SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 107

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 107
THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION
THE MILLIONTH-COUNCIL AND ME
WORLD LABS OF 2298
SEND-BACK-TEXT DATFILE: CH-107-032611.987
BLOG 3RD SUBTITLE: “TOLD YOU GINA, 3 WAYS OVER, YO”

BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:

OK my giant-Gina, as I said, the PHILADELPHIA FLYERS WOULD SLAM OUT A MAJOR VICTORY, and the PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES played a double-header, and LOST BOTH GAMES, just as I told you, and am always mother fucking right. Bookies and casinos are scared to fucking death of me, and were in 1986 in Atlantic City, New Jersey, and they fucking know it.

This is no long blog, peeps are all in their own zone, and only those doing all of this to me are really steadily following my report on them, if anything I'm fucking feeding their already humongous and monstrous diseased super egos. You go Ron Wirtz Senior, Camden County Prosecutors Office, and what you said to me in the early nineteen-nineties regarding “feeding the monsters verses starving them”, how true, how fucking ass true, kind sir, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Still, two things need to be said right here, today, and right freaking now, Lieutenant Van Buren. NBC, the Network, it is obvious to even this super retard, me, what is going on. Trump, you ugly old miserable fucking soulless bastard you. He is the one who told Dick wolf about me, and all the shit around 1989, and then before I totally realized what really had happened, they all got together and made more $billions$, well, you go peeps, your maker will judge all deeds accordingly. The part about my endless suffering, also known and blog-discussed repeatedly, and labeled by me as the 'HUNTINGTON CURSE', is also in need of a quick snippet few words, no big harping peeps, let me assure fucking all of you, this will not take fucking long, so let me post up and cry my mother fucking pathetic fucking self to sleep.

First, there is a reality to the FASCITAR. There is a reality to both 1969 and the mathematical 'PITSY'. There is a reality to the HC. There is a reality to Gawky and the great numerological knowledge of this magical overgrown Felix-Lion. There was a reason for my suddenly letting a cassette tape play until the auto-reverse changed sides and I heard as version of my two karaoke versions of my song called, “Real good girl”, that night while I was guarding the Cifaloglio trucking plant, back in the garden-green state of Blue Jerksey. There also was a 'VENKA-STRONG-GIR'L reason for my living more than twenty years without ever really realizing what happened to me one night in New York City. There are countless things going on, but without connecting up quantum physics into shit, and transdimensional hyperspace equations, it is as meaningless as dog shit, and beyond even that, STM. Shit all freaking fits perfectly together, right down to a beautiful universe that I died out of to come here, but the only trouble was that over there, the end was real bad, really bad. Donald J. Trump was elected President of the United States in 2012, and in 2014, declared himself god all mighty, which he of course totally believes himself to be. Over here, he will not ever win the presidency. HA-HA-HA. Later on when my daughter, Paula Junior was maxed out at the Harborfields Detention Center in egg Harbor City, at the age of eighteen, on September 29th of 2016, Trump had her whisked off to a secret military base in New Mexico, and from here, she retraced me over there, and invented “Laser Trace Distance Delay' technology, 258 years ahead of its time, still, I know how to count boxed numbers in any universe, Milituforce Otammite's and their equivalents. This changes nothing over here about my life, or so one might think, only HSE is not some little toy to be played with by amateurs who are totally mother fucking clueless to 99.9999% of all of these complexities.

Sticking just with here in this one small miniscule piece of all total hyperspace reality or the entire 5th-dimension, things in millions of close localized hyperspace universes, all mesh and merge together in various ways, and those few that are in the know, can manipulate a large majority of these events while asleep and dreaming, through a science someday known as 'ES' or EXPLORATRONIC SUPERMIND. All of these things being discussed on this blog are all old news, and all are referenced to in many various previously existing blog posts, most ODF them on www.blogger.com, throughout the past five plus years of time now, peeps, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I promised everyone a short blog, so for now, as I said, and now I reiterate, GINA, and other MORIANS, and enemies, “I TOLD YOU WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IN THE WORLD OF SPORTS EVENTS TODAY”. It is all a huge parlor trick, but when you know what is fucking happening, it all is no more than child's play, and who is a bigger child than Mister Trump? I've got your number, buddy!!!!!

The question is the answer, because the question asked was MI. Only via STM or (SPACE-TIME-MIOND) however, was this all worked out on some cosmic checkerboard system, and achieved if that word is accurate since it implies a positive reality. The truth is that I came into this fucking world to punish myself as much as would be possibly attainable. I planned this along with Julia white fifth fucking million years ago from Murray's Soda Shop in Sahasra Dal Kanwal. I have darkened my own doorstep with no help from my distant cousins from the north, neither SIR HERBERT or his son, SIR ARTHUR, of the great Huntington family, the family of governors, wealth, and mass murder/suicides. Wow, is this an uplifting blog. Let me say, E/T.