BTAT--CHAPTER 0030

BTAT—CHAPTER 0030 WEDNESDAY EVENING, AT 5:55 POST MERIDIAN, ON 02-22-2023 RECENT RECOPIED BLOG-STUFF Wednesday, February 22, 2023 Hello, alive and dreaming here, I am Mark Wayne Mohr. But I truly am ZERANNISS ARTHUR YANCY JONES, from Dogtown, and then Sahasra Dal Kanwal; thanks to my awesome great teen-queen, SSJKK. The problem all along folks, is that all the while, her family who hates me on the Astral-Plane because I dare to love this Almighty Goddess, in ways that mortals are not supposed to; and as a result, things for me get ''dreamed-down here in the hyperspace waking and non-waking realities, where I am being monstrously mistreated and viciously abused by them, in their hyperspace-equivalent entity-self-persona's, and some if not the vast majority of these, all reside in or surrounding and near, the mighty playground of the planet, AKA ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY, USAESMWG! When I moved on May 1, 1980, into 1802 Robin Hill, you have all heard me discuss the wild two ''DREAMING-INTERACTIONS'', first the LOVE IS FOR CARPENTERS deal where SSJKK sings this incredible song to me and when I come out of this experience, I knew that I always knew this person, endlessly and eternally, and yet the song could only be remembered in a couple of tiny bursts, and from this it was recreated, with some help from Tom Glenn who went onto do a lot of work with the National Football League; mighty powerful Jessica Simpson, WEEEEEEEEEEE! The second interaction was a couple of months or so later on, with the magical black cat, Gawky Gaukauk who meowed the lottery number that was to come out that evening in the famous Pennsylvania Pick-it Lottery, a relatively new invention, as lotteries were around less than a decade back then, huh Mister Morgan Collins, and if you don't raise the roof or Mister Kings dogs, then maybe, just maybe sir, I won't raise the rent on my Flower Wing! You can tell Diana's GAP brother that I said so. But during the time in-between these two nocturnal events, the LOIS FOCA and the GAGA, for a quick way of putting this; I entered a contest, and sent my two disco dance tunes to a radio station in Trenton, and called myself, “Dynamite Sound”, 'Stomin' Normin' and Colin, not Cuzz POW! I had no way of knowing that this TAWF CLAN from hell was in the BIZZ, and had even bigger plans to get into the music bizz, back then. BUTTTTTTTTT, Mister War-Hero Levy dynamite resourceful family branches all notwithstanding here; when I sent that, mister Inductatherm Allberries Pedersen, I feel that a major time warp was not breached at all as my Cuzz Trumpie believes. It is all way more logical than all this fuckiGN time travel horse shit, YO, and IPYT, you all's out here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe traveling physically in time outside the normal speed we all pass forward through it is not part of any of this, but there is another wild thing, and perhaps much wilder and more surreal than even this. First, before I go on further, I am man enough to admit my errors, and even take back and retract shit when I am wrong. When I enlarged the J-Picture Element Graphic of the WAYV, I realized that I had misspoken regarding being hacked and having the Trenton frequency number removed. It was only printed on the J-PEG, not in any of the shit below on the chart that I paste-copied into my blog, sorry about that. When I am wrong, I am wrong, right Lenny Orbach Dirty-dance Briscoe???? I see that my spell checker HAS HOWEVER BEEN HACKED again, folks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I rebooted; it is fixed, FCC, again. Thursday, December 31, 2015 CHAPTER 28, GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS I WAS CRASHED WHILE TRYING TO BLOG AND COPY, AND I TOLD THE PEOPLE AT MY PROGRAM TO CONTACT THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION. WHEN THEY RETRIEVE THE SHIT YOU DO ON A WORD PROGRAM AN DIT CRASHES, THEY ASK FOR A QUICK REPORT ON WHAT THE WRITER IS WORKING ON, AND I ALWAYS TELL THEM THE SIMPLE 'FUCKIGN' TRUTH, SHERIFF MASCARA SIR, BLOGS. I AM UNDER A DEATH ATRTACVK SHERIFF, AN DCOULD USE YOUR HELP BEFORE THEY FIND ME FUCKING DEAD IN THIS APARTMENT ON NEW YEARS DAY, YO YO YO YO, YOU KNOW HOW THESE FUCKIGN PRICKS ASSAULT ME ON CUNT CHEWING HOLIDAYS, YO YO YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GUESS THE NAME OF THE GUESTS, CHAPTER 28 HOW-'BOUT HELPIN' A DUDE OUT HERE, YO? HOW-'BOUT HELPIN' A DUDE OUT HERE, YO? HOW-'BOUT HELPIN' A DUDE OUT HERE, YO? HOW-'BOUT HELPIN' A DUDE OUT HERE, YO? HOW-'BOUT HELPIN' A DUDE OUT HERE, YO? HOW-'BOUT HELPIN' A DUDE OUT HERE, YO? HOW-'BOUT HELPIN' A DUDE OUT HERE, YO? JANUARY 1, 2016 EARLY FRIDAY MORNING AT 12:57, HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA. CURRENT TEMPERATURE IS 73 DEGREES FNHT. HUMIDITY IS 100%, FEELING LIKE 77 MUGGY DEGREES. WIND IS CALM, GUSTNG SLIGHTLY SSE AT 4. THERE IS NO WAY THAT TOM REALE, IN JULY OF 1970, WOULD HAVE BEEN THAT UPSET, THAT NIGHT OF THE FIREWORKS; IF HE WAS NOT ALL PART OF WHAT HAPPENED THE YEAR BEFORE THAT; AND WAS NOT ALSO A MEMBER OF THE (GAP) GREAT AND POWERFUL EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND SOCIETY/PEEFOREY!!!!!!!!!! The time was back in 1984, and things all started after Donald J. Trump opened up his first casino in Atlantic City, New Jersey; the Trump Plaza Hotel. Maybe they did not really all start right here, but to quote the mighty Pat Robertson of the 700 Club religious Ministries, “Things turned a cornerstone”. He spoke of the year 1967when he was discussing this on one of the tapes that I duplicated for him at the RPL Sound Studios, but I speak of a totally other turned-cornerstone; kind folks out here, or unkind, RAW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In late September or early October in 2008, Mayor Levy's son, Robert Levy III, was surfing near his father's Baywatch Hasselholf Tower, at the Atlantic City Beach, and I was out body surfing, and he said to me that the public is completely unaware and clueless of just how resourceful this family all is. He did not have to tell me this, not for a Joe Berrios Flash-Run back in 1990!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But today and now up here in late February of 2023, things have taken on entirely new or maybe said a wee bit better, updated meanings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I would B willing 2 bet a hundred billion United States dollars in pure gold bricks, right now, that my loyal follower from the top of this blog, when he found my tapes that I was tossing at 3 in the morning out onto lawns and his lawn being one of them a longtime back in the nineties, that even he never dreamed of this story taking on on of these wild twists and endless freaking turns. Thank U4 being such a loyal follower, oh kind sir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FEBRUARY ELEVEN, 20115, WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON AT 1:00, HERE IN FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA, CURRENT TEMPERATURE 69 DEGREES FNHT. I have a powerful new respect FOR MY ORIGINAL LYRICS on the LOVE IS FOR CARPENTERS song from 1980, and done on a guitar early in 1981 over at 1802 Robin 'TWEET TWEET TWEET' Hill “We all have a number and none have a name, and all that we do have, is each other to blame”. Where are you Tom Glenn, my trusty great musical arranger, sir. You're clueless to what you were a part of 34 years ago in that apartment, echos, breath echos, and all else notwithstanding. Totally clueless, as was I, then! THIS PARTICULAR WRITING DOES NAUGHT YET TERMINATE, LOVELY MIZZ 1983 AT&t BLAKE. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 28, 2018 3:11 ANTE' MERIDIAN BLOG 92 OF TWENTY EIGHTEEN ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| I have watched more and more peeps going completely or merely somewhat insane in various amounts, levels, and stages, over the past two decades now since the online new age times have come in and taken over, just as predicted so cleverly on the DARK SHADOWS TV SHOW that the very creators of it failed to recognize THEIR OWN DAMN MESSAGE. Notice my parallel event bullshit is right on target, kind Sheriff KJM, sir. The past two days, I have been major mother fucking assaulted by this WOMO-MILI-2-FAWCE AND HALLS FAWCES IN GENERAL, and the stock market has been soaring as a result, just as I have been discussing on my MORIANITY BLOGS FOR THIRTEEN MOTHER FUCKING YEARS NOW, KIND SIR, YO YO YO YO YO YO! Yes sir folks, and yes mahm too; if I ever had a large sum of money, I would create my own hospital, OUTSIDE OF THIS EVIL EMPIRE AMERICA, where things would work for the good of the patient, and not some governing body and or some mother fucking crooked medical system!