Mike Brendan: Troll Hunter

After a lovely two week respite from the mangy, flea infested Nikita, our little troll has come back with a 19 page (!) .pdf file explaining  why his collection of whining and egomania isn’t libelous.  While I never link to his silliness, I will in this case, as it’s breathtaking in its hypocrisy, delusions, and typical lack of coherence. http://unclefossil.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/in-defense-of-confessional.pdf

Want to save time and brain cells? Mike Brendan did a fantastic job of slaying the troll. What follows is posted with his permission and taken from the comments on the rectal fissure’s blog.

Nicky, this 19-page vomit continues to prove that you are incompetent as a writer. You’d have to work hard for years to become a tenth of a peer to anyone else, and since you don’t know how to actually work…

The HWA didn’t commit libel when they called you a stalker. You used their membership database to harass and bully people who criticized your work.

“…publication is a democracy for the people by the people.” Wrong again. And a democracy is “by the people, for the people,” not the way you said it.

“…the deed of posting every link to every story in the table of contents of my first
anthology…” That’s not illegal or piracy and you damn well know it Nicky.

“– I consider myself an average Joe…” Wrong again, Nick. You are well below average in every respect.

“…the characters in the story are in a way like the people I know in real life.” And given that they’re naught more than cardboard cut-outs with no personality, it just goes to show how you regard people in general.

“…The Pacione Collective actually put the hammer on her…” Your “Collective” consists of you and your imaginary allies. And, no, you haven’t put the hammer on anyone. In fact, your hateful actions actually help their sales.

“…then make fun of the people who actually enjoy it…” Stop deflecting, Nicky. These comments are directed at you and you alone. Take your criticism like a man, not a man-child.

“…hiding behind the mask of being a Christian to tear someone down…” You’ve directed this sentiment at me many times in the past. What’s the matter, too much a coward to call me out by name?

“The reason I was thrown off LiveJournal.com in 2003″ — is because you made many TOS violations.

“I did not lie about certain blurbs…” Yes, you did. Joe Lansdale refuted you on that one, and his integrity far outweighs yours.

“I nearly went looking for him and so I could toss the amoral faggot over the North Avenue Bridge.” I doubt you could lift a bag of dog food without a struggle…

“… I did turnabout and suggested he got excited touching…” That’s neither turnabout or an elaborate “fuck you.” THAT, is libel, plain and simple.

“If I was a racist, I wouldn’t have six authors of color…” That defense never works, especially when called one person’s kid a mongrel and another person a “wetback.”

“…I want to up and beat the shit out of them…” but you never do anything to “males” because you’re a flaccid coward who couldn’t pound cookie dough. Nicky. Yet you’ll harass women who say the same things about you constantly. Typical sexist bullying behavior.

“Well I am extremely cultured as a doctor of internal medication…” He’s probably referring to whatever is brewing in that toxic waste dump you call a mouth, as you never practice hygiene. You have no sense of artistic aesthetic at all. No culture either…

“…I need to be locked away under doctor’s care, heavily medicated and decades of therapy….” You really do, ya know.

“…those devotees you have are going to abandon you.” Not because of anything you wrote, most likely because they won’t read it.

“…refuse to be denied my proper due…” You have to earn it Nicky. You’ve yeot put in the work.

“Well to be polite here…” You don’t know how to be polite.

“The response to CONFESSIONAL, as some of you called it “libel,”” — And it is, in every. Legal. Sense of the word.

“As in I invoked a Holy War…” You have to be pious and holy to invoke that. You are neither. Nor are you a leader to be able to do such.

“…is like a 40 year old picking on a 16 year old on a social networking site.” You fail to understand perspective and age ratios. You’re in your thirties now. Calling you a liar and a lousy writer is nothing like bullying a child. Grow up.

“…my intelligence is in full display here –” this is true. You are very much acting like a person with the 79 IQ you once bragged about.

” I will be tempted to put your e-mail address on she-male hook-up sites being your future wife will be a fucking lady-boy.” You make these threats and never follow through on them. Of course most of these sorts of adult sites send confirmation emails to make sure no fraud is being committed, so double fail on you Nicky.

“As I am an Edgar Allan Poe vein author…” No. You’re not.

“I don’t like replying in comments on my blog because I like to put a lot thought into
what I am going go say…” Since when? You just delete the comments you don’t like and spew drivel at will. Stop lying, Nicky.

