SAFE JOURNAL OF KING NEBNOOSHOO, CHAPTER 0206

SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0206
KING NEBNOOSHOO AND MOUNTAINPEN BLOGS
WORLD LABORATORIES OF 2294
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MARK WAYNE MOHR/MICHAEL WAYNE MOUNTAINPEN
© 2006-2011
THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT, INTERNET VERSION
THE ***MILLIONTH-COUNCIL*** AND ME
BLOG SUBTITLE NUMBER FOUR:
“MAJOR ASS ATTACK ON MY PHYSICAL BODY 2-NITE, YO”
PROTECTED AND REGISTERED INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY

BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:

Shortly after I posted up my SAFE JOURNAL, CH. 0205, I was relaxing with a little television, lying on my bed, and was struck by a riveting monstrous attack on my physical body, with death ray beams, to use the language of the CRAZIES. Without any further advice dispensed to wayward daughters or anyone else, let me say that some powerful dirt balls out here are totally with freaking out shame, conscience, or humanity, they have absolutely goose eggs of these items within their existing being-ness. They are as dead as 'Marley's proverbial doornail', and are more evil than a thousand Chucky's that like to injure the innocent amongst us, like the 'dickens'. They did not score an evil empire sports ICPE, despite there misguided swords fired at me straight from the throngs of Dogtown or HELL. Still, this demands an immediate punishment, and a major swift counter response on my part, folks, YO!!!!!

I was gonna' freaking not tell this 'other' Atlantic City and 'other' POST-OFFICE story, until a later time, a good month or two yet, and was saving it for a really bad day, but this attack caused me to shit all over my only place of solitude and somewhat peaceful coexistence with cosmos, my residence and dwelling, and was painful and unpleasant, and a job to clean up after the attempted and failed run to the fucking toilet. I am not ashame to tell that these diseased pricks have no bottom, admitting their total control over my bowels when they push their magical buttons, a condition that all began in the very famous year on my blogs, gee could it be 1986 year, folks, sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit??????????????? You all know about the spring time in this horrendous year at the MEDPORT DINER in Medford Lakes in New jersey, or you should, and what happened to myself and my pal, David Charles Roth, on that totally wicked demonic day when we were targeted by federal and state authorities after coming from a legitimate dinner at a diner, minding our own business, and got totally mother fucking CRUCIFIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It is all on archived blogs at www.blogger.com/, so search it freaking ass out peeps, YO!!!!!!!! You also know that this is when I first told this pal who I had met at the beginning of the previous November, at a job we both were working at, in Woodbury Heights, NJUSAESMWG, called the Caldor #113 Department Store, now HISTORY MARKER dealt with and defunct, as is the Turnersville, NJUSAESMWG, Washington Township Pathmark Grocery Store on the Black horse Pike, near the entrance to the famous ATLANTIC FREAKING CITY EXPRESSWAY, YO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You kn ow about that monstrous and frightening night on Long beach island, where the now very famous Will MacAfee 'SYSTEMS ANALYST PAL OF DAVID'S, and David and other buddies, enjoyed many a night trek to back earlier in the nineteen-seventies. All of this again, is on many of my previously written blogs. NO SECRETS. I hate mother fucking secrets, stair tags with tempers, memory tampering MOVERS, and all other injustices and peeps who engage in practicing these atrocities. What you don't know is what will not get said, may the angels and ministers of grace defend us doctor McCoy, Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 4. Before I do begin telling this, only those who have seen passport when I renewed it, will believe this monster ass fire-mall story. I realize this, and it is now the proper time for me to talk and let the shit out, and then, the chips can just all fall wherever the hell they do, YO folks!!!!!!!! I was living with the great Dawn-Marie King and her wonderful mom, Ann, and it was late in 2008 somewhere, shortly before the coming year and the great and famous Berryville Mail Count, also known Sir Prince, as the most spurious deal of Atlantic County, New Jersey, at least 'in my mind', as my old Uncle Heinz Gottwald, from the 'other' island would say all the time. The FISA-FEDS, and some others out here with power, totally know that the mighty MOVER SECRET being told now, is totally true, and it never had a thing to do with MISTER DORIAN GRAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It did have a lot to do however, with my going one late morning, over to the Hammonton-Berryville Post Office, to get my PASSPORT renewed. Paul old pal, this really happened, and I never planned on telling you this, as I know you will never believe it. The only one in the world that will believe me, I am quite positive, would be my younger daughter Paula King Junior, or as she insists on the nickname that she gave to herself, PEE. Here is what happened folks, that late morning or maybe early afternoon, on a late autumn 2008 day, at this local freaking Post Office, and the proof is right on the freaking passport, for Jesus Christ sake everybody, and cannot be disputed in a million Bob Cheatley years, exotic dancer girlfriend, and their lovely blond daughter Shannon, all notwithstanding, YO. I remember most of this with a lot of clarity, and some of it is indeed, in all honesty, in a bunch of images and jumbled up pieces.

