tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39432145244103973292024-02-20T02:30:32.327-08:00You Should Have Just Walked AwayWarlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-27292658846294861162015-07-01T14:37:00.003-07:002015-07-01T20:21:30.198-07:00Nicker-Doodles & His Blog<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, Nickolaus Pacione, AKA Sparklepony, AKA Nickerdoodle, AKA The Hunchback of Illinois, has been running around writing all kinds of bullshit about everyone.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THIS IS COVERED BY FAIR USE, <span style="font-family: inherit;">SUCK IT, PACIONE!</span></span></span> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, for the last few weeks I've been trying to slog through what is possibly the worst thing I ever read. Now, I've read 50 Shades of Grey, Twilight, & Game of Thrones. I have to admit defeat. That's right, I have to honestly admit defeat. That goddamn piece of shit just crushed my brain. I honestly couldn't finish it, much less critique it.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead, let's look at his dumbass fucking blog...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well
what can I say — </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Probably something stupid.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I do have another new short story started and in
progress. This is the first time I am writing as my short name to see
what happens with submissions and what not. The story well I am poking
fun at the Liberal Agenda as they are going around saying “Love Wins”
yeah bullshit at what cost they win — rubbing God out of the country? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, great, of course. But...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rubbing God out...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, does he think them there gays jerked God off till he left the country out of embarassment?</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicky hates the idea of love because he's an ugly, stinky, gross, squalid, unwashed weirdo. I don't throw around misogynist easily (unless I'm joking with close friends) but he pretty much fits the definition of bigot and misogynist. He hates gays, he hates love, and, well, to be honest, seems to be incapable of loving anyone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But, enough about psychologically examining a broken manchild. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I am going to be swiping at Twitter’s CEO in this piece big time. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because Jack's employees decided that a anit-homosexual misogynistic bigot howling out swear words at random people on Twitter wasn't something the company wanted, so they banned him. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Jack
is a fucking moron when it comes to the publishing industry and allows
those who are Conservative to be silenced? Net neutrality is a joke to
him and this story plays off that, especially when I see that he’s born
the same year as me. I am sure he would love to sue me because I
called him an asshole — I will go one further and call him a frocio for
censoring Conservatives.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">First of all, Jack isn't a publisher.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two, Twitter allows conservatives to talk on Twitter all the time, up to and including calling the POTUS rather nasty racial names.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three: Why would he sue a smelly hunchback from Illinois who lives off of welfare and never leaves his basement? What's he going to win, a used bondage sleepsack filled with dried hunchback semen and skidmarks?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Four: Oh, God, more goddamn Italian from someone who has lived in America for 3 generations and never even met someone from Italy or who spoke Italian. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Go ahead and throw a phelm filled lewgie at me!” </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ugh. Goddamn retard. It's is "loogie" and you don't throw it, you hock (or hawk) it at someone. And nice quote.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone chase him with that new dog washing thing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Twitter
is shit when it comes to writers and they don’t give a fuck about those
who they violated. Let’s see him get a fucking job working on
CreateSpace.com or Lulu.com dealing with the authors swearing at him day
in and day out. Disney you should reconsider with him because he
doesn’t fucking listen to those who are impersonated and protecting
those who plagiarize every chance they get. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Holy shit. This is just ridiculous. Yeah, Twitter is shit, because 120 characters is not really enough to get across a coherent thought with any kind of depth, but Twitter isn't any worse for writers than it is for anyone else.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And most people who call Lulu or Createspace are polite, because those people consider it a business arrangement, but Spackleback can't conceive of treating another human being with decency and kindness, because he's a narcissistic dick.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He also throws out the plagiarizing bullshit again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The new story I am
working on will address those of my generation in a profound way as
they are not part of the solution they are part of the problem. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He doesn't get anything about his generation. He's never left his basement, except for joining the Navy, where it's said that he was thrown out of the Navy for sexually assaulting a fellow recruit while that recruit was sleeping, according to some sources.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He constantly "addresses those of [his] generation" but it's usually just rambling shit-fests that nobody fucking understands, because nobody really understands the rambling of a sleepsack haunting hunchback. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “I
don’t want to hear this working class hero bullshit from you; you get
Social Security Disability so your money comes out of my pocket.” I can
hear someone saying. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is something that needs to be said to him all the time. He constantly goes on about "working class heroes" but doesn't know what working class is, has never worked for a steady paycheck, looks down on people with jobs, and he gets SSDI which he wastes on buying outfits off of eBay that he attempts to use to lure underage models to graveyards for 'photoshoots' where he offers them his 'sleeping bag' to 'change their clothing in', which is basically getting naked in his used bondage sleepsack.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He's a welfare queen, the exact kind of person that he rails against and screams about. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> When you had risked going into the
negative for the next month to pay for a bill due in July — the
realization someone has to say is they should damn well start supporting
those who are indies.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He goes into debt because he spends his welfare check on bullshit. Then he says that he needs $800 for his electric bill. OK, I own a house built in 1910, that I'm still modernizing (Hey, I got the doublepane windows in, now I just need to do the insulation up better and the venting and the and the and the) and in the winter, when it dropped to 10 below for entire month, my electric bill jumped from $125 to $350. Four bedrooms. Two stories. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That does NOT mean that we should hold guns to people's heads to support indie writers and publishers.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What Pickles doesn't understand is that Indie publishing is very meritocratic, with how good you are at networking actually mattering. Why he fails (and I did pretty good for myself before I decided I was going to stop writing and publishing and concentrate on my career in being old and lazy) is because his stories are shit, his covers are shit, his editing is shit, his layout is shit, his advertising is shit, his internet presence is shit, and is basically shit at publishing and marketing because he's about 10 pounds of rotting jackal shit in a 5 pound bag.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Instead of stealing from those who are one month
away from being homeless. When it comes to Christine Morgan if she’s
on the street begging for food in Chicago — if I have that last half of
my Subway sandwich I am giving it to my dog right in front of her.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Whine whine whine. He's a month away from being homeless because he refuses to help with the bills, and his family is getting tired of supporting him in the basement.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And of course, he has to try to bring in Christine Morgan, a nice lady (I've had plenty of interactions with her, and she can stand my half-crazy ass) who he hates because she A) Is successful B) Is a woman C) Is a woman. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “Why are you saying that?” </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No shit. Why don't you stop writing revenge screeds and 'alternate personal history" bullshit, and write fiction again. I mean, you sucked at it, but at least you tried. Now you just write ranting screeds about people you hate. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Because she stole from me and lied about it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">OK, tell us about it, Janet... </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She
lied about the origins of her anthology and some brag about getting me
shut down when I was speaking up for my SSN.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, considering you released your SSN on the internet at several different places, including putting up a Word document with your SSN in the page header, as well as releasing the first 5 numbers on your blog, after putting up your last 4 a year or so ago while lying about your time in the Navy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">YOU released it, you gibbering troglodyte. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jack you’re from my
fucking state you moron — were you born with a silver spoon in your
mouth?</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Who gives a shit? Just because he's from your state you aren't owed a single thing from him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Help the goddamn poor asshole as I am working poor when I only
get 8900 a year from Social Security. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> WORKING POOR? Holy shit! You haven't worked in over a decade, you get WELFARE, not a paycheck. You are NOT WORKING POOR! I work full time, believe it or not I put in between 35-60 hours a week at my freelancer jobs, and I consider myself working poor. But I don't believe anyone OWES me shit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pacione thinks that he deserves everything from everyone.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You shouldn’t censor those who are
getting very little too you fucking jagoff — I have to ask, does Jack
have his own private police force too to keep him from being arrested if
he breaks he law? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He didn't censor you, he decided he didn't want you using racial and sexist slurs on his service and banned your ugly foul mouthed ass.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And private police force? It's a shame that Pacione comes close to one of the problems with the class divide in America, but completely misses it because he's not capable of critical thought. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Well the new story I am working on — it’s
got a David Foster Wallace vibe going for it. I have ran The Pattern of
Diagnosis through iwl.me and it does have this result too. <br /> This
is not love wins but God loses the battle but not the war;</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh God, here he goes. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> well I am
going on record to say — when you’re a Conservative you get seen as
demon. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Anyone who completely defines themselves by one political party is a goddamn idiot.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm conservative when it comes to crime, I believe in rehabilition over the modern idea of punishment only, and I'm conservative when it comes to responsible military spending and a strong military.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm liberal when it comes to prostitution, marijuana legalization, personal freedoms, and the ecology.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I don't get seen as a demon. Just with different political opinions than some of my friends.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicky Pacione isn't seen as a foul creature because he's a conservative, he's seen as a foul creature because he's a disgusting little hunchback who attack women and children and does other digusting things.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well with my uncle in the hospital I have my cousin pissing down
my back for oversleeping </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another relative who has spent their twilight years caring for and housing the disgusting hunchback.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And yeah, his cousin has the right to piss down his back, Nicky is a lazy fuck who won't even clean his goddamn room, take out the garbage, or make sure his relatives get to appointments designed to save their lives. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">— I told him it was the medicine that is
Ranitidine that puts me out like that, it’s a prescription version of
Zantac. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The side effect of Ranitidine is insomnia. SEROQUEL makes you sleep in, and when combined with Ranitidine (sp?) it causes exhaustion and chronic fatigue. But that's handled by eating a piece of fruit.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, I'll be honest. When I beca<span style="font-family: inherit;">m</span>e aware that they put Nicky on Seroquel and he was mixing it with beer/hard alcohol, I replied to one of the nasty emails he sent me with warnings not to mix alcohol with Seroquel or go on and off of it, that he needed to fix his diet, cut out cafienne, cut out alcohol, and get on a sleep schedule. I told him that Seroquel (in some people) gobbles up blood sugar, leading to severe fatigue. I told him that an orange or (my favorite) a peach, as soon as you get up, will mitigate many of the problems.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For my troubles he threatened to rape my wife and teenage daughters and force them to carry his children to term, then force me to raise them.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So... yeah. Fuck him and his medication problems, he was told how to handle them. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Well when you have billions of dollars like Jack — its a
question how much of that goes to a drug cartel for his cocaine stash. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wow. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
might see the “fucking half-breed” thrown at me as a slur because I am
Italian-Swedish but I am European much the same. </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> No. He's American. His ancestors came here in 1935, 80 years ago, 4 generations ago.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You know why he's bringing up half-breed? Because he likes to call mixed race people (especially children) mongrels and half-breed trash. He's trying to deflect the fact that he's a disgusting racist.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well I will say this
much the new story is very controversial under my short name and trying
to see who would take this one; well story is done at 3,000 plus words
then sent off via submittable.com to see what happens. I am getting
pissed at the fact how Brian Keene brags about intercepting submissions
so he can have Robert Baupader plagiarize the fucking thing. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once again, his man-crush on Brian Keene and Robert Baupader shows itself. I don't know why his twisted sexuality fixated on those two men, but it's getting embarassing.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three thousand words? Not to brag, but I can knock out 10K words a day (and I have for some freelance projects) if pushed, and 3,000 is pretty easy to get.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But, at 500 words a page, that's 6 pages.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Big fucking whoop.<br /> </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> My
2nd collection is now reissued with brand new story tuckered between
The Statue and Gruesome Cargo. To be honest, it felt like I wrote it in
that era too which what makes this cool. It’s the first time in a long
while I had written something with mild profanity — well the new story
has the swearing to a minimum too. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Reissues of shitty stories he wrote years ago. Big whoop.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I am helping my cousin with one of his first blog as an editor but he will be doing all the writing on the thing. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His cousin would be better off hitting himself in the head with a hammer than getting help from Nicky.<br /> </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
am sure some of you were looking at my submittable.com page as I can
take submissions that way and those who are writing the introductions; I
do have a direct link for you when ready. That way in case you can
bypass sending me the e-mail and have me look at it this way; it’s a
cool way to do this to be honest. I would like to see more anthologies
in the range of 180-190 page range too as well as when the magazine is
re-launched. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nobody is looking at his submittable.com link. And he wants people to email him so there's no paper trail so he doesn't have to pay anyone.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “You’re running a scam Nick…”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He never pays his submitters, he doesn't alert people when he publishes their material, and often just swipes shit off of the internet. He's running a scam, the whole way.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> No — I am
not but what Christine Morgan is doing is a scam by bastardizing
someone’s anthology. If you’re going to answer a gauntlet don’t
bastardize someone’s title because that’s a bitch move.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Since you, Nicky, have done nothing but steal titles, write fan-fiction, and scream at everyone around you like a retarded gibbon, you have no right to bitch about anything.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I got a
conversation with Amazon.con whoever is doing the malicious reviews
they are so busted right now. They got caught masturbating to child
pornography with their mother walking in on them — can I even say that?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">WHAT IS YOUR OBSESSION WITH CHILD PORNOGRAPHY?</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Seriously, he talks about it constantly.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You know, one day his mother just suddenly took him to his grandmother's house and dropped him off. There's been hints it had to do with his little sister. There's even been suggestions from some people who have been in a position to know that he was perving on his sister (who tries to avoid him) as well as warnings to the children at the last family reunion to not be alone with him.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Have we figured out why he seems fixated on this? Did this happen, and that's why he was sent to live with his grandmother?</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Who knows. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Amazon.com
over the phone — she was going, “Oh my God! They are abusive no
wonder why you’re not killing people at this moment with these reviews.” </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This nobody said ever for 1,000, Alex.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No, no they didn't say that.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Stefan is Brian Keene as that’s his review pseudonym as I am
guessing that might be a sock puppet of his. As “myself” is a sock
puppet for either Christine Morgan or J. T. Larson. I didn’t sock
puppet when I did a return to Twitter to taunt twitter.com I wanted them
to know that it was me taunting them as Jack is a fucking jagoff.
Well I am happy to say I will find out in a few days when Amazon.com
will be going on the attack with the review bashers — and man I can’t
even speak up for myself on goodreads.com because I had to deal with the
endless bullshit by Dustin Reade too. </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ugh. More fixation with Brian Keene.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Notice he wants to return to Twitter to harass people.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Christ, he's a one trick pony, isn't he?</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Well more or less I
am happy to see what’s back online and waiting for sales to do a trickle
effect — sorry Reade this is where you failed as Amazon.com saw the
offensive reviews saying, “I don’t blame you for being pissed. You were
pissed when they did this when you were with Booksurge.” </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'll take "Shit Pacione Imagined Someone Saying" for $1,000, Alex!</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Yeah
there is a lot of frustration there and it cost me sales —</span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No it didn't. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I am going
to point out one of the losers who had did this too as I had looked up
their e-mail address to make fun of them. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So he decided to harass them.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I remember the response he gave too, “That’s the most offensive e-mail I ever received.” </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Something he's proud of.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The
faggot did that e-mail around the time when I was in the hospital so I
am guessing he worked at the hospital and did it while I was in the
hospital then. </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Of course he does. Of course he did.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No. He didn't.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You just suck and piss everyone off, Pacione.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> If the faggot is going to be a dick. Wait until I was
out of the hospital so I can rip him a new one verbally as he worked in
the same hospital I was hospitalized in. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For choking on a piece of food he was shovelling into his face too fast to chew right.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That's right, like all of his other hospitalizations, it's shit he did to himself.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The guy got really
mad at the choice of vocabulary and I would have said it in that way
too. I am not exactly politically correct I am not going to apologize
for the politically incorrect vocabulary either. </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In other words, he going to use racial, sexist, and homophobic slurs, with threats to burn down his house, rape his wife, rape his children, and beat him up.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Does he send emails like this?</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes. He tried it with me.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Remember: He's 5' 4" and weighs 200 pounds, not a bit of it muscle, who the only fight he's ever been in was to run up on a teenage girl and punch her in the face with a padlock from ambush.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Such brave. Such badass. Most tough.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Well I am waiting to
see what Amazon.com does with those reviews as I will make the e-mail
what they said to me public.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They probably won't do shit.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> He’s going to hate Dirty Black
Winter, An Eye In Shadows, and some of my other work because I peppered
these stories up with the word faggot. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once again, so edgy.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He's obsessed with gay people.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> As an insult too. I want that crowd hating me with a passion.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anything to get attention. He's like that cousin everyone has who, at someone else's birthday, they'll shit on the floor just to get attention. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> This is what I got from Amazon.com via e-mail addressing all the reviews:</span></span></div>
<blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hello, Nickolaus</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I’m so sorry for your inconvenience.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Thanks for contacting us about the customer reviews that are
offensive. As I mentioned during our phone call, I’ve given your
question and contact information to the Community team. You’ll receive a
response from them in 1-2 days.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I hope this helps. We look forward to seeing you again soon.”</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> AHAHAHAHA!</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s encouraging</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That's an automated response, you goddamn gibbon.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> as I wish Anne [Rice] handled it
this way too because she had got the shit flamed out of her too.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> You are not Anne Rice, and you don't get to talk about how she handles anything.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> If I
had to deal with Randi [<a href="http://www.breitbart.com/london/2015/06/03/renowned-author-calls-out-randi-harpers-amazon-trolling/">Harper</a>]
I would had been calling her the things that Gary Oldman called Nancy
Pelosi.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Why is it that it feels like you are almost wishing that you were one of Big Randi's victims.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Someone find me Randi Harper’s phone number as she would be
hearing from me personally.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She wouldn't care, and would quickly spin it to where you're getting crushed. Pacione, you couldn't handle Randi on your best day. She'd leave you crying in your bondage sleepsack.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Let’s see how quick the bitch can respond to
someone who has called someone a cunt on the phone for being one.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> She'd destroy you, Peaches.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Anne Rice doesn’t have the reputation I have for getting into it with
trolls.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She's got a rep for being a straight shooter and not putting up with bullshit.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Your rep is that you make rape threats, use racial slurs, and try to hide behind your bipolar issues. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I will get into it with them and call them out as trolls
plagiarized my shit so I will not take Randi Harper too lightly.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> You're doing this for attention, aren't you? Because if you think you're in her league, you're goddamn delusional.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> So
with Jack — I have to say he’s a fucking dick when it comes to authors
getting harassed as he will fuck over those who have very little. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jack? Oh, yeah, the Twitter CEO.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nicky, just shut up.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
want to ask those assholes who leave malicious reviews of my work
without even reading it; what do they expect me to spend the money on
when I get royalties. Drugs?</span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Not food, or rent, or utilities. We know you'll spend it on porn, bondage fetish gear, and gifts for strangers to try to get them to pay attention to you.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> No I am not Blake Judd so I haven’t
touched a hard drug — I maxed out my bank account paying my electric
bill ahead of time that I will be overdrawn into the next month.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An electric bill you should have paid months ago, but instead were trying to force your family to pay for you, not out of sympathy for you, but out of sympathy for your uncle. </span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
will be willing to risk that to have the bills paid; but this is at the
cost of getting a new ID card.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oooh, $25-$45 for a new ID?</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> When I had to deal with alleged
fake biographers like The Rusty Nail as I am trying to report her to
abuse for harassing someone who is on disability. </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And there's the Pacione <span style="font-family: inherit;">S</span>pecial. Hiding behind his bipolar issues. He harasses people, the Rusty Nail chronicles and documents it, and do not engage him, but yeah... </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I’ve been at trolls
for years and Emma is a troll in the highest degree where she lied about
me stealing from an author I respect as Ramsey Campbell hounded me for
this too. So I gave Ramsey Campbell an ultimatum</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You aren't in the power or position to do anything.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You don't even have the ability to pay your bills, you can't give an ultimatum to anyone for anything. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> — Sangiovanni’s
career, my career, or Kealan Patrick Burke’s </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wait, he honestly thinks he has the power to destroy careers?</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, judging from the way he has treated Mr. Campbell, I can pretty much say that Mr. Campbell would more than likely not choose SpackleBack Nicky. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">as I am looking to send
what I wrote on my company page to the event where Sangiovanni is going
to appear.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">NO 1 CURR NICKY</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I want them to know well in advance of the controversy she
had caused and something you just don’t do in small towns</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> You really don't go outside? Small town contreversy is the lifeblood of any good middle aged housewife. Drama all the way, baby.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> — cause
controversy on levels of Skokie, Illinois. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Oh shut the fuck up.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well I am looking to see
what Ramsey finds out when his review gets ganked because of his
bullshit — I get tired of the bullshit and would like to make a little
bit of cash from a book I wrote. Well I can always sue Jack of Twitter
for a $1,000,000 to have me set for life. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can't sue him for jack or shit. YOU violated the ToS, YOU called people names and made threats. YOU got YOURSELF thrown off of Twitter.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Having caught Brian
Keene with my SSN </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That you put out on the internet yourself. Including on your very blog! </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">was a low move on his part and my cousin trying to
claim he owns half of my imprint was another low move. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wait? What? He wants HALF of that shit sandwich? I think it's your cousin wants you to pay for the free lodging and everything else. Personally, I'd tell him that half a shit sandwich is still a shit sandwich. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I do not like
arguing with my family over my professional life — especially my
immediate family; I told them not to intervene with things they don’t
understand. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They understand perfectly. You've been doing this for 10 years, and you've made less than someone working a minimum wage job would make in a single week.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They know you suck at writing, they know you suck at layout, they know you suck at editing, and they know that you make single digit sales, if that, in an entire month.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> As in if I have to deal with something industry
related this is my business to handle; as I have to argue with
Deviantart.com for keeping a fucking plagiarist on the website. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They got rid of you because you were abusive and harassing people. Remember all those bogus DMCA notices you were laughing about to get people's artwork taken down? DA got wise and just banned your ass.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Do
they even have a moral compass?</span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Do you? No. You threaten children, women, harass them on blogs, forums, and even once used the HWA registry to get people's phone numbers to call them on the phone.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You don't pay your bills.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You sponge off the elderly.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You print people's material without permission or recompense. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I guess not if they are going to ban
those who have the moral fiber to speak up for what’s wrong — as I had
written the story an submitted this. </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Remember, Nickolaus "Bondage Sleepsack" Pacione is the ultimate judge of what is right and wrong. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> “What moral compass? You’re the most amoral shit I ever came across!” </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Truer words have never been typed.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Amoral
shit — sorry that would be Brian Keene as he enabled my work to be
plagiarized and went for my SSN, also he lied to CreateSpace.com about
publishing his e-mail address when I didn’t have any e-mails in the
novella. I am guessing he’s the one behind “Stefan” on Amazon.com as
that’s his sock puppet — I had with amazon.com investigated this. One
can look at the e-mail above as that did come from Amazon.com. </span></span></blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Face it Nicky, Keene doesn't want to anally master you while you lie wrapped up like a mummy in a bondage sleepsack.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, and you put people's phone numbers and emails in your 'novel', that's why I put in a takedown. My email was in there. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The
story I submitted out well it’s about 3,067 words — the same size as
The Fandom Writer. I am working on another collection but it might have
a different title when done though toying around titles and what not
then working on a new introduction for Dirty Black Winter and designing
the new cover scheme too. I am using the artwork from 1999 and the same
photograph I used from the original release. Brian Keene bragging about
stealing from a museum and Dark Regions Press using the very same place
I use to release my own work — I will say my second collection is
better done than something they released.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Blah blah blah. You're boring me, Pacione, you'r eboring.</span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Now if you’re the
asshole going “too long; didn’t read,” will you shut your shithole
already as in you’re eating out of the same place you take a shit from. </span></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This was nothing more than a few thousand words of complaining from an abusive troll. Goddamn right it was TL;DR. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> You come up with a 2400-3400 word short story or blog entry and see
what results you have</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Did it today, fatass. Already sold 20 copies in the 2 hours it's been up.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> because I will find your anthology you appear in.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Doubtful, because you can't read.</span></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Or buy anything.</span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I
will say that to your face </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No you won't. You'll scream like a little girl, then run away giggling or sobbing, because that's what you have done every single time you have actually been confronted. </span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">then tear the story out of book then light
the fucking thing on fire because those four words are equal to hearing
“Go Fuck Your Mother.” </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You won't do any of those things, tough guy, because you're all talk. You're a pathetic vitrolic little hunchback living in an elderly relative's basement because nobody wants you around children or normal people, who lives off of welfare, and are a goddamn coward.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, let's talk about this. This is a typical Pacione screed, screaming and threatening everyone.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nothing new here.</span></span>Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-26304244983617155322015-06-04T12:18:00.003-07:002015-06-04T12:18:41.860-07:00I'll Get You For This...Someone apparently decided that I have too much of my sanity left and not enough brain damage yet.<br />
So they sent me copies of Dirty Black Winter and Confessional. These are verified purchases that were purchased for me and gifted to me.<br />
<br />
What the fuck did I ever do you, mysterious person?<br />
<br />
The challenge note read: "Bet you can't get through these with reviews", and all I have to say is: "Fuck you, mystery person, I accept your challenge just to make someone cry."<br />
<br />
These two 'books' are terrible. One (Confessional) is largely full of self-masturbatory bullshit, the other is full of the worst fiction I have ever read.<br />
<br />
Nobody likes reading complete garbage, but someone hated me enough to send me not one, but wo Pacione books. Each over 200 pages. Each full of Pacione's special brand of whining and piss poor writing ability.<br />
<br />
So, to whoever sent me these...<br />
<br />
Fuck you. I'll get you for this.<br />
<br />
And for everyone else, I'm going to start with Confessional, although I may take a break now and then to do a short story from Dirty Black Winter.<br />
<br />
Whoever you are, I'll get you for this.Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-37815018384047966232015-06-04T11:27:00.001-07:002015-06-04T11:33:16.617-07:00Ghost of War (Reviewed)So good ol’ Sparkle Pony is going to write a war story. Well, that’s bad enough that I need Calculon to weight in…<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/3Ic2V5r"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/3Ic2V5r.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Me too, Calculon, me too.<br>
<br>
First of all, this is covered by fair use, since I will undoubtably be nearly doubling the size of this piece of pig shit just in trying to review and critique it. After all, it’s a piece of work by Nickolaus Ablert Pacione AKA Sparkle Pony.<br>
<center><img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/Sparkle-Pony.gif" border="0" align=center border=5 alt="Photo of Author"><br>
Photo Of Author </center><br>
Which means this is going to be a total piece of pig shit. For Pacione, doing research for a war story means watching The Crow and then reading the covers of some Sergeant Rock comics he found on the internet after hitting himself in the face with a hammer until he couldn’t see them correctly.<br>
Pacione regularly lambasts other authors for having written fan-fiction, acting as if he never wrote this goddamn disgusting abortion. Lucky for me I still have half a bottle of Wild Turkey left to help numb the pain.<br>
But, enough bitching…<br>
<br>
Let’s start reviewing this goddamn thing.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Ghosts of War
Written by Nickolaus A. Pacione</blockquote><br>
Holy shit, I’m amazed he fucking managed to spell his own name this time.<br>
No shit, he once misspelled his own name on the cover of one of his shoddily put together anthologies and then tried to blame everyone who pointed it out for the mistake.<br>
<br>
I’ll be surprised if the vowels don’t fall out of the screen while I read this.
