SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 146

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 146
3 AM MAY 14, 2011, SATURDAY
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This is all a game, just like you said on the recording you wanted me to find in Camden, whoever you really are, just a game, and your pal Billy Shake the Speare knew it only so well. Real funny Scylla. One big game and you stay sixteen forever and enjoy driving me totally mad. Where were you when I needed you, Chester Permooski?

U-Tube hacked my account long ago, and will no longer allow me to connect up to my blogger and show any of the great chemtrail or conspiracy postings or m y own music or anything, totally fixed and mobbed up, as is everything else. They own it all, they own us all, and they are those with 10 and 11 figure net worth's or TFNW and EFNW world owners. I have told my true tale of hell, and the fucking jerk off peeps from the UM site were correct all along, and I have just wasted a lot of time. There is no way to beat fucking jerk offs that can control your mind, your body, and your spirit, however I can say on this machine, that the bible is a total fucking lie, as if one person on Earth seems to go against the mandated rules that are not negotiable at any time, but instead quite austere and inviolate, and I speak of two powerful things told in the KJV scriptures. One is the law of reap and sow. The other is that nothing can happen to anyone that is not common to man, take that any way you want, but my existence totally fucking violates this reality, MISTER POPE, and I get the feeling that you and you pals out here know all about all of this only too mother fucking well sir. Not you Chief in Somerdale, New Jersey.

Not only did the U-TUBE violate my rights by stopping me promoting my music through the blogger dot com site kn owing fully well that I am hacked out of being able to get back on my face book site or onto any other one that they connect into, but on top of that, they hacked my link system an d placed a period in-between the words of the address, to fuck it up no matter what I do. This is why I cannot promote my music. They sure must fucking fear me so much. You knew all this right along, huh Billy Queen Crouch?

Sky, I have no way of knowing whatever you want me to jingle that number up, the last thing I want is to create friction in your life. I know who you really are and you know I do, so I am trying as hard as I can NOT TO ANGER YOU, or be a shellfish as you love to call me, when I disobey. I have both numbers, I'd have no reason to buzz the one and talk to somebody who stranded me back in time and robbed me and did a lot more, but if you want me to call the other number, need to know when and only you can figure out a way to get that message across to me, I do not need the great controller of the young angry with me. As for the LOIS-FOCA-2 thing, I had to do this. Still, I destroyed the other copy where the machine did a similar version with slightly different lyrics, naturally, so it would not sound like you and the great degenerate Ellen might become pals someday. I knew if I kept it, I'd post it, so it is gone and erased. Your message was quite clear that night with the nine thing and I have a rudimentary knowledge of languages. I know fully well that was no publicity stunt 36 months and 2 days ago on top of that building, and I am fully aware of exactly who is ruling this entire multiverse. Dawn said some things to me on my last day in Jersey, MI. She said a lot more than just the super horrendous thing that we both know is a lie. Still, I won't ever rat you out, I am THAT-BOY, and you know this.

To answer the great math whiz from way up north, the song is from another universe that is paralleling this one. Over there it is entitled the same thing only the word “JUST” is not part of the title. I added it so peeps would not use the GAWNUM and connect shit up. I know what the heck I'm doing lads and lassies, one thing in particular, not angering the most powerful entity in this entire hypersphere and beyond.

A few nights back, Gawky appeared to me in a powerful interaction and it took place right near my job site on Orange Avenue. He would not talk or even meow anything, and was smaller than he usually appears to be. Still, there was a night over at the home of David Charles Roth on Oakland Avenue in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USAESMWG in 1986, right around the time of all this hellish trouble that Julia White had planned for me nearly fifty million freaking ass years ago, and this cat was quite talkative on that night, appearing right at the door of David's home, and meowing extremely loudly at me, and he was the size of a bobcat almost. In the interaction, my father appeared to me and told me he appreciate my allowing him to remain in Ricktown Manner in the Bourbon Wing where he resides on the Astral Plane, despite him and many others messing with me and giving me so many bum ass roulette systems, as only Lightning was able to give me the ultimate one, and this is the application of parallel-event to the outside parameters of this game, producing an after house-edge for the player who consistently uses this method properly on this game, of roughly 1.78% endless advantage. This truth alone could alter the planet, as within it, lies powerful secrets that would shut Wall Street completely down forever, if I was ever taken seriously; and this is why these diseased fucking bastards, need to keep me eternally down and out and broke and crushed, 24-7-365.2422 to the power of 99!!!

