SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 190

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 190
SUPPLEMENTAL ENTRY

START:

Now we tie some bullshit together that was touched on over numerous recent blogging texts. There must be a final determination and decision on my part quite soon, as actions will depend on this no doubt, one way or another. I speak of whether some super parlor trick is involving the Einstein concepts that means that whoever is behind all of this problem, is capable of propelling themselves at up to thirty-four billion miles per second, or whether some powerful other manipulation and wizardry is all part of things, and things are not the way the known mathematical formulas say that they are. Making real life make sense, is a much greater blackboard, than anything that my dads old PPP, yes triple P (Princeton Park Pal) not double for my partner, or single for my youngest, but triple; could ever have chalked up. Let us go back into positive space a few days to the car stereo attack at my local Route One branch at my TD Bank. There was a sudden MAJOR NOISE ATTACK OUT OF NOWHERE, aimed all around me, off the norm scales by anyone's stretch, I assure you; and then I of course, AS THESE SDISEASEUST TOTALLY KNOW, pushed in my tape of white noise into the tape player to block it out, and BOOM, “THEY” interrupted the normal machine ops, and it would not play, even when I ejected the mother fucking cassette, and the radio mode was switched automatically on as a result. “THEY” needed to have me hit with the attack for at least a certain amount of 4th dimensional experiencing (time), followed by the negatives in lost energy, resulting from not being able to compensate and thus being VIOLATED WITH AN ATTACK OF A COVERT ILLEGAL NATURE ON MY FUCKING PERSONAL PROPERTY, hence resulting in a sufficient total amount of lost energy, James Redfield, not David or Stacey, and certainly, PTL PR, not 1997. The last year my present life-ME was in peace was 1953. Ever since the following period, an eleven year SATANIC SOLAR CYCLE or 132 month-cycle, has been disastrous and mother fucking devastating in my cock sucking hellish life. 1953, 1964, 1975, 1986, 1997, 2008. My next total fucking disaster will be, DUH, Color me impressed and mine, in two fucking thousand and nineteen. Then the final one will be my last full year on this evil demonic planet in 2030, as in middle late June of 2031, my death as MARK WAYNE MOHR OF HAMMONTON, NEW JERSEY, WILL OCCUR. Google me up Jason Donna Summer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I knew you were out to get me from the day this nightmare began at that rotten ass recording studio in 1979, in Camden, NJUSAESMWG; but it was after I copied you, by putting that stupid tape of my music, where you had your phonograph record from 1968-1980, that caused the real cataclysmic nightmare. All these gruesome ugly ass details are all up, on previous blogs; on the website where blogging all began, RIHC of ACNJ, www.blogger.com/. For newcomers into this shit, YO, the SAFE JOURNAL is merely something that is quite recent, and named because my real life journal was calculatedly plotted to be totally wiped out and destroyed, and Friendly ice Cream has major shit to do with all of this, as they are major fucking enemies of mine, and the story will be repeated, a little bit right now, since my PHILLIES are getting fucking hammered recently, AS TOLD AND PREDICTED, BY ME, THE PROPHET OF 1988 NOTHING; HUH US © OFFICE? Long before the 'SAFE JOURNAL', were the first blogs done in old sunny ass Florida. Before that, much shit was done under the name of THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION, as well as THE MILLIONTH-COUNCIL AND ME. I wish I could laugh and see something funny about all of this, but unlike other luckier peeps, I cannot laugh at things so hideous and totally monstrously deplorable, as stair-tag-games, hyperspace manipulation, and mind control. May the gods bless and love all of those who can indeed accomplish that mighty mission, as whether they may be aware of it or not; this is a far greater accomplishment than anything else in their life and lives, could ever be in a million years. As my pal PP would say, I'll put my kids eyesight on that, only I would never do that. My mother made me realize and become aware of something a long time ago, that I bluntly laughed right in her face about at the time and have lived to regret both it as well as not being able to apologize for doing it due to the Physical/Astral barrier, and the world needs not know any more at this time about things I am saying behind these words. I merely will tell you that this involved a cat, and this is most likely saying too much, and is all you will get out of me right now folks, YO. Now as for what happened at Friendly Ice Cream, at the Northeast Philadelphia Restaurant on Route One also known by locals of that area as the Roosevelt Boulevard, just a tad to the south of the Street Road intersecting area. David Roth ad myself were inside this place, and some motherfucker broke into my Saturn car, and boosted everything, the entire car stereo, including the sub-woofer in the trunk, and inside the radio was a tape, FOR ALL THOSE INTERESTED INCLUDING YOU DONNA, and this tape had been illegally used, WITHOUT MY SAY SO, BUT SCREW ALL OF YOU, do whatever the fucking shit you want to. Use me all up, DONNA!If you have to know shit, I'll fucking tell you, in any of your identities, PAULA THE GREAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There is no pattern, there is no plot, there is no TAWF, there is no MORIANITY, there is no 2011, there is no Planet Earth, there is only something so horrible that it is time to tell all of you curiosity seeking mother fuckers out here! There is no past or future, and no solid reality. As shit alters continuously, memories do as well, to match the situation, so relative, it is like running inside a moving train. History is total bullshit, and once you have the discernible knowledge of this, you will no longer be quite as totally connected to the illusion of it. As many of the controllers continuously move back and forth through negative and positive space at very high velocities, major continual interruptions from what otherwise would be the normal one time pattern or time-line, becomes an ever present reality. Still, mind and memory is a pattern, and is energized by an equal amount of ergs, henceforth, most cannot recognize what I refer to as the Whoopee Goldberg/Mark Mohr trick, or for short, the WGMMT. Now, this is a bunch of sweet nice words that make a lot of sense in the worlds of quantum Physics, and its multiple and complex mathematical mechanics. Another possibility is that a teenaged girl upline and beyond this entire universe and all of the many countless parallel universes all inside a huge dimension, the 5th one, has a nice little dollhouse, and game, and is doing all of this because her parents are out for the evening, and she is bored wit the afternoon after-school special on the idiot box, and both of these possibilities exist, in the worlds of Quantum Dynamics; like it or not, my peeps, YO.

Based on what happened to me after my last trip up to the great island in the Christmas holiday time circa of the year of 1972, I base my decision on leaning more to the teenaged girl. The reasons are on on prior blogs, world. Still, I am only a human being, SIR BRUCE ALAN PENNOCK, and my only excuse is at least I do not get my kicks out of playing games, stealing music, or flying around and getting exposed as an alien. Friendly Ice Cream is the reason that all of this shit is on the damn internet, and I cannot even get an apology from these pricks. The entire story was blogged, they would not even permit David Roth and myself to user their telephone to call the police, so I ask all of the internet cyberpeeps out here, if all this shit was happening the fuck to you, what would you believe, Mickey Showers Woods Zenun, SIR TONY POOLPROPEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So was I really so instrumental on effecting human history? Sheeeeeeeeeeeit, not in a million fucking years folks. It all is nothing but pure illusion, but that is of course my humble opinion based on my life, Michelle Daniels of 1980. But still girl, thank you for entitling me to it, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! As for the great Sarah-Stacey Krassle, Jay-Jay Evans said it all back around 1976 or 1977 somewhere thereabout. He stroked his little mustache and said, and I'll quote this super walking cool dude, YO, “What can I say, BRO?”

Now you all know why THEY would not let me fuck around in the stock market, as just as in 1986, I am not permitted to break 7th dimensional lawtronics. When and if I begin to do this, the penalty is catastrophic and inconceivable, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Maria Kelly, give me a break, hypno-clinics!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE END FOLKS, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Clink, bonk, Curly! HA.