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The fucking psych clinic was hell yesterday, and yes oh wonderful spellchecker, Hellapukeyuk, too, yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am going to try and somehow work myself off of my anti-anxiety medication, so I won't have to put up with this horrible mother fucking bullshit treatment any longer. They turned it all around, making this entire fucking recent medical disaster that I have been blogging about for two weeks or so now, and claim it is basically all my own fault, as always, it is me who is always the bad guy and me who is always doing it all mother fucking wrong. This medical community shit in this totally messed up mother fucking country SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, SUCKS, AND SUCKS!!! I want other countries of this planet to know that American medicine has become a horrendous mother fucking nightmare, and has absolutely zero interest any longer in trying to make the patient happy or well. We're not listened to, and not trusted, and this to me is total character ASSASSINATION that makes a person who already is in a totally mother fucking vulnerable position, feel about ten inches cunt lapping tall! Why anyone wishes to come to this awful fucking cunt country, is beyond me. If the fucking south American folks knew the shit that I was going through here as a totally mother fucking legal citizen, they would have no desire to cross the border. Hey Cousin Trumpie, yo, all you need to do is let them all know about the Mountainpen and his goddamn mother fucking blogs, yo. You won't need the fucking cunt eating five billion bucks for your god-ass stupid mother fucking wall, yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! Problem solved, yo!!!!!!!! Still peeps, don't let me even try and fool a damn soul. I blame a lot of fucking shit on my rotten worthless daughter, because she knows my medical shit is very real, and she also knows, and I know that she does; that only she could vindicate me, and she would rather keep the big closet syndrome going, and let me suffer for endless time, and eventually die. Now nobody said that anyone owes anyone a thing, because they don't. Still, my conscience would fucking bug the hell out of me if I were her, knowing what she obviously does about all of this shit, ever since she was goddamn thirteen fucking years old now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No people, when a patient walks out of a medical establishment, that charges tons of fucking money, such as a hundred bucks for the usage of a box of goddamn nose blow tissue, under some absurd fancy ass name in every hospital across this evil empire, and on that very same token, makes a large percentage of us feel worse rather than better, mentally as well as physically; well to quote the late and grate wonderful dynamite darling of disco, from the year 1981, Mizz Donna Adrian Gaines Summer, “SOMETHING'S WRONG SOMEWHERE”!!!!!!! I mean I walked out of that mother fucking worthless Treasure Coast Community Health Clinic yesterday, feeling like I wish I could look over and see the entire place just get hit by a tiny nuclear bomb, and be blown to fucking cunt eating total Hellapukeyuk and HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Something is wrong when I have to pay big bucks, or the insurance does, same difference, to just be treated like total mother fucking garbage, and never helped one bit, and made to feel like a fucking criminal when you ARE NOT A CRIMINAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You can have this evil goddamn place, Sheriff, and everybody goddamn else!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If only this was the purgatory. Jesus fucking Christ Almighty, yo. At least I could switch all around,and become Franklin or the Native American Miquon Squaw, or Demetrius the Silversmith, and then Mark Mohr, and so forth, any time I wish to switch it up. In the great Purg folks, I can switch my energy and become Ricktofarious living with my Lightning Goddess at Ricktown Manor, and then pow, I can switch over to becoming Zeranniss Yancy with a city name and a city pass, residing in HEAVEN or (Sahasra Dal Kanwal) the great capitol city of the entire purg, and then many other parts of me, and poof, just like that with a single quick flashing fucking thought!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This shit out here in this blown out fucking hyperspace, totally fucking sucks my cock licking prick at light velocity squared!!!!!!!!!! Notice a very fucking strange and beyond weird event that occurred when I posted up my previous blog (#91), yesterday. The dude told me to randomly select (4) items from four blogs. But the one at the end seemed to copy (4) times. Now what weird fucking artificial intelligence is built into my Open-Office-Program? Or is it some gigantic hack from some transdimensional parallel plane in the virtually limitless hypERCHRIST or hyperspace, Mister SPELLchecker????!!!!!! Hey for that fucking matter kind folks, we can ask ourselves a totally brand new question, as well as slowly work our way down the elusive and outlandish road of new mysteries that surround what Morianity calls and labels, (P4E) or Phase-4-Entities??? I mean really, just HOW DO WE HUMANS EVER REALLY KNOW when these P4E beings are attempting to instruct us about something, and usually something prophetic? Bibles love prophecies! The Judaic Christian Bible and the great KJ-VERSION of it, is totally filled to the brim with such things. I mean Star Trek predicted an energy being such as DIANA choking people, on that episode with the COMPANION and Zephran Cochran the inventor of the warp drive being discovered alive on that weird little asteroid planetoid. Law and Order has so many it is pointless to attempt to list them all. We have the Mayor from New Jersey and the metals, we have the Trade Center before the real disaster, as the one referred to on several before 9-11 episodes is referring only to the parking garage bombs that went off, but later on, the entire fucking dual towers were knocked to the fucking ground. Then we have the great somewhat silly show, Babylon-5. The episode of CHOKE DAY in daughter song year, or June 4, 1997; is literally all about predicting the entire TRUMP ADMINISTRATION, and all the surrounding crap around it. Taking that in lieu with the 1979 song that is not being played while having myself a tall one at the bar, but still Lenny, “By the Rivers of Babylon”, I mean hey Tom Glenn and Patty Hollister, I ain't a fagot, so for crissake yo, why don't you give me a mother fucking brake here? What is a PHASE-4-ENTITY (P4E)? Well, this is a purgatite or (Purgatory-Resident) who attempts to dream out into hyperspace in ways that violate what morianity labels and calls, “LAWTRONICS”, or simply put, born here but in ways that violate too much of the natural laws. So Superman and Spiderman and all possible characters like these, really do exist, even the M&M's Santa Claus! So when they attempt to come here with us, the LAWTRONICS breaks the connection before they can come here and break the natural laws, and so they then become the mere fantasies and imaginings of fiction writers. These P-4-E are very real, and they exist Astrally. But can they eventually start to effect their handlers/writers, in ways that cause them to shine in new ways, such as prophets? Well, you tell me. It sure seems this way to mother fucking whittle old me, yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So WEEEEEEEEE!!!! Hyperspace effects us in any single 3-D life we are living in, because we and our so-called ordinary waking life reality, in absolute truth, IS 5TH DIMENSIONAL!!!!!!!!! There is no getting around the simple logic here. If we can awaken out of sleep and have our moods seriously effected by powerful yet forgotten dreaming interactions from other worlds of the transdimensional multiverse; how can we believe for a single lousy ass second, that we are truly 3-D entities? Maybe we live PHYSICALLY in 3-D. I never ever disputed that fact for a damn minute, people. But our existence here in waking life is truly in 5-D. In theory, if we wake up mad at the world because, remembered or not remembered, we just experienced being in a terrible fight, and being beaten up real badly; and as a result, we go out to our job, where on the night before, we already were ticked off at our boss for something that he or she did to us; and then we say some curse word, or do something else totally inappropriate, and get fired as a result; then how can anyone say that life is not fully five dimensional? We can play all sorts of little box-lab games here, as well as make up zillions of stupid stories; but my point is made, and I know it. I don't need the ADA Mister Wirtz Senior up there in Camden County to tell me that, either!!!! So WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! Nothing ever changes for poor old fucking Mister mountainpen. NOTHING! Still, why did Tom Glenn totally think that I was a fucking fagot because I wrote a song at age fourteen with the hope of having my lovely Patty sing it for me with her lovely operatic voice. She sounds just like that car ad on TV where the car owner hits that enhancement button on his car system, and that gorgeous opera vocalist really comes out in all her glory. I swear it is just like these P4E know every single electron dance inside my brain. Yes sir, Mister J. P. R., this was chosen at random, as I told you I do this from time to time. My machine was somehow taken over by some one or something, Captain Kirk and ROCK the Android. WOW would he make a great vocal track on anybody's techno music, Mister Tony Bonjovi, and Engineer Ryan, yo! NOTHING EVER CHANGES FOR THE MOUNTAINPEN, “NO HOW, NO NOTHING”, MIZZ ROSS, YO; SO AHA-AHA-AHA-AHA AMANDA DARK SHADOWS HARRIS!!!!!!!!!!!! theansweristheqyuestioncontinues.blogspot.com/ crackpotsfromnewjersey/ We're in our final hour of daylight for this day and it is warm as it just about always is here in this corner of the woods Mister Roker ole' buddy, and let me just say thisssssssssss, or Thistleweedthorns oh Mister Spellchecker Sir. Anyone who has never kept a large library of either audio or video media in any form as that is totally meaningless so long as it is a large collection of things, or a large file of blogging text documents or other computer files, but it has to be extensive and a wee bit massive; and all U ever need 2 do 2 prove my truths folks, is just 2 randomly select and take stuff, pure off the cuff random selections, and then see how things all really do connect into each other, endlessly, continuously, and forever and ever; and just as I have made claims to about this all along now, on this 17+ year long blogging-project, the BOM. I randomly select any old things as I do from time to time upon many numerous occasions. But the shit all perfectly folds and fits into itself, endlessly and forever, or 2 put it in perfect scriptural biblical lingo here folks, “forever and ever”, as in DOGTOWN. Hey peeps, why shouldn't poor ole' firedog-Yancy live