I have mother fucking nothing to prove to a single soul. Everyone on this entire planet can drop dead and go to hell for all I care. I am not insane, just very fucking ass angry. If it can happen to me, brother, it does, and this little sentence, should my entire blogs ever need to be, can all be compressed into that one little thing, so trust me on that one peeps.

Since this nightmare game is so horrible, I'll jump it up a fucking notch and take the chance. All this fucking bullshit terrorism, the entire thing, is an illusion. All the computer viruses that strike us or 99% of them at least, come from way more powerful enemies than the oilfield dot-head ,peeps. The real brains know how to hurt us, they don't sit around planning a few little blown up things, that's nothing. But disrupt the American powerful WOMO at Broad and Wall, and this is entirely a new matter. There is a program that all ready exists in China that ever uploaded and sent onto the great system of the World wide Web, all this shit would be wiped out for a very long time. There is a reason however that they do not do this and it is not because they love us over here, or even fear our great military or fear some break out ODF a WW-3, or whatever. They know these peeps in Manhattan are the Astral Plane gods living here and enjoying their Steve Murray vacations, forgetting that they must exist without end, a hell not imaginable by mortals, even if you think you are getting it, trust me, you're not getting it. They know that what would be done back to them, would make any WW-3 or torture at the great G-Bay of Cuba, or whatever, would be too terrible to even contemplate let alone ever have happen. They know that they would be given the HUNTINGTON CURSE. Laugh on Lee, and April, and all of you, hee-hee-hee.

The absolute kicker to many things I'm saying won't be talked about on this blog of Chapter #146 of the SAFE JOURNAL. But there is a super kicker, a punch line that ends and tops all other punch lines. It goes even beyond the math and science, and English and games of the gods, and Joe Berrios, and even the powerful Robert McGuire, who is feared and revered by Trump, and those bigger than he'll ever hope to get. If you have future shit, and future machines; who can stop you? The Atlantic County Prosecutor all ready knows what they all have down there, in that rotten eastern Sin City Playground of America. Without the power to do anything you want and then make peeps forget it totally afterward, how can you possibly hope to pull off the hugest white slaver ring ion the history of the planet? This dude is personally responsible for the vanishing of more than 100,000 children over the past fifty years, and before this, his daddy ran the show with their pal from Chicago, Mister Gallagher, the cousin of my sweet little Auntie Alice who married Herbert's kid, Arthur. Now why shouldn't some poor mother fucking devil have to inherit this horrible payback? Well, what was shown to me by a very special child who all ready knew she was going to be the greatest voice on the planet so move the shit over blond flusie Christina, in a weird hallway closet in the circa of 1975, was a long flashlight with the words written clearly on it, 'ROBIN HILL MAINTENANCE'. After the words, was an icon of some type, that appeared like a very colorful full moon, with a lot of 'VVVVVV' letters all around this bright colored moon.

Let me tell you what these two monsters said to me when they stranded me in 1968, world. They commandeered my shoebox and almost got away with ripping off my Saturn automobile;e, but they were not able to hot jump the bitch, with all their great tricks and future cuzz in law Bobby McGee. Mister Road-trip's buddy shouted at me and I'll quote him, “What's waiting for you is bad, and it keeps right on happening over and over, you fucking honky”. Then Mister Ed-Duke got his two cents in and said, “Ever hear about dying a thousand deaths? Well, you'll break that record, YO” I saved this for a night like this ladies and gentlemen. As I drove off and away from these punks that also were making an escape of their own with a powerful box in their hands, I heard them bragging about the fire they planned to set to try and destroy the family. I came to learn that they went back in time and started the Chicago fire. Nobody tipped over a candle, and anyone who believes the O'Leary's Callio story should get a medal pinned to their chest for naivety. These two punks hated me with a passion, and wanted to wipe out my entire family from long ago. Now part of the kicker is that in the year 2293, there is a Labber named Horatio Bennecinn Talbot Junior, a very old man who was born in 2202 on January the twenty-second, and he wrote a book that was prevented from circulating by the WL powers that ran the entire population of the Earth. I stole a copy of this book and read it to calm me down before they were going to take me off for that horrible ride to Brigantine. I came to learn that this dude had a very strange ancestor who also wrote some kind of journal before he died in the 21st century, and in it, admitted to taking a man back to his high school and stranding him there. Well as the mighty James Patterson I'm quite sure would agree, there is more than one high school, and stories and tales of 4th dimensional travel are as old as Nostradamus. But I no more believe that all of this is not some hellish looping circulation, than I believe I'm eight feet tall and playing bee-ball for the Lakers.

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