<br>
<blockquote>Inspired by James O'Barr</blockquote><br>
Who wrote “the Crow” comics. So, not inspired by him, but a direct ripoff. Fucking nice.
<blockquote>Word Count: (3,388 Words) </blockquote><br>
3,388 words that somehow make the world a worse place to live.<br>
<blockquote>1944; European Theatre. </blockquote><br>
OK, right here…<br>
<br>
I want to point out that in 1944 the fighting was, to put it mildly, GODDAMN FUCKING FIERCE! D-Day happened on 6 June, 1944, Operation Overlord after that, the Battle of the Bulge after that, which did not end until January of 1945. <br>
Any Allied troops in Germany in 1944 were involved in heavy fighting, we’re talking “foot by bloody foot, yard by blood soaked yard” not just wandering around like goddamn half-wits.<br>
<blockquote>Sgt. Howard Pym was approaching the streets of Berlin</blockquote><br>
No. No he wasn’t.<br>
Allied forces, even the Russians, were nowhere near Berlin in 1944. Remember, the Battle of the Bulge hadn’t happened yet. Holy shit, Pacione, do some goddamn research. It literally would take five minutes of fucking Wikipedia to see exactly when American and Russian troops began racing for Berlin. (It’s still contested to this day who entered the city first) But there is no way that this guy and his unit were anywhere near Berlin.<br>
<blockquote> with his unit when in a shadow of silence was killed in a surprise attack by a unit of Nazi soldiers. </blockquote><br>
Excellent ambush. Could have used some detail. Were they moving down a street and a Nazi “stinger” cut loose, killing them with hypervelocity rounds, or was it just normal rifles and grenades from upper windows? I mean, this could have used fleshed out.<br>
But because Fat Horse refuses to do research, we get jack and shit.<br>
<blockquote> No one saw them coming, and his entire unit was killed. </blockquote><br>
A very successful ambush.<br>
<blockquote> In a matter of hours he saw his own fate pass before his eyes until death followed in form of a crow. </blockquote><br>
Wait, this ambush took HOURS? Holy shit, was everyone fighting in a molasses factory? Or were they all hyped up on Slo-Mo?<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/zFyVXvj"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/zFyVXvj.gif" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>A pair black eyes looking at him, knowing that his time was not yet. He left behind a wife and two kids; he was 29 years of age. </blockquote><br>
Ugh, just… Ugh.<br>
He’s 29, an E-5, with a wife and two kids. OK, so… he’s typical of most American casualties in WW-II from some of the statistics I’ve read.<br>
<blockquote> He had a brother in the same company as well but he did not live to see his death as well. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, they wiped out an entire COMPANY in an ambush? OK, it might have started as an ambush, but this takes a long while. I was picturing like a platoon at the most, or maybe a squad. The firefight raged for hours, yet nobody called in artillery, air strikes, or screamed for backup? A firefight that rages for hours is something that everyone in the area hears about and commanders decide if they want to pour in more reenforcements, or let the ambushed company hold off the enemy while they shore up lines behind them.<br>
For fuck’s sake, Pacione, do some goddamn research.<br>
And his brother was killed too?<br>
I don’t know if he’s trying to make us feel empathy or sorrow for Pym or not, but all I can think of is this…<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/MPkvJUm"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/MPkvJUm.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
So… yeah. I’m just going to imagine this guy in a doofy helmet for the rest of the story, that’ll be funnier.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/yv1KoQJ"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/yv1KoQJ.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>The grim reality was that the place he was killed was the cemetery of souls, and where he rested was a bird observing him. </blockquote><br>
What kind of bird?<br>
<blockquote>A crow. </blockquote><br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/P8bmyke"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/P8bmykel.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
‘kay, thnx<br>
<blockquote>He couldn't say anything, </blockquote><br>
Because he’s fucking dead.<br>
<blockquote>though in his mind he did not feel he was dead</blockquote><br>
Tough shit, buddy. You’re fucking dead. Your ‘feelings’ don’t really matter here.<br>
<blockquote> but heard the Nazi soldiers talking among themselves. </blockquote><br>
That has to suck. He probably doesn’t speak German.
<blockquote>"Holy shit, looks like we killed some American Soldiers. </blockquote><br>
Were they expecting Spartan soldiers? And Pym can understand German? Holy shit.<br>
<blockquote>Made our quota for today," </blockquote><br>
Nazi’s, well known for battlefield quotas.<br>
<blockquote> one quipped to the other in his platoon, "though something about this made me seem unwary, someone was looking at us." </blockquote><br>
Unwary: Incautious, reckless, without anxiety.<br>
And of course someone was looking at you. People have a tendency to shoot back. Christ, this Nazi is a fucking dipshit.
<blockquote>"How do you mean," the other responded. </blockquote><br>
Probably asked just out of politeness. He’s probably hoping to go back to his tent and get something to eat.<br>
Killing people’s hard fucking work.
<blockquote>"Because it looks like one of them is looking back at us; </blockquote><br>
That is one of the more disturbing things about taking a man’s life. His eyes do seem to stare at you, though probably not in the way that Pacione thinks. Pacione’s probably imagining just his protagonist staring at the Germans, or maybe the crow, but ALL of the dead stare at you.<br>
You get to see that quite often in your dreams as the years go by.<br>
<blockquote>true they might be dead but we should remove his eyes for trophies. </blockquote><br>
Said no soldier ever.<br>
<blockquote>Take that flag off his person and use it for toilet paper; </blockquote><br>
Wait, one of them is carrying a flag? Seriously? Does Pacione just picture these guys going into battle wrapped in the American flag? Holy shit…<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/M8sDXQB"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/M8sDXQB.gif" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Totally, Pacione, that’s just how an American infantry company looked in World War II.<br>
Plus, I know that everyone views all Nazis as evil, but honestly, it was just those SS fuckers, the rest were just normal guys who were drafted or volunteered because they thought what they were doing was right.<br>
And even the SS wouldn’t take the time to wipe their asses with an American flag. They’d probably take it as a trophy, but not wipe their asses.<br>
<blockquote>that would show them not to come into our country. Fuckers," one answered back, "still something doesn't seem right for some reason. Did you hear that? It sounded like a bird and it is just staring at us." </blockquote><br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/P8bmyke"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/P8bmykel.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Battle hardened soldiers, creeped out by a crow that is just waiting for all the humans to go away so it can start eating eyeballs.
<blockquote>"No you are just seeing things, lets go and bury these soldiers before they start smelling up the place. </blockquote><br>
Yes, because one of the first things they teach you is to bury the enemy dead right after a battle instead of continuing on and marching forward.<br>
Christ, Pacione, do your research.<br>
<blockquote> Grab a few of them and put them in that mass grave. </blockquote><br>
That suddenly appeared.<br>
<blockquote> We earned our keep today, take any valuables that they have and we will put them in our trophy room." </blockquote><br>
Looting. Trophy room, like they’re playing Skyrim.<br>
I mean, I’m willing to accept a lot of evil from fictional Nazis, I mean, they were the assholes of WW-II, but come the fuck on.
<blockquote>Pym's unit were dumped into the graves like they were part of a trash heap, </blockquote><br>
If you’re lucky enough to get buried after a battle, instead of left there for wild dogs to eat, birds to eat, and all that, it actually kind of paints your opponents in a good light that they were willing to give you a burial instead of, you know, leaving you behind.<br>
But of course, Pacione doesn’t see it that way.<br>
<blockquote> but as Pym laid there in his mind he felt he was still alive; barely breathing. </blockquote><br>
OK, if he’s barely breathing, he’s still alive.<br>
Fuck you, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote>He can see the shadow of a bird looking at him, an outline of the bird. It was a matter of hours before he pulled himself out of the grave, the bullet ridden holes in his chest were still evident of what had happened. </blockquote><br>
Umm… OK?<br>
So he wasn’t breathing and wasn’t alive? Then he clawed his way out of the grave. Sure, OK.<br>
<blockquote>He slowly found out that he was dead and brought back, by the powers of a bird looking at him – that bird being the crow. </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
I have a bad feeling this is going to get worse.<br>
<blockquote> As he walked, he still felt the blood flowing out of his wounds</blockquote><br>
How much fucking blood is in this guy?<br>
<blockquote> but slowly they began to close and picked up the flag that was desecrated before him. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. Of course they did.<br>
Of course he did.<br>
<blockquote> He knew what he had to do, </blockquote><br>
Of course he did.<br>
<blockquote> in the name of his brother that he saw murdered in the hands of the Nazis – </blockquote><br>
OK, point of order…<br>
Being ambushed, during wartime, is NOT being murdered. Being murdered is pretty much shooting EPOW’s, shooting surrendered troops, shooting helpless or otherwise out of the action soldiers.<br>
What occurred was NOT a murder, it was a legal ambush, against legal combatants, during a legal conflict, in a legal area, with legal weaponry.<br>
Hell, it’s like the exact opposite of a murder where killing is involved.<br>
<blockquote>in his mind and heart, the bloodthirsty bastards are going to pay. </blockquote><br>
Bloodthirsty? They’re just German troops, doing exactly what Pym’s company would have done if the situation was reversed, despite the cartoonish actions of the Nazis that took place because Pacione doesn’t know shit about war.<br>
<blockquote>As he was walking, he heard the bird cawing and flying closer to him. The bird saw everything that happened, and knew in the time of war there was some things that could not die. </blockquote><br>
It’s buttsecks, isn’t it?<br>
I’m betting buttsecks.<br>
<a href="http://tinypic.com?ref=9ktdp4" target="_blank"><img src="http://i53.tinypic.com/9ktdp4.jpg" border="0" alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic"></a><br>
<blockquote> In his mind he knew, all the memories he had of his younger brother were the reason why he was brought back. He grabbed the tattered American flag and placed it on his brother's place of burial. </blockquote><br>
So he placed it on the mass grave?<br>
And were the memories of buttsecks?<br>
I’m betting buttsecks.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/Hlqo459"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/Hlqo459.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> "Those Nazi bastards are going to pay for what they have done to my platoon, </blockquote><br>
Now it’s a platoon? PACIONE, THOSE WORDS ARE <b>NOT</b> INTERCHANGABLE, YOU FUCKING GIBBON!<br>
<blockquote>more for what they did to my brother," </blockquote><br>
Legally ambushed him.<br>
<blockquote> he said to the bird, "I think I knew why you came, I know the story of the crow." </blockquote><br>
Of course he does.<br>
Groan.<br>
This is one of the problems with Pacione stories. Everyone knows everything automatically, there is no wonder, no confusion. Remember how confused Brandon Lee’s character was when he first woke up? Yeah, this guy doesn’t suffer that, we don’t get to see any characterization through his pain.<br>
Fucking Unknown Soldier comic books had more characterization than this.
<blockquote>The sound of the bombs and guns were flooding the silence while P-51 Mustangs continued to flood the sky with bullets and fire bombs, </blockquote><br>
Shall I go all military sperg about the P-51? No? OK.<br>
<blockquote>Sgt. Pym proceeded into the darkness with his new found ally. Still clad in the blood covered uniform, picked up some of the face paint and applied it in the form camouflage. </blockquote><br>
Wait, where did he get face paint? Holy shit.<br>
You just know Pacione pictures it like this<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/BDURQd0"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/BDURQd0.png" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
When it should be applied in order to reduce reflections from oily or sweaty skin and you make the higlights subdued and the lower sections appear higher, so that the face appears flat rather than human shaped.<br>
But Pacione wouldn’t know that because he flunked out of Navy basic training and couldn’t be assed to do his research.<br>
<blockquote> Time did not show the signs, and in a period of war they did not mean anything especially when death was all around. </blockquote><br>
Wait, what?<br>
<blockquote> He knew that his family would be awarded a purple heart and already a war hero, </blockquote><br>
Ugh. HE would be awarded the Purple Heart, I guess. Shit, I don’t fucking know, remember, or care how medals are awarded and taken away. But Pacione is telling us ol’ Pym here was a war hero. Umm, good for him?<br>
<blockquote> but he was going to make sure that his brother did not die in vain. </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
Shall I go on a rant how every man’s death in war is futile and in vain, as politicians will ultimately trade away every victory made in blood, or should I just show you a picture of something cool?<br>
Something cool it is then:<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/QAUSA0d"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/QAUSA0d.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Enjoy<br>
<blockquote>The story of the crow was something he heard while he was in basic training, and a little before his brother entered the Army. </blockquote><br>
Oh for fuck’s sake.<br>
Gay ass crows are NOT what gets talked about in Basic Training. The last thing anyone wants to talk about is some gay ass crow. You’d rather talk about the last piece of ass you got, how hot your (nonexistent) girlfriend is, how you totally know your wife is gonna stay faithful (she won’t), how you can’t wait till you get out Basic Training, how you can’t remember what the fuck you were thinking when you signed up.<br>
Some bullshit ass crow lesson is really down there on the list. Right below proclaiming your love for your DI and right above licking out a urinal on a dare.<br>
<blockquote> His brother was the one that told him the story about how the crow carried the souls to the land of the dead. </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
Of course he did.<br>
<blockquote>He thought to himself, I will make sure your death and the death of our entire platoon is not in vain. </blockquote><br>
Man’s futility blah blah blah futility of war blah blah blah Kant blah blah blah<br>
<blockquote>Slowly he was checking what armory that his platoon had in total, and carefully exhumed the remains of his fallen friends and brother, vengeance was in his eyes and heart when he placed the shovel to the dirt. </blockquote><br>
Wait, he ran back to check the armory? Holy shit.<br>
OK, he should have said that Pym was gathering up the weapons from his fallen men, but instead, Pacione just… Ah, fuck it.<br>
And why did he exhume them? To get the ammo? That’s a pretty long job to be doing.<br>
<blockquote>The bird looked on with a greater purpose cawing with conviction. The ghosts of war have awakened, and for centuries man had fought in wars to keep their existence in tact. </blockquote><br>
Umm… shit. It’s, fuck, this is just goddamn stupid.<br>
<blockquote>This was a war that became more than just a war of countries, Sgt. Pym knew this as he was digging up graves of his unit and found some bullets and a service pistol took about 7 cartridges. </blockquote><br>
Wait, that was it.<br>
“Some” fucking bullets and goddamn pistol? Holy shit, no wonder these guys lost the battle. They didn’t have any fucking weapons!<br>
<blockquote> Then walked into the chapel near the burial ground to forge a plan to lure out the Nazi troopers that killed his friends and brother. </blockquote><br>
Oh my fuck. OK, you know what, just… no.<br>
<blockquote>They said when storming the beach that War is Hell, and knew what he was getting into when he enlisted. </blockquote><br>
OK… War is Hell is attributed to General Sherman.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/SCYAz7V"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/SCYAz7V.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
And NOBODY knows what they are getting into when they enlist. Or a lot of people wouldn’t enlist.<br>
<blockquote>But in his mind he could see the epitaph of his grave reading; Howard Pym, loving brother, husband, and father –- b. Aug 20, 1914, d. 1944. </blockquote><br>
But no day or month for death.<br>
Fuck you, Pym, I mean, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote>My brother, Samuel James Pym, b. 1917, d. 1944; year he enlisted in the Army was 1940. </blockquote><br>
So his brother enlisted a year or almost two before Pearl Harbor? Well, it is a way to get out of the Great Depression and put food in your family’s bellies.<br>
<blockquote> I enlisted 1938, about a few years before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. I was a Corperal when it happened stationed at Fort Sheridan, Illinois. </blockquote><br>
It’s spell CORPORAL you fucking baboon. And I’m not even going to bother to look up Fort Sheridan…<br>
Yeah, I am, because. I am. A dick.<br>
It was a training and processing center. Huh. Closed in 1993. During WW-II it was used as a processing and training center.<br>
But, having reviewed Pacione’s works as long as I have, I know he chose it just because it’s in Illinois.<br>
<blockquote>I was just finishing up my class work for the rank I am at now; </blockquote><br>
YOU DON’T GET E-5 FOR FUCKING CLASSWORK!<br>
<blockquote> I knew I was going over to Europe when I got note that FDR made the Day of Infamy speech when they sank the Arizona. </blockquote><br>
No you didn’t. Stop lying.<br>
<blockquote>There were about 20 in my unit, </blockquote><br>
No. Fucking. Way. That’s a platoon, hell, by Cold War, WW-II levels, that’s barely half a fucking platoon.<br>
<blockquote> we parachuted into Berlin while the rest were storming Normandy. </blockquote><br>
No you didn’t.<br>
So apparently he timejumped from 1941 to 1944? He didn’t fight in the Pacific, or in Africa? Holy shit, this guy sucks.<br>
<blockquote>No one knows the true horrors of war unless they hear the sound of bullets as they impale the flesh, no one can feel it until they hit bone. </blockquote><br>
I want to smack him in the face for this line.<br>
You can too feel bullets even if they don’t hit bone. THEY FUCKING HURT!
