Mr. Pacione has another entry on Blogspot today. The gist of it is a screed against the folks at TODP, who he blames for passing around e-copies of his memoir.
. . . so right now I am more than pissed, and want to kill someone for doing this shit.
It is never cool to kill someone just because you’re peeved about something. Eliminating the competition never makes a career flourish.
Do you hear me asshole, I am not a fucking failure.
Is that supposed to be a question? Of course Mr. Pacione’s a failure. If his stories were selling, he wouldn’t whine about lost sales all the time.
I was proving a point with that book and my point was proven ten times over with people having a high school mentality when it comes to someone publishing themselves.
The only point that book proves, which is undoubtedly unintentional, is that Pacione himself has never progressed mentally past high school. One would think that he’d have moved on after thirteen years, but that simply isn’t so.
You assholes stalk the hell out of me to no end.
Obviously, Pacione has a strange concept of what stalking really is. Nobody’s leaving him nasty comments on his blogs the way he does on this one. I would hope that nobody’s calling granny’s house. There are no people sneaking around the bushes, lying in wait.
He wrote the book to prove a point. And yet he claims the book was two years in the making.
Congratulations, Nick. You just pissed two years down your leg.
The Morris police department are apparently aware of the most recent spate of dementia and threats.
He does that a lot. That’s why all his pants have a stinky yellow stain on them.
I just read it. I got a mention. “Cussedness hope something nasty happens to you within the next six months such as a fucking chest buster.”
What’s a chest buster? Are you saying, Nicky, that you want to see me in a leather corset? I have a nice collection of whips, spike heeled boots for you to lick, and enormous dildos.
Mr. Keene, who was probably pissed that he had to take time out of his schedule to deal with such insane drivel, posted some contact info for Goggle (to report Nick’s blog) and CafePress (to report his book): http://dan0oo.com/mboard/index.php?topic=10749.0
I want you to die of a heart attack. That’s a chest buster.
Given your blood cholesterol level, Nick, it’s more likely to happen to you first.
What I admire most about Nicky is his unerring ability to zero in on the trivial, to focus solely on the most mundane details. Talking about reporting him to his hometown police? No comment. Taking his book down from CafePress? No comment. Defining a chest-buster for Cussedness? Ding! He’s right there.
This inability to see larger details is considered a symptom of schizophrenia, Nickster. You might wanna look into getting your diagnosis re-evaluated.
That definition of chest-buster was disappointing. I was hoping for something kinky. Should have known better, coming from Pacione.
unlike you, Nicky, I live a healthy lifestyle for someone my age. I eat lots of salad and fruit and take my vitamins. I am not likely to have a heart attack. But you are.
He’s more apt to die from being beaten to death by a third-grader.
A chest-buster is the next step in alien evolution after the face-hugger.
Nicky is protected from face-huggers by his one true super power: Fartastic Bad Breath and Body-Odor.
There goes Sabledrake again…writing teh fan-fiction.
Oh noes! Fan Fiction!
I know how Nicky could get a girlfriend, but it would require dipping him a barrel of bleach first.
I guess it’s teh wingfic next. Aliens wingfic.
“But Ripley … they’re beautiful!”