4:02
POST
MERIDIAN
SUNDAY
AFTERNOON
15
MARCH, 2020
FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG
The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"
MORIANITY
FOR MILLENNIUM 3
MOUNTAINPEN'S
LUNAR PHASES CHART:
SUNDAY,
MARCH 15, 2020
CURRENT
PHASE IS:
WAXING
GIBBOUS 6:6
N.M.
WXC1 WXC2 WXC3 WXC4 WXC5 WXC6 WXC7 F.Q. WXG1 WXG2 WXG3 WXG4 WXG5
WXG6 F.M. WNG1 WNG2 WNG3 WNG4 WNG5 WNG6
L.Q. WNC1 WNC2 WNC3 WNC4 WNC5 WNC6 WNC7 N.M.
The
Huntington Curse
is both real and not taken one bit seriously, let alone believed by
anyone. I have to go through it for my family in this present
generation of humanity inside of the Astral-Plane GASME-GODS-GAMES,
and on top of that, I have to be laughed at and scorned, for knowing
beyond any doubt, that it is absolutely true and real. This curse
takes on different forms as it attacks each person in my family line,
who are forced to inherit it involuntarily. This works every bit as
monstrous as other DNA-family-related issues and items that pass
down; such as cancer, diabetes, hypertension, mental disorders, and
this list extends beyond those items, I'm quite sure. The difference
is that does not operate in the exact randomized way that those items
I have listed here do. With those, it is based on mathematical odds
in the world of ultra complex microbiology and medically related
complexities. Here, there is an actual intelligence right on the
physical plane of life, organizing who is next in line each time it
needs to be transferred. Also, the type of hellishness that this
curse brings its victims, alters in radical ways. The person in my
family lineage who I inherited from, died half a decade before I was
even born. Obviously, time is not some exact part of this situation
from hell either, as that skip in time where no one was under the
curse, seemingly was allowed by whoever is running this
SALVATION-GASME-GODS-GAME from the great unfathomable ASTRAL-PLANE,
AKA the PURGATORY, in the circles of the R.C. CH-UR-CH, and I
separate the word CHURCH here, for very obvious JRSS reasons, as it
most definitely appears to signal the words in this game as follows:
CHOSEN HUNTINGTON-YOU ARE-CHOSEN HUNTINGTON. Merely take the
in-between two words of (YOU ARE), and make it shorten to
pronounceable quicker letter-words, {U} {R}. Now examine the text of
an unmistakable error-proof James Redfield Synchronicity Syndrome
(JRSS) here: Chosen
Huntington,
U
R
Chosen
Huntington.
You have to admit the very word of CHURCH,
at least according to the great NEW-AGE-FATHER Mister Redfield,does
LITERALLY speak for itself, yo peeps, yo!!!!!!!!!! You will all have
to forgive me for perhaps having a much lower level of tolerance for
coincidences in this human tangible material realm of 'waking'
physical life, than most if not all of you out here. Still, that old
argument between Misses 1969 Marola and myself seems to be rearing
its ugly head here, does it naut? She insisted that going with the
vast majority, HAS TO BE THE CORRECT THING TO DO. I did not agree
back at the age of fourteen, with that lovely woman and my educator
at the time,in the illustrious COOLEY HALL of HADDONFIELD,
NJUSAESMWG. Sorry if this offends anybody anywhere in this wonderful
and lovely world, butButButButButBUTTTTTTTTTTTT
people; if
you get mad at me,
then
get mad at lovely fictional
ADA
Abbey Law & Order Carmichael,
as she said that exact quotation on the show about high tolerance for
coincidence, and I am not making up a single thing here, folks! So in
further examining this inconceivable reality, that Mountainpen's
Morianity has called the “HUNTINGTON
CURSE”,
and used to call the MASON CURSE as this term was invented by Cousin
Donald long ago when discussing our 'wonderful and wovewee family'.
