation or they will make it beyond intolerable, such as at the King family home in Jersey and now at the P.H. Building here at Fort Pierce. If I do not pick up and move around like a fucking cunt yo-yo every few years, it will reach a danger point that is even beyond tolerable life threatening for ME, and so from now on after no more than five years, I will keep playing the YO-YO GASME GAME, or else! As we go on here in future chapters, more rules will be discussed and shared, and more details regarding more efficient ways of interacting with those rules will also be harped more thoroughly on. I just killed a roach here on my keyboard at 5:21 this mother fucking morning. What makes no sense is that why have I had bad infestations before BUT NEVER THIS BAD TO WHERE I HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO GET OUT OF HERE AND RUN AWAY AGAIN? Why do things keep happening to me, why do my photos keep blanking out, then coming back, then blanking out, and so forth. Why do some go from black and white to color and back again, over and over? Only sicko fuckign gods and their sicko fucking games can explain this, and only in SICKO FUCKING MONSTER ASS DOGTOWN, could all of these games be real and happening to me, even factoring in the mighty wicked Wiccan witch, Mizz Patty Hollister! These fuckign cunt sicko GODS are on me right now, hacking and fucking with me' cunt eating CUM-PUKE-HER, word disappearing hacks, mouse jumping hacks, space-bar hacks, and on and on and on and on, SHERIFF, as if you fucking could CARE ONE DAM BIT LESS ABOUT ME OR HOW THIS ELDER ABUSE AND ILLEGAL ACTIVITY IS ENDLESSLY IN VIOLATION OF MY CIVIL AMERICAN MOTHER FUCKING RIGHTS, KIND SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HELL IS FIXED IN STONE AND FIRE

CHAPTER 112, AND FOR ALL ETERNITY AS WELL!

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAGNESONIC:

Computer, hear my MVP (Mind-Voice-Print). You will be totally absolutely crushing, obliterating, annihilating, and devastating, wrecking, ruining, and utterly wiping out, all of my enemies that are viciously persecuting me ON THIS SUPER BOTBAR JANUARY 1,2, and 3, IN 2020, WITH MAX-POWER AGAINST whoever is pounding this poor pathetic elderly man with MAJOR SKY DEATH SIEGE, MAJOR NOISE ASSAULTS HERE AT MY APARTMENT, MAJOR COMPUTER HACKING RIGHT NOW AT HALF PAST FIVE, CAUSING ME AN INHUMAN RODENT AND ROACH INFESTATION, AND IS ALL A PART OF DONALD TRUMP, AND HIS ENDLESS ICPE-APE-TECH ASSAULT ON ME, SINCE THE MIDDLE NINETEEN-EIGHTIES; on a crush-destruct order, under GENERAL-ORDER-189, max.-power. Open-Command, General Order #7. Use G-901, G-1133, G-14, G-719, G-13, CG5555-QP4 sub-code, under G-917, CG-2, under CG-18, and HOLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Computer, 'MAGNESONIC', on an 'I' to 'D', A/B—TONE, PHASING PUNISHMENT SEQUENCING SYSTEM; you will now be transmitted the two empowerization-transmit tones, or ETT'S.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

GO TO G-189, under G-1133, CG-18, AND S---T---O---P

Hello time capsule library of congress. Let's see these god dam fucking Kennedy's get at my life records now, WORLD COURT AT THE HAGUE!!!!

red alert--LOUISE XXXX HENDERSHODT--red alert

[ 1 ]

Mohr, Mark W., 1954-

For the record.

PAu000662409

1984

[ 20 ]	Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-	Apitamy of harrasment [sic] : pt. two.	PAu001148157	1988
[ 21 ]	Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954-	Epitamy of harassement [sic] : pt. 3.	PAu001189027	1989

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3 YEARS AFTER 1802 ROBIN HILL, WOW-WEE; Now this was all right after I had met and interacted with the throat specialist in northeast Philadelphia, and his magical lovely young lab-tech assistant. “That's not his problem, Misses Mohr”. Well Dock, oh mighty throat specialist off of Grant Avenue after making my turn off of 95 and onto Academy Road, what is my problem? Why will I go into a slow endless eternal coma sub death for a million years, without the magical 4-GRAM daily ativan dosage? Why did Doctor Schorr tell me a year ago that going off this medicine cold turkey could kill me, and then last week today, he sang a totally different tune, and way off cunt chewing key? If the AMA is not trying to murder me PAM BONDI, then please ma'am, I respect authority, you tell me what's going on then. I swear this doctor told me it could kill me, and then told me another opposite story a year later, last Wednesday, Mizz Attorney General. If I die from this, I HOLD YOUR MOTHER 'FUCKIGN' STATE OF FLORIDA TOTALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR MY DEATH, AND MY ESTATE WILL INDEED SUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Trust me, I have a very 'greedy' estate of survivors!!!!!!!!!!! No 'Merry' X-MAS 4U!

OH PATTY, OH OH PATTY, NON-DONNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HACK-HACK-HACK, FCC BOB MCDOWELL, SIR!!!!

FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMISSION, YO YO YO,

Major fucking mouse shit, word disappearing and more.

Do you think anything is impossible for the game playing gods of the ESS to pull off? How do you think we got all of our ancient religions? Wake up world, please, coffee has been boiling over for decades in your stinky kitchens, good folks, yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Florida Attorney General Pam Bondi

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I know you are doing your best to watch over me, AG Mizz Bondi, thank you. Feel free to contact the Wirtz detectives in Camden County in New Jersey, Ron Senior knows my problem is all real, but his hands are tied, I am quite sure that you know what I mean. But now, I HAVE REAL PROBLEMS, MIZZ BONDI, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TOLD YOU their dirt bag stock market would keep flying UP AND UP AND UP AND UP, don't mother fucking believe a dam thing that I say, swan you!

AUGUST 20, 2014,

EARLY WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON AT 12:22,

HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,

CURRENT TEMPERATURE, 93 DEGREES FNHT.

END TRANSMISSION.

The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"

Friday, January 3, 2020

DOGTOWN TO EARTH COME IN PLEASE, CHAPTER 3

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

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