“…formality is too damn stuffy and makes me uncomfortable.” No, you just don’t have manners.

“Consider this as a warning – if you get this book pulled, there will be a huge backlash upon the part of groups who are diagnosis with a mental illness or have an intellectual disability as you are attacking these groups with threatening to have the book pulled.” There will be no such backlash. Getting your so-called “book” yanked for libel only reflects on you. Again you try and fail to deflect.

“… I will take this story to the press.” Another empty threat. Not like they’ll do anything with it.

“I am selective who I do an interview with.” Translation: “WAAAAH! No one interviews me.”

“Did I piss you off here? ” No.

“– it would be a perfect day for a hanging, and you are going to be on the receiving end of the gallows.” Another threat of violence, Nicky?

“I am the living breathing entity of what inspires a bad boy” No, you’re just a filthy man-child.

“…well I am detailed when it comes to writing a brawl…” Uh… no you’re not. You couldn’t write a fight scene to save your life.

“Calling a published author a plagiarist is just like calling an African-American the n-word.” Wrong. Again.

“…you fucking traitor as you peed on the First Amendment. ” You know nothing about the First Amendment. Or the Bible.

“I don’t threaten to go after the houses of your families…” You threatened to come to my house and cut off my hands once. I sent a copy of the email to St. Joe’s…

“picture palace” Who even uses this phrase any more???

“So I refute the bastards who say, “I can’t edit.” ” They’re right.

“So those of you who are saying I have no creativity –” are spot on.

“… , you lost the right to be called an adult.” You’ve yet to act like one yourself…

“He goes and bit-torrents child pornography.” More libel!

” I am published and been published respectively…” Never professionally, though.

“… I am calling that going old school.” Because you to learn anything new.

“…like what people did with Napster in 2001-2002 where they got ill-gotten copies of Metallica’s I Disappear.” Which is well after the song got released, so the demo tape analogy fails.

“Writing science fiction, for me doing it – I still consider it a parlor trick.” As someone with an actual education in writing SF, I can say you know NOTHING about working in that genre.

“I actually learned how to do this from reading a martial arts magazine – reading actually taught me how to fight” As someone with an actual black belt in Karate, I can say you know NOTHING about martial arts. Go to a dojo, don a white belt and put sweat on the floor for a few years before calling yourself an expert. (At least I know that as Shodan, my studies in karate are just beginning).

“Instead of pounding someone, as I am older – I use traits of an investigative journalist to fight back.” Meaning you’re too much a coward to face anyone in combat.

“My practice of not infringing on someone’s written content or stealing someone’s artwork” — is bullshit considering you lifted a photo from National Geographic and got busted for it.

“I like to play the role where I have the voice of reason.” That has yet to happen. You wouldn’t know reason if it fell on your face and wriggled.

“If those who got an ill-gotten copy of this…” How is it ill gotten if you made it this 19-page spew available in public for free?

“Intellectual theft and piracy can sometimes be grounds for a Jihad.” Wrong again. They are legal issues, not religious. But then again, you don’t even understand the religion you claim to follow.

“…I am not going to repeat myself…” You do that all the time, especially in this doc.

“Still think I am a fucking imbecile now?” Yes. You prove it every time you post…

“…I just took you out with the trash without even taking a physical swing at you.” No, you only think you did.

“…you are entitled to my viewpoint,” Wrong again. *I* am entitled to *my* viewpoint. *You* are entitled to *your* viewpoint.

Like I said. This is proof that you no writer, nor a peer.

Well done, Mike! And thank you for saving me from the nausea!

The Impotence of Being Nickolaus

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In his latest whinefest, attention whoring, incoherent rambling, Nickistiltskin regales us with his latest bad idea: his new full length non fiction piece (of tripe).

Two artists came forward to wanting to illustrate the book,

I’m not sure wanting to cover it in graffiti rife with penises is the same thing, but hey, it’s his delusion.

 I will be doing some of the illustration duties.

Yes, because his artwork is so much better than his writing. This is much like saying dog poop is better than cat poop.

The background of the body of the book is my illustration from 2000.

So he won’t even being doing anything new, but recycling past bad work. At least when the Fremen in Dune recycled their own urine it was useful.

 and taking pictures that were taken by the ex-room mate of me and pictures that were taken as I was going out to Scott Davidson’s birthday bash in 2011 as C. Pacione took the picture of me in the full denim and a leather blazer that my cousin loaned me as I was staying with them in their Ravenswood condo.