<blockquote>"Before we go get the Nazi bastards, we have to come up with plan to single them out," Pym said to his black feathered ally, </blockquote><br>
In other words…<br>
Ambush them?<br>
<blockquote> the bird was holding a grenade in its claws. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit. Of course it was.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/q8sXaCW"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/q8sXaCW.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Did it have an American flag flying from its beak?<br>
<blockquote>The cawing was its way of responding to what Pym was saying, almost as it understood every word. </blockquote><br>
Of course it does.<br>
<blockquote>"This will due, </blockquote><br>
Do. DO.<br>
<blockquote>a bayonet and the Nazi's own rifle. </blockquote><br>
Wait, why did the Nazis picked up all the American gear but left their own rifle on the ground? So now he has a rifle in addition to the shitty pistol?<br>
<blockquote>For all those people they killed in the concentration camps, </blockquote><br>
Full. Fucking. Stop.<br>
In 1944 the Allied rank and file had NO CLUE about the concentration camps. Even the upper echelons, who knew, kept it a goddamn secret to keep Allied troops from going blood fucking crazy on the German people.<br>
There’s no way this Pym motherfucker knows about it.<br>
<blockquote>I will make sure they are not going to be killed in vain. </blockquote><br>
All of those people in the death camps died horribly, brutally, and futilely. I don’t think you quite understand those words you are typing, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote> Their deaths will be avenged. I found an American flag on my brother as they buried him, the sick bastards mutilated his face and kept his bones as some macabre trophies. </blockquote><br>
Of course you did.<br>
Of course they did.<br>
Of course they did.<br>
Holy shit, it’s bad enough they’re Nazis, its bad enough the guy was killed, but ramping up the EVIL of Nazis is like trying to ramp up the butter in a fat man’s coffee. It doesn’t matter. We don’t need told that Nazis are evil. Look in the fucking dictionary, you see an SS officer preening next to the word Evil.<br>
<blockquote> I am not sure how long have you lived for, but my brother had known of the folklore that goes behind the crow. </blockquote><br>
Maybe the crow should have resurrected the brother?<br>
<blockquote>Talking the souls to the land of the dead, </blockquote><br>
Great, not only are you dead, but your soul is escorted to the afterlife by a fucking bird that won’t shut the fuck up.<br>
<blockquote>but I know the reason you are here comes at when a person dies in a way that was unjust. </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
Then the sky should have been thick with crows all through WW-II.<br>
<blockquote>Reasons that were inhuman, I felt you watching me as I couldn't see the rest of those animals shoot the rest of my platoon. </blockquote><br>
I thought it was a company?<br>
<blockquote> I am a soldier in life and a soldier in death, I got a country to serve even though the news of my death hadn't reached back to the states." </blockquote><br>
YOU’VE BEEN DEAD LIKE SIX HOURS! And holy shit, you can practically see him saying that line with a flag flying out a hooker’s ass and fireworks shooting from her tits as he puts one hand over his heart and stares at the sky manfully while an eagle sheds a single tear in the background.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/gOmapW8"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/gOmapW8.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
I write HOOAH HOOAH ARMY shit, but for fuck’s sake…
<blockquote>He found a Jeep that was abandoned</blockquote><br>
Yeah, they just leave working vehicles just lying around.<br>
<blockquote> and used that to drive into one of the bases the Nazis used as camp, </blockquote><br>
Of course he did.<br>
Because nobody is going to stop a dead guy in a US Army uniform driving a fucking jeep, which was an American vehicle, driving into a Nazi base.<br>
<blockquote>being that it turned out an abandoned death camp. </blockquote><br>
Of course it was.<br>
Holy shit, Pacione, DO SOME FUCKING RESEARCH!<br>
The deathcamps weren’t near Berlin, you fucking mouth breathing gibbon. Oh, my God, even then, they weren’t fucking abandoned, they were in full fucking swing when Allied troops overran them.<br>
<blockquote> The bird flown close behind him, and as he parked it landed on his shoulder. </blockquote><br>
Was it trailing an American flag behind it as it flew?<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/E0AoCzH"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/E0AoCzH.png" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>It was cawing without end. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, Pym’s trying to ambush the Nazis and this goddamn crow won’t shut the fuck up.<br>
<blockquote>"I know, go fly into the stronghold and do some recon. I will follow close behind. </blockquote><br>
Ugh…<br>
What Pacione knows of military tactics is even less than some 11 year old playing CoD.<br>
<blockquote>I am not just doing this for my brother, but I am doing this for every life that the Nazi bastards taken during this war. </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
This is so goddamn stupid I don’t know what to say…<br>
<blockquote> I am gunning for every animal with that Nazi symbol on their arm. I need something to light on fire to catch the attention of these fucking assholes." </blockquote><br>
Of course you are.<br>
Of course you do.
<blockquote>"Nice, this will due – found one of their Jeeps. </blockquote><br>
GERMANS DID NOT USE JEEPS!!!<br>
<blockquote>I am going to use some of the rags torn from the uniforms of the dead to ignite their gas tank. Here goes nothing," </blockquote><br>
So he’s just carrying rags he tore off of the dead that he exhumed AND NEVER REBURIED for starter.<br>
Goddamn it, talk about no respect for the dead.<br>
At least the fucking Nazis buried them.<br>
<blockquote> Sgt. Pym muttered to himself. In the background he heard the cawing of the crow. "I was trained to kill in life, now I get to put what I learned in basic training to the test on seeing if I can exact some vengeance. </blockquote><br>
Wait, he doesn’t know if he has the skills? Holy shit. So, from 1941 to 1944 this guy never engaged in combat, and yet was chosen to jump into Berlin during Normandy?<br>
AHAHAHAH!<br>
Someone hated Pym and did this as a trick to get him killed.<br>
He should have put what he learned in Basic to the test by Jan 1942.<br>
Pym, you suck.<br>
<blockquote> Samuel, I know you are with me as well as our fallen friends when I do this. Let's see if the bastards can see this." </blockquote><br>
YOU DROVE INTO THEIR BASE! OF COURSE THEY CAN SEE IT!<br>
Holy shit, this is the problem with Pacione’s writing. This whole thing is taking place on a flat gray plane, like when you fall through the geometry in a video game. There are no landmarks, no terrain features, no nothing. We have no real idea where he is, what the buildings, ruins, or landscape is around him.<br>
For all we know he’s just sitting outside the gate, babbling on and on to the fucking bird, sitting in an idling American jeep, while the gate guards just stare and wonder what the fuck is going on.<br>
<blockquote> The sound of Mustangs were overhead dropping bombs miles around, the soldier ignited the gas tank and took cover the explosion caught the attention of one of the Nazis, </blockquote><br>
But just one.<br>
Explosions are very tricky that way.<br>
<blockquote>"What the fuck is going on? Could that be the British commandos trying to organized an escape, better kill some of them to make sure that the others remained." </blockquote><br>
Is this Stalag Luft 13? <br>
<blockquote> He muttered some more vulgarities in German before he saw a bird staring back at him, greeting him with an ominous cawing. Sarge had a sheepish grin on his face while he executed a hard punch in the Nazi soldier's face, hard enough to break a few bones. </blockquote><br>
OK, he’s got a sheepish grin, like he’s embarrassed,<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/1GBNzST"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/1GBNzST.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a> P(Hey, it showed up under Google for ‘sheepish grin’)<br>
right before he punches a guy in the face hard enough to break facial bones? Facial bones aren’t made of goddamn balsa wood, you gotta hit someone pretty fucking hard to break a facial bone.<br>
And the bird is just suddenly in his face?<br>
Did he walk out to investigate the explosion without calling it in? Without summoning QRF?<br>
This guy sucks.<br>
<blockquote>The soldier looked with some horror to his face, </blockquote><br>
His broken face.<br>
<blockquote> "what the hell, I remember you. We killed your entire unit and you, I took great pleasure in killing your brother." </blockquote><br>
Notice that he has broken facial bones and can still talk and see normally. I broke my orbital socket once and holy shit…<br>
Pacione, stop getting your combat from watching other people play Mortal Combat at the fucking mall.<br>
And how the FUCK did the Nazi know that he killed a pair of brothers? Is he a magical Nazi? Does he have ESP?<br>
So many questions…<br>
<blockquote> That soldier continued to spit out blood from that bone shattering punch, then thrown a few punches of his own before Sarge caught the hand of the soldier and busted it in half with his elbow. </blockquote><br>
OK, let’s parse this…<br>
Pym punches the guy in the face hard enough to break bone. The Nazi spits out blood, then throws punhes of his own (that we’ll assume miss), then Pym grabs his hand and… breaks the hand in half with his elbow. I cannot fucking run this combat in my head to save my life when the hand breaking happens.<br>
<blockquote>While locking up his arm, he looked into the face of the Nazi, "Remember me now you Nazi fuck? </blockquote><br>
He just said he remembered you, you brain damaged gibbon.<br>
Oh, now he grabs the Nazi’s fist and does an arm lock. OK, so he breaks the elbow with his own?<br>
<blockquote> The look on your face is the same look my younger brother had before you killed him. </blockquote><br>
Except he didn’t see his brother die.<br>
Oh God, this is going to get worse, isn’t it?<br>
<blockquote> How does it feel to have pain and fear in your eyes, the plea for their life. I am going to make you plea for your death." </blockquote><br>
Shut up and fight.
<blockquote>"Fucker, that was my arm. I am going to enjoy killing you again!" Responded the Nazi, "Hilter would pay to see a few heads of Americans." </blockquote><br>
SHUT UP AND FIGHT!<br>
And besides, who is this Hilter guy? I mean, Hitler ran the 3rd Reich, but who’s this HIlter guy?<br>
Wait, you mean that Pacione misspelled HITLER? AHAHAHAHAHA! How goddamn stupid do you have to be to misspell one of the most famous men of the 20th Century? How do you fuck that up?<br>
And of course, the Nazi with the broken in half arm just normally speaks instead of doing what most people do when their arm gets broken… SCREAM IN AGONY!
<blockquote>"Oh really, you son of a bitch," Sarge Pym responded, still having an arm lock on the soldier. Grabbing him by the head and ramming it into the jeep he set on fire. </blockquote><br>
Wait, so now they’re in front of the jeep that’s on fire? They’ve been in front of this jeep the whole time?<br>
Goddamn teleporting characters.<br>
<blockquote>While ramming the soldiers head into the hood of the jeep, he started to rant, "two days ago you killed my entire platoon one being my best friend, and the other being my younger brother. This is for my brother." With a dark look in his eyes, he impales the Nazi with the bayonet and sets him on fire. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit dude. Setting him on fire? That’s a little over the top. He ‘impales’ him on the bayonet, then lights him on fire, even though he’s already slamming his face against a burning jeep.<br>
Overdone much?<br>
<blockquote> "Tell me something, Kraut, how does it feel to be burning in hell? The reason I ask because I am taking you to the gates of hell by my hand, for all those people that Hilter eliminated for who they are. </blockquote><br>
Great, he’s going to give an anti-genocide speech while he’s beating this guy’s ass. Great.<br>
AND WHO THE FUCK IS HILTER?<br>
<blockquote> Taking your life saves a couple hundred of theirs. </blockquote><br>
No, no it doesn’t. This is just some random fucking Nazi, not one of the death camp workers, you already said this camp was abandoned.<br>
<blockquote> You cannot kill that is already dead, but when you see the Crow arrived at the grave that was taken from their loved one or family –– a soul is at unrest, and this is why I must come for you and your entire platoon." </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
So it’s OK when Pym does it, but not when the Nazis do it?<br>
Holy shit.
<blockquote>As the body of the Nazi burned, the ominous cawing proceeded to get louder. </blockquote><br>
Even the bird is telling him to shut the fuck up.<br>
<blockquote>Sgt. Pym was the bringer of the damnation's hand to those who killed the innocent. </blockquote><br>
One of the first casualties of war is innocence.<br>
<blockquote>"One for my country, the United States is gunning for every single one of you mother fuckers." Time of death with the first Nazi soldier, midnight. </blockquote><br>
What, is this CSI?<br>
So, now we know it is midnight. So nobody but that one guy heard or saw the explosion at about 11PM? Holy shit.<br>
<blockquote>"I caught the name on the sad bastard's uniform, too hard to pronounce but a good Nazi is a dead one. Better take that SS off his collar, could use that for a trophy but decided to leave that on." </blockquote><br>
Umm.. what?
<blockquote>An hour had passed since the first soldier was killed, and the one that was supposed to relieve his watch started to take duty. A high ranking officer, possibly a commander</blockquote><br>
Goddamn it, you’re the one writing this. Is it the CO or not?<br>
<blockquote> because he was wondering what happened to the one that was supposed to be standing watch. </blockquote><br>
OK, standing military practice when a guard doesn’t report in is to summon QRF and get everyone the fuck up and on Stand-To. Not just stand there scratching your ass and wondering.<br>
<blockquote> He was armed with a Luger pistol, and wondering what was going on. Thought nothing at the dark bird staring back at him from the shadows. Nothing until he found a piss soaked flag, the same flag that they desecrated after killing an American platoon. </blockquote><br>
Wait, what?<br>
So Pym’s been carrying around a urine soaked flag?<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/pwzl40Z"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/pwzl40Z.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>The officer muttered in an incoherent German, </blockquote><br>
So he can’t even speak his own language? Or is he mumbling INTO an incoherent German? Is this some kind of strange homoerotic first aid? Is he a necromancy? Does he think that mumbling into an incoherent German’s ass will make the guy coherent?<br>
Because I refuse to believe that a German cann’t speak his own language, even in a Pacione story. And since we saw that Pym understands German, he should have been able to understand the German guy.<br>
But…<br>
Logic?<br>
<blockquote> but seems to be universal in the expression on his face. He's dead but doesn't even know yet that he is going to die. The look on his face was that of nervousness and paranoia, the question of where it came from. </blockquote><br>
The flag. Right.<br>
Umm… ALARM! ALARM! ACHTUNG! ACHTUNG!<br>
<blockquote>The smell of the urine was what brought him to the day that he was within his platoon killing an American patrol, but he was thinking that someone was just playing a prank on him. </blockquote><br>
It’s war. He knows better. A wartime prank is putting a big-ass spider into someone’s helmet, or something like that. Putting a piss-soaked enemy flag into your encampment is less joke and more serious punishment.<br>
<blockquote> He realized it wasn't a prank when he felt the eyes of the crow looking at him, they appeared without a soul while the figure stepped out of the shadows grabbing him by his neck. </blockquote><br>
So Pym is inside the base, hiding in the shadows.<br>
Attacking from ambush.<br>
::sigh::<br>
<blockquote> "Remember me, because I sure the hell remember you, let me tell you a story. Last night you put my platoon into the grave and saved my brother as the last person you killed before you killed me. You see your friend over there, he is burning in hell because of what he did. I saw you in with that party who ambushed my platoon. </blockquote><br>
Wait, now they’re outside?<br>
And he’s just grabbed this guy by the neck and started lecturing them, neither one of them moving.<br>
Remember what I said about Pacione’s characters being omnipotent action figures or cardboard cutouts?<br>
So the CO sees this burning jeep, with a dead guy with a bayonet stuck in his chest on the hood, and a urine soaked flag, and doesn’t think anything of it until Pym jumps out the shadows like the shittiest jack in the box ever?<br>
This story sucks.<br>
<blockquote> Now let me show you why I am here, you see this grenade? Pay close attention, the pin is pulled and has a blade attached to it." </blockquote><br>
Of course it is.<br>
Of course it does.<br>
::sigh::<br>
<blockquote>The officer looked on in horror, "you ignored the plea for life that my brother, Samuel, had before you killed him. </blockquote><br>
IT WAS A LEGAL FUCKING AMBUSH.<br>
I can’t believe I’m arguing for the Nazis.<br>
But this Pym guy is a goddamn lunatic.<br>
<blockquote>I am going to make you plea for yours but really all you are doing is giving a plea for your death ." </blockquote><br>
::sigh::
<blockquote>In a split moment, the grenade was impaled into the chest of the officer and Pym walked away. The bird flown into the flames without a singe of its feathers, cawing and rejoining its human ally. </blockquote><br>
<a href=http://i.imgur.com/hjYNiQG.gif></a><br>
Looks cool in the movies, sucks to read.<br>
<blockquote>They left behind a path of blood and flames, what the Nazis did was resurrected the ghosts of war and one of the four horsemen came to bring their hands of death. </blockquote><br>
Could it be.. umm… War?<br>
No, he’s too goddamn incompetent to be War, and he isn’t Death, because he sucks at his job.<br>
Jesus, this story just gets worse all the time.<br>
<blockquote> The anger of Justice was looking in the eyes of two lifeless bodies that took the life of family and former comrades, knowing he had a mission to do and one that was greater than the one that he was on with the platoon. </blockquote><br>
Wait, what?<br>
<blockquote>Over head more bombs were hitting the ground, and they left a trail of fire behind. Within the wall of flames even in the eyes of vengeance, the soul can carry the appearance of iced during the time of war. </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
<blockquote> War is hell, and one is walking within the flames of it. Walking into the flames with a shower of bullets coming from his rifle, and each bullet hitting its mark. Impaling meat with each hit and shrapnel from the bombs ripping away at the flesh of the Nazi guards. </blockquote><br>
OK, so now the bombers are hitting the base, while Pym walks through shooting with his rifle (which he didn’t have earlier), just shooting all the bad guys.<br>
See, this is what happens when Pacione tries to describe something. He just somehow makes it worse.<br>
<blockquote>The soldiers from the Nazi Party were thinking, "what the hell is going on; and why the hell they cannot defend against this surprise attack?" </blockquote><br>
Because you’re in a Pacione story, buddy, sorry.
<blockquote>"What is going on?" One solder asked with an alarm to his voice.
"I don't know, looks like we are under a surprise attack from the Americans. I heard the thunder of P-51 Mustangs, and that is an unpleasant sound. </blockquote><br>
Understatement of the year.<br>
That guy is obviously a British spy.<br>
<blockquote>Did you hear that? It sounded like a bird, like a cawing. </blockquote><br>
That I can hear over the rifle fire, the screaming, the bombs, and the sound of the bombers.<br>
<blockquote> I am not able to see it but as loud as it is, it sounded close. Who the fuck is that coming into our direction, but I don't want to stick around to find out." </blockquote><br>
Holy shit…
<blockquote>"Do you realize that you are both dead and you don't even know it yet?" Sgt. Pym responded to them with a dark tone to his voice, throwing a knife at the one in the throat with a grenade attached to it and bayoneting the other. </blockquote><br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/mYBs4Zu"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/mYBs4Zu.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
AHAHAHHAHA!<br>
So Pym jumps out of the shadows, throws a grenade with a knife attached to it, or vice versa, hitting one guy in the throat, then jumps forward with his bayonet and stabs the other.<br>
Why didn’t he just fucking shoot them? Holy shit, bayonetting sucks.<br>
Thrust, twist, pull the trigger to blow them off of it and keep the blade from getting stuck, recover, turn, repeat.<br>
Pull trigger, next target.<br>
Which one kills faster?<br>
<blockquote>They had no idea that the person who took their lives was a wraith, they tried to hit him with everything they got as far as the bullets they have but he continued to keep attacking them. </blockquote><br>
So one guy is stabbed in the throat, we’ll assume the other is stabbed in the abdomen, and they both start shooting, but of course it didn’t work, and he CONTINUED to attack them?<br>
Hey, a knife with a grenade attached and a fucking bayonet should do the job.<br>
<blockquote> The glassy look in their eyes was that they cannot begin to comprehend because what they were dealing with was not of the living world. Leaving a path of blood and fire as Pym proceeded past the wall of flames. </blockquote><br>
Wait, he was inside the wall the flames from the fucking bombing? So this takes place in a flat gray space surrounded by flames?<br>
Good God, this is making less and less sense.<br>
<blockquote>"Commander what the hell is going on?" One had asked their commanding officer, </blockquote><br>
Who’s already outside, dead, in front of a jeep, blown to goddamn chunks of salsa by a fucking grenade.<br>
<blockquote>seemed as a little worried. </blockquote><br>
Just a little, though.<br>
<blockquote>"Should we call the higher command requesting our surrender?" </blockquote><br>
Wait, what?