It is not the Mason's, not by a most awesome long-shot, and IPYT, let
me qualify and elaborate somewhat here on what I refer to when I
state that this thing takes on varying forms of hellishness with each
new and different victim of it, with
me, Mountainpen, being the MOST RECENT VICTIM OF IT IN ALL OF THE
HISTORY OF HUMANITY HERE ON THIS EARTH-PLANET!
If anyone anywhere in the world thinks that I am getting some sick
joy out of doing this blog, and saying these things; then you are way
sicker and nuttier that I could ever be. Now the dude before me int
his wild Huntington lineage, was a man by the name of Arthur
Huntington, He owned a men's clothing store in the suburbs of the
city of Boston, Massachusetts, USA back in the nineteen-forties, and
was married to a Chicago lady whose maiden name was Mizz Alice
Gallagher. One day for absolutely no discernable reason, he took an
ax to my Aunt Alice in her sleep while she lay next to him in their
bed in a nice home there that he owned in Braintree, Massachusetts,
USA. After he brutally slaughtered his wife, he marched himself down
the hallway of their home and he entered the bedroom of his mother in
law, the mother of Aunt Alice, and he took that same ax to her skull.
After these two murders were completed, my Uncle (cousin actually),
marched himself down to the basement of the home where he proceeded
then to hang himself, and he died. To this day, a coverup surrounds
the true story, because my Huntington family is indeed a
'founding-fathers-America FAMILY, and we all know how things operate.
Not only MUFON PEEPS but any reasonable person knows about cover-ups
and why they are done. It is always about preventing TRUTHS, number
one. Then it is about PROTECTING POWERFUL PEOPLE, number two. If a
number three exists,my best guess would be this: A larger agenda
exists that actually is what causes not only the actual covering up
of facts, but also, allows for all of the necessary items to come
into play that puts the coverup into play from 'A' through 'Z'. I was
always told a fake phony story by my mom concerning the great
Massachusetts coverup of the family, that gas was left on and they
all died. In those days, no internet or social networking existed in
the wildest minds of anyone on this planet, or not to my knowledge
anyway, and in this dimension. So if a kid was told something by his
or her parents, THEN THAT'S THAT as Mister Esolph the great fable
writer would say! There was no Googling or networking with hundreds
of peeps in a far away town or any of that present day jazz where
everybody carries the entire universe in their little pockets now! To
quote my beach-pal Ziggy Malyeska from summer-time in 1969, “Hey,
that's the way it goes”. He was right then and nothing at all has
changed up here in the illusion of 2020, nearly fifty one years
later. So Arthur Huntington had this horrendous deal at the final day
of his life, yet to hear his neighbors and this I've been told, “He
was out in his yard and walkway, shoveling snow, and whistling like a
very happy man, just the day before he did all of this”. He
appeared to be doing well financially too with his men's clothing
store, either in town or in the close city of Boston. He seemed to be
happy in his marriage as well. Then, KABOOM. But my point here folks
is that the curse with me has taken on entirely different forms. I
have never ever had any normalcy at all in my pathetic damn life. I
have never known love, happiness,my own family, peace of mind, and on
top of that I have never made more than minimum wage or been able to
get any kind of a productive job, and believe me peeps of this world,
no one has tried to do all of these things more than me. The one time
that I finally seemed to beat this curse was during the year of 1986
with my playing Roulette in the Atlantic City casinos. THAT
TOO was STOPPED by whoever is behind this horrendous monstrous
fucking nightmare curse on this family,
and whoever is here on this planet PHYSICALLY, operating it and
organizing it, intergenerationally. It seems that Morianity has
created-invented ANOTHER NEW WORD. Hey it fits, so I am going to use
it, yo! On top of all of that and as if this wasn't enough of a
hellish nightmare pile of stench from Dogtown, I have had a lifetime
of being forced into poverty, being ripped off, robbed, assaulted,
victimized, forced to endlessly live right with horrible rotten
neighbors all around me who steal and do drugs and break the law, and
you would think that the local police people would at least give me a
little bit of respect for being true blue honest and clean, but do
they? No sir. They treat me like a kooky crackpot and won't ever help
me out at all with anything. Then the internet world after I started
blogging out my hellish nightmare woes and tales from HELL/DOGTOWN
since 2006; all call me a complaining, ranting, whining, crackpot
nut. Let me ask anyone out here, yo? If you object to my term of a
FAMILY CURSE being on me, then tell me, what would you classify all
of this absurd and surreal outlandish junk on steroids for my entire
65+ YEARS OF LIFE? Well, one little good piece of news here, folks.