in this hellish doghouse for crying out louder than fifteen bells of sonic pressure level? Doesn't it stand 2 reason, oh mights sir James Tiberius Burr of New Jersey's one and only Gloucester City??????????????????? “Y SHOUDN’T A DOG LIVE IN A DOGHOUSE” (The epitome of harassment, internet version) (The millionth-council and me) (Morianity project continues from 1995 on tape) DATFILE: 021809.951---(February 18, 2009) BEGINNING TRANSMISSION: I liked it a lot more when my computer was a lot simpler, but genius Ed Himacane made some major changes when he was last over, and programs run and stuff happens, and it is a pain in the rear end 4 me, the freaking sweeper keeps signaling me and stopping the word program every minute, and also the WOMO gave me a bowel hit a little while back around 9 or just past. Now this pain in my ass computer crap is not stopping, I have tried shutting down, restarting, nothing stops it, some fucking worm is in this, the sweeper will not stop popping on and yet all of this has been swept. Well, guess Eddie will B coming back over. Someday I will prove I am being messed with somehow and take this straight 2 the ACLU and the FBI, cannot blog further until I get 2 the fucking bottom of this spy sweeper problem. All I can do is keep fucking with this thing, let it re-sweep and multitask, the gods; all I wanna' do is blog Ed, what have U done 2 me with all this complex shit? I am not looking 2 run a 20 tera byte system, just 2 do a little blogging 4 crissake. Aniwho, MCMCAAONMC, I guess that is all the dumb machine wanted, just to sweep again, as it is not signaling me and stopping the word program every 20 seconds, PTL--PR. Miss cunt face tried 2 wipe me out, have to shit my eyes a couple minutes now, or that crumb’ll nail me 4 sure. OK, now it is eleven thirteen. I will NEVER FORGIVE OR FORGET that horrid night, back in 1993; at the Atlanta Braves Ballpark, Jane. What U did 2 me was so despicable, it would stink right through a garden of flowers 8 light years cubed. Anyway I am not in a doghouse, I am in a far worse house, and have so much 2 tell y’all it sucks wind backwards at the speed of sound. Where 2 begin is always my biggest problem, as I never will have the time I need 2 really write anywhere near all that I feel is necessary; in order 2 reveal my major plight 2 this evil world in sufficient amounts, so as 2 get anyone with clout 2 ever take pity on me, and assist me in getting 2 the bottom of my hellish nightmare woes. Actually, if the top most powerful persons on the Earth all decided 2 help me, they would fail. That is how gargantuan my troubles really R BRO, Twinbay, and all others. I am not a pessimist Missy, and U read me all wrong that day at the Galloway, New Jersey Library. But nothing ever just happens and no one will understand what I know in its fullness, not Christians, not atheists, not scientists, not sci-fi buffs, not Catholics, not even Eckists, Monks, Buddhists, and U name it, as nobody sees in total clarity, what is real; nobody. The reason that all things appear 2B in some weird and indistinguishable code of jumbled randoms, beyond any possible human recognition; is because we believe whole heartedly, and take a powerful Copperfield illusion, totally seriously; that a projection around us is there and real, when in fact; nothing beyond our center of is-ness of being can B. This of course is simply because, as any possible space extends out beyond our innermost self, time brings it all back right into us in a circulation system of perfect and precise ratio and proportion, that is all a part of the mechanics of a hypersphere, or an upline thought wave in a down-lining process; and this is truth. Refreshing old blogs, 4 new Blogauds, that will most likely not go back, and sift through the long-winded Mountainpen discourses of Morianity, and its teachings; there is a truth that is real to itself, and the Buddhists R not correct that all truth is alterable and relative, to what an inner self makes it, until it eventually comes 2 realize that it is not really there 2 start with. This is all so true in a small box, but it leaves out what the great Atlantic City alchemist told me back in the summer-time of 1974, while I was staying overnight at a rooming house, owned by a lady named Selena Dada, on Stenton Place, between Atlantic and Pacific Avenues. The ultimate truth IS zero dimension. This nothingness somehow DOES exist, and IS aware of itself; and cannot find a way 2 shut off that awareness. It does learn 2 dream out and away from itself into phase two reality, or the Astral Plane; or the Shakespearean arena of the great dream shift, that mortals call the spirit world or realm. Some entity connected with the MILLIONTH-COUNCIL will not stop this fucking hacking, the sweep finished, and now the prompt keeps popping up again, so Ed will come over and get 2 the bottom of this fucking shit once and 4 all. 4 right now, I must live with this, as I have now lived for two days with no telephone service that I am legally paying 4, and I am gonna' contact the BOARD OF PUBLIC UTILITIES, no peace 4 a second ever, not on the weekends in that hell job, and now my entire weeks R wrecked. It is round the clock, with no let up, and not a moments peace 4 life, right WPIX-1988-New York, New York, UFO THE COVER UP TV SHOW, AGENT CONDOR AND AGENT FALCON? Talk about never forgetting things like dirty rotten Jane in 1993, or this show on channel 11, NYNY, back in 1988. U don’t forget major shit that goes down in your life, BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!! It never stops, it never backs off. Committing suicide only serves 2 make it worse 4 me, as I know it is all an illusion, and that I will just find myself right back in the same dream, like running 4 the light, and the light won’t go on, and realizing that U never woke up, and now U finally have; so again U jump out of bed and run 4 the light, and then again it does not go on, and I have gone through this nightmare 4 monstrous lengthy amounts of time, or whatever is really happening; just as I have existed forever and will; and I KNOW IT. I slit my wrists last night at 3 in the morning, and slowly bled out right here on my bed. It is so way cool 2 bleed out, and feel the life going out of U, as U get icy cold; and begin 2 fade away, believing as hard as U can that it will all B over in a moment, just as Skylar Rumson was told by Barnabas Collins, when he forced him 2 shoot himself through the heart; on the television show, 'DARK SHADOWS'. Only 4 me, I keep waking up and thinking I am dying; and have not yet died, and then die; and then wake up again and again, until eventually, I wake up, and the entire thing was just a dream, but then; I am aware totally, that all of this is just an astral dream down, and even that is a dream away from the truth; or the great void of zero dimensional existence; something no human being can fathom. Some of these mighty truths were once up online on a website called, www.morianity-foundation.com/ but this site is now defunct, as Kate and I do not have any money; nor any new material 2 copyright presently, on the subject thereof. I am aware that free sites exist, and Ed will B working on finding me one; and getting this foundation, and its many powerful truths, back up 4 this blind ignorant planet, and its residents 2C and know. At least this world will have the truth. The only good thing now, is that this stupid fucking pop up can shoot up every 20 seconds or so; and eventually go off, and it is not stopping the word program until I click on it. Long story short, the mail was always delivered here, at this lovely 6-9 room place, with rooms that all sort of go into each other, with no hallways; and just endless first days of summer of 2008, and a powerful goddess that has been chasing me around 4 all infinity now; but mail was always delivered here at about 10:30 AM, until about last weekend give or take, and now it is coming sporadically and never B4 3 or so in the afternoon. King Dawn the Queen, formerly and always known by, PRINCE; asked me 2 call the Post Office, and C if I can find out what is up with the mail around here, yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I reminded her what she wanted me 2 use 4 a telephone. She said, 'use the house phone that they have on their Comcast Cable system' that also runs my internet, and we split the package deal bill between us. Still, I reminded her that I did not have the number 4 the Post Office, even though I invented the thing a very long time ago. She always tells me how expensive it is on their Comcast plan, 2 call the service information operator. Her mom AKS, looked up the number in some book they finally found; a personal book of numbers and they had the local Post Office listed, yo. So I called, and Long Island Highways, and Lottery Cats that meow me 2 death in 1980, just 2 or 3 months after the LOIS FOCA interaction with SCYLLA; they have an interesting telephone number, right Frank Calli-0---D-I-E, YO??????????? There is no way this is all just a coincidence, wo BRO, I am not done yet, so hold onto your stupid looking suspenders, Eddie Albert Gabor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! God these crashing cymbals get louder by the day, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Aniwho, MC,MC, and all other non MC’s; I called and spoke my peace; and here is what the nice lady told me, BR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It seems the rural area of Berryville, New Jersey, formerly B4 Mountainpen and Prince, known as Hammonton, is going 2 get a mail count, interesting initials. This Mail Count is not 4 any reason I have ever heard of. The story I was given, was that all mail on local roads, will B taken first 2 the Post Office 2B counted; and then delivered. This is the wildest and strangest thing I have heard of since I invented the Post Office. Do they really think Roger is going 2 mail me something from Arizona?????????????????? I cannot think of any other reason 4 this very mysterious and strange SITUATION here, Inspector Louigee Henderson!!!!!!!!! If UR out there RC, do not mail me anything, this is 2 weird!!!!!!!!!!!! Your system is wonderful. I played 4 games today, 3 were all no signal, and the 4th one was an IN-LOW-8-STOP OUT LOW-14, with one green hit, for a 5 and a half unit profit. Diana, I am not able 2 communicate with U in our usual way, until the repairman arrives Thursday afternoon. When he does, he is going 2 face the phone jack, insert plug down, currently with no pun intended, it faces up, right into that leak from the upstairs bathroom shit-hole, and even though this leak has been fixed; I do not trust these fucking pricks from here 2 the China Earthquakes, and the Hawaiian Volcanoes. Much later tonight, or 2 keep Don Cialoni happy from the recording studio, tomorrow night, as he used 2 say, “It won’t B tomorrow, until I go home and go 2 bed, and then get up”; I will B back on line with my big beautiful blond. Please always B around me Diana, UR my lightning, and I need U my love!