Nicky Honors Aunt Adia

Hat tip:  Lewis

Nicky’s new entry on his InsaneJournal honors his great-aunt Adia, whenever he intermittently stops talking about himself (emphasis mine).

I found out one of my grand aunts is in the hospital and I got some dick named John Smith saying something rather malicious, I am going to quote this aunt when I say this he can go fuck himself.

If Auntie Adia knows anything about some guy using John Smith as a handle, you can bet on it that Nicky told her some such person was picking on him.  Adia may very well have a foul mouth for all I know (that entire family seems to), but it still doesn’t mean she said any such thing about “John Smith.”

. . . I was tired of having to fuck up . . .

Someone else made him do it against his will!  OMG, he can be remotely controlled, like a toy airplane.

I am scouting all the places that the writers are unknown too to make them known because I don’t want their talent to go unnoticed.


I am scouting all the places that the writers are unknown too still looking for naive newbies, to make them known puff up my page count, because I don’t want their talent to go unnoticed I need to achieve my page count goal, and if they’re stupid enough to send me a story, and they look cute, I might pay them a tenner.

Disclaimer:  I really do hope Adia came out of surgery just fine.  I wish her well.

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22 Responses to Nicky Honors Aunt Adia

  1. Dave says:

    He’s such a douche. I agree, hope his aunt is okay. It’s not her fault she’s related to him.

    Here’s a few FB funnies:

    Nickolaus Pacione
    Next month is my nine year anniversary of being with Matt and Company on — being one of the second longest tenors on there, I was grandfathered in when they did the lifetime membership thing. Matt you need to bring that back man.

    Ann Jackson You must’ve sucked a lot of cock to get there.

    Nickolaus Pacione Sorry I am not gay, they actually had a promotion there that had a lifetime membership for $9.95. I joined around that time because they were in transition to what they would be today

    I had no idea Nicky was a tenor, much less a long one.

    Any artists want to take this one on, I am looking for a cool drawing as a panorama for the back cover of the magazine for Issue 13. I am looking for something color for this. I want a drawing of me and Edgar Allan Poe drinking coffee in a diner trading manuscripts — Poe with The Black Cat and me with the story I wrote in Withersin Magazine back in 2006.

    Aww, don’t hold back Nicky. Go all the way! You and Poe in sleepsacks inside a diner.

    Looking for other horror novellas for an anthology I am doing — five other novellas then will be publishing public domain short stories as part of the interludes.

    • Melany says:

      Hmmm…why would we pay for a bunch of public domain stories in a book with an ugly cover when we can find them online and read them for free like you do Nicky?

  2. I hope Adia gets through this okay. What she faces is no easy trial.

    • baupdeth says:

      +1 Mike, I’ve lost two relatives to stomach/pancreatic cancers.

    • Melany says:

      I lost my mom to colon cancer and a dear cousin to pancreatic cancer. I hope this woman makes it through OK and that they keep Nicky far from her so she can recover in peace.

  3. SirOtter says:

    Aunt Adia is in my prayers. As Nick has been for years.

    Christianity, Nick: you’re doin’ it wrong.

  4. marc says:

    From the Amazon listing for EG12

    I have a tradition of writing stories that are namesakes of a book or a publication.

    But it’s plagiarism if anyone does it to you Nicky???? Hypocrisy – thy name is Nicky Dickhead Pacione.

    Some of the authors are too numerous to name

    ??????? wtf? Is he saying that some of the authors use too many names to count? Well I did always think Paul Collins in issue 10 might be Nicky… that would be 3 names – but that’s still not too numerous to count.

  5. baupdeth says:

    According to M.O.T.Y. the surgery was supposedly a success (as of last Friday)

    Pedobear decided Saturday morning to post this on his wall, because after all, everything has to be about him:

    “FUCK — my grand-aunt has cancer in the stomach, the fucked up thing about this is that this runs in the family.”

