THE
BEGINNING, AND SMELLING 'GOUUUUUUUD'
11:39
POST
MERIDIAN
TUESDAY
NIGHT
17
MARCH, 2020
FORT
PIERCE, FLORIDA, USA, ESMWG
THE
BLOGS
OF
MOUNTAINPEN
©
2006-2020
MARK
WAYNE
MOHR
ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED ®
THE
'BOM'
MORIANITY
FOR MILLENNIUM 3
The Continuation of "The Epitome of Harassment"
MOUNTAINPEN'S
LUNAR PHASES CHART:
TUESDAY,
MARCH 17, 2020
CURRENT
PHASE IS:
WANING
CRESCENT 1:7
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.
HAPPY
SAINT PATTYS DAY.
This
was a nasty fucking botbar day. Not a SUPER BOTBAR, but yes people, a
nasty botbar. A 'BOTBAR'
means BOTTOM
OF
THE
BARREL
ALREADY
RATED
day. The difference is something you would need to be me and walking
in my mocks to truly under fucking stand, but allow me just try and
explain this a wee bit to yalls, yo! A major nasty huge event or
events needs to all go down to make a day what I would call a SUPER
BOTBAR DAY. A nasty botbar just mean the day stinks and has lots of
very unpleasant and annoying things just keep ganging up on me all
goddamn fucking day long. So here is my day today, my NASTY FUCKING
BOTBAR DAY, PEEPS, YO BRAH!!!!!!!!!
I
woke up at shortly past two this afternoon, showered, and went out on
a couple of local errands. First I mailed my US CENSUS at the local
post office. After hand delivering it to the lady inside at the
counter since all of the mail drops are gone now due to criminals and
'fishing' and not for fucking fish; I walked out towards the door to
the building and along a long corridor, and some dirtbag man came
flying in the door, almost
knocks ME DOWN, and I like a dummy fool said, “EXCUSE ME”, and
this fucking prick ignored me completely.
The way SENIORS ARE TREATED HERE
IN FLORIDA,
TO QUOTE MY GODDAMN NON RUSSELL HADDON AVENUE DAUGHTER,
FROM EARLY IN 2009, “IS
DIS-GGGGUUUUSTING”.
Florida is a very nasty fucking place to live, as back in Jersey, I
wasn't ever treated this bad, even under my mother fucking
unfathomably terrible damn HUNTINGTON CURSE. Then I drove over to
the local Ohio Avenue Walgreen's Store to quickly ask the pharmacists
there if I need to be concerned about any medicine shortages
resulting from the C-Virus situation. I was treated very rotten,
basicly told they cannot help me or promise me anything. I am just
about to switch my service out away from them. I have been a loyal
Walgreen's fucking customer, and I feel that I mother fucking deserve
just a luttle bit better and nicer service as a SENIOR person who is
naturally disturbed and curious if I will be adversely effected. I
told them that I have experienced shortages before on many occasions
without even having any pandemic or world problems happening. I made
a good point. Also, you see on the TV and the news all the time about
requesting some extra prescription drug supplies as a result of the
new expression called, SOCIAL DISTANCING, also resulting from this
rotten goddamn global pandemic C-Virus. But let me try and do what
the authority tells me to do, and I get treated like mother fucking
total dog shit for doing it. This is absolutely wicked and beyond
UNFAIR. So I leave the Walgreen's after purchasing some food items
there and avoiding the larger crowds over at me' local Publix Grocery
Store, and drive back home. When I get back, I am walking down the
hallway towards my apartment here on the sixth floor, and all is
quiet as a church mouse with laryngitis and wearing cotton moccasins.
But the second that I enter me' apartment and shut the door, and I
shut my door as quietly as a graveyard conversation of midnight
tenants, and BOOM,
on goes that dirt hole's BOOMBOX,
and it was on and off until shortly past six somewhere, for nearly
three hours. Now I can live with it when he keeps that extra fucking
five decibels or so off, but when he really cranks up, and my walls
start shaking; that is when I will call 911, and I have been told to
do this, and especially after ten of the clock PM, since our
township noise ordinance kicks in at that time.
Also today, I
was just too tired to keep a morning appointment with my
pal Kev.
We were going to go over to the office to
see Angel,
about why they won't even let me talk to them about applying
for a transfer into a quieter place,
such as the Circle Green or whatever name that place is, or the twin
building six blocks or so down further away north, on Seventh
Street.