So he’s either confused about what taking pictures means, or he’s taking pictures of other pictures. In either event, nothing scream bad ass horror author like a blazer in a condo. totally goth!

 I am looking for artwork that is a balance between Tourniquet and Cradle of Filth with the dark imagery of their music and lyrics portray.

So he wants illustrators to rip off the work of other people? Yeah, that will go down well.

This is not going to be an easy project to pull off

The only thing he can pull off is…nah, that’s too easy.

I am going to introduce my name logo for this book in this post here so you get to see the ominous nature of the logo for the book.

The fact he’s writing anything is ominous enough, but want to guess what isn’t in the post like he said?

 I am doing everything via HTML here.

Geocities graphics coming right up!

The hard part is getting all the artists in tune with what I am trying to accomplish with this masterpiece.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!! Masterpiece!! Wait, I need to catch my breath! He can’t even get in tune with being coherent, much less get an artist worth a lick of salt to understand his utter ineptness.

 The full length ties together Collectives, Collected, An Eye In Shadows, and Dirty Black Winter — then the anthologies will be tied together.

Oh you naughty devil, always thinking of bondage. I imagine them bound together in a sleepsack that  only shows stains under blacklight.

 It is the Nickolaus Pacione companion as written by Nickolaus Pacione himself.

lolwut? Lloyd too busy to put it together?

 As for Melany, you know nothing about my friends in Chicago.

Nicky, we all know your friends in Chicago: they consist of your left and right hand.

Heart of A Poet, Mind of Roadkill (with talent to match)

The first sale I ever made was a poem for the anthology DEATH IN COMMON.  While the antho is no longer in print, my poem is available in my sampler DETRITUS. It was probably the hardest I’d ever worked on anything in my life. There were probably 20 drafts and half as many versions.  The editor (and a friend) Rich Ristow was incredibly helpful and patient, making my contribution FORGOTTEN SON something I take much pride in.

Nikita also wrote a poem. While it’s not as bad as some other work I’ve reviewed…oh who am I kidding, it’s shit. The piss poor writing aside, it also details his feelings about 9/11. As the anniversary draws closer, I thought it appropriate to critique: THE SEASONS OF BLACK SEPTEMBER. A big thank you to Lewis for pointing this out to me.

Note: All misspellings and double commas (!) are from Nicky. 

Prologe: Reminders of Forever

no more
one more
emptiness
that I cannot ever tell,,
no more
one more

No more, yes! One more? Dammit. For someone who frequently uses expressions like I cannot ever tell, you never seem to stop babbling.

no more
one more
one more horror in the sleep
no more
one more

Patterns I am sensing. Talent, I am not.

years to come — cemetery graves,

As opposed to say,  the bakery graves.

I watch the towers fall
I watch the many die
no more, one more
one more mourning

I’m going to guess he had a rainman like obsession with one more.  Nothing wrong with repetition if it serves a point. If it’s the only words you know however…

I. Clay and Dust

I am one — yet no one, 

Can’t argue with that.

when angels cry their blood,,
only then we begin — crucified,,
impaled by our thoughts — slaved,
lead into salvations — enslaved,,

I’m not sure he knows the difference between crucifixion and impalement.  I’d settle for either rather than have him go on. And yet he does, trooper of turds that he is.

dying — this is my suffication,
horror — flames melting my flesh,,
decay — blackness of hell around me,,,

Not sure what suffication is, but it can’t be any worse than an eternity of having this read to me over and over.

melting flesh — flowing blood, clay and dust,,
full blood moon — raising brighter in black,,

Melting brain overflowing with illiterate scibblings.  full stomach about to raise and splatter.

II. Ashes and Blood Flow

when we allow all the blood flow,,
the question without the reason,, 

Blood flows, that’s what blood does (along with other amazing things but I won’t bore you with my lack of scientific tidbits), but what is with these double and triple commas? No doubt he’ll have some excuse though it still boils down to lack of knowledge of and talent.

death in the end is only the beginning,,
take the tour of hell my friend — here it is

Could have told me that in the beginning and saved me from reading this. Fucker.

