BTAT--CHAPTER 0028

BTAT—CHAPTER 0028 TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 2023 BLOG START TIME: 9:56 A.M. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Well, if I haven't proven my point about BEING IN ETERNAL HELL, then do so is impossible in this world, and I need 2 THEN JUST ACCEPT REALITY, MISTER-DOCTOR 1969 COOLEY-GARRIGAN. Unless I spend another grand or close to it, buying a brand new system to plug into my home network, I can forget about making quality blogs that don't look fucking horrible on the Blogger-Website. This is due to a lack of coding that most likely altered when the windows programs began moving into the ten version and now I hear the 12-version is out. The SPACEBAR-HACK is acting up and there is no internet connection, so these things tell me that more is happening in all of this than just mortal world junk. Keyboards and mouse units just as all things do, age and wear out. Most likely this is part of what causes my woes in all of Thisssssssss, oh lovely Erica All My Children Lucci-Cane, mahm'. Yes, I always turn off my h ard wire connection to the net anyway as anything and everything helps and aids to lessen and mitigate my hassles with all of this futhermucking bullshit. I have my back up power brick and plan to install another one for my land-line telephone as well as Comcast refuses to ever send my battery, more endless bullshit, Sir Joseph 2002 Padgett, kind sir.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For now, I plan to go back to making the broken line separations, as this is the only coding that the system will accept for allowing any separation of my blogged fucking shit, great people. Then after posting the blog, I will highlight the entire blog B4 hitting the post-button, and click the BOLD prompt to at least make the goddamn thing a trifle easier to see and read. Why peeps even with great eyesight wish to read that standard font type of print on the internet is far beyond fucking me. So I will slightly bold-increase and darken the print as well as use the broken line separation trick to keep my shit from ridiculously running all together. Then perhaps every ten days when I am in the area, I will take my flash drive and make the entire newest grouping of my stuff and post up an “in-quality grouping” from the library where their coding and word programs apparently work with the blogger dot com system. Why of course is anyone's best guessing guests guess, lovely Scylla pin-Goddess, but this is just more endless shit to keep adding to my list of proofs for the Joseph Padgett HELL Syndrome. Yes, I used an incorrect term of clauses, and later on, “I realized this”, lovely Sharon-HTHS, from 1967. Until rereading all of my 'quality-re-posts', you won't know where I colorized words, or highlighted with various keyboard functions, all the stuff on my blog texts. I have absolutely no intentions of spending more mother friggin' money, YO!---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For the past week now, I have experienced more crazy and unpleasant nightmarish stuff while sleeping, and especially being back at various prior addresses, and getting pumped by mysterious peeps, asking me many various kinds of questions that all seemingly are pertaining to junk recently told since last September on these very BOM-BLOGS. Whenever we get dreaming experiences where we are seemingly being interrogated by someone around us, my suspicions instantly are raised and my paranoia begins heading for jet travel locales the minute that I wake up. If you think that I am all through by the way folks, of telling zillions of things that continue on from where everything left off B4 my attempt to do home-blogging, you are all seriously mistaken, but as you know only 2 damn well, things do seem to endlessly keep blocking my way, right Mister Joe Padgett, sir?????????????? Recently it has been on a long roll for being an unseasonably hot winter and year so far here in my Fort Pierce, Flower-Land area, and this too adds to a bit of my misery, as shit as we all know, seems to pileup, and then bad seems to attract more bad, in all of our goddessdamn lives. Am I wrooooong, lovely hair shampoo ad-spot girl from 1980?????????? Gamblers call this unseen phenomenon, “Going on a roll”, good or bad, and yes peeps, even I have had a few good-rolls, and know fully well that things do go on these rolls. Mister Winn's mighty father was 100% on the goddessdamn money with this, and I never take anyone's rightful props away, as that is cheating and dirty pool, and is against my policy of basic behavior as a responsible human being, and fellow citizen of humanity. No oh great Sir Joseph Berrios from 1990, let us not bring the Spaceforce or its interconnected US Army into the Flower-land translation situation, or else we may need to do a real FLASH DRIVE RUN and insert some wild magical MCFLY AUTO-CIRCUITS, right ole' buddy, ole' pal, and resident manager Sir Nate???????????????????????????? WOW-2-THAT-1, huh world???????