Tuesday mornings are good days for him, and so next Tuesday,
hopefully, I will merely stay up for the day, and go with him, and
then come home and crash. Kev did tell me that maybe they know the
waiting list is so long that they figure not to even bother talking
to me right now, but I still don't think that this is polite or right
behavior for business peeps to practice, not even allowing a person a
lousy fucking five minute appointment to discuss something, and when
all they need to say to me is NO. As I said, all these fucking little
annoyances and mild fuck ups on the day all combined, and this is
what Mountainpen or ME calls a NASTY
BOTBAR DAY,
not a super one, but yes, a mother fucking NASTY ONE, yo yo yo yo yo
yo yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yessir peeps, maybe it was a happy or at least a
relatively fucking happy Saint
Pat's Day
for some or all of you out here, but for me and as always, IT SURELY
WAS 'NAUT',
MIZZ
BLAKE FROM THE AT&T CORPORATION OF 1983.
I believe fucking Sir Chester-Frank would be saying right about now,
if here with me; “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”. What I will be
fucking saying is simply thissssss, lovely Erica Snakes Cane:
“SHEEEEEEEIT”!
As
for the nabe and his booming subwoofer system over at the 605
Construction Company, so far to date, the office people are ignoring
two of me' notes that I have left for them. One is about why I am not
getting my re-certification papers and my new annual lease is now
just a couple weeks away on April first. The other is my noise
complaint note. This second note is still in the drop box and is
visible enough for me to see that it is my note, when I walk by to
get my mail from the mailbox community room for the building. Death
Angel pass-by's are like nothing ever in all my hellish nightmare
mother fucking past. I am getting a dozen every single hour, some on
the right side of me, some on the left, Oh 'polarized' cosmos! Now
lads and lassies and labbers; speaking recently about my
transdimensional interconnections with my life here, and then where
I appear to be dreaming in, just before coming awake here; and
calling this my DADS SHAVER RAZOR SYNDROME; again this has happened
about ten times now in just the past fucking days of this month of
MARCH. It happened AGAIN last night. I was somewhere with some peeps
whom over here I wouldn't fucking know from Adams Animals. There was
a very attractive young girl with me and we were working on
installing a weird car stereo system in some vehicle. I cannot
remember if it was hers or mine or someone else's. In this wild
experience, I was trying to get the bottom of why
it would keep suddenly GOING ON OUT OF NOWHERE without being turned
on,
or even without the car engine or accessory switch being on. It
happened over and over and I was getting very mad. The same thing
today happened when I came home as I said, from me' local fucking
errands. Suddenly even though it was not on when I passed Mister
Mexico-605's door, poof;
it suddenly goes right on, the very second that I get inside of me'
apartment,
and vely vely quietly, Sir
Bob McDowell,
close me' door. Also, I
am DREAMING
almost every single night,
that I am in one way or another, back at that goddamn miserable
rotten Jenny Plageman's Trailer Park where I lived before the
WASHCLOTH
FAMILY KIDNAPPING
all happened to me. These nightmares to say the least are anything
but mother fucking pleasant, but then Admiral
Perry sir,
what was pleasant about all those MILITUFORCE
ASSAULTS
given to me, when I would drive by your FAA
TECH CENTER,
or stop at the local DQ
there so that your not
so nice niece could make me a Hot Fudge Sundae in 1997,
and she could threaten to beat me up? WOW lovely Oprah! But speaking
of WILD DREAMS and not those from 1997 or other wild experiences in
1996 'confusing years', with magical future print altering newspaper
TABLET shoe-boxes; many times I am dreaming right here in this
building, only it is a non localized part of fifth dimensional
hyperspace. I don't mean really bizarre distant places, but where
peeps as well as the entire structure and architecture of this
building is extensively different. Many times I am in a lobby area
that is major different than the one here, or I am on the floor that
is either one floor above me or one floor below me, the 7th
or the 5th.
No one will ever convince me that there is not a major true 5-D
connection in all things, and this is what my Morianity has labeled
the TSE
(Towel-Seepage-Effect) of the hyperspace,
or the fifth dimension that contains virtually limitless 4-D universe
cosmos systems of Space-Time-Mind (STM), or all of these all put
together, and then laying inside of some inconceivable and gargantuan
fabric. Why would I NAUT think of that as the 5th
dimension for crying out fucking loud, yo? And why would I naut
believe in towel-seepage-effect, when all of my life, it has happened
to me, even before lovely Patty Hollister interacted with me in major
ways? Hey, I am just asking anyone who might think that they have all
the mother fuckign answers out heredahelda and OUT HERE, MIKE SOFT
CORP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So
let's talk about the wild dreams I've experienced here in this crazy
non PATTY HOLLISTER
matching initials BUILDING. Back on Monday afternoon, there was some
loud drilling here in the place, and of course assumed that it was
coming from next to me at the 605 unit as all noise always does,
endlessly. BUTButButButButBUTTTTTTTTTTTT, and a BIG ASS FUCKING CUNT
BUTT BUT PEEPS; I was WROOOOOOOOOOOOONG, all lovely great 1980
SHAMPOO COMMERCIAL GIRLS, “EVERYWHERE”, YO YO YO YO
YO BRO!!!!!! I walked down the stairs rather than taking the
elevator, when I went to go and get my mail, and I first went down to
the fifth floor below my floor to see if it was coming from there. It
might have been, since the entire area near the stairwell door had
all of the cables and junk, all exposed and out of some junction box.