III. Untold Omen

dying tomorrows, lost my sorrow,,
of what hope is sinking forever,, 

My hope of you making sense sank long ago. I know the feeling.

where our truth turned into the lie,,

Or in your case where the lie turned into a greater lie.

IV. Seasons of Rust

as it comes where I walk alone, 

I could say something really disgusting about this, but then I’d never sleep again. Suffice to say everything he does is alone.

fires — were we have no more control,,,
time — as it ticks slowly down into night,,,
horrors — as they cannot be defined,,,

Crap, we’re back to the undefined again. Though if a word could ever describe this work, undefined is as good as any.

V. Stygian Skies

do we see inside our own demise
gathering in the travels to stygian 

Umm, yeah, I got nothing for this bit of nonsense.

as it remains the memories of the day of Black September,,,

The best I can suggest is remember those who lost their lives, but forget this turgid, incomprehensible, waste of time. It does far more of a disservice than anything else in recent memory.

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Getting Submissions The Pacione Way

First, you start by posting a self pic giving the camera your stubby middle finger. Follow this up by making a face as if you just pooped your pants. Third, make sure it’s so low res that it appears blurry and blotchy (though in this case, it’s an improvement). Since he’ll scream if I use the picture here, go take a quick look. http://unclefossil.wordpress.com/ Note: I am not responsible for any ill effects you may succumb to by viewing said photo. Proceed at your own risk! 

Once that’s done, refer people to wikipedia because you’re too incompetent to say what you want. Assure potential submissions that it will take 5 editors to make it coherent, then confuse them by calling yourself an executive producer.

Also, make sure you let everyone know your crap will be the lead story, no matter how much better other stories may be (let’s face it, anything will be better than his).

Refer people to a social network to get ideas for characters. Since Nicky has no clue how to create a character, he thinks everyone is as ignorant as himself.

Finally, pimp your own work in a lame attempt to make sales.

Do all that, and you can be as successful as Lake Fossil Press!

Leave Ablert Alone!

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Yes, the spelling on Albert was intentional, as that’s how Nikita once spelled his own middle name on one of his poorly formatted, unreadable pile of printing he calls a book.

I got an email from a friend, a non writer , I might add, asking why it is I keep picking on Pacione.  “He’s obviously unstable and mentally unbalanced, it’s a little sad.”

To this I respond: Yes, it is a little sad. However, any sympathy I may have ever felt for him, evaporated when he continually spews his hate. There is a big difference between being mentally ill and a raging asshole. There’s a difference between being someone who needs help and someone who not only doesn’t want it, but thinks you’re persecuting him for offering any assistance. I will always sympathize with someone who has a mental illness, but not with someone who uses that as an excuse to behave the way he does. When he attacks people, calls them names, threatens them-that’s not mental illness. That’s assholism.

In 1993 I was diagnosed with Major Depression Recurrent.  I was given a prescription for antidepressants and have taken them since then.  That’s 20 years.  Not once did I ever blame anything on my depression. I’m fully cognizant of everything I say and do, and so is Nicky.  It would be so easy to blame something, anything-for my mistakes, however it all boils down to me knowing what I am doing.  I accept responsibility for my actions, and when I can, I try and rectify them. Sometimes that works, and sometimes it doesn’t.

Nikita, on the other hand, will blame everything and everyone, and not look at the real problem-himself.  In fact if it was just the rage he exhibits, or the the name calling he loves to use (albeit badly), it might be different.

But he preys on others. He’ll use and abuse unknown writers, those just starting out and don’t know any better. He’ll refuse to pay them, publish their stories without permission and then go after them relentlessly when he gets called out on it.

He calls himself a writer, yet has no clue about grammar, spelling, pacing, plotting, or any of the basic skills one needs to be an effective author.  He’ll self publish because no one in their right mind would want their name attached to any of his projects. He’s a parasite. An uncarng, unthinking, untalented blight on the horror community.  Google his name and his past doings are there for the perusing. I’ve only had to deal with him for 6 years, others have had to do it for far longer.

He will never change, and as long as he doesn’t, it’s my duty to warn people away from the type of business practices he utilizes.

As my meme above states, Nickolaus Pacione, you are NOT a writer!

The Cabbie Homicide – One Cab Ride You Want To Avoid

And not because of the homicide, but it was typed by our favorite fan fic writer. Nicky “two kitchens” Pacione!  You may be wondering how I coulddelve into another one of his scribblings so soon, and the answer is I dipped into my kitty’s stash of catnip.  It was either that or the banana peels.