--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yes my dreams are off the scale weird and rotten lately, and the night B4 last, I had a real 'doozie-whopper' dream about my daughter. Do I believe the MISOE knows a whole lot more about my daughter than I do? You bet your goddamn assholes that I do, I don't believe it, I have enough evidence to make me know that I know it, beyond any and all doubt. I know it 4 trillions of totally indisputable reasons; my great folks. I have my two screen-blocker Jane Sleazeweedsdisease all up and ready 2 protect me, YO kind folks. Well, all but for whoever is working infinitely powerful and awesome magical stuff to wreck and ruin these blogs that are making a great attempt to save all of humanity, as I did once B4 in a lovely garden more than 13,000 years ago. Maybe I guessed wrong, Mister Berrios Superunner Flashboy from 1990, but at that time, I only knew of stuff from the great Lawrence Welk Show, and was not consciously aware of so many other lovely blooming flowers, OR CAFR CIRCUITS, YO YO YO YO YO YO, ME' BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! UC-peeps out here, it is called schizophrenia to believe that putting pieces together such as why Joe screwed up my car after asking him for that song-word English translation, but if the great fucking ass DSM psych book was so all mighty, then it would be just that, all mighty and unchanging and never wrong, only it ain't, is it world? Is it called the 'DSM' and only 'DSM'? No, it is numbered, and hence forever changing and non-Brady rearranging. Am I wrong, Sir Barry Williams, and lovely hair shampoo ad-spot girl from 1980?????? Am I????????????? Hey, I may not know just what to truly think anymore lovely Shirley from 1983 and 1984 Lavino Shipping Company, and later 2 become the great Inchcape, but I know that my mother and I were being SWITCHED around as there is no better explanation for any of this shit, Professor Michio Kaku sir, and thus not relating in one single mortal world, and causing those HUUUUUUUUUGE fights to indeed occur as a result, such as one in particular in 1985 at 1408 Highland Avenue in Cinnaminson, New Jersey, USAESMWG. Mister Macy Sir, you really do need to chime in here now with your wonderful non-bank truck quotation from the great millennium turn time, “WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Gee willagars me' great peeps out there, wanna' gimme' a damn ass bwake, YO?---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Last night was wilder than many recent other doozie-whoppers, oh wonderful Mister Obama Sir, to use your great expression. I was back at apartment number 125 Haddon Hills in Wanna' Spend My Time (Westmont), up in Jersey-USA, and was working again with Mister Bernard Derakowski doing building maintenance, just as Donna Summer's (Doctor DAGS) dad used to do, back in the great 20th century. I learned that fact from watching the great A&E CABLE-TV-Channel's documentary on the life of Doctor DAGS, in early 1995, after they very mysteriously rescheduled the show that supposedly was to air in late November of the previous year, so that they could then adjust some content, after the U.S. Copyright © Office had recently received my book project titled, “The Permission Barrier”. Maybe only a true schizophrenic person is able to see how the great patterns here all fit so perfectly together and without the slightest mathematical chance of being a random collection of coincidental nothingness, but that is your blindness. All of you so-called rationally thinking and sane peeps, remember that your DSM as all scientific stuff, endlessly improves, changes, and alters, and that one day what is considered okay now may not be and vice-versa. Being a homosexual or lesbian was considered 2B mental illness under the older versions of this same great psych-book, the mighty fucking DSM, Diagnostic Statistical Manual. One thing that I do know great folks is that I have gone through nearly seven decades of life in my present me-persona of being legally known as Mister Mark Wayne Mohr, and due to what I have personally witnessed and my grand total life's experiences, brings me to where I am, and you are no different at all from me, any of you out there, in that particular regard, IPYT, and not just saying this to you boy in 1969 or to lovely Mizz Muscles 'MO', up from there, four decades later on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Chime in here, willya' Sir CF??? “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”. At a time shortly beyond right now great peeps out there in Cyberville, prepare for some really wild stuff 2B discussed, but let me end this short blog with the particulars of last night's Westmont dream. There was a little AA girl who was perhaps the age of five or six, who was living in a home where the Chrystal Lake Pool is, here in our waking world, that lies across from the Haddon Hills Apartments. There is