Miss Fondaslime Sleazeweedsdisease Pukedrinker missed me by a
'mucousy' nose hair. I am on page 12 of 12 and was so busy typing out
this Huntington curse shit, that I completely forgot about monitor
screen sticky page blockers. HA-HA-HA, butButButButButBUTTTTTTTTTTTT
I am still going to write in my goddamn fucking FIVE GROUPATIONS
HERE, and yes Microsoft Corporation, here and HEREdahelda!!!!!! Yes
it appears that I now have made up two brand new words since
beginning this damn blog, MUCOUSY, and yes, it fits what I am trying
t say, so IMHO there should be a word, only the English Language
system was too stupid to realize that when it was originated.
“SOOOOOOOOO”,
Arthur
Crane
of ANTINASS
sir; I will oblige, and make up this SECOND WORD TODAY,
yo BRAH!
I believe Sir Chester-Frank would now say should he be in here with
me, “WEEEEEEEEEEEEE”!
Now
this curse with me WILL NAUT PERMIT me to make any money at all. Even
a minimum wage job brings my MILITUFORCE ENEMIES down on me like a
ton of bricks. You all know the horrific story of 1986, my Roulette
Casino playing, and my HARASSMENT nightmare all starting up, STORY,
so no need to rehash this with you now, peeps. But I will say this
much. Look st RECENT TIMES for a major mother fucking brand new
verification of these claims that I am making right here in the year
of 2020. Look at the TWO TIMES THAT I POSTED UP ON MY BLOGS, THE
'BOM' about MAKING MONEY WITH BLOGS, and how BOTH GODDAMN ASS TIMES,
I was literally 1986 re-persecuted again in ways that are beyond
unfathomable, bringing me insurmountable events that none of you
would be able to survive for three days with on top of all of my
other problems. The very same goddamn shit that was done to me in
1986 when I temporarily appeared to be breaking out of the HUNTINGTON
CURSE with my Roulette Casino playing in Atlantic City, happened tome
all over again, 34 years later up here in this photon projected
eternal now, in relation to my photon memory of 1986 here in eternal
now. $$$$$$$$$$$, or better said here peeps, the lack of it, and my
being ENDLESSLY OPPRESSED INTO THIS DEMONIC GODS-GAMES HELLISHNESS
NIGHTMARE ON QUINTESSENTIAL STEROIDS, is an ongoing womb to tomb shit
eating nightmare for poor old nobody rotten diseased little goddamn
me, yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo, NO MATTER HOW HARD I EVER TRY WITH
ANYTHING, OR WHAT I HAVE EVER DONE, OR COULD EVER DO!!!!!!!
When
I talk about numerous Roulette systems, the enemies know that I'll
never set foot into their evil gaming houses ever again, so they
don't assault me as badly. They don't like me shouting out ways that
have the potential to lessen their greedy avaricious profits, but it
isn't the end of the world by their perceptions. But interfering with
the generational mother fuckign Huntington Curse, now that is another
entirely new ball of wax the size of ten planet Jupiter's, for crying
out loud. Oh no-sir, don't ever make the mistake of thinking that I
can do something that might just catapult me to a place where this
monster-ass
NON-HUBCAP-NICKED
UP MILITUFORCE
of the MILLIONTH-COUNCIL,
simply won't be able to do anywhere as many horrendous things to me
with nabes and poverty situations in general and on and on and on and
on and on. That would be the QUINTESSENTIAL NO-NO; me' people!!!