Oct 13, 1993. I remember that day as the day a friend of mine took the life of a cab driver in Itasca, Illinois.

August 15th, 2013. I remember this day because it was when my nervous system and brain activity spun out of control, near irreversible damage done by just one sentence,

 I have a lot of questions of that night of what went through his mind — and wanting to know why he threw away his life at 17 years old.

I have a lot of questions too, like why would you think you could actually write? I’d suggest basket weaving or collecting toe nails.

here I am close to ten years later writing of this horrifying crime —

Because I haven’t had an original idea since thoughts of model bound up being bombarded by Richard Matheson novels.

As it was written in our school paper

Never mind local news, television or even a pennysaver, when you need info, you go to your high school newspaper.

and there was nothing I was able to say to warn them about it.

That’s due to the fact you dodn’t know about it until long after it happened, dipshit.

Then the next thing I knew was that there was a clipping from The Daily Herold. It was almost out of the pages of a bad nightmare that I was not able to awake from

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the thoughts that are still there are what would stay in the shadows wandering.

The bad writing is still there as well.

the questions as there were many when they sat in the courtroom and the horror drawn out from the drama of the jury.

What was the jury doing that was so dramatic? Shouldn’t they have been paying attention? Perhaps victims of your inability to string words together in a coherent fashion.

“You mean to tell me that you knew the murderer,” asked the Cab driver who was driving me from the sporting good store

Bwahahahahahahaha! We all know they greaseball would never go to a sporting goods store. well, unless he was picking out a new sleep sack.

 “I was supposed to do that call that night. The driver that died that night was a friend of mine,” he added.

Totally didn’t see that coming! Oh wait, yes I did.

“Holy shit,” the driver responded, “you are sure brave to write about this. I don’t think if my friend was a murderer — I would not of even tried to write about it. It would scare me so shitless that I could not even sleep at night.

Don’t worry Mr. Cabbie, Pacione is still afraid of his own shadow, and runs away screaming like a little girl.

With that I know it must be done — this narrative in the sense that I try to find the words to describe that he had done,

Well it isn’t, there’s still five more paragraphs of this crap. Don’t tease me!

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I can’t. I just can’t.

Someone call me a cab.

How To Be A Professional The Pacione Way!

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In a response to something I posted on his blog, La Femme Nikita responded with this:

I am not a liar or a fraud. I just don’t publish the faggot nor will I read works from the faggot. I strongly make this suggestion, please refrain from trying to stop people from submitting to my anthologies. It is not professional.

The first thing to notice is his use of faggot twice. Nothing screams professional more than slurs about someone’s sexual orientation.  What else makes someone a professional according to Nickolaus Ablert Pacione? Let’s take a look at just a few things.

First, let’s establish that he’s been a “professional” for a very long time. I’ll go back to a blog entry I wrote on 12/3/08. That’s right, six years ago. That was when he talked about taking a shit on the grave of late writer Joe McGee, a man who in death still has more talent than Nikita ever will.  His response to myself and others in the comments, calling him on it reeks of…well, something.

Melany — I hope you have a miserable social life, well as a matter of fact you can’t hang onto a boyfriend longer than six months after you left me. And yes I am getting published in more places, just I haven’t finished writing new material to send off but should be finishing off I.O.W.A. That anti-abortion yarn that someone pirated the shit out of on AutoLame.org.
You really need to shut your mouth more often because you’re revealing too much of someone’s personal life. You’re just a coat-tail rider as much as this Scott faggot is. Your mother dying is the best day in my life. I wanted to throw a dance on her grave party. As you assholes attempted to do with my publishing company but you sadly failed to see that happen. I already been published a few times within the year but the print appearance is long overdue. Getting published on (link deleted) helped me a little bit.

And a little bit down he adds:

Nah I just got done pissing in your dead boyfriends urn.

Being a professional also entails being banned from several, websites and forums, not just once but over and over again (Goodreads three times and the yuku forums twice); having more blogs closed due to hate speech than I can count; consistently referring to women as bitches and cunts, threatening people with violence (in spite of running away like a little girl when confronted); challenging writers to fist fights-the list goes on ad infinitum.

And the last thing I’ll touch on is his new submission call. A true professional will put it up on Tumblr (because everywhere else doesn’t want his crap there), single space it in the tiniest font possible, and then not even put an email address to send a submission.