a parallel reality where the Latengrate Doctor DAGS grew up right in that area and also, we spoke upon several occasions and once, right at the old rock star's barbershop, Sir Billy Harner, and known locally to the Delaware Valley, and in Philadelphia, as the human percolator. This little girl may have been her and the time B4 when I experienced that dream, she was a wee bit older around age nine or ten years, and she had a new bicycle, and was telling me all about how happy that she was with it. I know that I blogged about this at least one or two times or so, over the past 17+ years now. I now am pretty sure that this is the same little girl and that she lives in a large home where the pool area stands in this waking world. Bernie Derakowski employs me but in this alternate reality, Donna Summer's father was merely an employee, and was working, just as I was, for BD. I was in charge of the entire area of the Haddon Hills Apartments and had been living in my same unit where I had grown up in,#125-A, and as a fully grown man, living there, working for Mister BD, and knew the Gaines family well, only I was much older than DS in this universe, where here, she was nearly six years my senior. I am merely assuming if this is DS, that her maiden and family name was GAINES and that her dad was Mister Andy Gaines, as he was here in the waking world. In the dream, she asked me to buy her an ice cream cone up on Haddon Avenue at the ice cream store where Brad Messenger and I went to very often on weekday evenings when we'd get together after school homework was completed. I did this and then I went to my apartment and grabbed some rakes and began raking the property sidewalks of many leaves that had fallen as it appeared to be the early autumn time of some year in this alternate reality-universe-5-DHS-”whatever”, Sir Bob Andrews. As I was raking and had worked my way down towards the unit that I lived on at Pyle Avenue, a man came up to me and then he began asking me many questions concerning “my blogs”. I suddenly then found myself totally compelled to answer every single thing that he asked me, and yet I was very uneasy about both what he was asking me to tell him, as well as him and his entire manner and demeanor. There is a lot more to this, and that is what other blogs and other times R4! Maybe I do need to get an entirely new computer system, as this keyboard and mouse are completely shot, and everything is running together. I am doing more spacing and correcting after the fact, than I am doing fucking cunt blogging here, YO YO YO YO YO YO YAH, ME' BRAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! To quote myself back in 1967 and 1968, at Camp Chesapeake in Northeast, Maryland, USA, and saying to my counselor Mister Mack Kaiter; “This is” absolutely completely and totally, “weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedikawuss” YO!!!!!! “Boy oh boy oh boy”, Uncle Billy, Frank Capra, great movies, such as “It's A Wonderful Life”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.---------------------------------------------------------------------- As my Morians must have guessed by now who've read or even glanced at the blog done this morning by the Mountainpen, the MISOE ENEMIES from DOGTOWN have managed to miraculously screw up the coding system on this blog. The coding shit as computer geeks know only too well allows the CAP from my word-dock to be not only copied accurately in text-word content but it tells where my colors go and where lines or various type of fonts go throughout the blog, and you can see my enemies have totally fucked me up, and yes world, WEIN-SOSO???????????? Naturally, TODAY IS SUPER MOTHER FUCKING BOTBAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The magnetic percentage for the year's botbar is holding the exact one third shit it has been magnetized into, hence the naming and the meaning of magnetic percentage. But what the enemies DON'T WANNA' fucken' hear of course, and of course will now, like it or naught lovely Mizz AT&T BLAKE FROM 1983; is that the guy from the Geek Squad who we'll codename now as Mathew Mendoza is not only completely bewildered and stymied with the situation, but is going to contact some real peeps to help me to find out why I can do good quality blogs at a public terminal and not from my home. There as of right now is simply no rational and mortal world explanation for this wild-ass fucking cunt phenomenon. They wish to get 2 the bottom of it just as badly as I want to, and at least my blogs can post, merely not in color or style quality, unless I choose to insert me' whittle E-flash drive unit into the back of me' tower-cum-puke-her and take a bunch of them once every ten days or so to the library as a secondary posting to show an updated-in-quality-posting. Until the issue, if ever, can B resolved great peeps out here, this is what I'll be doing, YO!!!!!!!!!!!! So “WEEEEEEEEEEEEE”, oh wonderful Sir Chester-Frank sir, and bye-bye 4 now 2 the world!