<blockquote>"No we must keep fighting these red, white and blues. </blockquote><br>
A common name the Nazis had for American troops.<br>
AMERIKANER! Wasn’t coined until centuries later in Pacione’s WW-II masturbatory fantasies.<br>
<blockquote>Man the guns, aim to shoot down the P-51s. </blockquote><br>
Shouldn’t they have been doing that already?<br>
For fuck’s sake, Pacione, you drill for everything. The minute those P-51’s were detected they should have manned the AA guns. See, P-51’s had a bad weakness, in that small arms could damage the cooling system and make the Mustang land or explode in mid-air.<br>
<blockquote> They have a weakness but we cannot seem to find it. </blockquote><br>
Bullets. The P-51’s weakness was bullets.<br>
<blockquote>What the hell is that – or the question should be, who the hell is that? Soldier, speak to me. Shit. What the fuck hit him with the bullet, </blockquote><br>
Either a P-51 or the guy who’s walking around your base shooting everyone.<br>
<blockquote>who the fuck is out there walking into our base?" The commander responds, hearing a bird cawing and staring at him without a soul. The bullets rattling at a lightening pace, each one hitting their mark on the bunker. </blockquote><br>
Wait, so now the commander is hiding in a bunker?<br>
<blockquote> The pace of the bullets hitting the bunker, each bullet impaling meat of the corpse that was just killed. </blockquote><br>
Wait, what?<br>
<blockquote>Each shot killing their targets, and blowing up everything around them. </blockquote><br>
HOLY SHIT! What kind of fucking bullets is Pym firing? Goddamn 20mm mission configurable?<br>
<blockquote>They've awakened the ghosts of war, and the sky was raining blood. The horror is in their eyes when they see a blood soaked American flag standing before them, </blockquote><br>
OK, now it’s blood soaked, and Pym turned into an American flag? WTF? I’m sooo lost.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/YgmfILJ"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/YgmfILJ.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>and the figure jumping in the bunker had vengeance in his eyes. The head commander was still standing, staring with a fear that he could not begin to fathom of why the person was able to take so much punishment and still be alive. </blockquote><br>
Weird shit happens in war, you just keep fucking shooting.<br>
<blockquote>The SS officer was looking on in an absolute horror when the crow stared at him, and the American wraith grabbed him by his throat. The wraith growled, "How does it look to you to be staring into the eyes of demise? Do you see what is going on in the sky to your precious soldiers. You see the stygian skies, that is your graveyard." </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
Less talk, more fight.
<blockquote>The SS commander spoke with a broken English, and spit in the wraith's face. "Surrender or meet your men in the gates of hell," hissed Pym, "I could kill you myself or let the rest of Europe put you on trial for war crimes." </blockquote><br>
Umm, what war crimes has this dude done?
<blockquote>"Fuck you," the commander responded with a fast punch to the face and pulls out his Luger pistol. Shoots Sgt. Pym twice but to his horror stands there laughing, </blockquote><br>
There’s a quote from Warhammer 40K that comes in when you shoot someone and they don’t drop…<br>
MORE DAKKA!<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/m8OpDsJ"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/m8OpDsJ.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>Pym hissed, "Pain is my power, each bullet you hit me with. I will get stronger." </blockquote><br>
Wait, what?<br>
<blockquote>The crow cawing in the background, and each punch delivered by Pym broke bones with each impact to the SS commander. The commander tried to wrestle him to the ground, but Pym overpowered him and snapped his neck. </blockquote><br>
Jesus Christ, this story reads like the fat kid who smells faintly of spoiled milk trying to describe Saving Private Ryan to you during lunch based on what he saw from the commercials.<br>
<blockquote> "Rot in hell. I just gave you the faster way to go down there," Sgt. Pym responded. As the saying goes, "Kill them all, and let God sort them out." The rest of Hilter's SS solders surrendered to the Allied forces. They had no choice since their commander was killed. </blockquote><br>
THAT’S NOT HOW WARFARE WORKS!<br>
See, there’s this thing called the Chain of Command, which…<br>
You know what, I might as well not even bother.
<blockquote>Pym returned to the place where he was killed; his brother –- Samuel, and the rest of the platoon returned. They were greeted by the crow, "Mission accomplished. Your deaths have been avenged." </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, this is straight out of a video game.<br>
“MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! YOU WERE A BAD ENOUGH DUDE TO SAVE THE PRESIDENT!”<br>
Jesus this story sucks.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/klJlcwQ"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/klJlcwQ.png" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> Where they disappeared into the darkness, one can see the crossed rifles as a memorial of the place they were murdered. </blockquote><br>
THEY WEREN’T FUCKING MURDERED!<br>
Holy shit.<br>
<br>
OK, this story is a complete fucking train work. Action that is badly described, massive continuity errors, tons of research fails, lousy with exposition in the middle of fights, and frankly, it’s fucking boring. A combat action story that is fucking boring. It’s goddamn terrible.<br>
Pacione shows that he can’t even write fan-fiction.<br>
<br>
I give this a full bowl out of a bowl of dicks.<br>
<br>
Eat up, Pacione.<br>
Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-30531068724860848932015-06-03T14:27:00.001-07:002015-06-03T21:24:36.057-07:00Review of Game OVer (LONG!) REAL LONG!!!Review of: Game Over, by Nickolaus Ablert Pacione AKA Sparkle Pony<br>
<br>
This review is protected by Fair Use, which allows the reprinting for parody, education, critique, or discussion.<br>
<br>
OK… Ugh…<br>
<br>
So, this is one of Pacione’s longer works for a year of so ago, before he stopped writing fiction and moved on to him rambling and mumbling in a ‘creative non-fiction’ way with his ‘regional writing accent’ that ignores the laws of grammar and sentence structure.<br>
But, let’s talk about this one.<br>
<br>
I tried to clone Clippy to help me, but just got a tangled line of code that somehow was drinking and weeping and writing “THERE IS NO PROGRAMMER” in binary across the disc sectors. So I tried loading up Bonzi Buddy and had the horrible experience of watching a digital purple monkey douse himself in Twitter feeds and light himself of fire screaming “PRAY FOR BONZI!” as he burned.<br>
<br>
So that leaves all this to me.<br>
<br>
God help me.<br>
<br>
Well, this piece of pig-shit isn’t going to review itself.<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<blockquote>“No one has ever gone into heaven except the one who came from heaven—the Son of Man”<br>
<br>
-- John 3:13</blockquote><br>
So, Pacione starts out quoting the Bible at us. He does this lot, quoting or referencing more famous and better written works in order to give his ‘work’ some stain of legitimacy. I’d counter-quote it, but my Cntrl-F search of the Bible online didn’t return any results for “squalid hunchback with a mouth full of brown teeth” so I gave up.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Magazine deadline comes soon and not enough submissions,</blockquote><br>
I don’t know how he does it. Somehow he damages MS-Word so that the fonts mess up every time. I don’t know what it is he does.<br>
Anyway, this right here could sum up his latest attempts to fill his own shitty magazine. Pacione has been resorting to using public domain works (illegally, believe it or not!) in his magazines to fill up the page count.<br>
<blockquote>Eugine Verner ran a magazine which publishes everything and anything under the sun. He often shunned the idea from doing a genre mag, but he geared to the Gothic just not the blue collar kind though.</blockquote><br>
Blue collar goths? I’ve known lots of Goths, and while many of them worked at Wal-Mart or Fred Meyer, I don’t think that blue-collar Goth is a subset.<br>
Unless he’s picturing a construction worker trying to put up siding while in Goth regailia. Of course, Pacione thinks black jeans, boots, and a black-T-Shirt makes someone goth.<br>
<br>
Ugh, this is gonna be slog, isn’t it?<br>
<blockquote>He tends to like the elegant side but something ate at him, the deadline was ticking as a dark beast brooding in. </blockquote><br>
Is the dark beast repressed homosexuality? It’s repressed homosexuality isn’t it?<br>
<blockquote> The day was coming that he had to get it done. He had blue collar writers asking to be featured in the magazine, but he usually ignored their requests. </blockquote><br>
Having ran a magazine for almost two years, I can basically say that nobody gives a shit what your day job is. Hell, don’t quit your day job is kind of the watchword for beginning writers.<br>
<br>
So anyway, he has a problem getting enough stories to fill up his publication, but won’t accept stories from blue collar workers? Well, his mag deserves to fail.<br>
<br>
What’s sad is that Pacione is going to use this as a way to make everyone hate this guy, but he will fuck this up like he fucks up everything.<br>
<blockquote> One blue collar writer actually invited him to contribute to a publication he ran, the response was one that was rather cold. That invitation was for The Bleeding Epitaph, a horror magazine based out of Kankakee, Illinois, where the influence of the magazine came from a magazine from 1990 that was based in Kewankee. </blockquote><br>
What the FUCK does all this mean? Verner was invited to submit to a magazine? Who fucking cares, get on with the story.<br>
<blockquote>Eugine was DJ on the north side of Chicago that spun EBM, and refused to read Stephen King or Robert Bloch. </blockquote><br>
DING! There we go, it’s Sparkle-Pony raging against some DJ in Chicago that he thinks he is mortal enemies with. Great, now I’m fucking bored.<br>
<blockquote>The writers he turned down were the ones that were trying to kick down the doors were just those kind of writers. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. Just fucking kill me.<br>
<blockquote> He published various paranormal groups but he refused to run the authors that the paranormal groups would read. </blockquote><br>
This makes no sense. He published groups but didn’t publish the authors the groups would read? How the fuck does that work? It’s a nonsensical sentence that shows just how badly Pacione meanders and babbles.<br>
<blockquote> Though he's read some of the titles that were out there, but he usually covered the titles that many small press authors will not touch with a ten foot pole. Some of the pictures scared him a little bit because he received one with a voodoo doll on a dart board. </blockquote><br>
He got a picture of a voodoo doll on a dark board and that is supposed to be scary? Jesus, is this going to be the worst we see for horror?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “What the fuck is this?” he said to himself. </blockquote><br>
A doll on a dartboard. DUN DUN DUN!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Sick bastards putting a likeness of me on a voodoo doll,” he continues. </blockquote><br>
Oh, now we found out that the voodoo doll is his likeness. Still not scary.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/zFZAVrQ"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/zFZAVrQ.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a>
<blockquote><br>“Some of these writers are just sick, but they refuse to touch the stuff I publish. I want PVC not denim clad, someone who spells alternative. Not these damned blue collar takes of Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits – Rod Serlings with long hair and listen to Metallica,” </blockquote><br>
Pacione is attempting to describe himself right here. But he’s not blue collar, he’s a welfare queen. I want to make fun of this more, I really do, but I think I’m getting a migraine or having a stroke.<br>
Having a stroke<br>
Having a stroke<br>
Having a stroke<br>
<blockquote> he adds while setting aside the picture with the voodoo doll on the dartboard. Someone also sent him a video of them playing darts with a voodoo doll of his likeness some of the shots from the darts nailed two inches shy of the balls. </blockquote><br>
Still not scary.<br>
<blockquote>An unsettling picture to him but things like that he got over the years. </blockquote><br>
So he’s a scared little mangina who probably shits himself when he sees a spider in the bathroom. And not a wolf spider or one of those big man-eating Australian spiders, but a little tiny speck of dust that looks like a spider.<br>
<blockquote> He refuses to review publications that don't get support from the mainstream media. He showed his co- editor the voodoo doll on the dart board picture and there was a minor freak there, show of disbelief. The other editor couldn't handle the factory workers who would give their own twist on Rod Serling – or some sick take on a supernatural horror yarn, Sometimes<br>
<br>
they have unsettling pictures in the back of their head of these guys putting the editors into their stories and killing them off in some fucked up way. </blockquote><br>
This is Pacione trying to impress everyone with how he used to write his enemies into stories and kill them off in lame and stupid ways and then claim it was dark and scary.<br>
<br>
Christ, his own hangups and desire to show everyone how badass he is is going to get in the way of the story, isn’t it?<br>
<blockquote>His girlfriend collected publications from the independent press and seen some of the writers from there – some of the covers were similar to the old Weird Tales. </blockquote><br>
Fuck it, another name-drop. Go buy some whiskey and get drun,. This will be easier on us both, I swear.<br>
Just lay back and think of England.<br>
<blockquote> He was unsettled by the writer who came from Glendale Heights, Illinois, </blockquote><br>
Self insert found!<br>
Sigh<br>
<blockquote>found within those pages – one who'd often be pictured wearing a Levi's denim top with the silver buttons, jungle boots and Levi's jeans. </blockquote><br>
Just a quick his right here: Pacione has NO CLUE what Jungle Boots actually are. He just thinks it sounds cool. For those of you that don’t know, Jungle Boots are:<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/Ip8owun"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/Ip8owun.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
I wore them, they were comfortable as hell.<br>
Hell, I’m wearing the desert version right now.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/cMMpljG"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/cMMpljG.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
But can bet Pacione has NEVER worn a set of jungle boots. The most he wore was ‘cruit boots, and he didn’t even pass Navy basic training before he was booted out for (according to some sources) sexually harassing other male recruits.<br>
<blockquote> Just something with those kind of magazines never really sat well in the back of his mind, something about them that he doesn't like and he wonders why his girlfriend collects them. </blockquote><br>
Because she likes them? This section makes you wonder if the author of the piece has ever actually interacted with other people? Judging from his other stories, I’d say… nope.<br>
<blockquote> Sometimes she would leave a copies of the magazines in the editorial office. He doesn't like reading Twilight Zone yarns because he would feel like he just stepped into the pages of the horror pulps when he reads them. </blockquote><br>
Reading Twilight Zone yarns is irritating because most people trying to replicate the Twilight Zone shows with the written word screw it up.<br>
<blockquote>He found a copy of In The Depths laying on the couch and hissed, </blockquote><br>
Spraying venom on the unsuspecting victim!<br>
<blockquote> “Damn it, lady, why the everfuckinghell do you leave these laying around where the other staff can see them? I don't want covers that look like tarot cards! As much as I like to publish dark shit, there are some things that truly scare me and these magazines that lay around truly scare me. I don't like the idea of her dropping this shit off in the office. Christ, Leigh, what is wrong with you?” </blockquote><br>
What the fuck was this shit? Tarot card covers aren’t scary. They’re trite, overdone, and frankly, not scary.<br>
I want to tea-bag this guy with “BOO!” written on my nutsack to scare him.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/e9KGQTz"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/e9KGQTz.gif" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> “What's wrong Eugine?” Another in the magazine asked him. </blockquote><br>
<br>
<br>
He saw a spider.<br>
<blockquote> “MY GIRLFRIEND AND HER DAMNED HORROR MAGAZINE COLLECTION , she keeps leaving these independent horror magazines laying around. Some of them get to me, I mean I don't like the idea that someone did a voodoo doll of me and played darts with it. These writers from the magazines give me the creeps -- look at their fucking pictures, they even look frightening.” </blockquote><br>
Ugh. You know it’s not scary. Holy fuck, they’re just people. The people who try the hardest to look scary usually look the lamest.<br>
<blockquote>The others from the magazine found In The Depths, “Whoa she reads In The Depths, I heard of these guys! They don't publish too often, usually publishes once a year because the editor is often hospitalized for some physical condition. </blockquote><br>
Ugh, another Pacione self-reference.<br>
Point of order: Pacione once called 911 and had himself hauled to the ER in an ambulance because of an ice cream headache.<br>
<blockquote> They would say he drinks blood twice a year to keep himself healthy. He's always pictured wearing a black Lord's Gym hooded sweatshirt because he's a Christian. </blockquote><br>
Blood drinking Christian. Quite common.<br>
<blockquote> The covers often portray people being pulled into hell or Christ walking among the streets where the black plague is resurrected. </blockquote><br>
Wait, so the Jesus used his powers to resurrect the bubonic plague?<br>
Dick Jesus is a dick<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/gUtIqa9"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/gUtIqa9.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>The magazine is a digest sized paperback. They would often say In The Depths is The Reader's Digest of horror and dark non-fiction magazines. </blockquote> <br>
Another Pacione reference to his own works.<br>
Oh for fuck’s sake.<br>
<blockquote> One of the stories in the magazine actually borrows from Metallica's One about a guy who lost his limbs, sight and hearing in a war and he describes the macabre nightmare of such in detail. </blockquote> <br>
It’s called Johnny Got His Gun, and shows that Pacione is a fucking moron. Johnny Got His Gun is an anti-War novel from the 1930’s and is pretty goddamn famous. The Metallica video shows clips from one of the movie adaptations.<br>
For fuck’s sake, Pacione, read a fucking book.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The editor
amassed a controversial reputation because he's driven by his faith in the direction of the magazine he went from publishing blasphemous yarns to being more faith based with Gothic Horror yarns.” </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
<blockquote> Eugine was unsettled by the dark war horror image, “What's the fucker's name?“<br>
<br>
The one reading In The Depths actually shouted, “He's known as Bruce Philbin, </blockquote> <br>
A shoutout by Pacione to his best buddy Mike Philbin, a fucking UK based nut-case who thinks every picture of an American soldier stnaind in the airport is evidence that the USA is about to go into martial law. It’s a weird obsession for a guy who lives in Britian to have.<br>
<blockquote> and that's a pen name for him. He's better known in Christian circles under his real name but he took the pen name to edit the much darker magazine. Under his real name, he's been published in evangelical publications but he wanted to do speculative fiction since year one.” </blockquote><br>
Who gives a shit?<br>
<blockquote> Eugine hisses, “FUCK, the magazine is helmed by some god-mother-fucking-damned religious fanatic! No wonder why it's so disturbing. </blockquote> <br>
Ugh X 4 MUH MUH MUHLTEA UGH!<br>
<blockquote> He doesn't publish erotic yarns in the mag, but in some way it's more disturbing than anything out there today. </blockquote> <br>
Pacione’s puritanical streak showing through.<br>
Which is funny for someone who inserts his bondage sleepsack fetish into everything he writes.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/pw3hs0X"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/pw3hs0X.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> Some of the people trying to contribute to our magazine originated from his rag. Damn it Leigh! I should have told her not to leave this shit laying around because they got the address from her. She was using the address of this magazine for getting that material. I knew that I shouldn't have kept my magazine laying around the house because some of the authors from In The Depths been sending me their stuff.” </blockquote><br>
For fuck’s sake. Shut the fuck up.<br>
<blockquote> The other editor glanced at the magazine, and cringed a little. </blockquote><br>
I’d cringe too if I found one of Pacione’s magazines on my table. I’d probably burn the table. And the house.<br>
Just to be sure.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He couldn't believe there was a flesh and blood copy of In The Depths laying around, and the cover gave him nightmares because it was Lucifer spreading his black wings along with someone laying on the ground nailed in the position the way Jesus Christ was crucified – captured the horrors within the inferno. </blockquote> <br>
Yawn. Overdone Eighties Album Covers for $1000, Alec.<br>
<blockquote> The other editor seen some of the writers of In The Depths in other magazines and know what they're capable of doing. All the stories in there have Conservative leanings. There was a ghost story where an aborted fetus was driving an abortion doctor to the point of suicide and he screams from hell asking God to forgive him. </blockquote><br>
This is supposed to be scary? That sounds like a Jack Chick Tract or maybe some shit a Sunday school teacher would try to scare toddlers with.<br>
<blockquote> Jerry read one of the stories aloud to Eugine, “If you died to night were would you spend eternity...” </blockquote><br>
Yup, Jack Chick Tract.<br>
<blockquote> Eugine had the chills when the other editor read that line. Something he didn't want to hear outright. The last thing he expected was to see a dark magazine that was helmed by a Born Again Christian, especially one that has an imagination that gives Rod Serling a run for his money. </blockquote><br>
OK, right here. Pacione always says this, but he NEVER shows us why the character is that good. Not one fucking example. We’re just told that and expected to believe it.<br>
I hate that shit.<br>
You should too.<br>
And Pacione should brush his teeth.<br>
<blockquote> Bold as he was with his background, he wanted stories that were even darker than what he wrote personally. Something about In The Depths bothered him.<br>
<br>
Something rang in the back of his mind about the magazine that made him hate it all the more. The themes that were in the magazine deeply bothered him to the core. It bothered him that his girlfriend sat down and read the Bible after reading the magazine. It bothered him because the girlfriend actually went to church twice a week, often contradicted what he did with the magazine because he would publish alternative content. It bothered him that she actually prays, it bothered him that she tried to share her faith.<br>
She actually read a story aloud at home called “GAME OVER.”<br>
</blockquote><br>
Sigh… that’s this story. Is this where we’re supposed to fist pump and yell “FUCK YEAH, PACIONE!” at the top of our lungs?<br>
<br>
Shit, that whole part is just… stupid.<br>
<blockquote><br>
That one bothered him the most because it was talking about life in the fast lane but the main character wakes up in hell. The kind of thing that leaves him unnerved as much as he keeps a print of PISS CHRIST on the wall in the office. The image he had in the back of his head was of Christ being crucified on the cross in the present times with a crown of bared wire on his head, returning to a present where the black plague's been resurrected. </blockquote><br>
Ugh, again with the black plague.<br>
<blockquote> There are things that really get to him at times, though he has a reputation for publishing a dark magazine in Chicago, but the one that gets to him is out of Lake County.<br>
In The Depths is actually based in Zion, Illinois, they published a story where a tornado actually ripped the roof off a Kingdom Hall. They actually photographed the aftermath and made fun of them hard with the dark joke of them being “murderers” or worshipping a “torture stake.” </blockquote><br>
Ugh. More shit.<br>