This is where the COMCAST peeps need to go when there is a problem
concerning shared wiring or whatever, as this seems to be where it
all comes into the building. I used to think that all these wires
came into a locked room on the Lobby-Floor, but it doesn't.
Everything was all messed up and scattered all around, but it wasn't
effecting my service. But I was not checking on that, but rather, on
the drilling sound. It must have been coming from this as obviously
things were being worked on and at that exact time when I got onto
the 5th floor, maybe the workman had to go to his truck or
something, who knows? What I do know is that every day there is
noise, but on top of that, for the past four weeks or more now,
whenever that mother fucking goddamn annoying stock market goes UP,
which is about one in three or one in four times now since all this
recent horse fucking shit; but this is when this goddamn prick in
Mexico-605 BLARES HIS SOUND SYSTEM or uses it. When it is down, I
never hear a fucking peep out of him. Now is this just some weird
parallel of events, or is HE BEING TOLD TO DO THIS ON MAJOR UP TICK
STOCK MARKET DAYS OF THE DJIA, such as yesterday again when the
market rallied after that horrendous Monday-BLUES?!!!!! I mean it
really does not take an Einstein to know or understand basic odds for
things just being a random chance happening of events. The last three
really BIG UP DAYS, this is when this prick lets me know he is home
and has a big ass boom box, and he USES IT. Not when it was down, but
the three days of HUGE UP SWING reactions on the DJIA system. Before
you scoff at three times of something such as this, remember the
formula for computing odds and chance. It really ain't some complex
math equation. Each time that a 50-50 chance event does something,
you double the odds, so in other words, if when the DOW is shooting
way up and he blares his shit at me, counts as ONE EVENT, then if the
next following BIG UP DAY on the DJIA (Wall Street), the same event
happens, we double the 1:2 chance to 1:4 chance. The third time it
happens, the four digit doubles to an eight digit, or the odds of
three times of this become now a one in eight fuckign chance. The
next time will be 1:16, and the fifth time would be 1:32, and so
forth. It weelwee ain't rocket science complicated, folks. But let us
further explore not so much odds for chances to occur but rather just
what paralleling events truly may be about. I have labeled these as
both VISIBLE PARALLEL EVENTS as well as INVISIBLE PARALLEL EVENTS,
and further shortened to VPE verses IPE, pronounced as vippie or
ippie. A visible parallel event is something that just plain makes
sense for it to happenas a result of what caused it. You walk into a
real tough fucking biker bar for example. You stand five feet two
inches tall and you weigh a hundred and thirty pounds soaking ass
wet. You yell out, “Hey yo, all you jerk off fagot bikers are a
bunch of sissy ass mother fucking cocksuckers, who screw their moms
every damn day and three times on Sunday”. You slowly walk out of
there. Now how many times if this person who did that, who we will
call for purposes of mathematics, EVENT-A, would get to their car and
safely and quietly get to drive away? In this hypothetical EVENT-A,
this is done 100 times. I will be willing to bet that the parallel
event of EVENT-B being that getting his ass kicked to shit and back
and then some, would result before he gets to drive safely out of
that biker bar. Yes, I would bet that 100% or 100 out of all 100
times, the EVENT B of driving safely away would be “NO WAY,
HOSEY-JOSEY”. But in keeping things more mathematically real; maybe
the parallel event would bell curve down to an eventual long run play
experiment number of 98:100 or 99:100. If a parallel event that
strong in Roulette, playing the tri-parameter of outside betting
strategy system, was ever available; the game
of roulette would soon be no longer available at any casino in the
world. Visible Parallel Events are of course normally and
usually MUCH STRONGER than the invisible ones. Punch a person and
more times than not, at least back when I was a young man, would
knock you one right back. But when every single time a RED and HIGH
roulette number comes out at a particular gaming table where you are
playing, causes the remaining ODD-EVEN parameter to favor one over
the other outcome in a ratio of at least 4:1; this sets up a momentum
in mathematics that has to do with ultra complexities that lay in
several parts of higher mathematics, one being the ratio of
percentages to linear numeration. I randomly chose the RED and HIGH
numbers, but if a player kept track of the entire twelve possible