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I felt that terrific strike the other day, when I was moving something; and made contact with something. How I loved my days as Benny, and messing with U, and the only thing that saddens me now, is that U never trusted me with your secrets back then, of what and WHO I was dealing with, after all; it is all just a dream, right Chris Farlowe, plans and schemes all not withstanding????? Well, she did ladies and gentlemen, as I lay on my bed dying in 1790, no this is not a typo; crash, bing, Harry Callas, and 13 bells of Sound Pressure Level, BR!!!!! No DZA did tell me at the very end when she knew my heart was just about 2 quit, and told me that I would wake up in a room in the sun, and I did in 1980, but she never explained how she was Sarah-Stacey’s cousin on the great Astral Plane, and I did not know about her at all until the end of the 20th century. Maybe this is all how and Y and what made my dad so sick 2 his stomach on the train. No uncle Snoots, I never said my poopy pop was right by telling the conductor that it was U that puked all over. I just think it was very rude of U2B saying this 2 my mom, at your shit hole mansion, at 175 Peninsula Drive, in Nebuchadnezzar-ville, New York; right in my presence, when I was just a young lad of 17; ya son of a bitch!!!!!!!!!!! But who am I but dog shit?, and UR the mighty Senior Vice President of the Chemical National Bank, the second most powerful bank on the planet at the time in ‘72. Cheer up Sam Walton, my plans R all fucked up, and that boosts this scummy economy of yours, and uncle Snooties. Nothing good lasts forever, but let me tell the world what happened when I woke from the dream where I slit my wrists. The market had gone up 1633 points that day. I know it, I was there; but by moving off of where I was exactly in the hyperspace, I re-dreamed myself into a slightly shifted locale, where the 'DOW' had finished off nearly three bucks. Hyperspaces make strange bed fellows, huh banker of Akoslem??????????????? U wouldn’t have wanted the Haddonwood property buddy, as there is a strange void field out in the lake there somewhere, that leads far away; and U don’t need 2B concerned with what this pitiful whittle retard knows about all this, ol’ buddy!!!!!!!!!!!! “Talk 2 Frank”. Yeah, I was good enough 4U back when I was 15 though, huh Victoria, U child molester!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH “I have such gorgeous hair”, do I? Well, U need 2 talk 2 Donna Gaines, and her friends; and then 2 the Wolf clan, that seems so fascinated by her last name. Jeese Louise Shannon Wallwarp Carwrecker Genlow, of December 18th of 2006!!!!! www.blogger.com/http/drunkenhive!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Almost 39 years have come and gone now Vicki, bite me bitch!!!!!!!!!!! This whole nightmare chews. I’m bookin’, BRO!!!!!!!!!!!! Y shouldn’t a dog live in a doghouse, a crazy house; or a nightmare? Well, because I never did anything 2 deserve this, and just because I am Stacey’s dog, this is just 2 keep her miserable parents happy. They banned all the dogs out of Her great city, and over the great wall into Dogtown. Read the last page of the KJV of the Holy Bible, Y would I make this shit up, BRRRR? GOOGLE AND SWIS, AND KS-WORLD LABS OF 2299, THIS IS ALL Blahhhhhh and bleeeeeeeee and blmummmm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Copyright Michael Wayne Mountainpen-2009, and blog registered on an official registry bloggers website. E~N~D------------T~R~A~N~S~M~I~S~S~I~O~N, BR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Mark or Jesse, Grammar schools in EHNJUSAESMWG in this or any other part of HS. send to a frienddel.icio.usDiggredditStumbleUpon This is YYYYYYYYYYYYY this poor dog should not live in this eternal doghouse, it is quite simple really. Let me explain things to you ladies and gentlemen: BECAUSE IT IS UNFAIR BECAUSE I NEVER DID ANYTHING TO DESERVE IT BECAUSE I AM INNOCENT BECAUSE I AM IN AGONY AND TIRED OF BEING ENDLESSLY PERSECUTED BY ALL MIGHTY SCYLLA GODDESS. BECAUSE I AM DAMMED IF I DO AND DAMMED IF I DON'T. GET IT YET, GOOD FOLKS??????? THIS TRANNY ENDS NOW NANA-HUNTINGTON GRANNY MAHM'. BTAT—CHAPTER 0029 Wednesday, February 22, 2023 Blog start time: 11:28 A.M. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As stated, until further notice these blogs will post in shitty ass quality because nobody anywhere seems 2 know how to make the website coding system properly decode my word document paste in with the needed coding for doing this. I am picking up aerial siege today after a week without any of it, and I will always keep 'the Blogaudianship' informed of these matters. This is so you all can endlessly TRACK THE PARALLEL EVENTS, and prove 2U all that this is entirely real, and my claims R indeed totally real and true, and not simply the mere ranting delusions of a completely insane crackpot madman.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Of course I will never deny any reality for that very reason, and yes world, you can all look me up as I share a relatively eternal spot on the mighty net-lands or as I term it on my Morianity, “Cyberville”, simply by Googling up, “Crackpots from New Jersey”. I have no power over what any of you say or think of me,and will never for a single seck try 2 deny that truth, as denying any part of reality would then prove me out 2B a genuine mentally ill person with numerous psychotic features and schizophrenic delusions. Moving on now, this will B a blog with information on a few topics and I won't B attempting to tie in a zillion pieces to one large whole truth today, but some may indeed see this powerful truth without me saying a whole lot about it myself just from following my Morianity, and knowing the story of Mountainpen's miserable hellish life of endless quintessential misery. “Okay, this is a tri-dah-cell-ous”, and the accented syllable is the second of the four of them, and I have shown the word in dictionary-style here, so you know how to pronounce it but not how to exactly spell it, and now you need to know what this is all about since it is a continuation of my Egg Harbor dreaming interaction from several nights ago. I appear to B an employee at this very large supermarket that is also called an ACME Grocery Store just as we had a half century ago all throughout the Delaware Valley and tri-state area where I grew up in, only the Egg Harbor Acme that famously stood for so very long in town right on the Julia White Horse Pike, just a few blocks west of Philadelphia Avenue and the main street in town; does not exist in this particular parallel reality. Ever since I grew up in this one particular reality, I had but one single job at this store, and the real estate location of it here is the potato chip factory that is a short distance to the east down Route 561 from the great Atlantic County youth detention center. People used to phone me back when I resided at the Mullica Mobile Manor in the first decade of this 21st century, and ask me if my father's side of the family had a teacher named 'MOHR' somewhere in that area, and between this and a lifetime of recurring dreams concerning schools in that area and my always trying to get to one of them, I knew something was up, or to better say this, with Mister Joe Sivo's quotation here perhaps, “Something was going down”!!!!!!!!!!! Even the world renown evangelist Doctor Billy Graham knew that our entire being or soul if you will, is not containable in one human lifetime and thus making several references to how one of the scriptures can be more better understood by realizing this powerful truth. I speak of the bible verse that asks us human beings, what does it profit a man to gain the whole world but top then lose his own soul? It is of course considered 2B total mental illness and schizophrenic magical thinking to say it, but I say, give me a fucking break here, Mister Diagnostic Statistical Manuel (DSM). The place that architecturally resembles a school and definitely naught a detention center right there in Egg Harbor City is called HARBORFIELDS, the very same name of the school up in Long Island, New York that Mariah Carey once attended. So between a lifetime of these recurring dreams about the place, the way the great King cousins acted with me while I was trying to figure the whole thing out and was simultaneously living right there with them, the telephone calls asking me about my family as well as the teachers and schools, the cupcake incident involving my attempted murder and switching to a world where I seemingly had no proper ID to operate my automobile while at Jenny's Park, the MM; and other smaller parts to this as well, and this does not add up to saying and concluding that something outlandish is happening around me, oh Mister Psych-Book? Wanna' fucking gimme' a break, YO YO YO YO YO YO BRO?