<blockquote> The kind of questions that bother him the most are the ones that Christians ask when they share their faith. The very nightmare he has is the one that he stands naked before the Lord. It leaves him unsettled because it's the thing his girlfriend actually reads in the editorial office. He keeps thinking about how often she prays, an unnerving thought because she used to be heavy into the alternative side of things. </blockquote><br>
So he’s having nightmares that he’s in a Jack Chick Tract? Booooring.<br>
<blockquote> “Jerry , how does the lady get copies of In The Depths?” Eugine asked with an unnerved tone to his voice.<br>
“I think she's friends with one of the writers on the magazine. One of the writers is named Tony Osbourne, the story he wrote in there is a namesake of the magazine. It was a cross between Cliff Burton and Rod Serling,” Jerry answered. </blockquote><br>
Of course she is.<br>
Of course it was.<br>
<blockquote> “How are you so well versed in the metal community?” Eugine asked.<br>
<br>
“My older brother plays in a thrash metal band called Damnation's Fall,” Jerry answered, “Many of the writers of In The Depths are well versed with heavy metal music </blockquote><br>
Of course he does.<br>
Of course they are.<br>
<blockquote> and one of them read the book The Great God Pan while another was well versed with The<br>
<br>
King In Yellow. They did a story which made references to Victim Of A Higher Space. ”<br>
<br>
“Oh by the way, I found a note in front of the office. I figured you might want to take a look at it,” he adds. </blockquote><br>
Oh shit. Not a note!<br>
<blockquote> The note was folded into a small envelope, and didn't seem like it was from someone in this area. The kind of thing that rings in the back of his head because he knows a deadline is coming soon and he must put the magazine out to print. It was looming over his head like a ton of bricks. </blockquote><br>
So instead of working, he’s running his fucking mouth.<br>
<blockquote> “Shit not another one of these, I had enough of them.” Eugine moaned. He kept thinking about the deadline coming around the corner for his magazine and wanting real a kicker for the cover. There was a sense of dread in the air when he saw the letter, so he refrained from opening it because he's seen many of these and one of them was the picture of him on the dart board as a voodoo doll. </blockquote><br>
Let’s hope he gets to work.<br>
<blockquote> The unsettling picture there because he can feel the sharp pain in his right arm and a red welt would show up. Each time a dart hits the doll, the pain becomes even stronger. </blockquote><br>
Oh for fuck’s sake.<br>
<blockquote> The very thing that really disturbed him was someone actually sending him a video with the voodoo doll on a dartboard. Sometimes he actually feels like Nero and wants to feed Christians to the lions, but the voodoo doll thing scares him more than the Christians do. </blockquote><br>
OK, so why does he want to feed Christians to the lions when Christians don’t use voodoo?<br>
This guy’s all over the map.<br>
<blockquote> Just that one question is very unsettling for him and he heard his girlfriend ask him that question. He wants to draw and quarter them because of their preaching.<br>
“If you died tonight where would you spend eternity?” </blockquote><br>
How many times d oyou think he’s going to repeat this in this shit-show?<br>
I bet a bajillion.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Damn them all to hell,” he mutters as he stares at the computer screen.<br>
<br>
“Fuck this magazine, In The Depths! The fucker got my girlfriend praying every night.” he continues, “I need something with my magazine two woman nearly making out or something of that nature. Something that will get the attention of the reader. I don't want the damn fanatics sending me mail saying that I need to be 'saved.' They're talking to someone who keeps a copy of PISS CHRIST on the wall in the main area of the office.” </blockquote><br>
So edgy…<br>
<blockquote> Eugine was looking for some angle to take the magazine, just that the envelope was staring right at his face. Almost if the fucking thing was staring right at his soul. Just something about that small envelope gets to him, if it wasn't from this world in itself. The return address on the envelope read Wheaton, Illinois, not just Wheaton but Wheaton College. He thought when he stared at that envelope, Wheaton College, oh shit, what the hell do they want from the Protestant Vatican? These fuckers force the fire and brimstone act down everyone's throats – they're worst than my girlfriend Leigh. </blockquote><br>
THEN WHY ARE YOU DATING HER?<br>
If you don’t like the pussy, don’t fuck the pussy, basics.<br>
<blockquote> “I need something for this, something that will make the fucker stand out! Something<br>
<br>
that will say, 'Read me fucker!'”<br>
<br>
Deep down he was getting nervous from that note because it reflected that he was part of the assembly of fools. Deep down he knew something, he knew what he was doing was going to cause him to burn in hell. Sometimes when his girlfriend would bring In The Depths to the editor's office, he had nightmares seeing himself with two coins over his eyes much like one of the stories about a lady pastor that died in her hospital bed and her soul was holding two coins. Things like that scare him more than the photography in his magazine, just something about In The Depths bothers him. </blockquote><br>
This is starting to read like the guy might be an unmedicated schitzophrenic.<br>
<blockquote> Jerry was in the other room sorting out photographs to be uploaded to the computer. While they did that they tossed in a CD by Skinny Puppy to help them get the mood going for the rag. They wanted to keep an alternative lifestyle tinge with the magazine but they were haunted by the Southlands Blue Collar Horror Movement. </blockquote><br>
The what? The who?<br>
And Skinny Puppy? :headdesk:<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/BoCUDqs"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/BoCUDqs.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> A bunch of bastards who openly crank Stranglehold by Ted Nugent, Disposable Heroes by Metallica, Sober by TOOL, or Empire by Queensryche – some of them were photographed wearing a Master of Puppets shirt and some drawn sitting with Edgar Allan Poe and Rod Serling in a diner. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, you just know Pacione thinks all this is tough.<br>
Talk about media mainstream music. And photographed with a Metallica shirt on? Fucking poseur, that shit went out in the 1980’s. I’m not sure you can even buy a Master of Puppets shirt any more.<br>
And that fucking drawing. Ugh. Pacione was offering free copies of his books to anyone who would paint him in that exact same thing.<br>
Needless to say, nobody took him up on it.<br>
<blockquote> Some of them actually wrote about some church burnings in Central Illinois with the remains of the patrons left in the church – then took pictures of the charred bodies. </blockquote><br>
That’s just a bunch of sick fucks, right there. Tramping across a fucking hate crime scene in order to take pictures of charred murder victims totally makes them edge, right?<br>
Fuck those guys.<br>
<blockquote> “What is it with these Blue Collar types? Are they trying to piss me off with the banning of faggot written content?” he hissed, “They're not Gothic they're just a bunch dark Gearheads writing their factory worker takes on Rod Serling and Tales From The Dark Side. Stories containing rat rods, choppers, Semi trucks, desolate diners in middle of nowhere, and other Gearhead shit! </blockquote><br>
While all of those sound like good things, it all would get fucked up by Pacione.<br>
Goddamn this manuscript. It’s almost impossible to milk this lolcow.<br>
<blockquote> I don't want that shit, I want elegance not rugged! </blockquote><br>
So he wants to block gay writers, but he comes across as gay as hell.<br>
“I don’t want faggots submitting to my gay lusts erotica magazine!”<br>
<blockquote> Christ these assholes from the Southlands, they're the ones who are sending the stories to the magazine. I want to see them go up in flames for their dark pictures of the community.”<br>
While he was putting the body of the magazine together, the envelope appeared if it had a pair eyes. </blockquote><br>
Wait, the envelope just reappeared? And this sentence makes no goddam sense, although your brain will try to plug in the missing words.<br>
How’s this: “the envelope appears as if it had a pair of balls danging on it’s forehead like Pacione’s fantasies.”<br>
<blockquote> It was staring at him for good two hours, almost if the thing had a life of its own. </blockquote><br>
Scary envelope?<br>
Holy shit.<br>
<blockquote> The things he publishes spits on the grave of the lineage of horror. One of the contributors sent him something actually urinated on the grave of Robert E. Howard then photographed it. That contributor died in a matter of weeks – found impaled on a steel rod in vein of Vlad The Impaler. His arms and legs dangling like some macabre exhibit of flesh, and the photograph was used as a backdrop for one of the stories within the pages of IN THE DEPTHS. </blockquote><br>
So the people doing In The Depths are taking pictures of murder victims? What are they, some kind of thrill kill cult?<br>
And notice how the bad guys are ramped up to… um… evil><br>
<blockquote> Talk about being disrespectful of the dead, especially of one who killed himself. The<br>
<br>
person who did that became a child of the grave, he died in a motorcycle accident and found with his head severed from his body. That's one thing about Eugine Judas Verner's magazine, some of his contributors actually die in months after they get published. He ended up going to three funerals in all in the two month time frame the contributors died. Some of them in car accidents while others actually jumped in the icy waters of the Fox river – while others were found with a dirty needle hanging from their arm. </blockquote><br>
It’s starting to look like the people from the rival magazine are killing his contributers.<br>
Could also be why he’s not getting any submissions.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Have you read the obituaries? One of your other contributors had paid the boatman<br>
<br>
– one of them called Cyber_Boy. A former DJ from overseas they found him with a noose tightening around his neck and a line of blow on a mirror,” Jerry shouted from the other room when he reached for a beer in the fridge. </blockquote><br>
– Ugh, more.<br>
<blockquote> He grabbed the clipping from the table of one of the contributors just recently dying. They found her lifeless body laying in a bathtub filled to the top with a small portable television plugged in and pulled into the water. Her demise was that of riding the lightning. </blockquote><br>
Showing the Pacione likes to take song and album names without understanding it.<br>
Riding the Lightning is usually attributed to the electric chair.<br>
<blockquote> The neighbor located her lifeless but staring into the abyss. There was no note when she did the final deed, but the imagery is there laying in her coffin with two quarters over her eyes. Somewhere back in Jerry's mind, he had nightmarish images of how these contributors would die and how they would have coins over their eyes or placed in their mouth. Almost if it was right from the pages of In The Depths magazine. </blockquote><br>
Yup, it’s starting to look a lot like murder.<br>
<blockquote> “Eugine, read these. When I read through them, they gave me the creeps. Some of them among the dead are our contributors. Going so young either by suicide or by car accident with horrific results. I had a nightmare about the one, you know the one who pushed the small television set in the bathtub! I could still see her staring into the abyss if she was still alive,” Jerry added.<br>
“Don't go telling me about your nightmares again man,” Eugine added as he was staring at the leather jeans hanging in the closet. </blockquote><br>
Wait.. .what?<br>
<blockquote> He thought, I hate these blue collar types trying to take over. Just something about them really bother me – just the way they present their Gothic story gets to me, especially when they do the death scenes. Damn them all to hell, fucking bastards.<br>
He add, “I want to get this magazine done so I can launch it at a night I am doing. I would invite my lady, but she's got some fucking prayer meeting. It pisses me off when she goes to them, almost if she was trying to share the Love of God to me when I don't want to hear it. Her church is one of those that sees things that aren't dark or twisted, but I just see them as puppets praying to a God that doesn't listen. She's starting to sound like my older sister because she attends church somewhere on the South Side.”<br>
</blockquote><br>
Ugh, more Chick Tract quotes.
<br>
<blockquote> Jerry said as he was staring at the clippings, “I take it these deaths don't really get to you. It bugs me when people die, I am scared of meeting my own demise. I keep thinking about that one story in the magazine In The Depths called GAME OVER. </blockquote><br>
Sigh. This story<br>
<blockquote> These guys write with a very haunting sense of conscious, it's so intense it scares me. The story is about a woman who dies at twenty-nine and stands before God, but it tells a dark testimony of horror leading up to her death. This editor isn't fucking around when he's publishing stories. This editor when looking for stories doesn't play any games, you might be over your head with these guys.“<br>
“I don't want to hear it Jerry! I am sorting out JPG files. All that religious mumbo jumbo bugs me enough as it is with my girlfriend being a Born Again Christian,” Eugine mumbles. </blockquote><br>
Of course.<br>
<blockquote> He was staring at lime green his Mac with all the photographs taken and trying to paste hem up to word. The tone of the story GAME OVER rang in the back of his head as he could see that envelope staring right back at him. The fact the person who wrote the story was actually disabled still got to him. The idea that a woman died at the age of twenty-nine, so young and standing before God gets to him in many ways because it reminds him greatly of what his girlfriend was telling him. It almost left a chill in the back of his spine thinking about how the woman died in the story, it was almost if it was exactly like the one who had the television set in the bathtub.<br>
“I really need to think about this night I am doing though this damn deadline is lingering over my head; they've been harassing me for a street date. It's two weeks late,” he stresses over the screen. While typing up his editorial. He was eyeballing those black leather jeans hanging in the closet and the black long sleeved shirt that said Bauhaus on it. He had an uneasy feeling with that envelope staring back at him if it was staring into the depths of his withering soul. </blockquote><br>
A Bauhaus shirt? And black leather jeans?<br>
Is he going to an S&M club or to a concert? Holy shit.<br>
<blockquote> It was saying by just sitting there, “No more games! All you got to lose is your soul, come on read my contents. You really got nothing to lose by reading me.” </blockquote><br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/mKgHMa2"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/mKgHMa2.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> It was unsettling to Eugine as that envelope sat there. It was if it was actually looking into the depths of his twisted soul. He was looking at the envelope with intense frustration, thinking what the damn contents would be.<br>
“Okay fine I will open the envelope!” he hissed to himself. There was a sense in the air that he was growing more pissed off by the second about that note especially since Jerry was watching the video of the voodoo doll of his likeness being used for a dartboard.<br>
</blockquote><br>
Is it just me, or is Jerry kind of a dick?
<br>
<blockquote> “Jerry, must you watch that fucking thing? It bugs me to death that someone was sick enough to do a voodoo doll of my likeness and throw darts at it, I got welts on my shoulder from where they nailed the mother fucking thing,” he screamed from the corner of the room.<br>
“Sorry man, but this video is like a damn carwreck. I can't stop looking at it. You must have really pissed this person off for them to do a voodoo doll of you. If some asshole did that to me, I'd be a little scared because they might be aiming at my heart with the dart,” Jerry responded as he took a drink of beer. He was thinking about the hot number that would be on the cover wearing a gas mask. Something that really captured the spirit of SINNERS DANCE magazine. </blockquote><br>
OK, that’s a cool name, but I thought that Jerry worked for a different magazine.<br>
And nude with a gas mask? That’s pretty hot.<br>
<blockquote> “I don't want to hear anything about that voodoo shit, it gives me the creeps,” Eugine answers when he opens up the envelope.<br>
“What is this, the letter says meet him out to a diner along North Avenue in Lombard on Saturday. They were being very cryptic with the letter but the person is a contributor to IN THE DEPTHS. I guess they caught onto SINNERS DANCE and wrote stories about the contributors of our magazine that die grisly deaths,” he continues. </blockquote><br>
So instead of showing us the letter, we just get told what it is in it.<br>
Christ, Pacione, could you get any fucking lazier.<br>
<blockquote> “I see you found your way to reading that letter,” Jerry quips. </blockquote><br>
That word does not mean what you think it means.<br>
<blockquote>“Don't be a fucker Jerry! These kind of letters give me the creeps when I get them,” Eugine shushes Jerry, “The letter said for me the meet them at a diner on Saturday during the afternoon. The person behind the letter will reveal themselves then. They drew out a map of the area for me to find the place, I am familiar with Lombard. Just never go out to that area. I just don't want to be the one with the pennies over my eyes going out there. I have plenty of skeletons in my closet thinking about how many funerals for the contributors of this mag; I could hear them screaming up from hell from the depths of my nightmares. Something I hate thinking about because it reminds me of what the girlfriend would say, 'If you were to face the Good Lord, and he asked, Why should I let you in my kingdom?' I really fucking hate when she does that. I kept having nightmares about having blood on my hands, the blood of the contributors who died mainly. It was like they were screaming up to me saying not to make their same mistakes; something I really hate thinking about because some of them die within days of the magazine going to print. It disturbs me that I would be forced to put a death date for them in their biographies along with the photograph used in their damn obituary.” </blockquote><br>
Oh my fucking god. Blah blah blah.<br>
And if some random stranger sent me a letter asking them to meet them in a diner in the middle of nowhere, I’d bring a knife and a .45 and backup waiting in the car.<br>
Horror movies start that way.<br>
<blockquote> “Those contributors deaths really do get to you then! I don't blame you one bit for acting like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” Jerry quipped. He was still watching<br>
<br>
the video with the voodoo doll on the dartboard.<br>
<br>
“Don't even fucking joke asshole!” Eugine responded in a cynical tone. He was looking for a cigarette as he continued to read the letter. There was a sense of horror growing as he got further in the body of the letter. It was typed up on a word processor using a formal document paper. Then the author's signature was signed in lamb's blood. </blockquote><br>
OK, why doesn’t he know where his cigarettes are?<br>
Why is Jerry such a dick?<br>
Why does Eugine (which is a misspelling of Eugene, btw, coming from a man who misspelled his own name) feel guilty over the psychos from the other magazine serial killing his contributors.<br>
I thought it was a note, not a letter.<br>
How does anyone know what it was signed in?<br>
And signed with lambs blood? Yeah, horror movies start this way.<br>
Bring Grampa Ralts his .45.<br>
<blockquote> “What the fuck, did they really sign this letter in blood?” he started to have a chill down his neck thinking where they got the blood from. He started to realize that the contributors for In The Depths magazine were really emotionally disturbed driven by both mental illness and a faith in God. </blockquote><br>
Great, a religious psycho.<br>
Those never turn out well.<br>
<blockquote> His eyes grew more in a nerve shattering terror when he realized he was messing with people who summon powers that he doesn't even want to understand. </blockquote><br>
Wait, so some idiot smears lambs blood on a probably incoherent letter, and now his eyes grow? Holy shit! What kind of magic spell is that.<br>
I hope he doesn’t turn into a chibi!<br>
<blockquote> He couldn't understand why his girlfriend brought the magazine to the office, but he started to realize they were drawn to the idea of contributors dying after they got published mysteriously. The created dark yarns off the expense of the contributors who died, they would read the magazine then the little Rod Serlings would do dark blue collar yarns about the ghosts of the contributors. </blockquote><br>
Yup, sound like serial killers.<br>
<blockquote> Eugine thought, wait these little bastards are creating stories at the expense of my contributors meeting the maker! They would actually have the boatman collecting their souls at the death bed sick fucking bastards. Seems like they're drawn from The Night Gallery with their burnt offerings, crap this is fucked up even for us. The SINNERS DANCE doesn't even does things like this. We're deviants but we're don't write like we have a few screws loose.<br>
There was something about that magazine he despised with a passion. Just the very idea of reading fiction about his dead contributors gave him the creeps, it was almost unsettling if they collectively took turns using their headstone as a toilet. </blockquote><br>
Yet we’re supposed to fee Eugene here in the bad guy.<br>
It’s the sick fucks writing fiction based on the dead people who are sick fucks.<br>
But Pacione thinks that’s OK, because in the few cases where someone he hated died or had a loved on die, he always writes fiction about how they’re tormented in hell.<br>
Oh, yeah, and the little racist called a dead mixed-race child a mongrel in true KKK fashion.<br>
<blockquote> There was just something about In The Depths that truly scares him, the writers make the reader stare demise right in the face and at the same time have their soul staring right into the depths of the abyss.<br>
It was if they were taking part in some kind of necromancy with the written word, some how they knew about the dying of the contributors in SINNERS DANCE. </blockquote><br>
Maybe because they killed them.<br>
<blockquote> What Eugine wanted with SINNERS DANCE was Gas masks and PVC not something that would fit The Night Gallery. He was unsettled by the little twisted takes of Rod Serling that were living and breathing within the pages of In The Depths. It was if the magazine had dark supernatural powers like the Necronomicon. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, he just keeps trying and trying to make In the Depths seem more and more badass, isn’t he?<br>
<blockquote> “Christ these writers from In The Depths, doing stories inspired by the dead<br>
<br>
contributors of my mag. It's unsettling because they were detailed about how the contributors died,” Eugine hisses as he saw a copy of In The Depths staring back at him.<br>
“WHAT DO YOU SICK FUCKING ASSHOLES WANT FROM ME?!? Do you want me to give my life to God!?! FUCK NO, and FUCK YOU GOD – you sick mother fucker,” he screams. When he read that letter, it disturbed him because of the use of lamb's blood to sign their name. They had the gall to write Jesus Loves You in the same blood they used to sign it! </blockquote><br>
Call. The. Cops.<br>
Seriously, that falls under some serious laws.<br>
<blockquote> In horror of what he realized what they done, he tossed the letter down on the desk and ran for the liquor cabinet.<br>
“This shit isn't real! No one writes that kind of crap in any kind of blood,” he fumbles for a shot glass and the vodka. He was shaking in sheer horror because of the letter signed and inscribed with lamb's blood, almost like how they would do the deal for the Passover when God killed the firstborn in Egypt. It was if he stepped into a horror story that was published in that infernal magazine. He tried to get the memories out of his head about the contributors who died days to weeks after seeing their work published. </blockquote><br>
Ugh, the lamb’s blood just shows he has no originality, and then to firmly rub our noses in the fact that he has no originality, he flat out tells us where it came from.<br>
:headdesk:<br>
Holy shit, I still have 39K words to review.<br>
Fucking kill me.<br>
<blockquote> Sometimes he'll reach for the bottle just to get those ideas out of his head of seeing the coins over their eyes, or that was how he pictured them in his nightmares especially the one who had the television set in the bathtub. That magazine forced him to stare into the reflection that he didn't want to see, the reflection of his own mortality. The very thing he tried to avoid with SINNERS DANCE. He published people's inner most fantasies, not their inner nightmares or torments in fact that was his darkest fear and his girlfriend mad him face it every day in his life since he met her.<br>