bi-parameter groups, with a small stick figure chart, for the
remaining outcome third and in that case being the ODD & EVEN
parameter of the 36 non-green roulette numbers; then every time that
number 19, 21, 23, 25, 27, 30, 32, 34, or 36
comes out, and let us pick and choose at random here, that our stick
figure chart shows the following spin is an EVEN number 5 times and
is an ODD number 23 times, then after any of those listed red and
high numbers, we would keep betting ODD on the following outcome spin
of the wheel. This is of course an invisible parallel event (IPE) as
opposed to the biker bar example with the (VPE). Still, anyone doing
this with either 100, 500, or 1000 dollar gaming chips, once a
parallel event is shown with at least a 4:1 ratio, such as in my
example here with the EVEN-ODD; can easily make an average of 5 units
profit in an hour or two playing STAND-UP roulette at any gaming
house, and yes, in LONG RUNNING PLAY, forever and ever, beating the
established 5.26% legal gaming VIG by approximately 1.74%. This may
seem very small, but ask any fucking pro-gambler if it is, when you
understand the leverage of playing for a few high money value chips
three or four days a week in your spare time, and winning maybe a
dozen or more chips that could be as much as twelve grand weekly on
the orange gaming chip level ($1,000). I used the fucking 100 dollar
level black chips when I was defeating this game back in the year of
1986 making about a grand or a little mire each and every goddamn
fuckign week. This is very real, and this is very true, and if all
candor is also expressed, this is dangerous information. I still
think that the fucking mob controls the entire gaming world through
dummy-shell corporations, and illegal crooked Wall Street buried
lengthy dummy company fakes. I can be wrong, but I have lots of other
fucking paranoid ideas too. They are based in a lot of goddamn facts
too, yo. Now just as Albert Einstein the great Princeton Professor
was givenpowerful knowledge such as his most famous formula that
shows how the physical and the astral realms can convert into each
other, using little model math boxes inside of his head; so too, I
was given this wild information and wisdom concerning PARALLEL-EVENT,
while in my bathtub at the Highview Apartments in Williamstown,
NJUSAESMWG, by the great LIGHTNING GODDESS
DIANA ZUUDLECRONESSIA ARTEEMIS, back in early 1986 late in
January somewhere. To quote Sir Dennis Snyder here folks, “And
that's just reality, son”. So another WEEEEEEEEEEEEE and yes,
another WEEDEEKAWUSS for lovely kitchen patrol DQ-KATE from 1997, and
my best to the great TECH CENTER ADMIRAL, and your great pal who I'll
always admire, ,lovely mizz Hillary Clinton, may the gods be with
her!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well, the world wanted to go with a more fucking
moderate choice than Bernie. All I can say is, you will all be so
damn sorry, an dthen to quote wonderfulsuper talented, the one and
only, Mariah Carey, then, “IT WILL BE TOO LATE”. Once the bell
rings, no one
as of yet has figured out a way to UNRING A GODDAMN MOTHER FUCKING
BELL, PEEPS, AND IPYT, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO ME'
BRAHHHHHH!!! Folks all think so old. I have been around for cose to
8100 years in a full countt circle of total cycles of my present
persona of Mark Wayne Mohr. Askanty of me' HTHS classmates what I
told them in 1966. They said, “How old are you mark”? I replied
then, “I'm 8,002”. Since then, it's been another mother fucking
cycle of another 54 years, bringing me now to 8,056 years. The only
way for this nightmare cycle I am in to ever end, would be if I had
more time to learn and figure out all of this, Mister Quay Kaput, ol'
educator of history, back at me' Westmont, NJUSAESMWG high school.
The only way for that tyo happen is Integratron Multiwave Oscillating
Medicine. Without this or at least youthful continued blood
transfusions, I will be doomed forever to repeat this fucking
nightmare of Twilight Zone Glasgow Ships, from Hitler's
HELL! I can hear those fucking drums getting louder now,
oh wonderful and vely illustrious United States © Copyright
Office!!!!!!!! Another WONDERFUL OPRAH
WINFREY if you please, oh great world of
SINNERS!!!!!!! WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW!!!!!!!!!
Hell girl, I'd be happy to just own my soul again, you can own the
damn land and the damn entertainment world broadcasting channels,
BROadcasting BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope to make it back and get on
that damn track, but I am beginning to wonder now if that can ever be
mother fucking possible yo!
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