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TOLD YOU, parallel event is real, lovely GINA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Keep reading, ME' PWETTY SAVANT L&O-SVU GIRL, and all else out here. Boy oh boy oh boy Uncle Billy and Frank Capra sirs. DESPITE MY COMPUTER READING OUT AS 3:31 A.M., on June 5, 2021; it is nearly two years past that time now, and I will be setting the system to update to the present, B4 this day is over when my installing-geek guy comes back in several hours. He arrived around nine but needs to come back with yet another two items, a longer chord to connect to a hard-wiring system in my xfinity-modem system since this old computer cannot seemingly work on the wireless internet or WIFI without a lot of system app-updates, and it is easier to just work it in this way but needs a longer connecting system to run from one side of the room to another since the Comcast installer needed to set stuff up the way that they did on an earlier occasion. The cum-puke-her does work fine and despite it being an ancient W-7 system and a 2010 Walmart Tower desk top, it is just fine and the Word Program is perfectly operational. When no internet connection is there for hacker-MISOE-enemies to screw with me with, things operate within normal parameters. Sure folks, I am a nut case crack pot, yeah, whatever you all say, YO! Today is one HUUUUUUUUGE WALL STREET JIP, let me tell you. 'WORD PROGRAM' is not included in anything, and they want lots of money, so I am sticking with my whittle ole' {OPEN OFFICE PROGRAM}; thank you world! Since I have no internet connection until the man returns later, this will only post up at a later time today, and he will help me to make sure it gets up there and all is working just damn ass fine, me' great peeps out there in Cyberville. WEEEEEEEEEE!!!! I never thought that things would be this difficult just to get basic things to happen for me that are connected into this digital and on-line world, but why not when you think about it? Every single goddamn thing that I ever attempt 2 do in life, the MISOE-MILLIONTH-COUNCIL makes somewhere between extremely difficult and totally beyond impossible. Yes Uncle Billy, wonderful life, horrible monstrous life, and or simply transdimensional life and lives all notwithstanding, or any great Egg Harbor, New Jersey schools or places of detention and non-karmic-Stockholm nightmares, the entire multiverse knows very well that Mountainpen & Morianity are real, true, and telling the most incredible story that has ever been told in this part of the galaxy in a very long time now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So WOW-WOW-WOW-2-THAT, YO. “BOY OH BOY OH BOY”, OH GREAT COSMOS, & ALL BILLY'S OF PHASE 4 TOO” Well Mizz Hollister and her friend Santa Claus, or his doppelganger “look-alike” aniwho, helped my mom and I move from the Russ Thaxton Chain Steal Trinitrail Apartments of Oaklyn, New Jersey, over to 1118 Linden Hill Apartments, of Lindenwold, New Jersey, in March of 1975. She also is directly quenergy responsible, for my learning and practicing the great Fascitar Ancient Black Art, Huh Steve Pointerplants Earlydinger???????? Well, without delving too deeply into Annie Wilson, her sister, her mama, or her great magic man, or hit record a short while later; I'll merely say that Shirley, Patty's coworker and girl-pal; put me onto this wild medical office just off Grant Avenue, and told me that similar Ron Wirtz Senior, ADA, speech-advice, that even outside of Carlisle, Pennsylvania, ''My answers in this case, to my throat problems, can be found here, just as later, to my SARAH WOES, they can be found, according to the great ADA, out in that lovely mid-western town, also in Pennsylvania. WOW, we're giving you some real ink-fame on this blog, huh William Penn????? This specialist had a beautiful young technician who seemed to be one of those who I run into quite often, being me and under my family 'situation', call it whatever you like, saying 'curse', makes me look like a Bruce Goldberg nut; so I'll refrain from wording it as such, YO. In any event folks, before I met this doctor, or her; I spoke with her on the telephone, and in those days, all calls were recorded by me, all residences were bugged up, I was the original Dick Nixon, but a secret about even this is stalking the world. President Nixon did not do this, he just continued a recent legacy in the White House. You see, it was really someone in this great TAWF or THAT-FAMILY, that began this great tape-recording of everything tradition, and a great man who never asked what his country could do for him, but rather, concentrically; what he could do for his country, and he did something; he became our thirty-fifth American President. This is a very wild family from beyond the stars. The closest in-link cousin is McGuire, the man we won't talk too much about, a very deadly and dangerous evil powerful man, who can do things that I have