I drove over there to renew this passport after having my original one for nearly ten years, the first one received in the late nineties, and before this, I never even planned to ever travel outside of the country, and thus figured, who needs a passport? I remember getting all the way to the place and parking on the side road to the east, as all spots along the north and right next to the double doorway, leading in and out; were all taken and unavailable at that moment. I do remember the short walk after closing and locking my automobile door, the same car I drive still, a 2004 Dodge 4-door Neon, and then I suddenly had a car drive by and stop right where I was walking along, straight out of a scene from a show on television such as my favorite one, “Law & Order”. The Doctor Rogers spray was immediate, into my face, and then a large dude sitting next to me physically turned my head to his direction and to my left, while in the rear seat of this white large car that might have been some model of a Cadillac, and then he shone a strobe-light into my face and said some words to me that I most likely in total honesty, will never ever be able to recall. We drove about just less than an hour, and the destination appeare3d to be the north shore inlet of Atlantic City, where I willingly walked out along with two large men, entered this building that was not any of the apartment complexes that are part of the Atlantic City Public Housing systems, to my knowledge, and instead was the building where Paula King and John King did live, in the late 20th century, at some point in time, and the official telephone company directories prove this to be a fact. I know this because as many are aware, I was on a gargantuan search and quest in the middle late nineties, to find a missing girl from my early life, a very special teenager by the name of Sarah, and possibly, Sarah Krassle. I was lied to by the Camden County Prosecutors Office, and told that her name was Kessle, this was a total fabrication, deliberately told to me to throw me totally off the track, and at the absolute behest of the great Paula Belinda King. I totally know all of this is truth, just as I know that jimmy Hoffa or what is left of his remains, is inside the great hotel of 10-SC Avenue, known as the Pittsburgh. Long Story Short, (LSS), I remembered instantly, being taken to this very building once when I lost waking consciousness on a job site in 2003, and another time, being drawn there and attempting to get an apartment to live in, and meeting a lady at the office inside by the name of Susie Rasle, and the next day, remembering it in a very hypnogognic state all though totally awake, and calling up this lady; and apologizing, and canceling out. A man then came out of nowhere, who used to play the leader of the LAMIST CULT or the Leviathans, on the hit 60's television show called, “Dark Shadows”; and he began doing hazy and unpleasant things to me and even struck me hard, and I remember getting up all dizzy, and giving him a quick barn-house blow, that sent him down and he also got up slowly afterward, and said to me several times with his hand on his very bloody nose, “You broke my nose”, and quite loudly. I was bouncing back and forth from the year of 1979 and 2003 and 2008, back and forth, with him holding onto my arm with one hand, while his other hand was on his injured nose, and he said that statement three or four times with a glaring mean look on his face. Finally, he shone his own strobe-light on my face and my legs were instantly gone from below me, and I do remember sort of falling down softly. He laughed at me and repeated the name of Mike Kelly, and the name of his nineties newsletter, called, “Secrets of the Next Dimension”. Then we ended up in the year 3000, not that far from the home I bought in Somerdale, New Jersey back in late August in the year of 1996, when I decided against buying mister Anthony Zenun's place, the owner of my Swimming Health club, called Haddonwood. He had constructed a floor above the normally existing roof, and extended the entire structure, including the garage. My landscaper was also there, who was the real man who cut my grass and popped up one day insisting to be my landscaper, not taking no for an answer back while I did indeed reside at this home late in the nineties. After we left an auto garage just three blocks from the home where we first began our interaction, we then popped over to my house, only upstairs on this weird non-existing floor according to ant waking world memories that I legitimately have and had. He imprisoned me here along with this landscaper who was not mentally slow in this truer reality, as he was back in the memories that I had from the waking world or whatever, and he was there as well. Then I was suddenly in Florida in the year 2011 and was in a strange apartment in the hot summer time, and fell asleep. The next thing I knew I was in this interaction with Whitney, as told on my last blog, and also the same dude that had me with him on a road trip where I got to see my Phillies Baseball Team win the 2008 World Series, 5 or 6 weeks before they actually did win it, and also who took me back to 1968 and to my high school, in Westmont, New Jersey. He had several peeps with him that I believed to be members of his family. They would not explain why I needed to be trapped there in this horrible place, but I did not get out of there until twenty-one years later, in the spring time somewhere in the year of twenty-twenty-nine. Right before the escape, that Mariah helped engineer successfully for me, the stereo in the place was playing two songs a lot, one being my new post up on the U-Tube, called, “Don't Hide Nina”, and the other was “The Things We Can Do”. This has been discussed by me before on quite a few occasions on prior blogs. Suddenly right before I woke up here this very morning, I was for a quick few minutes, back dreaming or so it appears somehow, that I was walking into the Hammonton Mail-Count Post Office of Doghouses, and the next thing I knew, the photo of me was taken, and I was handed a new passport. After this, it is totally a blur, other than a memory inside me somehow that I got home and showed the passport to Ann, and she told me that it does not look at all like me, and she was totally ass flabbergasted, as she said I look eighty years old almost in it. Gee, I fucking wonder why, YO.

As for the STROBELIGHT MOVERS, and the mighty 1970 THAT-FAMILY, and other nightmarish horror tales from Cornwall Avenue in Ventnor, NJUSAESMWG, just south of Atlantic city at the home of child molester Thomas J. Reale, let me merely throw in this little thought teaser tonight my peeps, YO. Do any of you Einsteins out here wanna' try and explain my entire life, or just who these 'KENNEDY'S' really freaking are, as I do not? I say, let sleeping doghouses lie right the fuck where they should be, in HELL, known also as Prince Dogtown. Later on, there is much more to be told, this just warms shit up. As I speak and type at 4 minutes past one Ante' Meridian, I am getting a small to medium left side Morty Mortino scan, the Jewish peeps may call this a visitation from the great Angel of Death, in any case, a 532 deal.

END TRANSMISSION, I am so totally not shooshed Abby, or in the mood for any wabbits or WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA's!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!