NOT
WITHOUT SEVERE MAJOR PENALTY!
Yes
folks; a part of this HUNTINGTON
CURSE
is all about both keeping me down and oppressed and poverty stricken
endlessly, but it's also about PLAYING
SOME HUUUUUUUUGE GAME WITH ME
endlessly, where if I do anything that starts something with this
diseased mother fucking force of pure unadulterated DOGTOWN-EVIL;
they instantly turn right around and engage me with some brand new
sicko-game of theirs! This has been incredibly echoed in ways too
unbelievable to ever be told in any COURT OF LEGAL PRECEEDINGS, with
and throughout the entire ENTERTAINMENT
INDUSTRY,
and they have even used this ROYAL HUNTINGTON BLOODLINE to bring the
current GASME-GODS-GAMES to include my own goddamn daughter, whose
initials legally match the great counsel, that was even referred to,
and is right there in the GOSPELS OF THE BIBLE'S SCRIPTURES to this
very day, by the LORD JESUS THE MESSIAH (CHRIST), regarding NOT doing
or saying things that might generate wrath and anger from this mighty
MILLIONTH-COUNCIL-34343434343434 GROUPATION of one million ASTRAL
ENTITIES, and the ULTIMATE POLITICAL SYSTEM OF ALL THINGS,
EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!!!!
The
great Glassboro State College in New Jersey, and the neighboring area
where good old Mister Timothy Barber used to have a home, and where I
witnessed things in his basement that to this day are for the most
part unknown by the masses; will haunt my mind and memory until the
day my body turns to worms and maggots. But then that last sentence
was what this was all about, because his miniaturized version of a
multi-wave oscillation integratron was used to turn an ordinary house
fly into a being that not only never gets old, but seems to be
immortal and absolutely indestructible, and I swear to the gods that
I was in his basement, and saw many of these wild systems and
apparatuses that were scattered all over the place and not
particularly organized by any stretch of the imagination. Just last
night on that marvelous HISTORY-CHANNEL,
the same channel that also hosts that fantastic other television show
called PROJECT
BLUEBOOK,
had a brand new show on that discussed the INTEGRATRON
out in the Majabee
Desert.
I have misspelled the name of the desert, and I cannot get the
Microsoft Spellchecker to provide me with the accurate spelling. I am
sure that more computer savvy peeps out here can find out what I am
talking about here, and can then google up that American desert, and
then the word “integratron”. Our cells, and the magic of all of
them, is all inside of our blood. Blood is nothing but cells, and
some cells are stem-cells, and these cells communicate and transmit
information to all the others that surround them in all parts of the
human body. This is called in the world of medical science and stem
cell research, “signaling”. But that machine system that was in
Tim Barber's fucking basement, that I have talked about from time to
time on some of my blogs ever since their inception in January of the
year 2006; is the point I wish to quickly discuss here. The larger
machine in the desert, was 19/20 completed, or 95%. The man was
obviously murdered at the age of 68 years, and according to all the
peeps who have attempted to get to the bottom of this other Arthur
Huntington Basement story,
of all great Victoria
Winters Dark Shadows
other family
bibles,
deceptions, outright lies and general coverup's; the Federal Bureau
of Investigation or the FBI for shortened abbreviation; went to that
desert where he had a dwelling place there, and part of the machine
near its dome top, was somehow quickly confiscated, along with
numerous notes; just as they did with the great and illustrious
Mister Nicola Tesla, at his hotel in Manhattan, NYUSAESMWG; when they
stole all of his wild research and papers, regarding electrical
transmission by air, and other Goddess-Diana-related
private matters that he once had with him in his hotel room. Now
Mister Tim Barber who I used to know, and who was a pal of JIM BURR
from Gloucester City; showed me this wild “eternal-life machine as
he called it, only it was miniaturized, and only could immortalize
life forms weighing less than five pounds. A larger scale model was
what he told me he was working on, while I was over at his house
right next to the college in Glassboro, NJUSAESMWG, that day in early
middle 1985 somewhere. One day, Tim vanished forever, like a magical
morning mist on a hot early July morning. I
was told that he went out to California, but I am not sure what
REALLY ever happened to this dude, folks.