------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So in my wild dreaming interaction from several nights back now, I was in the store where I had worked in all of my life. It began where I was up at the front area and was trying to alter a setting on an air conditioning system and it was not like anything here in this world as it was part of a fan and air conditioner and looked more like home units would rather than something that would be operating in a professional building such as a large food store. I kept attempting 2 adjust some settings and it seemed 2B all going kaplooey. Finally I had figured out how to effect a jury-rigged repair 2 it and it then seemed 2B properly working, and as I walked away to go down 2one of the aisles of the store, I immediately observed that I was wearing a pair of headphones. Nothing was playing through them yet I was wearing them and my double there in that dream never removed them and seemed to B able 2 hear things around him perfectly despite having them covering over his ears. Then I suddenly found myself walking through the perimeter system of the store and while in the back of it suddenly observed a man and his wife along with two children, either two boys or a boy and girl and I wasn't sure because of the hair dues, and my not being able to see past some chairs that were blocking part of the view between this group of folks and myself. Then my dreaming-double seemed 2 recognize that there was a weird store promotion going on and that the woman and the children were just part of what was going on and the man who I had originally believed 2B the father of this family, was some hypnotist dude and this was an experiment that proved how stores were using a form of subliminal consciousness technique in order 2 induce more purchases. I couldn't resist, or my double there couldn't resist, shouting over at this group and saying, “It isn't done that way, the message is spoken underneath of the music or MUZAK system that we all hear when in stores and hotel lobby's and elevators”. Then the hypnotist who seemed 2 me 2B a very mild mannered individual, suddenly jumped up out of a chair, turned to me or my dreaming-doppelganger, and said in a loud stern voice, and while pointing a finger into my face, “Okay this is a tridaucelous” or however you may wish and attempt to correctly spell the word. All I know is that for whatever the reason, my dreaming-double then suddenly just began walking down one of the central food aisles as if nothing had ever even happened at all. I remember thinking upon awakening that none of the food products on any of the shelves even remotely resembled the types of food stuffs and packaged products from here in the 'waking-ordinary world reality'. By the way, my Spellchecker Word Dictionary show absolutely nothing even remotely resembling any similar verbiages to that wild transdimensional-EHC word. So to quote the mighty and wonderful awesome illustrious Sir Chester-Frank here kind folks, “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yes, as told B4 on numerous previous blogging texts on this Morianity Project, spanning over 17 YEARS now; I have picked up a great deal, whether Merry knows it or naught Mizz lovely phone company Blake of 1983, transdimensional words. Names of things, names of people, names of cities such as Atlantica where here we all know the place or the Winn-Joint as Atlantic City, and on and on we can go here folks, or I can, YO YO YO HA, ME' BRAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Yes the planes today are real real REALE bad, Tommy boy, and even Sir Tommy ROWE and all Rowe's out there, outlandish from Spellchecker or naught, lovely Mizz Blake!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have now activated my ALWS systems, one is on my front porch, and one is on my rear porch, and this stands for Airport Light-Warning Switches, and I'll let a HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE cat out of the bag now for my wonderful peeps and Morians/Blogaudians out here, and my wonderful pal and sir, Senator Bernie Sanders. First I'll tell U all what the abbreviated letters stand for, and then what is happening to make it all clear 4U, my Blogaudians. ALWS stands for Mister Mountainpen's 'AIRPORT LIGHT-WARNING SWITCH'. I activate two bright lightbulbs, LED-100 watt, taking only 15-W of actual power each, and once during every shift, the airport peeps have a guy driving through the property here 2C if these lights R on or naught, Mizz lovely 1983 Blake. The co-op gave permission for me to do this as my landlord has witnessed enough strange stuff and was able to convince them that a real enemy harassing me all of my life is really doing this to me and that I need to have a pilot drive in to check my ALWS situation every single day at random times, at least four times. So chime in now if ye' will, oh Sir CF from that 1999's Jersey bar, oh kind sir: “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOW-2-THAT-1.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Boy oh boy oh boy Uncle Billy Frank Capra Wonderful Life Movie, YO, all little dogs, tape recorders, karate kicking bugs, and detention centers of coincidental nomenclatures. If any of the great Atlantic City peeps R out there from this dimension, you know I am not making up anything, including what all of U did 2 me back in oh-8 and oh-9. Please B at the dog-run park, Sir SWAP, six days from today, Tuesday the final day in this demonic month of 0223. TANKS, and a great big ass HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE “B---O---O---M”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We need to move this shit along, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO YO, and maybe U need 2B talking 2 my local sheriff 2 as I don't think that he takes my story from HELL all that goddamn seriously,kind sir, so we'll talkin six days kind friend, YO YO YO YO YO YO YO, ME' BREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well in any event ole' fudging world, let us proceed marching onward here. Not far away over in the Fort Pierce Spanish Lakes Community, a ten foot gator was just euthanized for killing an eighty-five year old lady and her pet if I am remembering the news story correctly, and stupid Spellchecker doesn't recognize the name with the letter-D ending for putting down an animal for whatever the stupid computer world reason, but in any case, this just happened a couple days back, and gators and lizards and snakes and insurance salesmen AKA scummy Geckos are literally swarming allover tropical places such as our great American state known by the Mountainpen as Flower-land, and AKA by non-Morians, Florida-USA. Still, flowers, and songs, and great hot flower lands, and dreams, and property owners of Atlantic City named Estelle. Like super mother fucking ass WOW-WOW-WOW-WOWSY-WOWSER, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I won't soon forget driving down here in early middle December of the year 2009 and stopping near the great pier where on one side, the mighty Mister Flagler named pier separates the beaches from many of my long ago recurring dreams and then the southern side of the pier where Ormond Beach begins and Misses Estelle Andersen Bassler had her home, after leaving her South Atlantic City home that was located at 30 South Plaza Place. This home was where she and her adopted son Mister Chester Perkowski resided, all throughout the time where SARAH's SHOP was all a part of my life as a teenager, as well as when I was a younger preteen, or 'tween' as they refer to it in today's times. Without watching the television show called, “DARK SHADOWS”, and really observing carefully, the entire story line from shortly after Quentin Collins came onto the scene, and then right up through the time that the Leviathan Cult leader was killed by being shoved off of an ocean cliff, known only too well by 'shadowans' or fans of the show, and then see the absolutely unmissable connections with me and my entire life, and all pertaining to the magical goddess-girl known to me only as “SARAH KRASSLE” as she spelled it out 4 me in a middle December of 1969 dreaming interaction; you won't ever truly B able to C this unfathomably powerful reality that something beyond Senator-Sanders-HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE is going on here in all of this inconceivable stuff!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I told you about computers and the reality behind the entire reason that they R now in total control over the entire planet and without anyone other than me being the wiser. I told you what makes them operate, crystals that make their motherboards, as well as electrons giving them their power, and I told you all how they have no astral essence or truth whatsoever. All one needs 2 do here is 2 carefully examine this show on television, DS, and then compare in full rigid austere honesty, the Leviathan Cult deal with what has actually happened to this world. CREATURES WITHOUT A SOUL, computer technology, computers, internet, the cloud, and this is only the very infancy conception and origination of a much greater diabolical plot, and yes, just as the show warns us, and the biggest part still not recognized here is that the creators of that marvelous show were all the time totally fucking CLUELESS to what was going on and how they were being used to give this warning,even if only one person received it,THE CHOSEN HUNTINGTON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-WOW-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! B realistic here for just a goddamn second. The only possible thing here is not that Mountainpen is a crazy and delusional crackpot, but rather thagt he HAS BEEN CHOSEN to receive truths that went totally over everyone else's head. It isn't that I am better than anyone else, merely CHOSEN. Yes, this sounds like cult-talk in and of itself, but let me put all of your minds to ease here, may I pweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze? Simply read on. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cult leaders want power over their fold, over others in general, over young girls in order to obtain sexual privelages with them, they have ideas and concepts that the Christian scriptures absolutely condemns, and despite a lot of their near-truths, those truths R4 Purgatorial existence such as free love and 'multiple mergings', and along those lines once known in hippie jargon as sex-orgies. On the Astral-Plane there is no monogamy or marriages or death and mates do not make vowels to love until death as dividing by C-squared is a concept so far removed it just isn't a part of anything there, and even that merely causes human-dreaming and that is what we all R, dream-downs off of the endless-Purgatory. I merge with Lightning and the coils that SHE has given 2 me quite often, and this is absolutely okay and prop[er, THERE, naught HERE. Cult leaders may or may not B aware of these truths, but they only want to satisfy their carnal or Earthly and Mortal world natures of their flesh-appetites. I promise any and all of U that the furtherest thing from my mind, ever, now, or B4, is to take over anyone's mind or control them in any possible or remotest way. The magical Sahasra Dal Kanwal chain may have indeed given 2 me some strange and unusual desires as previously discussed, but never have I wished to engage in actual sexual connectedness with girls that R2 young 2B having sexual relations, in any way, including the 'nineties-Sir Clinton' ways. If I could,I would be the biggest spit-vampire on the planet, thanx-2 that chain altering somehow magically, my mind, and yes; the billionaires all know that it would multiply my lifespan 8 times over, as it once did to the entire H-12-Tribes, the great Jewish secret, as Morianity refers 2 this as. Typing this in right now folks, made me remember that I forgot a powerful insertion the other day on a recent blogging text. I was discussing that magical SARAH-surname of K-R-A-S-S-L-E, and how SHE spelled it out for me in a wild dreaming interaction back in December of 1969, and how the Dark Shadows television show went onto spin-off two movies, 'HOUSE OF DARK SHADOWS', and 'NIGHT OF DARK SHADOWS'. In one of these movies, a gorgeous little girl was named SARAH KASSEL, if I am spelling that surname correctly, and it was pronounced in the movie, the same way that 'KRASSLE' would B pronounced, only without containing the letter of “R”. HALLS FAWCES, or the MISOE or 'whatever' ole' pal Bob Andrews from 1975-1980 B4 your great public office days that laid ahead of U sir; somehow R creating 'something' and to mortal-world human observation with its very limited low lying horizons, we fail 2C and properly recognize that this same exact force behind this fantastic 60's-television show-DS, and the reality and persona of one Sir Mark Wayne Mountainpen Mohr, perhaps R one and the same, you know,as in the other example of being one and the same that we all know of quite well, Clark Kent and Superman, as in this great show, without knowing that truth that the viewers know, and R fully aware of; the characters in the movies and shows R thus completely limited to not having that fact while being the characters whom they R portraying. The main reality that came clear 2 me very early into this 3rd millennium and 20th century in human chronology is my home in the Purgatory, called RICKTOWN MANOR. This home is beyond any mansion that could even begin to B fathomed in construction on any mortal realm of physical caporial life. It literally branches off in six opposing directions for one thing a total humanly impossible architectural feat. Its immense size is the other factor as it literally is 80 percent of the square miles of the state of Pennsylvania here on waking mortal world planet Earth-USA. Then there is the far rear wing of the entire structure that in the mortal and waking world realm is part of a movie set in NYC and the 60's television show, DS. There is no actual Collinwood of course despite the 'establishing shot' showing a girl's private school, in a nearby area to where the show was done, and all of this is as meaningless as a single seagull flying over our heads while enjoying a day on a beach on a vacation after a long and hard winter season at our job. In real truth to how singularity produces HER creation, first the Plancktime, and then the 5-D-hyperspace blown out beyond that in a folded magical fabric containing eleven dimensions, with two '5-D systems' inside of each of them; once we exist here 'physically', the complex interdimensional realities cause things to operate as they do and trying to fully explain it would require all of us 2B at least 'Einstein times 100', and a million years 4 me 2 type out this truth, and then 4U all to sit down and attempt 2 “GET IT”; all great 'GW' 'musician dads' out there, right lovely Mizz Hewitt???????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So rather than attempting 2 tackle a truly insurmountable project here such as that one folks, let me put things in more relatable terms, if that is even fucking remotely possible. WOW, Mister Macy and C----L----U----B!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOW & WOW!!!!-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We can get into Peoples Magazine, Dark Shadows, MISOE operatives and their office-bosses, dream control, Ufology, and a zillion related topics; although seemingly to the untrained non-Morian-eye, not so damn ass related. Let me do things my own way, if you please, lovely Mizz EHC resident, Terry Accusatory Scatterbrain. Yes the only two peeps that I speak so frequently of on these blogs who R some of the residents of the lovely and illustrious Egg Harbor City, Mizz Leticia Tilley, and Mizz Terry 'Scatterbrain-Namer of Mountainpen'. Mizz Terry was a gal-pal of the lovely Mizz Ann King Silva of the mighty Atlantic City, NJUSAESMWG. She insisted that no story, even mine,needs 2B done and 2 quote her of course, “So scatterbrain-style”. BUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT, BIG ASS BUTT, unfortunately, this just ain't so. No one on planet Earth would ever B able 2 successfully write the story of 'Morianity' in a non-scatterbrain-appearing style, and she is simply100% totally mistaken. So sahwee Mister Japanese Ambassador from World War II, but 2 quote Sir Sigmund Malyeska here, “That's the way it goes”. SOOOOOOOOOO, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!! We will need to begin 2C and fully realize just Y my family as well as all of my OTAMMIC ENEMIES just cannot B placed in some rational normal order in chronology the way that other stories tell things. It is not possible, that's all there is 2 it folks. The space bar is completely fucked up and I will definitely B purchasing an entirely new computer system, solving the murder of two birds while employing only one rock; and without going to any Oaklyn, New Jersey creek-parks, with my-then-pal, Sir Jim T. Burr, back in the early middle spring time, in the year of 1974. We will get on the Pennock voice changing magical 'pen' pieces, the cult leader cousin-Pennock, the flower song and translation requests that all led up to car interference and magical-McFly circuits being secretly inserted into them, and a zillion other power house things that R all related to these things listed so far, and then folks, remember that this may B at best and at most, perhaps one one thousandths of the entire story, and yes, it will all B told, and IPYT great folks out here. So a great big damn fat ass WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blog Archive ▼  2011 (303) ▼  December (8) KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0285 KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0284 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0283 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0282 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0281 KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0280 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0279 KING NEBNOOSHOO SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0278 ►  November (22) ►  October (19) ►  September (15) ►  August (21) ►  July (22) ►  June (25) ►  May (23) ►  April (27) ►  March (76) ►  February (36) ►  January (9) ►  2010 (178) ►  December (6) ►  November (10) ►  October (7) ►  September (39) ►  August (8) ►  July (10) ►  June (11) ►  May (19) ►  April (15) ►  March (17) ►  February (20) ►  January (16) ►  2009 (368) ►  December (17) ►  November (44) ►  October (35) ►  September (18) ►  August (18) ►  July (35) ►  June (23) ►  May (24) ►  April (32) ►  March (39) ►  February (33) ►  January (50) ►  2008 (352) ►  December (44) ►  November (43) ►  October (56) ►  September (19) ►  August (32) ►  July (42) ►  June (44) ►  May (53) ►  February (11) ►  January (8) ►  2007 (15) ►  December (6) ►  November (9) About Me theansweristheqyuestion Not boring, without hesitation nor concern for fibbing, I can honestly say with a knowing that out of 8 billion that live or have lived here, none have shared my wild ride through hyperspace, with awareness View my complete profile Oh does my life fucking totally suck, great world out there. Whats to do Mister Jack TZ Klugman, sir? Posted by theansweristheqyuestion at 1:03 PM No comments: Labels: "Millionth Council" government persecution, alien abductions astral plane supernatural paranormal, PROJECT BLUEBOOK Sunday, December 4, 2011 SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0281 SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0281 world laboratories of 2296 SUNDAY AFTERNOON, 12:42 PM-EST DECEMBER 4, 2011, MY 57TH BOTBAR FUCKING BIRTHDAY OFFICIAL RESIDENT OF HELL, AS PER JAMES EARL CARTER FROM THE YEAR 1986 IN MIDDLE AUGUST TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO BLOG SUBTITLE NUMBER FOUR: “WHY JIMMY WHY, UPDATED VERSION” COPYRIGHTED BLOGS OF MOUNTAINPEN 2006-2011 © STARTING BLOG: Monster Music Man next door, woke me again, blaring his horrific loud rotten-neighbor music at me, ruining my entire fucking birthday. There is no way to have peace and cunt lapping quiet in this world. Music is so loved by people, personally, I fucking hate it. I hate it when I am somewhere and a radio or something is playing, and some amateur begins to sing along, totally believing they are either Pavarotti or Carey. If they were, that is one thing; but if not, can't you please save it for your shower room while scrubbing up, and do us all a fucking favor. This jerk off next door is old and either hard of hearing, or like most peeps today, just love to blare away and wreck the only two ears that they were born with, believing wither they are indestructible, or that they live 90 years from now where even full ears and eyes are directly transplantable into the brain without any nerve complications. I asked Gawky Gaukauk just why all of a sudden this neighbor is driving me up a wall and what and who is behind it, by drawing 72 paying cards, eight suits from two decks, containing all cards from aces through nines. The great black cat said the reason for this new hell and misery in my life, is number PCN-781. Now let us talk about this and a lot of other major mother fucking crap as well folks. I am imagining none of this 57 years of Doctor Feet and his hell, who? No, that is the guy in the telephone booth with the Donald, exchanging phony weaves, dreams, and comfortable shoe insoles. But yes peeps, the other day, I asked this mighty black cat a question on why that horrific day of the 23rd of November was forced on me by these fucking ass monsters, and yes; the answer was again, PRIVATE COSMICODED NUMBER (PCN)-781. Today, before I began this blog of SJ-CH-0281, again, I drew the two cards that produce the PCN-ROOT DIGITS, these being the 7 and then the 8. The PCN is the difference between these root digits, if any Doctor, and using this digit as the 3rd one, creating a PCN or ROOT DIGITS 78 becomes PCN-781. My root digits are 87 for example, Donald Trump has root digits 23, and so forth. You must use your exact birth given first and last names to get your life-long PERSONAL PCN. By the way, you cannot exact the GAWNUM the same question, unless it pertains to different potential answers because it is asked at different times during ones life. Other than that exception, only once counts; and thus after that, you will get false answers. Do not try getting the GAWNUM to be your genie and give you yeas and no responses. It is designed as a mighty story telling systems of comparisons and matching's; & not to tell you in a direct question, if Johnny Marshmallow should marry Toni-Louise Macbeth. It is designed to bring a new skill to a user, and this being, learning how to figure things around a query, then by varying the words or phrases of query, they can match up PCN-number results to a second half, such as, “My boss is acting totally weird with me because he found out that I...” The dot-dot-dot are numerous possible things you may be wondering and worrying about, and they also all have their own PCN's, when figured out. Then your master PCN of the sentence with your boss is compared GAWNUMLY with numerous other PCN sentences until you start super sleuthing around and get matching answers. It is not six year old stuff, but it is addictive and also fun and entertaining as hell. It is totally real, and it totally works. Anyone thinking this is not so, needs further education on this exact science. I will tell more and more as time and persecution on this off the scales attack, continues to march fucking on to this demonic evil drumbeat. Now I had no particular blog planned out for this weekend, and really was fucking hoping to catch a break, but the WOMO is making me about as miserable as can be conceived, and is responsible for my first degree premeditated murder. It is official that I said I cannot take much more and will need to take my life, sop if this happens, these peeps all need to go to MOTHERFUCKING PRISON FOR THE REST OF THEIR DIRTY FILTHY TWISTED DISEASED LIVES, TO ROT AND SUFFER; JUST AS THEY CAUSED ME TO, for pushing 30 years or so now!!!! I noticed two other pretty much inescapable bullshit coincidences recently. The minute I say that Donald Trump will be president over my non breathing body, he pops up on his dirt bag owned and mobbed up NBC-NETWORK, floozies and all; and fairy god mother news bells; aha-aha-aha, Michele-1980 & family; he decided all over again that he will run, and then began all this persecution on me, as he is been behind the usage of this ICPE tool, ever since I told his peeps at his casino in the summer time of the year 1986, that I use PARALLEL EVENT SYSTEM, to beat the game of roulette, and this would piss off any fucking casino owner, like DUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!You cannot say that if you start with this blog, and read backwards, that I DO NOT HAVE PLENTY OF PROOF THAT BACKS UP MY WORDS HERE, FOLKS, NOT UNLESS YOU WANT THE AWARD OF THE DECADE FOR BEING AN ASS AND A MORON, THAT IS. Well Gawky, despite many uncertainty's in this old sick world, “God's Dog” may have visited “Babylon”, and not in his doggie form, until he was old enough to do a Nancy Reagan, and just say NO to my dear wonderful sweet mom who took a vicious secret to the grave. But still, this “Prophet of Nothing” from “July twelve, nineteen-seventy” a few years back at that time; did not then know that these four things were all PCN-781, shown above in double-quotation. I have a listing matchbook of a dozen or more other less important things, but for now, these four need to be talked about, as something contained in one all any combination or all of them, is causing this real bad hell, according the magic cat of Copyrighted Halloween Day. I am not trying to win power-balls, that is your thing, MIZZ PAULA UWICH!!!!!!! This is what is causing this neighbor to blare my wall down every day now without fucking mercy, perhaps at Trump's or Nick's behest, but since I have only what detectives call SOLID MOTIVE, I do not have any court evidence to this effect, so I blog out, maybe at their behest. If you see two mean looking kids in a park, you just got there and they are leaving. One is crying and more bloody and dirty than the other one, but you saw nothing, you can solidly speculate that these boys had been fighting since nobody else is around. But you cannot swear in court, one other thing other than this. None of us would have it any other way, it is to easy to get framed and innocently go off to fucking prison. Many guilty's are out walkin' and talkin', while the innocent's are all locked away inside. As I said to Paula, and some others, Regis sir, dog roofs and radio stations all notwithstanding, “BE CAREFUL”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What is good for the goose, you know. I have nothing against the American Criminal Justice System, except for when it doesn't work, which is quite often. IN MY CASE, IT NEVER DOES, AND NEVER HAS. Let me quickly get into the song from 1988 that I Copyrighted and wrote from my home in Moorestown, NJUSAESMWG, a mile or so away from the home of baseball giant, Mitch Williams, AKA Mister World Series Gamethrow. I know he honestly tried his best, but some were ready in 1993, to shoot the poor devil. Bu7t baseball, at least not at this precise second, is not the topic at hand folks. The song was what led to the project sent down for copyright, called “THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT”. This is why since the middle of the past decade, my blogs on the web are titled this, along with the additional, “INTERNET VERSION”, LIKE DUHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Dave and I had taken a trip in the first week in August back a couple of years, in 1986, one night, into New York City. He wanted to go to some club, and see some friends of his, a musical group called “New Shoes”. I could not handle Saturday night traffic in this incredible city so he took the wheel and parked us a few blocks from the club, as he was not able to find a spot closer than this. I relaxed in the passenger seat for close to an hour while he was inside this club, doing whatever he was doing. As soon as he rounded a corner block, along came a girl crossing from my right to my left, and I could not take my eyes off of this tall teenaged curly haired cutie pie. I admit I was pushing 32 and that she was half my age, but the statute of limitations will run out on what I did with her on the 2nd of August, back in 1993. I believe laws have altered, but grandfathers rights in more ways than one, keep me from seeing the inside of a prison. She told me that her feet hurt as she came around to the driver side of the parked car, and peered in at me, cautiously but confidently. I told her my friend is in the club down the street seeing his pals the New Shoes group. She smiled and asked if she could sit inside and get off of her feet. She removed her shoes and left me instantly wishing she had not, pretty as her feet were. Until 2008 ran around, I thought of this night only a few times ever, and remembered little detail. I know we had a little fun, not the only time I had fun in a car during this period in my life, and yes, with the under-aged, as I was going through the normal middle life crises, that went onto worsen ten to twenty years later, until I began blogging and telling my life story, which had quite a therapeutic effect, and calmed me down like a bottle of Ativan tablets. I thought her name was Maria Kelly, and thought no more of this fuzzy memory, other than to write a very mean song about the experience and copyright it on August 15th, in 1986, a couple weeks after the night in