“This is just a bad dream,” he whimpers to himself as his hand shaky from fright. That letter was just a really bad figment of his imagination or what he thought. Just some sick fuck Rod Serling types trying to get in my head, and fuck it's working!<br>
He takes another gulp of vodka as he goes back to the desk to pick up that letter. It bothered him very much that he got a letter that was signed and messaged in blood as much as he likes to publish dark stuff in SINNERS DANCE. He just wasn't prepared for what was in that letter nor what was published within the pages of In The Depths.<br>
Jerry shouted to Eugine, “Hey man whats wrong? It looks like you seen the Grim<br>
<br>
Reaper himself.” </blockquote><br>
This just keeps getting worse and worse.<br>
Send help…<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Eugine shouted back, “Man, don't joke. I just read that letter. The person who wrote it is actually one of the writers from that fucked up magazine. They want to meet me in a diner on Saturday in Lombard. In the letter was the address to the diner the person<br>
<br>
wants to meet at, and it was addressed from Wheaton College. Isn't that a school for religious fanatics? I hated going through there unless it was to the Quest Bookstore. The rest of the fucking town gives me the God damned creeps. I swear if I come across another Pentecostal, I will shoot them square in the nuts with a pellet gun.” </blockquote><br>
You know, I don’t blame him for hating religious people.<br>
They constantly mail him threatened letters signed in blood and harass him.<br>
<blockquote> Jerry suggested, “Man you must really hate that town.”<br>
<br>
He adds, “My girlfriend goes to the church somewhere in Glendale Heights. I can't remember where the fuck its at for the life of me. I prefer not to know where it is because she's been trying to drag me there ever since she gave her life to the Bastard of Bastards. It's bad enough these sick demented blue collar fucks actually were crazy enough to write about the deaths of my contributors. I am really getting to hate these Ted Nugent look alikes and think alikes. Their pro-guns, pro-hunting, pro-life, Loving God, gun-ho, support the troops, and eat more meat attitude is starting to really piss me off. </blockquote><br>
This is just Pacione trying to put make the worst straw man he can.<br>
<blockquote> People like that really get to me, as in every time I see a jet black Mack truck it sends a chill down my spine. </blockquote><br>
Pacione tried writing a story based off a show he saw that had a black Mack truck in it.<br>
He thinks this is scary….<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/aXkFbEW"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/aXkFbEW.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
He should have went with…<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/jAStMIG"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/jAStMIG.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
At least that was kind of cool.<br>
<blockquote> Just as much as the little towns south of Joliet give me the creeps; you know what they say about small towns. Those sort of towns are crawling with everything blue collar – those towns produce some of the scariest people I ever came across and this is the spawn for those blue collar dark magazines. </blockquote><br>
AHAHAHAHAHAH!<br>
This is Pacione trying to make himself seem like a badass.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It's like they got one Stephen King living there, or some similar sick fuck who collects dead cat skulls. They have posters of Metallica on their wall and Iron Maiden blaring from their speakers.”<br>
“Sounds like you've been through one of those towns,” Jerry said as he lowered his voice.<br>
“Yeah once, one of the contributors to another magazine I used to draw for was from a town called Diamond,” Eugine continues. He started thinking about that author from there, an author who goes by the name of Damien Gregory Wise. The story was a dark pro-guns yarn. It was something that didn't exactly leave him because in the horror yarn, everyone and their mother in the community had a gun.<br>
“Wait, you were in a magazine with Damien Gregory Wise? I heard of him, very controversial in some circles for his Ted Nugent like attitude towards the Gothic. I read the story that your work was in with his – very disturbing. Left me the chills, the kind of author that Richard Matheson or his kids are if he took it to a whole different level. I found him published in a magazine based in Clear Lake, Iowa,” Jerry adds.<br>
“Yeah that was Damien. He was dark and scary at what he did, the magazine actually put his name out there,” Eugine adds.<br>
“Did he write GAME OVER in the pages of IN THE DEPTHS?” Jerry asked.<br>
<br>
“No that one was actually written by his cousin,” Eugine answers. “How did you know that one?” he then asked.<br>
“I was over at the house where his cousin lives, and I read a rough draft version of GAME OVER. Even in that form it gave me the chills because it told the story of a man who was about to burn in hell, the rewrite version is the one that's in In the Depths,” he continues, “The original version of GAME OVER was a hell of a lot darker, and what's scary about it is that his cousin is like my girlfriend is. A damned Christian and they are the ones who come up with the most disturbing horror yarns because they find more things to write about when they rule out the sex there's a wider broad scape to use to scare people.” </blockquote><br>
Oh holy shit…<br>
Of course he knew the cousin. Of course he read a rough draft. Of course it’s supposed to be scarier because it doesn’t have the sex.<br>
I guess if you have sex in the book you automatically can’t use a bunch of topics and stuff for the test of the work by some kind of law or something.<br>
“She saw his dick…” BOOM! NO GHOSTS, MONSTERS, OR VAMPIRES!<br>
<blockquote> Jerry commented, “So you've been exposed to Christians before your girlfriend then?” Eugine sighed, “Unfortunately I have, but the writer left me with a dark chill down my<br>
spin because of that unsettling question, If I died tonight where would I spend Eternity? </blockquote><br>
Oh for the love of fuck…<br>
<blockquote> I don't really like thinking about that question. It's too unsettling to really put to words! The very idea it rings strong within there after going to those funerals of past contributors seeing those open coffins with them looking if they were alive and sleeping, not deceased but lucidly dreaming. Someone there said they were not going to heaven because they didn't accept the sacrifice on the cross. In other words, according to the lady that was at the funeral they were caught in eternal separation without God. It was if she knew they were damned before they died for the kind of art they contributed to the magazine; it was if it wasn't of God. She must had seen one of the magazines as they went to print when one had a painting done of Aleister Crowley then seen the pentagram on the back cover, actually a hand drawn Baphomet. Then a scantly clad woman wearing a black robe if she was taking part in Black Mass.”<br>
Jerry replied, “Someone tried to save you at one of the wakes? I wonder if they ask the question, does it hurt when you die?”<br>
Eugine sounded a little annoyed, “Man don't even say that question, the very thought of hearing it scares me. It's about as bad as some horror writer's desktop of a cooked demon served up as turkey for turkey dinner on Givestaking. Something I really don't want to think about but the mental pictures of the contributers dead in the open coffin, gives me the chills and I don't want those bastards from In The Depths getting the obituaries because the sick fucks might do something disturbing with it! I don't want those little Stephen Kings running around here – one Stephen King is just really disturbing and I refuse to read him. I prefer the sissy type horror myself</blockquote><br>
Said nobody ever.<br>
Christ, this guy is strawmanning so hard I’m expecting flying monkeys to tear him apart any second.<br>
<blockquote> authors like<br>
<br>
Stephen King just scare me along with similar authors that came before him. The girlfriend often leaves Frank Perretti's The Oath laying around and that bothers me more than the copy of Stephen King's Night Shift along with copies of AG Magazine, dropping hints for me to go to church with her. Her cousin is a writer too and she writes some unsettling yarns as well, not anything I would publish personally but it's the kind of shit which one's most disturbing nightmares are made from.”<br>
Eugine had a unearthly chill going down his spine when Eugine gave that particular narrative about his lady leaving copies of The Oath behind. The telltale hints are also getting to Eugine in some way or form because he usually reads the more sensual yarns of horror, not the ones dealing with spiritual warfare head one. The girlfriend is starting to really scare him with copies of AG Magazine. </blockquote><br>
STOP WITH THE GODDAMN NAME DROPPING YOU ILLITERATE GIBBON!<br>
<blockquote> He's now starting to have the unsettling pictures of the contributors' blood upon his hands. Especially of the one in the bathtub starting into the depths of the abyss with the words “Game Over, I stand before Him,” written on sheet of paper before the television fell into the tub full of water.<br>
He also got an envelope and it was the final note of the contributor that was found in the bathtub lifeless with her eyes open. The five words that haunted him the worst were the ones written, “Game Over, I stand before Him.” It left him with an unnerving chill at the back of his soul knowing that the contributor actually committed suicide a week after she did a photograph laying on top of a crypt covered in a black sheet up to her neck then tucked under her. Almost if she was doing a tribute to the Black Sabbath album, We Sold Our Soul For Rock And Roll. She actually fell asleep during the shoot on her back almost like how Snow White was found in the glass coffin in that Disney flick. </blockquote><br>
Oh God, there’s Pacione’s fetish rearing it’s ugly head.<br>
And I’ll be honest, it’s starting to look more and more like the guys from the other magainze are killing his contributors.<br>
Which is fucked up that Pacione thinks that it’s OK that it’s going on.<br>
Anyone who doesn’t submit to his magazine and submits to others deserve death,basically.<br>
Talk about a self-centered little bitch.<br>
<blockquote> The overhead shot of her sleeping on top of the above crypt was used on the cover of the mag before she decided to cash in her coins to the boatman. Some of the other contributors who actually got published were in a car accident and later found their heads decapitated. Laying in the back seat with their eyes still open – staring forever into oblivion as a second death looms over them.<br>
Almost if they saw their own deaths coming before they knew the ferryman was going to come for their tormented souls, escorting their withering remains personally to the blackest abyss. They had no second to pray or a second to ask for eternal life, just as the first they too had met their maker and into the depths of the underworld they return. They weren't even given a chance to let loose their bloodcurdling screams as the eternal horror greeted them. Even in the darkest nightmares they've had when reading IN THE<br>
<br>
DEPTHS, they could feel the horror whispering, game over. Jerry stared at the newspaper clipping in sheer nerve breaking horror because he knew exactly who died, two of them were his best friends for nearly fourteen years -- now their souls are in the inferno. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah dee dah.<br>
And sheer nerve breaking horror needs to be gouged out of Pacione’s brain with an ice-pick.<br>
And holy shit, now his two best friends are dead?<br>
Call. The. Cops.<br>
<blockquote> “T-their gone, just as in the stories within the pages of In The Depths Those bastards are either psychic or made a pact with the devil to do such dark horror yarns. They actually showed the pictures of their death scenes in the paper this time the heads laying in the back seat while the rest of them is in the front bleeding out,” </blockquote><br>
So the guys from In the Depths were at the wreck, took pictures of the heads in the back seat WHILE BLOOD STILL GUSHED OUT OF THE NECKS!<br>
Yeah, they were totally there, they totally caused he accident, and this is going to look like murder to even the most retarded DA.<br>
<blockquote> Jerry started freaking. Within his tormented imagination when he read those obituaries he heard the tolling of a loud funeral bell, and somewhere in the back of his head it rang loudly. Unsettling pictures of how they died burned back in the darkest depths of his psyche, mortality is something they never thought about with SINNERS DANCE – it was something written about within the pages of IN THE DEPTHS. Also within the back of his head he thought about the question asked at the last funeral, “If you died tonight where would you spend eternity?” </blockquote><br>
STOP FUCKING SAYING THAT!<br>
<blockquote> Jerry thought to himself, man I don't want to be thinking about the idea of heaven and hell! There is so much to do with this mag and a night to worry about. There's people we need to entertain and this deadline is coming close. Eugine seems distracted by that fucking letter about some mysterious contributor to In The Depths at a diner in Lombard, Illinois. I better go with him just so he doesn't get the creeps from the contributor – thinking about those contributors, they actually look like they could truly get into a fight and kick someone's ass. Some of them look like they can put us in the hospital for a few weeks. Fuck, he's over his head here – they write about mortality and in detail. They got the balls to write a supernatural story ab<B>---SNIP---</b>ched the pennies being placed over their eyes.<br>
The blackened horror displayed on the screen of a person wearing a black “Lord's Gym” hooded sweatshirt and holding the long sickle blade on a long pole – either that of Father Time or The Grim Reaper. Eugine came across that photograph and had a chill growing in the back of his head, almost if the Reaper was in human form or some entity that was collecting his contributors weeks after running their submission. The way they die would be straight from the pages of IN THE DEPTHS. In their nightmares they can hear the whispers of death and of the horrors of something macabre this way comes – some how the pages of IN THE DEPTHS actually forced them to look into something they didn't want to see, their own mortality. They were looking into the depths of horror where the scribes of IN THE DEPTHS were all clad in denim and leather (faded Levis, black construction boots, and biker jackets.) </blockquote><br>
So they’re 1950’s greasers?<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/TpY98xU"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/TpY98xU.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/99LVLf7"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/99LVLf7.png" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Jesus, this thing is a goddamn slog.<br>
If he ever bothered to get an editor, this shit would be waaaay cut down.<br>
As it is, it just deserves to be used as kindling.<br>
All this work has done is encourage the heat death of the universe.<br>
I can’t even say anything funny anymore.<br>
Help me.<br>
<blockquote> Eugine had a deep fear crawling in the depths his soul while reading the newspaper articles about two more contributors meeting thy maker. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, that’s, what, like 12 just today?<br>
Call. The. Cops!!<br>
<blockquote> It was if he was actually seeing the photograph of the boatman standing right before him. It was if someone took the lyrics to How The Gods Kill and wrote a story based on the concept. </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
This, Pacione thinks, it the height of artistry. Taking a song (which is probably based off a book) and writing a shitty story about it.<br>
For fuck’s sake, he’s cramming as many references as he can into this like he’s being paid by the companies.<br>
<blockquote> He was staring into the depths of a horror that he didn't even want to face when he was publishing the things with SINNERS DANCE. The letter staring back at him with the cryptic invitation stood there as a huge brooding message if the letter was written straight from hell, it sounded like a letter written from a person who was in hell because no one offered her the gift of
to go to a diner called Borderlands. </blockquote><br>
Wait, so she went to hell because nobody offered her the ‘gift’ of going to a diner?<br>
WTF, over?<br>
Since when does going to shitty diner save your soul?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “That newspaper article is unsettling – almost makes me want to close up shop and stick to DJ'ing exclusively but I am going to take this mysterious stranger up on their invitation. </blockquote><br>
Then you deserve to get kidnapped, sodomized, and hunted for sport out in the desert by cannibal mutants, you mouth-breathing retard.<br>
<blockquote> There is no contact information as far as e-mail addresses to reach them at or a phone number, something about it leaves me rather unsettled. </blockquote><br>
Except, you know, the return address.<br>
<blockquote> My girlfriend would call these kind of letters divine appointments, </blockquote><br>
Your girlfriend might be stupid.<br>
<blockquote> or something of that nature – I don't exactly feel comfortable with the invitation but I am going. Eugine you're going to come along with this one, safety in numbers. I have this weird feeling the girlfriend will be coming along because she was wanting to meet the authors of In The Depths. This world that I was invited to I know nothing about except it's ran by a denim and leather editor. </blockquote><br>
A sweaty panting leather daddy?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Those kinds scare me because they actually look like they would urinate or take a shit on The Portrait of Dorian Gray and photograph themselves doing it or actually physically maul the more alternative types. </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
Just…<br>
Ugh.<br>
<blockquote> I get the creeps thinking about these kinds because they are almost monsters in their own right, almost if they actually let their own monsters out and lacerated the sky or actually unleashed the four horsemen. That's what scares me about the writers of IN THE DEPTHS – they actually do what bands Obituary does but in print. When I see a magazine like that, it feels like I am staring right at my own obituary<br>
– waiting for some sick asshole to bury me in a story. That's what I hate about the more hardcore type of horror writers who don't mess with the alternative fringe – it's if they would take the alternative fringe and use it as their personal urinal.” </blockquote><br>
Oh. My. God.<br>
I’m so tired already of Pacione trying to make these other guys sound like badasses, when instead they sound like complete assholes who are probably murdering other people.<br>
Taking a shit on the book Portrait of Dorian Gray sounds just stupid.<br>
<blockquote> Eugine was looking at some of the photographs for the magazine and was disturbed by the fact he was forced to read the memorials of the contributors who die so young, at their prime. Some of them only eighteen years old when they handed their coins to the boatman. He had nightmares about them standing in a hospital room – their soul with the coins over their empty shell or the coins being placed in the mouths of the empty shell. Similar to the way the dead where prepared for burial in Ancient Greece – they would put two coins in their mouth so they can pay the boatman to cross the river Styx. He had a disturbed notion that there was something that will go down at the diner and he kept thinking about the question presented at the funeral, “If you died tonight, where would you spend eternity?” </blockquote><br>
OH MY FUCKING GOD, SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!<br>
I’m devolving into screaming at my monitor.<br>
For fuck’s sake, again wit the coins, again with the murdered contributors, again with the “if you died tonight…” bullshit.<br>
He keeps repeating himself over and over and over and over and over like he’s being paid for the fucking word.<br>
That’s what makes this thing hard to critique and review. He just keeps repeating the same shit over and over and over.<br>
<blockquote> He kept thinking about all those open caskets with young faces laying in rest. Kept thinking of the image of <B>–SNIP--</B> him for a few days. </blockquote><br>
I literally just cut 4 pages of the same shit over and over and over again.<br>
And you know what, you wouldn’t be able to tell.<br>
You really couldn’t. The asshole is just sitting at his desk while Pacione repeats the same shit over and over, to the point wher it all loses emotional impact and any kind of weight.<br>
Let’s try some more…<br>
<blockquote> The invitation to Borderlands had left him a little disturbed, though he was used to publishing dark hued photography – though the blue collar horror style scares him because what they represent. And with his deadline approaching, there was a shadow of doom and gloom wandering around in the back of his head. The guys from IN THE DEPTHS really got to him especially writing about the contributor dropping the small television into the bathtub. The way they did it was even more unsettling, and the invitation left him unsettled with a deep sense of frozen terror. </blockquote><br>
He should be afraid of that invitation. He’s going to be sodomized and hunted for sport, and only Burt Reynolds can save him with a well timed bow-shot.<br>
<blockquote> The very thought that an IN THE DEPTHS contributor secretly invited him to a diner, a diner named for a William Hope Hodgson novel -- rumors are the diner is owned by another contributor to In The Depths. He's disturbed by the thought some of the writers could pass for members of The Hells Angels, they were documenting the horrors that were a walking abomination – writing horror stories that were locked in chains. </blockquote><br>
No, none of the writers he has described could pass for a member of the Hell’s Angels. After Vietnam my father rode with them sometimes, and what Pacione has described does not describe those guys at all. Unless things have changed in 40 years.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/Iw5YiqF"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/Iw5YiqF.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Pacione has no idea what a biker gang member looks like either.<br>
He just wants the reader to think that all the contributors to the magazine are total badasses.<br>
Why?<br>
Because that way the editor/owner becomes a total badass too. These badass guys respect the editor so much that he magically becomes badass too!<br>
<blockquote> The stories in the magazine were starting to really get to him because they were penning stories about the deaths of his contributors. He really started to think that he was living out the horror written within those pages – almost if they were trying to summon up something long been dead as they were each wandering, breathing from the depths. He had no idea how to explain this to the staff of his magazine, especially when he was trying to get ready to DJ his night -- he couldn't think about what CD to put in the set because he couldn't stop thinking about all those funerals all those wakes. </blockquote><br>
Wait, he’s going to go DJing?<br>
Nice of the story to drop this on us like 8000 words in.<br>
Fuck this story. Fuck Pacione.<br>
<blockquote> All those funerals and wakes he was forced to attend, all the eulogies he had to speak distracted him from doing a proper set as a DJ --- it was if he could hear the dead contributors each sing in the devil's choir. Each minute as he DJ'd the night, he became more distracted almost if he heard the dead trying to communicate with him like they did with D.D. Hume. </blockquote><br>
OK, notice that dude skips from his desk to his DJ job?<br>
No description of the actions in between. No showing us his apartment or him getting ready to go DJing, showing up at the job, a description of the club.<br>
Nothing.<br>
Mainly because Pacione has never been inside a club.<br>
<blockquote> He in the back of his mind could see the coins being placed over their eyes – the preparation of the dead, and sometimes in those days in the club he could see the dead standing there staring right into the depths of his soul. He could still see the shroud they used to cover the dead and hear the body bag zipping them into their death shroud. The distracted look on his face told the story, it didn't need to be written – the In The Depths contributors forced him to be afraid of the thing he didn't want to see, his own mortality and in the mirror he saw the Grim Reaper staring right at him.<br>
Jerry was with him at the club with his fiancée, Janis Davies.<br>
</blockquote><br>
BOOM! And Jerry and his fiancé teleport to the same club that Disphit teleported too.<br>
Why don’t characters in a Pacione story walk anywhere? Why isn’t passage of time actually shown? The above words we’ve looked at are actually only about 5 minutes of conversation, then teleporting.<br>
We know nothing about what the office looked like.<br>
We have no idea what any of the people look like.<br>
We know nothing about anything, really.<br>
Nothing has been described, nothing has been explained, nothing has been shown.<br>
So far this has been nothing and 5 minutes of stilted dialogue.