If all of that is professional, but warning people away from that behavior in a so-called publisher is unprofessional, I’ll be proud to be wear the mantlle of unprofessional any day.

Evil Airs- Another Lesson In How Not to Write by Nickolaus Pacione

Now that I’ve fully recovered from the grueling task of wading through FANDOM WEIRDNESS, I feel strong enough to wade into the diseased depths of the flatulent ferret’s writing once more. This time it’s EVIL AIRS, inspired by the time he got-wait for it-bronchitis! I’m already trembling with fear (the fear that this may do me in).

I had a bizarre dream when I passed out the past few nights.

So did I, it was so bizarre I thought that opening sentence made sense.

I found myself in a room full of mirrors sort of a hall of mirrors to describe this

Well which is it, a hall or a room? Christ, it’s not that difficult to pick one, is it?

The thoughts as they dwell inside which it is written as it is here — the narrative being as one lays within the covers of the bed of the hotel overlooking the outskirts of Joliet and Rockdale, Illinois.

The nausea as it dwells in my stomach is but a grain of sand in the endless beach that is Pacione’s  wretched writing.  I already need a lay down and it’s barely the second paragraph.

Where in the darkness that the coughing can be heard — loud enough to shatter the glass in the rooms.

Apparently this is the Ella Fitzgerald of coughing!

From the sleep are heard in the whispers of strangers — where in the night of silence had been shattered by sounds of the coughing in the sense of the mind, the impaling of ones lungs.

So I put that into Google translator and it said no such language known.

the description could be similar to the hotel and a hospital where it is set up like a movie theater;

Tip: before writing a story know where the damned thing is set, is it a room, a hall, a hotel, a hospital or a movie theater? All that coughing would piss people off in a movie theater. Kind of like people get pissed you call yourself a writer when they read your work.

the pages induced from the medicated slumber as they pen into the narratives from the being in the shadow of time. Understanding as it comes being from the drug induced sleep knowing that comes from the dreams —

Who wants drugs? Who needs drugs to understand this? Seriously, all I know is there’s some louder fucker coughing and breaking glass.

Foreboding minds — as one sleeps from the dark transcending into the waning daylight.

Foreboding: you use that word and I do not think it means what you think it means.

The stark descriptions of which being from the hospital and the hotels being that one can hear the vitals of the next room fading from the neighboring bed.

I need my vitals checked. I mean really, what the hell does any of this mean?

the hard coughing that impale the ribs as a rattler biting and injecting into the bloodstream.

As a rather biting and injecting what? Is it the Turd Raper of Campbell Hollow come to haunt you?

Passing slumber of the eyes which open the gates of the bizarre dreams that come among the darkening majestic — the patterns descending from the blacker cosmos; from the thoughts of which are the defining sleep of years.

So all 2200 words of this “story” is about someone being sick and and having bad dreams as they drift in and out of sleep.  I’ll be awake all night.

For one of his novels, William Burroughs took the manuscript, cut it in four pieces and then put all the pieces back together-but not in order-and THAT still makes more sense than this.

Of course Burroughs was a great writer, and Pacione is barely literate, so there is that.

Love, Nikita Style

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Nikita,

I appreciate your unrequited love for me. I know how you must yearn for me, to the exclusion of others. While strong women obviously frighten you, you seem to have no problem making your intentions know with me. Your love letter to me via email is a perfect example. You even titled the message, Go Molest A Goat.

You write: .  You started fucking with me by sending me penny payments via paypal.com

Sweet, sweet boy, you were begging everyone for help, I was merely responding to your wishes. You should be grateful you got that much, as it’s far more than you’ll ever make from your writing.

and you wanted to harass the lead author on the 12th issue to get him to withdraw.

I’m not even sure who your lead victim was, let alone harass them. Being associated with you, is harassment enough.

Why does it bother you that I refuse to publish gays?

It doesn’t. Even your beliefs don’t bother me. What does is you being a raging asshole of untold proportions. Even the Westboro Baptist Church would find you repellent.

I turned into a 4theluv because of a family tragedy.

and you try to turn any tragedy into gain, so please don’t give us that lie.

       You fucked with me on Shocklines.

Those were fun times, weren’t they? Too bad you forgot your password, we could do it again.