All these things are absolutely the fucking truth. He did, shortly
before my last time interacting with him in 1992; give me a wild
item. It was a regular housefly, at least to hear him tell it. Only
now, this huge black fly was the size of a Kennedy half dollar or
just larger. This fly is buried in some woods, just to the south of
the old Cifaloglio property, about thirty yards from the property and
about sixty yards in from the road. I did this about two months
before leaving that nightmare shituation that I was in with Ann and
Dawn King. I had a feeling that I would be needing to run away on a
moments notice, and that I would not dare take this with me in case I
was stopped and searched at some local traffic stop point, as I would
have no rational mortal world explanation to give to the police, and
I did not need the potential trouble when and if I was running away
from the TAWF
FAMILY OF WASHCLOTHS.
That all did come to pass of course, and a blind man with three canes
and five prayers could have seen it coming. But I can dig this thing
up and prove my claims are all real, any time. This fly is in
suspended animation in a large paint jar that is air tight with two
fitting lids. One lid contains breathing holes, and the other does
not. So if you replace the lid so that this thing can breath, it will
endlessly come back to life. I also have pounded it with my fist at
least ten times, placing it back into the jar, and it literally after
about five minutes or so, resumes back to normal an dis very much
alive again. Simply put, the thing won't fucking die. Speaking of
fucking death, it
is now 6:00 on the nose, and I am getting A MAJOR FUCKING LEFT SIDE
DEATH ANGEL ASSAULT, FROM SIR MORTIMER MORTINO.
Why won't he go bother the fucking Easter bunny and see if he has
blood cells on his door and maybe pass by and quit buzzing all the
time in his mother fucking ears, Jesus Christ Almighty for crying out
loud, oh world!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THE
END, AND SMELLING 'GOUUUD'!!!
COUNTERSTRIKE
OF 3:39 P.M., ON 13 MARCH, 2020:
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 THIS DEATH
ASSAULT, EVER SINCE MIDDLE 2019, AND ON THESE MOST RECENT 13 MARCH,
2020, WITH A MAJOR DEATH SIEGE AND ASSAULT FROM MY UNIT
#605 NEIGHBOR FROM HELL,
and that is all a part of DONALD TRUMP'S ICPE-APE-TECH death strike
on me, ever since August 15 of 1986;
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.
THE
TORTURE AND SLOW MURDER OF MARK WAYNE MOHR BY TRUMP AND HIS MOB,
CHAPTER
15
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2020
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN
MOUNTAINPEN'S
LUNAR PHASES CHART:
FRIDAY,
MARCH 13, 2020
CURRENT
PHASE IS:
WANING
GIBBOUS 4:6
N.M.
WXC1 WXC2 WXC3 WXC4 WXC5 WXC6 WXC7 F.Q. WXG1 WXG2 WXG3 WXG4 WXG5
WXG6 F.M. WNG1 WNG2 WNG3 WNG4 WNG5 WNG6
L.Q. WNC1 WNC2 WNC3 WNC4 WNC5 WNC6 WNC7 N.M.
[{(03-13-2020)}]
3:00
ANTE'
MERIDIAN
FRIDAY
MORNING
13
MARCH, 2020
FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG
The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"
Friday
the 13th, what should I have expected for Crissake???