the city, called, “Real Good Girl”. Before she exited the vehicle as I had seen David coming back from the club towards the car; she heard some female artist playing on my car stereo, and had noticed my tape recorder in the back seat with a cassette all ready loaded into it, as I was keeping a life journal of things happening to me. She turned the music way up, and literally blew the poor artist, whoever it was, right out of the water, with a voice like nothing I had ever heard or imagined in my wildest mind. In the few minutes before David had been seen walking towards us from quite a distance, and there was a very bright advertising light right where he was walking past and easy to spot. She had asked me if she could have the tape, and I said that I needed it because it had stuff on it on the flip side, personal conversations with a man named Shorty MacInvondi. She giggled at his name and never knew it was a made up name and used for purposes of electronic metaphysics, unlike Donna Summer Jason, who knows all this so well, at least now, but she knew it then, and was convinced early in the eighties that I was sending magical signals to her, because I used a fast erase button that caused a bias playback high oscillating tone to be audible with good speakers, and she admitted it in her 1982 album. Anyway, I really liked this curly haired girl and we exchanged phone numbers, but I threw hers away near the Lincoln tunnel, as she would have ended up putting me on Rikers Island eventually. I had no idea at all, that SR would be the only charge against me if PK pressed charges on me, as she knew stuff that I did not. She insisted on having the tape, and even though I told her I could not give it to her, she faked out like she was putting the recorder back in the back seat, as it was attached by a short rope, around the seat head rest of the passenger front seat. She lifted the tape, as when I got home it was gone. I never heard anything like her voice, it was straight from the heavens. None of this by itself is all that amazing as far as PCN-781, but when you factor in other things, watch this all widen out. July 12, 1970 was the last NIGHT, and the only NIGHT, that Sarah's great gang called the Atlantic City QM, standing for Quoddy Mockers, was ever seen by me. They knew me and liked me a lot, they all called me THAT-BOY, and never knew my name. Cousin (SANDY) Sandra Shah Snowhite, of Narberth, PAUSAESMWG; told them my name, but they all insisted on calling me, THAT-BOY. I lied about seeing SARAH herself, the only lie ever told on MORIANITY, but enough to place my good name and credibility into question, unfortunately. It gets a lot better still so do not faint out on me yet peeps, please. Nightmares that recurred all through the late eighties and nineties of the past century, haunted me in series of ominous and outlandish vividly colorful dreams of groups and groups of huge air balloons. The girl running the entire thing that was going on, was always the same; and her name was Patty Lang. This name, Paula King, and many others, is one powerful entity and personality by the name Later I realized I had worked with a girl by this name at the recording studio and had totally put this out of my conscious mind from 1979-1981 until I quit on March the eleventh. Her husband was a commercial airlines pilot. They commuted from a place right near the Delaware Memorial Bridge, one hell of a spurious long commute to both of their jobs. Photos of air balloons were both on her hand bag at the studio, as well as a stick or peel on, where she was given permission to place. on the main duplicator machine near the master system; connected to the group of 10 or so electronic-slaves or “duplicators” both accepted terms in the recording business of those days, and I saw these balloons every night at work. This led to those nightmares beginning after I met and did the unspeakable with my own daughter, regarding balloons and Patty. As for God's Dog, our Midge at the Judge's place in Hammonton Berryville, Frank Raso; owner of the rooming-house, before I had been talked into moving in with these distant cousins of my kid; was the most adorable dog I ever met. Add got rid of poor little Midge because she had attacked and killed one of her [precious Cockateel birds. Spell fucking checker is no help whatsoever and I know the species of that bird type is misspelled, so no comments please, tell MICROSUCKS to improve their rotten spellchecker system. THANK-YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I know for almost certain, Dawn-Marie called her distant cuzz MC, and sent her a pix. Right after this, she got the same dog. I could be wrong but feel that I am not. The empire ruler knows that on the Astral Plane, I can indeed talk, and that she is endlessly age sixteen out in her wonderful city of SAHASRA DAL KANWAL. This is why I ended up seeing her cool commercial on television that day with the treadmill. I had my friend at the Indian River State College (IRSC) here in South Florida, run just a few things like this as mathematical odds for happening all just by random chance. He told me it would be trillions if not quadrillions to one against this all being just coincidental. I believe him. Do any of you? This is a tenured professor, not a disabled nutcase certified by the psychiatric profession as a life-long whack-job. Then there is Babylon and all its yacht clubs, banker uncles, astral trips, and balloon bank payments. This is where I was forced to go and visit these rotten and snooty relatives of mine, and was put to work like a slave, either in the yard or on that rotten boat that he loved to take out sailing around LI Sound every freaking summer, with his pal MISTER JIMMY DEAN, and his daughter Christine, who I hear in 1975, got as bit hot and heavy, oh well, who am I to talk, after that night with my own daughter in 1986? I wonder how far I was from Rikers Island. I suppose as close as the nearest cop, oh well, fortune favors the foolish, huh William Whales Shatner???????????????????????????? When I talked a dozen blogs or so back about comparing PCN-550 with PCN-550, the reason it fucked up, is my error folks, for those who fucking caught this, sorry. It was December, two-thousand-nine, but I typed into the blog 2010, my error, oh well Bruce Allen Pennock of 1973, NOBODY'S PERFECT, not even Mini Great Jewelly, or Mini Great Ripperton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So sahwee Ambassador Bomb of December the seventh, in 1941, kind sir. Watch the audio volume. Hell my next door nut case nabe would wipe out Fort Pierce with that song I sent down there in 1983, sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit. MAGNESONIC, KICK IN OR I WILL FUCKING KICK FUCKING ASS, YO!!!! ENDING BLOG: Posted by theansweristheqyuestion Oh Dawn and Daddy; quit sliding that disgusting junk. YUK!!!!! Not only didn't I kick much ass, but I got the ass kicking of the century, to quote my old ex-business partner from the great SPR, Mister PP Pedersen. But I now now that I had lots and lots of help in getting totally destroyed, as if I wasn't mother fuckiGN wrecked, ruined, and totally destroyed in hell, long before I even came here to Sunny Paradise Florida, from up there in No Joysey! I believe it is even on the dam CD, but in any case, “What a family”! Boy oh boy, Mom and Diana, could I use some dam help out here in the hyperspace!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maybe Evelyn didn't tell the whole story to me, after-all she was just a little dam girl, up there on Heinz's yacht dock, in what many New Yorker locals refer to as South Huntington, and I remember it only as babbling on and on, of for short, and to keep the fucking Egyptian Pharaohs happy, BABYLON, YO YO YO YO!!!!!!!!!!!!! 08-08-08 HUH DARIUS. HEY BRAH, when you try using the link I posted, you still have to type in your name of Deezy slim in a search box. If there is a direct link to your great stuff, old pal, feel free to post it on my blog. Just promise not to choke me like nick likes to do, in these near-parallel places, such as that rotten dam lake house, YO DUDES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what did I ever do to any of these slobs, kind Sheriff sir, that I deserve all of this 1981 Pandora's Box Treatment, fully opened with all River-Snakes of Krassleville spewing out all over the place, and not racing up Mister Krassle's escalator of life???????? Pay the cable TV their rightful share, all you music celebs; YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIT. Oh yes, if you're out there somewhere Sherry, and your weirdo pal, who thinks he's fucking Mister Krassle; I could use your help, you lovely giant girl you. Holy Moley Holly Molly 4-Crissake, YO-YO-BOUNCE!!! Town to town, house to house, shadow monster to shadow monster, nightmare to nightmare. Hey Morty Mortino; I am stuck here in this life, YO angel of death!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Public Catalog Copyright Catalog (1978 to present) Search Request: Left Anchored Name = Mohr, Mark W Search Results: Displaying 1 through 25 of 28 entries. MARK POORSPELLER BUTTWIPE MOHR FROM 1988, WOW THAT! [ 20 ] Mohr, Mark Wayne, 1954- Apitamy of harrasment [sic] : pt. two. PAu001148157 1988 Correct spelling is epitome of harassment. SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0261 DATFILE: 110711.751 TEOHIV/TMCAM/MORPRO-1995 Blog ending time is 2:58 P.M. END TRANSMISSION WHAAAAAA-BIT! 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 doing 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 hard 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 Pink 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 CAR 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-A 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??? “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”. 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.***************