You wanted my head

No one wants head from you, really. No one.

A lot in the mid-list mass market cocksucking party

You certainly are fixated on that, aren’t you? I guess that explains your obsession with me.

I said fuck you to them years ago.

And they’ve been silent ever since? Or have they gone on to bigger and better things, while you still can’t make one dime from LFP?

You are just pissed off because I refuse to publish a faggot.   When it comes to Lake Fossil Press, faggots need not apply.

Or anyone with self respect, talent, or a one functioning brain cell.

And then, my curly cue french fried love dumpling, you spent almost 1K words of professing your most intimate feelings. I hardly know what to make of it!

Look jackhole, I paid Ray Faraday Nelson $30.00 for his story.

A whole 30 dollars? Wow, LFP must really be raking the dough in! That’s how much a legend is worth to you? We should probably message him on FB and verify he did get paid, as we all know you don’t like to pay writers, let alone tell them you’re using their work.

I was a paying market from the very beginning. I offered payment to some of the writers of the first Tabloid Purposes, they actually refused payment.

And I was the King of Siam. Guess which one more people would believe? Let me get my crown.

I published three 4theluv anthologies so far.

So that means you weren’t a pay market from the beginning as you haven’t put anything out since your grandparents deaths. You said yourself, that’s what forced you into becoming a 4theluv market. You’re lying and making excuses again.

 One of the authors on the second namesake immortalized my old address after she read Apt. #2W.

Having your address on a restraining order is not being immortalized.

So you want to libel my company you faggot, I will fucking bury you.

I don’t want to do anything with your company, merely telling the truth. And as for burying me, I’m going to be cremated, but am sure my family will be glad to let you pick up the expense.

In the end (no pun intended), it just wouldn’t work out Nikita. You see, I have intelligence, wit and talent. And you’re…you.

Cordially,

Scott

Fandom Weirdness The Conclusion (it sucks)

When last we left poor Karen Hintz, she was stuck in a self named publisher’s diner being bored to death by the sexually ambiguous Mary Sue. Fortunately, the tale comes to an end-or what passes for one in Pacione’s mind.

        “They drew from Nicholas’ life for ideas.”

Well that explains the unrelenting boredom of their tales. We all know he has no life.

“Nicholas encouraged real person fiction writers to draw from his memoir and blog for ideas. He said he would publish an anthology of these writers just to break them out there.”

“Nicholas Cicerone, I heard of him. I read some his nonfiction in a few small press magazines – one disturbing individual because you can’t believe that the horrific things he relates are real,”

Disturbing because of how they’re written, more than the content.

stories relating his horrors dealing with his health, acute cases of bronchitis

Yes, never mind cancer, Alzheimers, or the flesh eating bacteria-it’s bronchitis that’s a scary ass mofo. I wonder if the CDC is aware of this.

        “A.J. Poe drew from the inspiration of the disappeared writer from the bloody pulps, Robert Blake, from the short story Haunter In the Dark by H.P. Lovecraft.

Apparently not even his characters have original thoughts either, and have to ape far better works.

        “H.P. Lovecraft,” Karen replies with a chill down her spine.

This is the 6th mention of the illustrious writer, and not one appropriate use.

        “He was influenced by the books Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark

I wish I was under the influence, even though I quit years ago. This may make me start drinking again.

“He was first published when he turned nineteen years of age on his birthday

As opposed to when he turned 19 when it wasn’t his birthday?

        “The world of fandom is a dark, frightening thing

Not as frightening as having to read this drek for eternity.

        The waitress walked in listening on to the narrative.

The nosy waitress returns! Super power of listening to a conversation she’s not close enough to hear! I can’t even get my check without waving semaphore flags.

        “Writers in fandom will write just about anything,

Case in point, Fandom Weirdness.

 Michael commented as he spoke to the waitress while she graced her black fingernails across the fanzine.

Yeah, just let that sink in.

        “Mrs. Poe why yes – she did an actor story featuring the ghost of Vincent Price haunting Old Hollywood

Dammit, leave Price out of this! Have some decency!

They said nothing as they exited the diner.  Just were left behind with experiences of horrors beyond their surreal nightmares

What? That’s it? They talk and leave? 6200 words and all that happens is indigestion?

Well, fear not, for coming soon is my own take on all this silliness, entitled “The Day Lloyd Campbell’s Mama Came to Town”.