MORIANITY
FOR MILLENNIUM 3
No
people; I have no intentions of trying to get the truth out on the
2020 Census. Obviously, between what happened with the
dude over at the Toronto Dominion bank, disappointing me the other
day, by not being at all interested in checking out my truths, and
was only concerned with lovely Merry; on top of the quite fucking
obvious truth that I am AGAIN as I was
before a decade ago, being back door cleverly threatened NOT TO,
by circumstances that are surrounding me. A chile can see it. If I am
in transit at this very time, then it is hard to be a part of the
census; and hopefully, I am not the only one here who is able to see
these endless MILITUFORCE TRICKS AND TRUTHS.
Now I'll update the Blogaudian-ship here with the results of this
ongoing day.
The
asshole next to me went downstairs, according to my nabe at the end
of the hall, Donnie; and he is complaining about all of the rest of
us. This is an old tactic done by CRIMINAL PEOPLE EVERYWHERE, and
every damn fucking D.A. knows this only too well. Still,
many times it works, and the guilty go free to endlessly
pursue their wickedness while us poor good and innocent victims
continue getting endlessly and royally screwed and shafted, forever
and ever. Welcome to life for so many of us UNFORTUNATES AND
THREE+TIME LOSERS OF THE EARTH-PLANET. I left my note in the area
where notes should go on the building's management office door, and
that is all I can do. I am willing to be fucking polygraphed
about my so-called horrible noises, women in here at three in the
non-Patty morning, and all of it, so let's see if Sir-605 dude
is ALSO WILLING TO BE POLLYWOGGED.
Oh boy, uncles Billy, is this going to be a bloody mess, Sir Adam
Schiff, maybe BOTH Adam Schiff's, in complete candor here, folks!
Here
is the updated information I got from talking to me' pal Sir Kevin,
downstairs, when I went to leave me' note in the office drop. He told
me that the 605 dude is merely holding somebody's damn loud CHI-DOG
for a while and that it is not his dog. He also informed me of some
other wild shit, and yes, I know Kev is absolutely trustworthy. He
said that my 605 slob next to me, who
was there before this current monster;
did not ever move away from here, and is on the 4th fucking floor
now, in a one bedroom unit. She wanted to get out of her studio type
of unit, the same type as my unit is. So she never moved. As for the
stupid peace sign, I guess they're both fans of peeps like sixties
hippie Marcucci and the rest of the English
Singers of the day, and many others. But he insists that
they are in no way related or even friends of each other. So yes, I
can be wrong, and I'll be the first fucker at the gates at all times,
to admit to it WHEN I AM WRONG. I think my loyal Morians all know
that part of me by now, huh Mister Islander
Joel, and without anybody getting any heart
attack-ack-ack-ack-ak's here, yo. No people, I know when I'm licked,
and when I need to make a tactical fucking retreat, endlessly
reminded of a wild and beyond totally surreal conversation at a
security guard gatehouse on Valentine's Day of 1988, with my pal
David Roth, and the great illustrious United States © Copyright
Office to this day, has the copyrighted cassette tape that I sent to
them with that conversation on it, on this following MUSIC PROJECT:
Public Catalog |
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Request: Left Anchored Name = Mohr, Mark W
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AND
WHERE IS MY
29th
PROJECT, MISTER
BONJOVI OF PORT
SAINT LUCIE, NOW DEFUNCT AVALON
RECORDING STUDIO, AS WELL AS MY LEGAL PROTECTED FIRST
AMMENDMENT RIGHTS, ACLU, WITH MY BLOGGER-GOOGLE ACCOUNT ENDLESSLY
BEING HACKED AND MY LEGALLY PAID FOR PHOTOBUCKET-PHOTO BEING BLURRED
OUT BY THIS ILLEGAL
AND CRIMINAL ACTIVITY FROM DOGTOWN?