    Oh and pedobear you simpleton, Elgin is in Kane County, and is nowhere near Elmhurst you retard.

    • JupiterPluvius says:

      I thought this was a great-aunt by marriage? I can’t quite keep his family tree straight.

      Of course I wish the best treatment and a long, good remission for the lady. She already has my sympathy for having to live as the great-aunt of one of the most unpleasant people on Earth.

  6. marc says:

    I’ve sent him a story for EG13 where I die. I wonder if I’ll get lead slot.

    here it is for all you other people

    The very horrible death of Marc Lyth

    Once upon a time there was a complete twat called Marc Lyth. He really was a whiny man bitch. When an editor spelt his name wrong on the table of contents of a magazine, he actually had the nerve to ask for it to be spelt correctly!!!

    What’s more, he followed that up by pointing out that the editor had put different titles on the front and back covers of the magazine. This was completely reprehensible behaviour and the editor of the magazine was extremely angry that anyone would point out such basic errors in his otherwise perfect magazine (if you ignored all the other mistakes that were too numerous to mention, but which included typos in the logo for the press, several misspellings and grammatical errors and that was just on the cover – when you looked inside the magazine there were dozens more).

    Obviously this could not be allowed to go unpunished. How dare this complete fucking cunt want to be published in a magazine free of grammatical errors and typos! How dare he want his name spelt correctly!

    The editor had had enough. He opened his spell book whose name must never be spoken aloud lest unknown demons whose countenances could not possibly be described but were worse than anything Stephen King or even HP Lovecraft could ever have dreamed about. He found the gothic spell he was looking for and took the metro to the nearest cemetery with a sleepsack on his shoulder to change in when he got there. How he wished for a 17 year old model to be there with him when he got to the graveyard, but he didn’t know a spell for that.

    When he got to the graveyard he rolled out the sleepsack and climbed inside. There he stripped naked. It took a while to do this as his underwear had crusted in place as it hadn’t been removed for a month, except to turn it inside out so he could get a few extra weeks out of it. Now he put on the leather chaps and removed his butt plug so he could insert the magazine . This was essential as it contained a link between him and the ungrateful twat Marc Lyth. He quickly put the butt plug back in to stop the magazine falling out. He’d been ploughed so many times in basic training for the navy that his arse was looser than his mum’s morals.

    Now he was prepared and he lit a gothic fire on a nearby grave. The flames burned indescribably as he danced round it chanting the gothic spell from the spell book which must not be named.

    Soon the heavens parted, indescribably, and he heard the clip clopping of hooves approaching indescribably through the night air. The large black creature stood before him, its equine features proudly bearing the horn in the centre of its forehead. The black unicorn of death was here.

    “Will you help me kill that ungrateful bastard?” the editor drawled indescribably.

    The black gothic unicorn of death neighed and beckoned with its long horn for the editor to climb on its back. He stroked the unicorn’s horn, up and down, up and down, pumping it in his fist. The editor was no stranger to playing with large black horns, but usually he had to pay for the pleasure. He climbed on board with an indescribable grin.

    “Let’s find that twat!” he said and the unicorn cantered up into the air indescribably.

    Using the psychic connection from the magazine up the editor’s arse the black gothic unicorn of death quickly found the house where Marc Lyth was literally quaking in his boots in terror at the thought of what the editor might do to him.

    “I’ve got you now!” yelled the editor as the unicorn kicked down the front door of Marc’s house. It ran into the house and gored Marc horribly and indescribably with its horn. Marc fell to the ground and the black gothic unicorn of death trampled him mercilessly, causing damage that could not be described by even Rod Serling or August Derleth.

    “Mwa ha ha ha!” laughed the editor as Marc Lyth was trampled into a broken mound of flesh and bones (shit I thought that it couldn’t be described!) . “That’ll teach you to point out when I’ve made mistakes!”

    Then the editor climbed back onto the unicorn and flew home to drink his favourite chocolate milk.

    The end.

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