SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 139
SUPPLEMENTAL ENTRY
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Horrible mother fucking shit is being done to me. It is unspeakable and cunt lapping despicable.
IF I AM FOUND DEAD, I WAS MURDERED BY THE GOVERNMENT, THE POWERFUL FORTUNE 500 FAMILIES, AND THE MILITARY AND TOP SECRET BLACK FILE COVE AGENCIES. THIS IS A DYING UTTERANCE AND CELCLARATION. SOMEONE TRIED TO KILL ME, AND IT IS NBOT OVER YET, THEY WILL TRY AGAIN. WHEN THEY DO, THIS ENTIRE PLANET WILL BE UTTERLY AND TOTALLY OBLITERATED AND WIPED OFF THE MAP OF THIS GALAQXY. THAT, I DO PROMISE BOTH YUOU MO, AND MY FRIEND FROM 1969, KIMBA THE JULIE LION.
I knew I was followed back in time beginning in the year 19569, by a group who call themselves quietly, the LAMISTS. This means the controllers of the transistor, the 'chips', and the sky-mists. There is a lot more to the story. Still, it may not be 1969 any more, but Danny the dork remembers me, and I remember his obsession and fascination with electricity. Still, he was even more fascinated by the strange way that the winds seemed to obey my voice, and I never forgot how I could call out and make them blow harder, or ask them to blow softer or stop, and they would do so, every single time. This only happened when we were together in a school recess yard, in Haddonfield , New Jersey, huh Misses Low and Misses Marola? But where is the mighty Jim Garrigan in all of this? After-all, he said I was cured in 1971, and as a result, the university where he was studying to get his degree in psychiatry failed him that year. His thesis was on one patient, me, Mountainpen, MARK WAYUNE MOHR OF HAMMONTON, HADDONFIELD, BLUEBERRYVILLE, NEW JERSEY, USAESMWG. How Fred Hinger's beautiful daughter Shirley must always remember and hate one particular Thanksgiving Day, as well as good old drunken Dawn-Marie HAMMONTON, Melanie bicycle riders and freaking all not freaking withstanding, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh yes Sir Fagot Elton, how the rhythm of my fucked up heart is beating to the drums of old Freddie boy Hinger from the Philharmonic.
Do you really wanna mother fucking know what pisses me off more than the events that literally are threatening my life and existence right now down here in hot ass fucking miserable shit eating Fort Pierce, Florida, USAESMG, peeps, YO?????????? How can my daughters be so powerful ass gifted, and simultaneously, get me into so much trouble without ever even trying? BRO, this is the quintessential philosophical conundrum of infinity. If the great Billy Shakespeare thinks he has a bigger one, step up and I'll crank up my fucking Panasonic amp that feeds into two power ass Peavey keyboard amps, and half this county can hear what you tell me, YO!!!!!!!!!!!
All anyone ever needs to do is to go to www.blogger.com and type in MOUNTAINPEN, and archive research the last two thirds of the year of 2008, and nothing else needs be talked about. But let me talk anyway folks. Powerful mother fuckers would just love to eternally fucking shut me the hell u p. Look folks, I am so godsdamn sorry for many things that have had to happen over the past twenty-six years with my building Maggie, the shit with Zvonko's inventions, and anyone who got in any way hurt as a result of getting in the middle and in-between battle zones in this horrendous war that I am in and not through any personal choice on my part. I was sucked into this shit by a gravity field so powerful it would make the sixth dimension learn how to collectively rock, roll, hip hop, and disco dance, all at the same time.
When I tried turning on the computer, it took longer than usual to boot up, and when it did, sure enough, my clock was back on the earlier time again. Then my address is back on 36trh Street in San Mateo, California, USAESMWG as well. Again, I remedied the bullshit and changed it all back to Eastern Daylight time and my Fort Pierce address. The machine is being reset by a cool looking device that is bright yellow, and has digits on it, and looks like a telephone on one side; and then on the other side,it looks like a small electric space heater, and on top of that, is some type of small laptop looking screen, with 3 ready lines, and numbers 1-12 above them. The top line is silver and about half of an inch thick, the second line is half that thickness and is a bright beautiful blue, and then a third bottom line is bright red and slowly moves from left to right like a ready line on a computer. This machine is capable of going into anyone's computer and doing anything, and it can go into anyone's mind, awake or asleep, and make changes and cause effects that cannot be rationally explained as well. Bright bold letters are printed on the very top of this device, “NICA” then a space, and then followed by “Made in Atlantica----Patent Pending 2087”. It can also cause a person to get a fatal heart attack and drop dead, as well as loose bowel control and shit yourself like a baby. It however does not exist on 36th Avenue in this exact atomic frequency matching the signature vibrations of this particular universe in hyperspace. However, there is another parallel universe not far away in vibration or in extremely localized hyperspace, also known as (ELH) in the future after the 22nd century arrives, where this does exist. This is where my younger daughter is licked up at the detention center in Egg Harbor, New Jersey, for trying to kill a state police officer who shot and killed me, shot me in the back, and I know his counterpart doppelganger right here in this universe, and he knows me, and most likely, Elvis, is reading this blog before this night ticks out.
So why is the All Mighty doing all of this hyperspace activity one might begin to wonder, should anyone believe any of this. Well, before you doubt and scoff this off, remember that my daughter, Paula King Junior, or PEE as she nicknamed herself, is a very special person, a gifted child beyond anything describable. Her date of birth is the 29th of September, and this in the year of 2008, is when all hell literally broke out around me, and if you read the blogs, you will know that Nick did what I said he did, and basketball and March sadness has nothing whatsoever to do with any of his monstrous behavior. He knows that the great SSJK knows all of this unconsciously, and he is desperately doing all that he can to make sure that She never remembers any of this on an awake level, as his life would be over in a flash should that happen, for what this piece of disease is doing to me, both now, as well as in the middle nineties, as Hubcap Hammer-Boy. Oh Mickey Showers, you may be prettier than Donna's little White Boy, and the entire gfdfucki9ng Copyright Office may be wise to all of this by now, or perhaps not, but one thing is for certain. You and Loose-Rotors are on borrowed time. If I can fix another enemy by wrecking his chances to wipe me out as Top Dog in the near future by doing a Reagan Hostage Cove Deal, then I certainly am not living in fear of your phone clock machine, ya' prick!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Better leave me fucking alone, Gate Jammer 601!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 'YCBN'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, and THAT can strand for a whole lot of things, BRAHHHHHHHHHH.
Just try and explain the '2008 road trip' Harry Callas, go ahead. New York Nicks Basketball, sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit!!!!!!! First we examine my youngest daughter's birthday, and then other stuff that obviously came my way in order to let me know that my 'TQ' remembers some of this, on some awake and aware level, DUH. Not a lot of stuff goes by me, YO!!!!!!! Color me observant. No one has more than five senses, but the sense of touch is so misunderstood. We take our hand and touch an ice cube, or a hot flame, or a soft jello type substance, or a hard brick, and on and on; but then there is the reaching out and the feeling of things that lay an inch away, or a mile, or a light year, or a hypersphere, or into the freaking sixth dimension, into? Did I ignorantly say into? We are who we are and we think our next thought BECAUSE of the 6th dimension, so see how backwards you mortals all are thinking and perceiving things?
COMPUTER------------'MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM'. You know what to do after you hear my voice print, YO, and STOP.
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