<br>
<blockquote> He watched Eugine become very distracted, almost if he could see the dead in the room. It was if the question that his girlfriend and many at the funeral rang in the back of his head – the mental picture of the one contributor laying in the bathtub of water staring into the depths of infinity. It was if the magazine that his girlfriend left in the hangout area of the editorial office was tearing into the depths of his wounded soul.<br>
“What's wrong with the DJ?” one would ask Jerry. </blockquote><br>
Oh God, it’s always “one would” when he is feeling lazy, or wants the reader to imagine themselves being in the story.<br>
I’m so sick of seeing “one would” in his works. It’s in almost all of them. He has no fucking idea how to even actually use it right, he just throws it in there as if ‘one’ was a generic character he can just whip out to move along what he thinks the plot is.<br>
I’d like to give him one…<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “He's seen too many of his contributors die within days or weeks of publishing them. Then the guys of In The Depths magazine were writing stories based on the deaths in grisly detail,” He answered as he took a drag from his Clove cigarette. </blockquote><br>
OK, number one, Cloves are just nasty.<br>
Number two, shouldn’t that have alerted the police and DA to the fact that these chucklefucks are involved in the deaths? That these sick fucks from In the Depths are killing these people and profiting off of it.<br>
At the very least, the families of the deceased should sue.<br>
<blockquote> “The magazine, as In The Depths magazine? Those bastards are collectively similar to H.P. Lovecraft</blockquote><br>
No they aren’t.<br>
<blockquote> if they were writing with Jack The Ripper, </blockquote><br>
Still not.<br>
<blockquote> I read the magazine but I can't sit down and read it in one sitting because they scare me more than Stephen King's Pet Semetery </blockquote><br>
A terrible book.<br>
<blockquote> – it's like all of them emerged from the pages of that novel. They are the Weird Tales from hell,” the clubgoer shouted back. </blockquote><br>
No they aren’t.<br>
<blockquote> She took a sip of her mixed drink and started to think about how distracted the DJ was, the thoughts in her head about the deaths of the contributors intrigued her but at the same time left a horrifying chill in the back of her mind – the looming madness of having to bury each and everyone of the contributors would get to anyone. She sort of read one of the stories, the one called GAME OVER --- the one where the author is photographed wearing a black Lord's Gym hooded sweatshirt holding the Grim Reaper's blade. </blockquote><br>
Oh God.<br>
You just know that the Lord’s Gym gibbon is Pacione’s Gary-Stu.<br>
And posing with a scythe? In that outfit? That’s not scary, that just looks lame and stupid.<br>
<blockquote> The combination of that photograph with the story GAME OVER got to her in some way – almost if that story and photograph made her stare into the depths of her mortality; an impending shadow of death stared in the back of her mind and nightmares. </blockquote><br>
Here we go, more Pacione rambling from a woman who has no characterization and just serves as a vehicle for Pacione to spout bullshit about how great his GaryStu and his magazine are so that the reader will think that Pacione and his magazine are cool.<br>
I want to flying suplex this woman into a turnbuckle.<br>
<blockquote> Almost if she could feel that the contributors weren't even dead but dreaming – in truth they were in the depths of the netherworld singing the torments of the Devil's choir, separation for all time. She kept thinking about what was written within the pages as the DJ was playing Bela Legosi's Dead.<br>
While that played she kept thinking how some of the dead were found with pennies over their eyes-<b>--SNIP--</B>- The fear of a neverending hell was wandering around in the blackest depths of her mind. It was if they knew something, and it grew within the depths of the human soul. She knew what Eugine Verner knew, </blockquote><br>
Of course she does.<br>
And I snipped a LOT of garbage out.<br>
Just repeating more and more shit from above.<br>
I’m serious, I could slice all that shit and cut this pig down to about 1/3 of the size.<br>
On that…<br>
<br>
We’re going to take a few minutes break. I’ll post this, you can push a toilet brush up your nose and scrub out your brain, and we can all be a little dumber from our loss of brain cells.<br>
<br>
This whole thing is going to be a complete shit-show, and we all know it.<br>
I personally wish I could just shoot this fucking story out back of the wood-shed like Ol’ Yeller, but I think the manuscript is probably too brain damaged to follow me.<br>
<br>
OK, welcome back.<br>
Ready to dive in to Part 2 of Game Over?<br>
<br>
I will warn you, these reviews aren’t as funny as the earlier ones because there really isn’t that much comedy in them. Pacione repeats the same things over and over and over like he has paragraph tourretes, and we all get to suffer for it.<br>
With that being said, could you imagine paying like $4.99 for this on ebook and then trying to read it? You’d be PISSED.<br>
So far all we have is blathering on and on, teleporting main characters, and random people showing up and vanishing.<br>
The world is completely undescribed, the characters have had no real characterization and we have no idea what they look like beyond the fact that Pacione’s Gary Stu wears a black Lord’s Gym hoodie that is probably encrusted with food and semen stains.<br>
But, hell, let’s dive back into the big helping of pig shit.<br>
<blockquote> each contributors was going to end up paying the boatman before their time – waiting at the edge of the underworld, their tortured whispers invade his more haunted of nightmares. Eugine didn't really concentrate about his set because the mental pictures how his contributors died were strong in the back of his mind – some of them being buried in the clothes they would wear to the club</blockquote><br>
Nobody has ever been buried in club clothing unless they were sad motherfuckers with retarded relatives.<br>
Of course, Pacione had nightmares about a funeral he never went to, so…<br>
<blockquote> and the pages of Sinners In The Hand Of An Angry God rang strong when he was at the funerals. Sometimes the other surviving contributors would sometimes pull out the Ouija board to contact the dead ones – just with no result or they open the doors to hell. </blockquote><br>
Not pictured: Opening the door to hell<br>
<blockquote> Sometimes in the back rooms of the club there would be some drug use, </blockquote><br>
Like every club ever.<br>
<blockquote> but he tried to keep clean of that. </blockquote><br>
did no DJ ever<br>
<blockquote> His friends will get together and roll a huge fatty of weed. The smell of the sweet smoke filled the place, and all he could think about is the passing of his friends and contributors – death was following him everywhere he went and everywhere he walked. </blockquote><br>
that weird twinge in your head just now?<br>
You just had a stroke.<br>
<blockquote> No matter how many times he could get away, he knew there was nowhere to run – nowhere to hide and he knew the writers of In The Depths were going to level the place. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, these guys from the magazine are starting to look like terrorists.<br>
<blockquote> He could hear the words “GAME OVER” screaming loudly in the back of his mind, the words written near the dead of his contributors – the words “GAME OVER” as one was found staring into infinity as they met their end in a bathtub. In the tub full of cold water, she was holding the coins to pay the boatman -- and the parting note read “GAME OVER.” That note he ended up retrieving from the place of the contributors death as the reaper came for her soul – the last grain of black sand had dropped for her life to exist and he heard it drop within his tortured nightmares. He could see every last one of his contributors being buried within days or weeks of having their work published, every wake and every funeral – death was knocking upon the door, will he answer?<br>
Eugine was the most haunted by the death of the one in the bathtub more than anything. He was growing more paranoid by the invitation to the diner, and in his mind he was expecting to be on the receiving end of a sick horror plot – something that couldn't be ran past the writers of In The Depths. Something was growing in the back of his mind, and it was the question that was presented to him – the one about God was<br>
<br>
burned in the back of his mind especially when his girlfriend was leaving behind copies of AG Magazine.<br>
If you died tonight where will you spend eternity? </blockquote><br>
OH FUCKING GOD! STOP STOP STOP!<br>
We should have known that that line would appear again.<br>
And correct me if I’m wrong, but Eugene here went and stole evidence from what is obviously a crime scene. (One of the reasons that suicide is a crime is so they can declare it a crime scene so they can fully investigate the scene and ensure it was really suicide)<br>
<blockquote><br>Something he really hate thinking about – where he's going after he dies. Death was trailing him as a wounded animal as they waited patiently to become prey – the abyss was calling his name while he stood outside of the nightclub. He heard the tormented whispers of the dead contributors calling out to him – the torments of the mind as he could see one of the female contributors appearing if they were being prepared for an Egyptian burial rite.<br>
Yet she was screaming for her last strand of life while she would end up being entombed with pharaohs. </blockquote><br>
No shit? They put her in a pyramid? HOLY SHIT!<br>
<blockquote> He would have the nightmarish images within the back of his head of her being placed in the stone coffin with the coins over her eyes -- within his nightmares he could still hear her pleading for them not to bury her alive, the kind of thing that would had made Edward Munch proud. He kept having such unsettling images in his head how each one of his contributors died, that he started freebasing coffee</blockquote><br>
I REALLY wanna see someone freebase coffee.<br>
<blockquote> just to make the deadline. Sleep was something that he became deathly afraid of because he would have such troubling nightmares of the contributors in the open coffin with their eyes open staring into the depths of hell.<br>
He returned to the editorial office at two in the morning. Distracted by the thoughts of the contributors passing, how they departed this world so young – all the evil seems to live forever. </blockquote><br>
OK, notice that we got no description of the club, no real description of what he did.<br>
Just..<br>
POOF! Back at the office at 2AM. Most clubs close between 2-3, so… wow. This guy sucks as a DJ and probably as a human and Pacione probably fantasizes about this guy anally mastering him in a bondage sleepsack.<br>
<blockquote> He screamed as he looked at that letter, “What the fuck do you want with me! WHY ARE YOU COMING FOR ME – IS IT SOMETHING I'VE DONE? WHAT ARE YOU FUCKERS DOING TO ME – PUTTING MY DECEASED CONTRIBUTORS IN YOUR WRITTEN PAGES, THAT'S NOT RIGHT – IT'S SICK! Why the fuck did you send the writers of IN THE DEPTHS my way? Is there something you're fucking trying to tell me asshole! FUCK YOU AND YOUR SALVATION! What have my contributors done to deserve the fate they were handed – the gift of demise they received at a young age. Some of them were yet to have kids or be married off!” </blockquote><br>
I’m sorry, but his screaming at the letter is funny.<br>
Although this is probably most realistic nervous breakdown in the story. I mean, he’s basically having everyone he knows or works with murdered, then he gets an invitation to some shithole diner by a random stranger?<br>
This guy is so going to end up making friends with this guy…<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/MbUH9kT"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/MbUH9kT.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
If you know what I mean….<br>
<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/dxoIGMP"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/dxoIGMP.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
And I think you do…<br>
<blockquote> He picked up the coffee mug and violently threw across the room in a fit of anger, because the weight of the death of each one of his contributors were too much –<B>--</B>-- While he just sat there with the magazine staring back at him, the grim reaper in the flesh is an editor that publishes grisly horror yarns about his contributors -- how would they find out about the deaths were beyond him. </blockquote><br>
I just deleted a bunch of shit we’ve read already, because fuck that.<br>
Repeating something over and over again doesn’t make it scary, Pacione.<br>
No matter how many times you tell me it’s scary, it’s not going to be scary.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/6w2XZyk"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/6w2XZyk.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> “I guess Jerry went to a few afterparties so I have to work on this myself,” Eugine muttered while he saw that letter staring right back at him – almost if the fucker was alive and breathing at him. </blockquote><br>
More shit from the envelope with creepy human eyes.<br>
<blockquote> The unearthly invitation stared at him almost if the damned thing had a life of its own. While he worked, he'd would feel the dead in the room – they were watching as he tried to meet his deadlines with shitload of contributions from the recently deceased. At the same time sorting them out he had to write the memorials for each and everyone of them – something that weighed heavy upon his conscious, knowing when they sent their pieces they were still alive. </blockquote><br>
Wait, since when do magazine editors wire people’s eulogies? Usually that’s done by family.<br>
And no matter what Pacione thinks, being someone’s editor for a magazine does NOT mean that you’re as close to the submitter as family.<br>
<blockquote> It got to him that he had to write obituaries for every single one of his contributors. </blockquote><br>
Said no editor ever.<br>
<blockquote> The only one that didn't die was the one who was pictured standing in front of a cross in a cemetery reading a small Gideons New Testament – that was taken somewhere in rural Iowa. </blockquote><br>
Probably one of Pacione’s self-inserts.<br>
Holy shit, does he have a lot of them. I mean, he literally packs himself into about 4 different characters in each show like we won’t notice.<br>
And this is a whole bunch of “unless you write conservative religious fiction you will burn in hell and die! Shit is just getting on my fucking nerves. Some of the greatest horror writers were seriously hard core Christians, but Pacione wouldn’t know that.<br>
<blockquote> Some of the other contributors were found burned to death – nice and crispy, he found the burned bodies thrown up on the web and realized their names. It truly got to him how young they were when they died – -<b>--SNIP--</B>- one thing when he was staring at those pictures – one word, MORTALITY! It sat there staring at him – the fucking note had its own living conscious, it stared at him if it had eyes. The invitation appeared if it was pounding like it had a heart and a soul, but it was only printed in black ink and parchment – the invitation to the staring right at him if it had a pair of eyes and a soul. The words and address read – The Borderlands Diner, Lombard, Illinois. It was if the note knew it was coming, the thing called divine appointment – the very thing his girlfriend was waiting to happen, and he kept imagining the blood of the dead upon his hands and living out the plot of a story from the magazine IN THE DEPTHS.<br>
The letter was signed simply, ORION. </blockquote><br>
Oooh, supposedly this is going to be our bad guy.<br>
And wait a minute, wasn’t the letter unsigned before he left?<br>
Now it has “Orion” as the signature?<br>
Fuck Pacione.<br>
<blockquote> The invitation wasn't outright – just told Eugine to show up, but didn't matter the time, show up because there had to be something to do with a future contributor whose life was about to expire. It seemed the wall of death was growing around him and with each death, it grew more visceral by the second the pictures went to print. He could still see the ones that died in the fire with their remains being nice and crispy from the charred<br>
<br>
black flesh – from the depths, he knew their luck ran out with the last grain of sand of their life fell into the hour glass; GAME OVER. Time was hunting them down without mercy and when their submission got published, it was their demise coming closer – they knew from their soul, death won't let them stay. Eugine would imagine every horror coming to life out of the pages of the infernal magazine IN THE DEPTHS with Lucifer spreading his black wings -- an in the pages he could hear the souls screaming from the depths of the blackened abyss. </blockquote><br>
More fucking bullshit that gets more and more boring as time goes on.<br>
Holy shit. I was tempted to fucking snip it, but….<br>
I hate this story so much. I’m like 10K words into it and it could all be summed up in less than 2K words.<br>
<blockquote> The printed pages which echo the cold black winters of Chicago . They're breathing as a cold dark entity from the stranger aons when death may die, the crawling chaos staring in the reigns of his maddening nightmares. </blockquote><br>
And then he quotes someone else…<br>
Fuck, I want to take this store and shove it into a garbage disposal, but my garbage disposal saw me coming and blew out and now I have to mop the kitchen and fix the pipes.<br>
Thanks, Obama.<br>
<blockquote> A dark angry entity growing within the pages and staring right at him, breathing, watching as the blasphemy whispers in the shadows – something that seems to be a black figure with eyes of fire pointing right at him. The divine appointment stared at him in the face as if he was standing before thy maker when he's not even dead, he felt like he was in the nightmare and the soundtrack was Reign of Blood by Slayer –</blockquote><br>
Fuck, another namedrop.<br>
<blockquote> he felt like he stepped into a place where time stands still. With that letter sitting there breathing and staring at him as if it was a living entity. It was if he was being dragged into a horror story that was written by Mancow Muller – nightmares seen from the promised land (world of shit.) </blockquote><br>
Another namedrop. What the fuck is his obsession with namedropping more famous people. Does he honestly think fans of those people’s works are going to buy his bullshit just because he namedropped them?<br>
Probably.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/zXABpnn"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/zXABpnn.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> Eugine was more intimidated by the entry from IN THE DEPTHS written by Judas Orion Cicerone (pictured wearing a PANTERA shirt – the author is a cousin of Nickolaus Allan Cicerone,) </blockquote><br>
HOLY FUCKING SHIT!<br>
Look at that goddamn insertion.<br>
Not only is this Orion motherfucker a self-insertion, now he basically puts himself in there. As the Orion gibbon’s cousin.<br>
I’ve never wanted to punch two literary characters in the face so bad in my life.<br>
<blockquote> the very story he wrote left him the chills – especially with the death behind it. He actually wrote the story about the contributor of his magazine being found in the bathtub full of water with a small television dropped into it while still plugged in – whilst dead, she was still staring into the depths of infinity. Eugine felt his heart pounding violently in his chest as that cryptic letter was staring at him, if it knew the shadows in the darkest regions of his human soul -- it was if he was being tormented by the words of a wrathchild </blockquote><br>
Holy fuck, here Mr. WrathChild Pacione puts himself into it…<br>
Again.<br>
I don’t know why he insisted for over a year that everyone call him “Wrathchild” when he took it from lyrics, then claimed that everyone called him that, then insisted everyone call him that, then he ended up getting called Sparkle Pony, which was funnier.<br>
<blockquote> who've penned the grotesque details of the demise of one of his contributors days within their untimely death. He could hear them in the back of his mind screaming silently as they fall in a slow descent into the blackened abyss.<br>
The letter stared at him for a good two hours as he nervously assembled the last pages of his magazine – the deadline was looming over his head and the obituaries grew by the day. As the letter of the invitation burned into his eyes, the dead from his magazine rose within the weeks into the months – taxed into his psyche as he gulped combinations of coffee and whiskey, f—SNIP--</B>- when he went to the club, not knowing that he was going to end up in the whipping dance of the dead with his deadline lingering over his head. Editing the magazine for him is like pushing a large rock up the hill just to do it all over again, and with his contributors paying their coins to the ferryman at the bank of the river Styx.<br>
One of the contributors who recently died was named Karen Lynne Mosley, age 33 – they found her hanging from a rope in her living room. Staring into the black infinity with the words “GAME OVER” written as her final words. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah.<br>
He’s drinking Irish Coffee, getting drunk, and feeling terrible about the dead people.<br>
Now it’s gotten to the point where ALL the dead were found with coins over their eyes.<br>
Holy shit, this is definitely moved to CUT ALL THE BULLSHIT out to make it shorter. Holy shit, what I cut out was just the same shit over and over and over.<br>
And the Karen Mosley, a thinly veiled attack on one of the people he hates. Just him writing revenge fiction that he thinks is going to completely shock his victim.<br>
See, it might be fun if it was actually described out. A real revenge flick should highlight the nastiness. Several authors have done stuff like make hated people into child molestors, murderers, nazi’s, tax evaders.<br>
But Pacione just fucks it all up.<br>
And who the hell can hang themselves in their fucking LIVING ROOM? I mean, where the fuck are they going to find a beam to do it?<br>
<blockquote> She was wearing a long black Victorian dress and lace up high heeled boots when she<br>
<br>
introduced herself to the noose. The coins for the ferryman were left on the floor prior to introducing herself to the noose around her dirty neck.. </blockquote><br>
GODDAMN IT, PACIONE, STOP PUSHING YOUR WEIRD FETISHES INTO YOUR WORK!<br>
And there’s the coins. I’m telling you, it’s a serial killer picking on Eugene’s writers.<br>
<blockquote> When they buried her, they didn't care enough about her to even give her a headstone – </blockquote><br>
See, this is just contemptible, making it so that the person was so unloved that they didn’t get a headstone.<br>
That’s because Pacione can’t compute anyone caring about someone else.<br>
Hell, if someone I knew died without a headstone I’d try to scrape up the money. If nothing else, I’d go to the river, get a big rock, carve their name on it, and drop it at the grave site.<br>
<blockquote> finally joining the love that died at 18 from murder. Body found in a ritualistic homicide with two of his fingers cut off and his heart carved out of his chest. </blockquote><br>
OK, we’re seriously moving into serial killer territory.<br>
And that’s sad.<br>
See, if it wasn’t Pacione, we’d be suspecting that what we’re reading is someone running afoul of a murder cult, and being drawn in as everyone around him is sliced away by the killer(s). Instead, we know that this is just going to be a poorly written revenge fantasy that will go nowhere and nothing will really happen that was worth reading.<br>
<blockquote> They found a pentagram carved into his forehead, the coins were left for him years ago with his bloodied carcass. </blockquote><br>
There’s the coins again.<br>
<blockquote> Could easy been the lyrics for a Cannibal Corpse song with the way they found the poor fucker's body in Glendale Heights, Illinois, somewhere between the apartments on Fullerton and the convenient store. </blockquote><br>
OK, namedrop a song.<br>
Then, Pacione is using his old apartment as where the killing was performed. Holy shit, why can’t he just use his imagination. This definitely shows that there was a steady decline into his work from fiction to ‘real world fiction’ where he saved everyone from laser guided parakeets.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>She actually told some teenager to kill themselves via e-mail and they did – they introduced their wrists to a cold steel blade then bled to death. The parents found the teenager laying on the floor in ten pools of still flowing warm blood with the said e-mail on the screen glowing in the darkness. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. TEN POOLS OF BLOOD IS BETTER THAN ONE! RAWR! I R WRATHCHILD! Jesus, Pacione, that’s not how they work. And still warm flowing blood? Umm.. OK.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She closed the letter off as “BLESSED BE.... MOTHER FUCKER!” Her false Gods provided no salvation as she dangled from the rope and the noose tightened around her neck like a tourniquet, snapping the vertebrate in two! </blockquote><br>
And Pacione shows he didn’t research hanging. The snap noise isn’t so much ‘vertebrae snapping in two’ as it is the cartilage crunching. Well, it can happen, I mean, that one guy in Washington had his head pop off when he was hung in like 96. But that guy lived on Snickers and shit to get to 350 lbs so they couldn’t execute him and the state said “LOL no” and did it anyway.<br>
Which is a much better story than anything we have read here.<br>
<blockquote> The witch is no longer going to be in this world – forever spending eternity in the black abyss, returning to Mephistopheles where the soulless whore belongs. </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
Once again, Pacione shows his tolerance. Sexist, racist, and religious bigot. Why can’t he just write instead of telling us how to think? He’s worse than Hienlien.<br>
<blockquote>Eugine saw the pictures of her demise and was forced to do another obituary in his mag. Another death as that letter stared right at him – demise loomed over him as a black cloud staring at the pit of a tormented soul. Mortality was crawling up on him as some particular spider as it sings its lullaby while his contributors sing the devils choir in the pits of eternal fire. Especially since one of them was buried without a headstone, and in the nightmares he watched the dead scream for their lives in the abyss. </blockquote><br>
So spiders sing lullabys? Is that why they crawl on your face, gently lullingyou to sleep with a lullaby so they can drink from the water in your eyeball?<br>
<blockquote>He was wondering people were planning his funeral before his body dies. The coins where placed over his eyes in his nightmares – the ferryman was waiting for him and the dead were whispering his name. If was he being pulled into the pages of a story by Zorn Hritz, a writer who died at the age of 30, from unknown natural causes – his last story “DANCE OF THE HAUNTER,” was in the pages of In The Depths. Some of the deaths could be something that fit the pages of a Barbara Malenky story – the pages of Human Oddities. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. Now we get another Zorn, who, of course, died of ‘unknown natural causes’ (read: Pacione couldn’t be fucked to give him an actual mysterious cause of death and just pulled something out of his zit covered ass)<br>
<blockquote>Eugine's heart violently pounded in his chest because he had no idea who was the sick fuck playing games with his mind – leading into the darkness as it would be the whipping dance of the dead. While the pages of In The Depths were staring right him, he feels like he entered the realm of the dying room. </blockquote><br>
Tense change, drink, motherfucker!<br>
<blockquote>He stared at that letter as it was breathing at him – if it was almost a living entity in<br>
<br>
itself penned by a wrathchild, </blockquote><br>
OK, so now the envelope is alive. And we get the wrathchild drop again. God, it makes me want to punch someone right in the face.<br>
<blockquote> and the deaths documented in the damn magazine were written by a collective of wrathchildren. Almost if the fucking bastards knew the ferryman was coming for each and everyone one of them. </blockquote><br>
What the hell? I mean, seriously, what the hell?<br>
So the wrathchildren is the murder cult?