witnessed, that send chills up my mother fucking spine, down in fucking ass Atlantic City, New Jersey, well, now I should say up there, now that I am down here, right my friend, DMC? Loud shouting and doors, wow, what a FOOD PUKE DAY followed by ''one of those NEXT DAYS'', here in this hellish PHA!!!!! Anyway, we had quite a long talk on the phone, later I met her. Now this is the year of 1984. For a long time my seeing her was blocked from conscious memory, only remembering seeing the doctor and not getting any satisfaction for my extremely mysterious medical condition that persists to this very day, over 30 years of this unknown glandular disorder that came on suddenly at 10:30 PM-EDST, on June 4, 1983; while I was residing at 134 Norris Avenue, in Atco, New Jersey. The memory that was lost somehow, came in a wild dream about two weeks ago, around the very same time all of this persecution started re-exploding in my face, after a tiny let-up period. When I got there, I sat down and had a very short wait, a rare occurrence in any medical office in most places anywhere in the USA. I signed in a normal patient-book and sat down, and she walked up to me and told me how she had enjoyed speaking with me a while back, and that she tried calling me before but did not have my PCN. I gave it to her, it was, and I still remember it, as it matched the apartment number I lived at in Robin Hill, number 506. She never called back, and I found out that she had been called back to some other location, when I called to inquire months later, and spoke to another assistant of this specialist. She went onto add that she was not doing this type of work and was back in school. My mother then told me something an entire year later one night over dinner during a heated debate and very strange conversation, while we were living in Cinnaminson, New Jersey, in the early spring time of 1985. I was telling her about these recurring dreams where I was some sales rep manager for some regional area that was not around here, for the S-DAY LAUDER Company, however it really is spelled. She insisted that I couldn't be having these dreams while I stared at her like a mad man most likely, I was extremely pissed off. I remember throwing my entire plate against the wall, filled with oozing gravy from mashed potatoes and gravy and some kind of steak dinner, and I even recall now the vegetable, it was a pile of Fordham Lima Beans. The hacking is heavy, as this blog may disrupt the entire universe for a short time. I may just need a new fucking mouse, so it can always be the more rational explanation. It seems to go on rolls where it won't respond to clicks. Aniwho, the fight was over Connie Chung and you don't need to know more about this rotten whore or something evil that she did in 1978, but my mother and my ex-pal Jim Burr had both vehemently taken her side against me, and then this spun around to my dreams about being manager of this company and how I was traveling city to city and not liking the situation because it involved lying to the government about a major 'something' and I have a major aversion about ending up in federal or any kind of prison. This is when my mom went almost nuts, telling me I cannot be dreaming this, it is just not possible, and there was no rationality for her bizarre nutty fucking ass behavior that seemed to bounce right out of freaking left field. LSS, she insisted this was as wild as my insisting the lab technician at the throat specialist office was only 14 years old and disguised to appear 10 years older, but admitted to me her true age, and that she knows me from a very large city that is further away than can be explained. I said, “mom, I never fucking told you that”, yet she continued to insist that I had been saying this for months to her. Then she broke into a powerful angry diatribe over how her coworker Shirley did me a favor, and I am being difficult, insisting this other nurse or whatever she really was, had told me this over the phone, remember all shit was bugged back then. After she had cleaned up the kitchen mess disaster done at that time intentionally by me in a fit of total fucking rage; she said, “Mark, I know how you can prove me wrong, don't you tape everything? Let me hear some of your tapes, knowing you, you probably had one of those tiny recorders in your pocket at the doctor's office that day”. I got so angry again, I remember shoving the dining room table completely over, grabbing a lamp and throwing it against the wall, shattering it and the light bulb to pieces. I said I don't skulk around like that, I only have tapes from the phone, and what I am taping right now of all of this. She then screamed at me and said, “what did you tape on the phone”? I came back with something along the lines of, “I'll find some conversations with this 14 year old lab teck and play them for you, just give me a few days, as all my life-journals are in numerical tape, as well as chronological, perfect order”. The