Supposedly
the United States Constitution guarantees me a protected freedom of
speech so long as my speech is not subverting the government,
inciting riots or violence, encouraging terrorism, breaking any laws
of the local, state, or federal land, or threatening to do actual
things that are only possible on the mortal world or physical-plane
of life, excluding any spells, chants, charms, Magnesonic orders, and
so forth. That is the law that we live by,
and I DO NOT BREAK THE LAW. So
tee-hee-hee to Mizz Lilly Munster and all of her great first
or second love affairs! But when I do this blog and use my
likeness-photo to represent me, this blogger, AKA
the “Mountainpen”; and get blanked
out, blurred out, or otherwise HACKED OUT by anyone, without
remedy; oh wonderful American
Civil Liberties
Union and FBI, and
others out here. It's THEY, whoever THEY truly are, who are the
criminals breaking the law; and should be
prosecuted to its fullest extent. However we all now what a
total mother fucking joke all of that really is, do
we NAUT Mizz AT&T BLAKE???
COUNTERSTRIKE
OF 12:27 A.M., ON 13 MARCH, 2020:
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 THIS DEATH
ASSAULT EVER SINCE MIDDLE 2019, AND ON THIS MOST RECENT ASSAULT OF
MARCH 11th
and 12th
OF 2020, WITH
A MAJOR NIGHTMARE HELL DEATH SIEGE FROM ENEMIES NEXT DOOR IN UNIT
#605, WITH HAMMERING, HEAVY FURNITURE MOVING, DOOR SLAMMING, AND
THEIR LOUD BLARING MUSIC, MAJOR COMPUTER HACKING, AND CABLE FREEZE
OUTS AGAIN, and that is all a part of DONALD
TRUMP'S
ICPE-APE-TECH
death strike
on me since
August 15 of 1986;
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.
I
have been struck with a DEATH WEAPON AT 12:38 THIS FRIDAY MORNING 13
MARCH, AND FRIDAY THE FUCKING 13th.
IT HAS MESSED WITH MY HEART RHYTHM A LITTLE BIT. ALSO, MORTIMER
MORTINO THE DEATH ANGEL HAS BEEN MORE ACTIVE IN 2020 THAN ANY YEAR
BEFORE THAT, ALL OVER ME, PASSING BY MY LEFT SIDE AS WELL AS MY RIGHT
SIDE, NEARLY ONE HUNDRED TIMES DAILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
END
TRANSMISSION.
Copyright
© 1999 – 2020 Google
Hey
so sue me if it ain't August 6, 2014!
I
AIN'T GOT A PENNY, AND I
AM JUDGMENT PROOF,
KATY!
AUGUST
6, 2014,
WEDNESDAY
AFTERNOON AT 3:20,
HERE
IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA,
CURRENT
TEMPERATURE, 89 DEGREES FNHT.
HUMIDITY
IS 60%, IT FEELS 102 DEGREES FOLKS!
WOW-WOW-WOW
IS IT MOTHER FUCKING HOT AND HUMID AND I COULD NOT DO ANY OF MY
ERRANDS THIS WEEK, I TRIED, IT TOOK ALL I HAD TO DRIVE THREE BLOCKS
TO PAY MY RENT AND MAIL MY COMCAST CABLE BILL OFF, AND GET BACK HOME
AND DIE IN FRONT OF AN AC UNIT. I FEEL VERY BAD AND PLAN ON DYING
VERY SOON, YAY YAY YAY YAY, ALL FUCKING OVER FOREVER AND EVER. YEAH
SURE, RIGHT; DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT BETTING ON THAT ONE, MOUNTAINPEN
SHITHEAD ASSHOLE!!!!
MY
INSIDES FEEL AS IF A TRUCK HAS CRUSHED ME, I FEEL 140 YEARS AND EIGHT
MONTHS OLD. LIFE TOTALLY SUCKS. I WAS AWAKENED BY A NASTY ASS
FIRE ALARM, SENDING ME RUNNING FOR A PAIR OF FUCKING CUNT EAR PLUGS
EARLY THIS MORNING AFTER JUST GETTING TO SLEEP, IT HAPPENED AROUND
THE FIRST HOUR OF THE DOW JONES TRADING SESSION SOMEWHERE AND AM
EXPECTING TO SEE THIS EVENT REFLECTED VIA APE-ICPE-TEXK FROM THE
PAWM-PIE-ETTOS MILITUFAWCES OF MISTER HALL LATER, WHEN I CHECK THE
MARKET LATER ON AFTER IT CLOSES IN 49 MORE MINUTES.