next night she came back from her job, and she told me Shirley is real mad at me because I caused trouble at the laboratory. I then was ready to literally punch my mom's lights out. I calmed myself down, and said to her, “shut fucking up and listen to this tape where I tell this very teck over the phone last year, that my condition has certain symptoms, and how I try to manage and play with doses of various meds, and she eventually gave me driving directions to the place and told me to be there a week from that day”. Then my mom screamed back that, “Shirley said you couldn't of been there that day next week, the doctor is a personal friend of her father's, and they were on some kind of a convention-vacation somewhere together”. I then threw our last remaining lamp that was not just there for show and unbroken, hard, onto the floor, shattering it to pieces, and I screamed that “she and Shirley are nuts, and to go to fucking hell”. When I went off to my security job that night, and 555555555555-555555555555-555555555-55555555555555-555555555-55555555-compensates for another fucking JANE WITCHBITCH ATTACK WITH PAGE ELEVEN OF ELEVEN, as this total fucking whore is on a MONSTER ASS NON RECORDED ROLL FOR HURTING ME RECENTLY with these fucking ass ones everywhere, damn ass bitch whore, YO; ANIWHO yo dogs, GETTING BACK TO THE TOPIC HERE; gear shift grind, gear shift grind; what is this early October of oh-eight or late fucking October of thirteen, oh great fuzzy quantum particles of space-time-mind transdimensional quenergies???? So I go off to my job at Petty's Island, and come home upset after a night of a lot of coworker problems with real major fucking jerk offs, and the 'shandaleer' in my mother's bedroom had fallen down and had smashed to pieces all over the floor. SUCK MY CUNT EATING PRICK MICROSUCKS SPELL CHECKER, YOU TOTALLY STUPID FUCKING WORTHLESS PIECE OF CRAP; I tried spelling that word in single quotation marks ten ways, and nothing worked, you all know what fucking fell down in early 1985 from my mom's fucking ass bedroom, YO. Even as far back as this, this was the Washcloth Family's way of letting me know to let go of this, and to keep my mouth shut. But it DAWNED on me shortly in the future, that I had included the tape as one of my copyrighted so called accidental flip sides, using the © Office as a time capsule, in all of this, to protect me and vindicate me with all this out of this world shit that just began happening all around me ever since leaving 1802 Robin Hill Apartments of Voorhees, New Jersey, my first of three times residing in these apartments, to move to the Atco home, on February 1, 1983; and on that same day, open up the box containing the Privecode Machine, from the IMM Corporation with the so-called alien-guts inside, as was told to me by a pal of my ex-business partner, PP, while we all were in a local country bar, now burned down since that time, along with many other great history markers. Good old fire, certain things are greater constants than the speed of fucking light, folks, I will argue that with anyone of you, now, later, or ever, YO!!!!!!!!!!!! If you think this story stops here, you are dead wrong. The dream from two weeks ago included some family members and they told me I was an asshole for not remembering, that they did not make me forget any of this. This is what was spoken to me in this wild dream that I did not dare to talk about for fear of the hell I'd be put through, and that hell came around all over me, anyway, it seemingly did not fucking matter whether I'd kept my mouth shut or not, YO!!!!!!!!!!! Then they showed me a photograph of the medical office and me sitting in the very same light green colored chair, they were recording it all along, whoever this washcloth family really is. I thought that I would get a stroke right in “the dream”. The lab teck was a very young high school girl, the great Mariah Carey, only then, she was a girl in a long island school, and that was it. Still, I know for a fact, that she has other great disguises to this very day, one in particular that I have seen her in, but if I spill the beans, I know she'll come over here and kick the fucking crap out of me personally, and that we don't need, so I won't say more, other than, I know Resorts Hotel of Atlantic City knows, as they saw it all go down that day, in real time; or maybe that was distant cousin Trump's Plaza; the more I think of it. If my memories did not fuzz out a bit, I would be totally fucking nuts after all the shit this entire family, and all its extended wild branches, have pulled now; for 30-60 years. Maybe you shouldn't have gotten off that jitney bus that day, at the grammar school, on Richmond Avenue in South Atlantic City, Dad! SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THERE, Mister Arthur Crane SIR: ARE U OUT THERE SHIRLEY 'MAGICTELLY' OF THE TILLEY'S? WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 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 monstrously 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 it 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 wuvwee 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 in this 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-American 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, then 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 have 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 and operating all of this, and organizing it intergenerationally. Yes sir, 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 to 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 'NAUGHT 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 at 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 to me 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 fucking 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!!!!!! AHA-AHA-AHA. My nightmare situation back at the PEEHA BUILDING, as well as back in Jersey with the great KING-CUZZ's, has not even begun 2B discussed on these blogs as of yet; oh gwate peeps out there, YO BRO!!!!!!! What Mizz Hollister's peeps have put me through can be only described as standing on the Dogtown Bridge on the Astral Plane, taking deep breaths, and envisioning the next 10 minnina-kalpa just doing 'this.bootloader' and 'THISSSSSS', as well oh wuvwee Mizz Susan AMC soap-show Lucci of 1983 Snakes, and then realizing simultaneously that you still would need 2 multiply all of that by about half a dozen nonillion, B4 even beginning to get a comparative true factor here. Since typing this.bootloader and THISSSSSSSSSSSS, Mizz lovely Erica Cane Lucci mahm', two weird things happened on this typing system, proving many of my hacks go beyond this world, and 'this understood digital age', and internet ALTOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Mister Art Crane Sir, permit me now if ye' pweeeeeeeeeze, to also add in 'heredahelda' and HERE, “SOOOOOOOOOOOOO”, on with the show, oh lovely 'CALLIO-BLOW', and all Atlantic City hellish endless nightmares of ENDLESSNESS, and great super Astral Plane mysterious clubs!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOW, Mister Macy, sir. Okay folks, my installer just phoned and said that he has all the stuff I will need, and that he will be here in about a half hour, and it now is just shy of eleven in the moUUUUUUUUUUUUUUrning. Yes great people, ever notice how the word (ENDLESSNESS) has not one but TWO, non-tow ESS groupings within it, as in the ESS, EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND SOCIETY????????? Do it if ye' pweeeeeeeeeze now, Sir Chester-Frank non-Church-Farm!!!!!!!!!!!!! “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well, when we get into things soon about parallel event and the nightmare hellishness given to me as a direct result of my using this to play professional roulette in the Atlantic City casinos in 1986, and these wicked prick mother fuckers who destroyed my entire life, laughed, and got scott fucking free away with it and to this very day still are doing this to me, and plan to until the day that I fucking die, yes; when I tell a lot more, and tie it all together; look out world, and lookout SPACEFORCE-MISOE-MILITARY-UFO-FORCE. Jesus Christ our LORD said it only too well a while ago. Dark and evil entities despise TRUTH, and they do everything that they can to stop it. It is much easier to do bad and evil than to do any good stuff. The example that this lie being perpetrated on humanity regarding good triumphing over evil can be dispelled very easily. How much easier can a building be destroyed than 2B built? One quick charge of lots of fucking TNT and POW, or Chef 'Emeril BAM', it is gone, but how much effort does it require to make that same building, oh wonderful folks out there? When Morianity & Mountainpen make claims on this project, I promise you that they can be backed up with indisputable total logic, and every single goddamn timesliceBufferSize, and TIME, too; oh U-wonderful awesome Spellchecker system!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am going to end this blog for now, and possibly do a second one B4 going back to bed around two in the moUUUUUUUUUUUUUUrning or so, folks!!!!!!! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE and to quote Mister McNulty from 1971, “AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA-AMANDA HARRIS AMANDA, and Desert-Donna-Dark Shield-Storm-Summer-Shadows!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So WOW-2-THAT-1, YO BRO! No Spellchecker Sir, not BROADCASTED but simply BRO!!!!!!!!! I forgot to tell you all that the other second item that the geek guy is bringing over to me is a battery back up brick for my entire system, so that if I lose power, it won't just shut off on me, and I'll have some time to do what needs 2B done B4 the system shuts completely down on me. Well folks, I will now say BYE-BYE 2U all for right now!!!!!!!!! ************END TRANSMISSION.***************