AT
LEAST THE WILD VIVID NIGHTMARES OR MAJOR HEAVIER THAN NORMAL THREE
DAY EXPLORATRONIC SHIT STOPPED A WHILE BACK, I HAD TO ENDURE THREE
NIGHTS STRAIGHT OF ALMOST A 1970 THAT FAMILY VENTNOR, NEW JERSEY
HELL, ALL OVER AGAIN, ONLY IT WAS NOT IN A SERIAL DREAMING THE WAY
THAT WAS BACK IN FUCKING TIME, LIVING ALL ALONE AT AGE 15, ILLEGALLY
ACTUALLY; OVER AT CHILD MOLESTER THOMAS J. REALE'S HOME THAT HE SOLD
AROUND A QUARTER CENTURY LATER GIVE OR TAKE, TO SARAH CALLIO MARTINO
MCGETTIGANS ENRON WATER COMPANY OF ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY, OR THE
ATLANTIC CITY MUNICIPAL UTILITIES AUTHORITY.
HOLY SWEATING SKUNK WEEDS
OF THE FONDA FOREST
OF TOTAL SLEAZE;
IS ANY OF THIS EVEN A CHANCE IN A
TOTAL FUCKING MILLION, JUST SOME
WILD AND WEIRD COINCIDENCE, MISTER YOGI BERRA, AND FINEST DETECTIVES
OF NEW YORK CITY, AMERICA'S FINEST, AS I NOW ASK YOU THIS IN TRUTH,
ON YOUR HONOR AS SWORN TO PROTECT AND SERVE OFFICERS OF THE LAW OF
THIS LAND???????
HAMMER-HAMMER-HAMMER,
AND FURNITURE TOSSED ALL AROUND. ENDLESS NOISE NEXT DOOR IN THE
MOTHER FUCKING #605 CONSTRUCTION COMPANY,
WITH ENDLESS PERSECUTION FROM THESE ROTTEN NOISY TRIAD-NABES FROM
TOTAL DOGTOWN. IT JUST WON'T EVER STOP OR END FOR ME, SHERIFF
MASCARA, SIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY HAVE BEEN NOISY FOR A NUMBER
OF DAYS AGAIN, AND THERE IS NOTHING THAT I CAN MOTHER FUCKING DO
ABOUT IT UNTIL I CAN SHORTLY MOVE THE GODDAMN
HELL OUT OF HERE, AND YES MIKE SOFT, AND OUT OF
HEREdahelda!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS SHIT STARTED UP AT 12:40
THIS CUNT EATING AFTERNOON, YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!
WHERE
HAS 1967 DISSAPPEARED TO, LESTER
KAITER????
This is going to be a real mother fucking nasty ass BOTBAR TIMES CUNT
LAPPING X
DAY FOR ME, oh Mizz lovely Louise Hendershodt from the olden days,
and me' fellow camper of Maryland, USAESMWG.
Jupiter,
Florida used to welcomes my Blogaudians to Morianity; Courtesy of
Channel 12-TV. But as with Sir fucking Camp Counselor of Maryland
long ago in the middle sixties; WHERE HAS THIS GONE AS WELL. Jesus
Christ, where have all the flowers gone too? According to the great
Peter Paul and Mary Music Group, they have all gone to the
graveyards, and I really cannot disagree with them on that here on
this blog in the year of 2020.
©
MARK WAYNE MOHR 2006-2020
BLOGS
OF MOUNTAINPEN
WEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
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