I think I’m having a stroke, so I’m confused.<br>
<blockquote>In the back of his mind, he knew something evil was growing – haunting him as he watched his contributors die left and right. The letter that stared at him, the invitation scared in the back of his head, as much as those evangelical magazines that his girlfriend would leave laying around. With the pictures and drawings, they were an ominous sign that someone was about to die and perish within the blackened abyss screaming in the devil's choir. Their physical bodies were found in bathtubs full of water with some small electrical object tossed in there or were found nice and crispy. </blockquote><br>
Or hung. Or decapitated. Or eaten by spiders that grant immortality and fill the victim with cats.<br>
<blockquote>He was stepping into some twisted sick horror writer's nightmare as he was starting to be greeted by dismal times – when the Devil and the Grim Reaper are often the playthings of a horror writer. As disturbing as someone tacking up a voodoo doll of him and play darts with it, as he waited for the bastards to become the guest of honor of a torch and pitchfork party for what they've done – documenting the deaths of his contributors before the wake and funeral or even penning morbid visions of them being dragged off to the underworld to pay the ferryman. </blockquote><br>
Once again, killing his contributors and taking pictures for trophies.<br>
<blockquote>The meeting at the diner was a few days later – he and Jerry made their way to Borderlands, the nervousness was growing in them not expecting what was going to happen. </blockquote><br>
BOOM! Teleport and time jump all at once.<br>
And of course they’re nervous, they’re gonna be hunted for sport.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/LHTqqW8"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/LHTqqW8.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> Diners named for an old horror story, no one knows what to expect. The diner was done up in gun metal gray along with some black and had pictures of the grim reaper on the walls. A huge poster of the Death tarot card was on the back wall of the diner along with a huge pencil sketch of William Hope Hodgson staring at The House Of The Borderlands</blockquote><br>
This description of the diner is so bad…<br>
<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/3Ic2V5r"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/3Ic2V5r.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> -- the owner of the diner had a very macabre way of seeing the world, said to sleep in cemeteries when he lived in Southern Illinois. </blockquote><br>
Only a pseudo-hobo like Pacione would think this was impressive. Instead, he just described the weird homeless dude down the road.<br>
<blockquote>They would say the preacher in front of State Street would sometimes travel to Lombard to come into Borderlands – usually to try to save the souls of the demented people who come in there. Many of the horror writers in the DuPage County area would come down the diner to get some disturbing ideas for their stories – since the place had a dark razorwire vibe to it, almost if the diner itself was trying to communicate with the dead. </blockquote><br>
But wait, I thought that these ‘denim clad wrathchild blue collar goths’ were all Christians? Make up your fucking mind, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote>The staff looked like they could be a character of old Gothic horror short stories from the early 20th Century. </blockquote><br>
Of course they did.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/RbOYGy6"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/RbOYGy6.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>The proprietor was tall and muscular, </blockquote><br>
Of course he is.<br>
<blockquote> looked like he could pass off as a roadie for Type O Negative. </blockquote><br>
Of course he does.<br>
<blockquote> He had the Type O Negative green circle with the<br>
<br>
negative sign tattooed on his arm. </blockquote><br>
AHAHHAHAHAHAA!<br>
<blockquote> He even looked like he could pass of as Dani Filth's kid brother</blockquote><br>
Of course he does.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/aiA9GwY"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/aiA9GwY.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Sigh…<br>
<blockquote> except in black denim, dark olive drab solid flannel, and a pair of black construction boots – blue collar hued Gothic. </blockquote><br>
Actually, Pacione, that’s called backwoods hillbilly chic. It’s not impressive, all of me and my friends grew up wearing some variation of that.<br>
I liked blue and black checkerboard flannel, band T-shirts, heavy jeans, and jungle boots.<br>
<blockquote> Eugine and Jerry were getting the creeps from going in there – they might have looked spooky, but this place was right out of the pages of one of the writers of that magazine that wrote about the deaths of their contributors. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. The place isn’t spooky, it’s a try-hard diner full of posuers and dumbasses.<br>
<blockquote> Eugine had that letter that was staring at him in his hand. </blockquote><br>
The letter is still staring at him.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/KUsOXzm"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/KUsOXzm.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
And Todd Hollins’ roommate is still being gored by a spider.<br>
<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “This is the place but where is this person called Orion? This place is giving me the creeps – as much as I do spooky events, this place feels like it was decorated by Edgar Allan Poe. </blockquote><br>
No it doesn’t.<br>
Poe lived in an entirely different era. He’d consider some diner with pictures of the Grim Reaper to be trite and boring and then would go home and fuck his wife.<br>
<blockquote> They're even playing 'Ride' by Cathedral blasting from the speakers,” Eugine commented while had a chill down his spine. </blockquote><br>
Why is that chilling? That song isn’t even that good.<br>
<blockquote> He and Jerry felt like the diner was similar to something breathing within the pages of the stories written by Zorn Hritz. </blockquote><br>
Oh man, not with the breathing shit again.<br>
And isn’t this Zorn dude dead?<br>
<blockquote> It was if they were in over their head because this was the hangout of many of the writers from IN THE DEPTHS. </blockquote><br>
Well no shit, they’re in a den of murderers and serial killers.<br>
<blockquote> The kind of place that plays in the minds of those who come from a Blue Collar angle with the Gothic. </blockquote><br>
BLUE COLLAR IS NOT GOTHIC!<br>
Blue Collar<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/CqEkazG"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/CqEkazG.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Goth<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/WVQwjGN"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/WVQwjGN.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Blue Collar<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/IefFpia"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/IefFpia.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Goth<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/vVcRmyA"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/vVcRmyA.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Blue Collar<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/7hXLFpS"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/7hXLFpS.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Goth<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/Hd7BXJp"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/Hd7BXJp.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
HOW ARE THESE TWO OUTFITS COMPATIBLE?<br>
Yes, I can totally see those goth guys running a fucking drill press or a welder or working at a construction site.<br>
<br>
Holy shit, Pacione, you’re a goddamn moron.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Some in there would come in with their Windows laptops and type up the true paranormal accounts to chilling evil horror yarns would come out of drinking a cup of Joe within these blasphemous walls. Their imaginations covering the funeral dirt upon the staring faces of the dead -- watching the sinners catch fire within the pages and they are forced to see one thing, MORTALITY! </blockquote><br>
Yawn.<br>
I became aware of mortality when I was 5 and saw a car-wreck where someone died. It was the early 1970’s so I just had death explained to me and then had ice cream. ICE CREAM! YAY!<br>
This isn’t scary. This is boring as shit.<br>
<blockquote> Jerry had a cold chill touch him within the diner, almost if the diner had a few ghosts as well as a macabre atmosphere. Just something about that place was too much for his fragile psyche – </blockquote><br>
Translation: Jerry is a huge pussy who gets shits himself when the EBS runs a test or a commercial features something frightening like a bald guy with magic power or a woman.<br>
You know, the same things Pacione is afraid of.<br>
<blockquote> almost if the imagination of that State Street Preacher burned into this head of sinners dying in a pit of eternal fire. </blockquote><br>
And of course, gentle reader, Pacione once claimed that his friends called him State Street Preacher.<br>
Except he doesn’t have friends.<br>
<blockquote> Such minds sitting in the diner having a coffee and smoking Newports. </blockquote><br>
Newports were what the brothers smoked in the military. All of them. Like every single black guy I served with smoked Newports.<br>
So now I think all these guys are black.<br>
<blockquote> They seem as they're a bunch of denim clad rough individuals that appeared like they could beat the shit out of the next person they see </blockquote><br>
Not scary.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/AGAL4ek"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/AGAL4ek.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Notice he TELLS US that they look like they can whip ass, not describing someone who can whip ass.<br>
<blockquote> -- the kind of crowd that leaves a blackened chill in his spine, though he may appear spooky he stepped into somewhere evil.<br>
In that diner they were facing their own dismal times, while they had in the back of their minds heard the screams of sinners burning in the abyss. In that diner, they felt their souls burning down to the ground – as they heard the contributors screaming from the abyss as they were forced to watch the funeral dirt cover their graves. Wandering within the nightmares they stand in the diner waiting for the person behind the letter calling themselves Orion. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah sinners blah blah blah hell blah blah blah<br>
Fuck you, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote>They felt as they were living out a horror movie as they stood in that diner with the<br>
<br>
macabre decoration almost if the diner was mocking them and the deaths of the contributors of SINNERS DANCE. They were in a den of wrathchildren </blockquote><br>
<br>
I’m sorry, but nowhere has he described anyone I’d consider someone I’d call Wrathchild.<br>
So far he’s described dudes that man glory holes in truck stops.<br>
<blockquote> while they were penning the details of the funeral dirt covering the graves of the deceased artists and photographers of Eugine's magazine. They were disturbed enough to do such an act and create them into a frightening horror yarn – it stands in their mind as it disturbs them with the horrors of IN THE DEPTHS pages staring at them within the diner waiting for Orion. Eugine seen the atmosphere and didn't feel comfortable because he felt he was in ground zero for the sick, disturbed assholes of In The Depths. </blockquote><br>
They are sick, disturbed, and contrary to what Pacione intended, obviously goddamn scumbags and probably murderers.<br>
They aren’t impressive.<br>
<blockquote>They were doing things which documented the deaths of the most talented of SINNERS DANCE -- they were entering a whipping dance of the dead when they were standing in the front of the diner where they were in the shadows of the disposable heroes, they started wearing their other elegant Gothic wears. </blockquote><br>
Oh fuck. He has NO IDEA what Disposable Heroes even means. He has no idea about the song, the protest behind it, and what it meant.<br>
He’s a goddamn moron.<br>
<blockquote> They looked at each other and thought they stepped into blue collar horror hell. </blockquote><br>
That’s the country bar Stetsons in Killeen Texas.<br>
<blockquote> Everyone had blue denim, some form of ink, and black leather biker jackets. </blockquote><br>
You know, that outfit and the tattoos is called ‘country living’ where I’m from. It isn’t impressive.<br>
This reminds me of a virgin trying to write a sex scene. <br>
<blockquote> A diner that could been owned by members of Iron Maiden or members of Biohazard; </blockquote><br>
Doubt it, those would be classy place.<br>
<blockquote> truly a rough appearing bunch. The characters penned by the writers in the diner would write actually beat up the Byronic Hero as they would fill the place with blood. </blockquote><br>
This shows that Pacione knows jack and shit.<br>
A Byronic Hero would fuck these guy’s girls, beat them to death, and ride off on their motorcycles.<br>
Pacione doesn’t actually know what a Byronic Hero is. He just thinks that stating his characters are more badass than one makes us believe it.<br>
For reference…<br>
With apologies:<br>
<blockquote>He knew himself a villain—but he deem'd<br>
The rest no better than the thing he seem'd;<br>
And scorn'd the best as hypocrites who hid<br>
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did.<br>
He knew himself detested, but he knew<br>
The hearts that loath'd him, crouch'd and dreaded too.<br>
Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt<br>
From all affection and from all contempt</blockquote><br>
Yeah, I think that Pacione is picturing in his mind an effeminate fop.<br>
That ain’t a Byronic Hero.<br>
<blockquote>They thought in their mind – game over for them as they waited for Orion. They, in the back of their minds, could see these bastards tossing the funeral dirt on the graves of the contributors of their rag. They were capturing the hell of their dismal times as the sinners were in the cold abyss of the underworld. In their nightmares they saw the funeral dirt covering the open caskets. The Borderlands was the hangout for Zorn Hritz before his passing, and immortalized the diner in a story called “The Borderlands Diner.” </blockquote><br>
OH MY FUCKING GOD! SHUT UP!<br>
Who gives a shit about Zorn? He’s some asshole. Either put him in the story or shut the fuck up.<br>
I’m serious, I could cut this pig down to about half the length if I got rid of the stupid shit.<br>
Wait, getting rid of all the stupid shit would just be hitting DELETE and having done with it.<br>
<blockquote>Eugine had this impending dread that he was stepping in a place where the sinners burn to the ground. The kind of place like Borderlands gave him the chills because it echoed everything that frightened him about the magazine with the authors who wrote about the deaths of his contributors. Especially when they covered the suicides with the funeral dirt, where they are sinners burning to the ground – burning until they die. Zorn would write to Relentless by Pentagram or some doom metal act blaring according to his biography, capturing the thundering whisper known as mortality within the apocalypse. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah Pacione wants to suck Zorn’s dick behind a diner blah blah blah sinners burning to the ground blah blah blah Pacione’s a fucking moron.<br>
<blockquote> “What are they serving up here, the black plague?” Jerry whispers with a sense of growing horror. </blockquote><br>
Yeah, because that’s a common dish served in a diner.<br>
<blockquote>He started to think this place was too horrifying even for him, and he collects macabre medical oddities. </blockquote><br>
Thought nobody ever.<br>
<blockquote> The atmosphere within the diner seems like something<br>
<br>
spiritualist D.D. Home would dream up. </blockquote><br>
Namedrop, drink, bitches.<br>
<blockquote>That vibe gave both Jerry and Eugine the chills. Almost if someone was covering them with their own funeral dirt, they each felt the wind get knocked out them.<br>
They felt like the death could still see their face as they watched themselves become buried. The very idea of having the dead watch themselves being covered with the funeral dirt leaves an impending chill to their warm pulsing blood – they were holding back the steaming piss from flowing down their leg. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah…<br>
Goddamn, Pacione, STOP REPEATING YOURSELF.<br>
Did scratching the back of your neck with a pen give you a septic infection that rotted your brain? I mean, I know you’re a filthy hunchback, so the chance of infection from your own rotting skin was bad, but holy shit, how does someone write this over and over and not realize they’re doing something wrong?<br>
<blockquote> Eugine looked across the diner for the one they called Orion, since they knew the mysterious stranger with the ominous letter is bound to appear. </blockquote><br>
Because they know what Orion looks like.<br>
Just fucking leave already. Orion is just going to say something retarded.<br>
<blockquote> He pulled that letter out of pocket, and still gave him the chills because it asked the question, if he died tonight where would he spend eternity? Sounds like something the street preacher on State Street will say.<br>
Chills crawled up his spine as he took in the diner with the letter in hand, felt if it was written from one in the abyss. Reading the letter in the diner seemed more sinister, it truly felt if it was a breathing, beating entity. Somehow the writer knew more of SINNERS DANCE's contributors were about to die – if they had the coins to leave for some of the contributors of SINNERS DANCE.<br>
Somewhere within the back of his mind he could still see the funeral dirt covering faces of the deceased – he could still hear their tortured souls screaming as they are dragged off to the underworld as they watched the funeral dirt being covered over them. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit. More “IF OYU DYE 2NIT WARE WOOD U SPEND ENERDITY?” bullshit, along with funeral dirt bullshit repeated over and over.<br>
This is like a broken record tried to write a story.<br>
<blockquote>The vibe of the diner was it was a stopping place for everyone dwelling within the Greek Underworld. </blockquote><br>
Ugh, more tyring to make the diner seem badass.<br>
And failing.<br>
<blockquote> A large poster sized tarot cards hanging on the walls portraying death on a pale horse. That pale skeletal horse rider collecting the souls of his contributors. Eugine was looking to Jerry with a nervous look on his face, then he lit up a clove cigarette. Nervousness grew in him as he waited for Orion to arrive. Jerry could see that Eugine was deathly nervous almost if he was approaching a party where one of the guests of honor had a red masque – then everyone dropped dead because of the sight of the masque. </blockquote><br>
No, everyone dropped dead because of the plague, you blithering nincompoop.<br>
<blockquote>That was what Eugine was feeling when he stepped into the sinister looking diner – </blockquote><br>
With blacklight velvet posters ripped off from tarot cards?<br>
So sinister looking. All they need is a fat shitty Elvis impersonator and it would be hell itself.<br>
No. Literally.<br>
<blockquote>almost if they were collecting the souls of the dead that he was forced to bury. Good die young while the evil survives on forever. He was forced to say a premature farewell to them all – one by one he had to commit them to the ground, and they were forced to watch him pour the funeral dirt upon their graves. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah funeral dirt. Blah blah souls blah blah<br>
<blockquote> He started to think about the pages fr0m the short story “From The Ashes, I Shall Rise” and thought of all the people had to bury. </blockquote><br>
Of course he did.<br>
<blockquote> He had to bury the children from the grave and the place he was standing in<br>
<br>
reminded him of every wake and funeral he had to attend within the past few months. </blockquote><br>
Of course it did.<br>
<blockquote>He and Eugine felt the impending horror in the air – a horror they didn't want to experience though they like to appear spooky. They felt like they just stepped into the hand of doom with a black figure staring right at them. They were expecting someone named Orion to walk through those doors – just what greeted them was Death in human form. The blackening aeons that grew with the floors of the diner, a smell of old decay – that of long dead. The darkness they encountered in the diner was one that actually burned down cities – something that lived for many eons, not a vampire but something a little more evil. They felt like they were standing against the wall when standing in that diner – the atmosphere to them created a sense of looming horror. </blockquote><br>
Oh for the love of fuck.<br>
<br>
Again with another quote.<br>
And now he tells us that Orion is death in human form?<br>
Man, there’s got to be a name stronger than what I’m thinking.<br>
<blockquote>A horror that Eugine faced when he had to go to each and every wake of his contributors, the dead memories dwell and he won't be born again. The letter actually asking, “If he died where would he spend eternity?” </blockquote><br>
Again with the Jack Chick Tract line.<br>
<blockquote>The letter cut into his mind like a warm razor across the wrists. Reading that letter aloud in such a sinister looking place reminded him of all the funeral dirt he had to pour upon the graves of his contributors. Then the nightmares about the sinners burning as they scream for the Devil's choir would come to mind as he eyed over the letter.<br>
“Where is this fucker at?” Eugine asked while looking at the paintings of death on the walls.<br>
It seems like the paintings were whispering to him in some blasphemous way. Almost if they knew his contributors died or were about to drop the coins for the ferryman, one of the contributors actually stole something from IN THE DEPTHS – a drawing of a woman sitting in the shadows, they went and made it into something pornographic and SINNERS DANCE had the balls to published it.<br>
The contributors die mysteriously in a house of flames, almost if they were dragged into the lungs of hell on earth. Death came sudden for them. They didn't suffer but they died from inhalation of smoldering black smoke. The footsteps they felt in the flames were the touch of Death. Their trip to hell began the moment they died, and within the pages of SINNERS DANCE was a bastardized version of an illustration done for IN THE DEPTHS. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. Holy shit. Pacione heard “Lungs of Hell” and doesn’t get that it’s used for hot wind. I makes me want to punch him in the hamburger eating device.<br>
<blockquote>The death of those contributors could have been in the pages of those wrathchildren with word processors. </blockquote><br>
Ah, yes, the wrathchildren again.<br>
Fuck you, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote> Jerry stared at the walls with an uneasy glance, knowing there could be something sinister drinking a cup of Joe and sitting with a word processor upon the the coffin black table. They stare at the macabre atmosphere and get the ideas for<br>
<br>
such grotesque stories – allowing the demons in the dark to be penned on a glowing word processor. Jerry grew nervous as he heard the keys ran across the keypad and their evil minds became flesh upon the glowing screen. He took a slow drag of his Clove cigarette but there was nothing to calm his nerves especially when they unleash their inner psychopath. Eugine took another drag of his Clove and started shaking because he stepped where demons wander. Places such as this diner is were the sinners burn to the ground. Where they dance upon the dead in dismal times and watching them as they die<br>
– waiting for the madness to wander within such a blasphemous place. The kind of atmosphere nightmares are made, as they heard the last breath of the contributors – they waited for a figure named Orion. </blockquote><br>
Ok, so the diner is where demons wander, but where sinners burn to the ground?<br>
<br>
Fuck you, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote> “This place – reminds me of something in the pages of that damn magazine my girlfriend leaves laying around,” Eugine mutters as he takes a drag from his Clove. He is trying the best he can from holding the piss from flowing down his leg. The place gave him a hard scare with the imagery of Death hanging on the walls. Eugine started to feel very uneasy in the diner as they waited for the writer of that letter. They were standing there for a good two hours thinking the person wouldn't show up. The diner staff escorted them to the booths with coffin black tables and crimson red seats. The waitress looked like she could been an extra in a Tim Burton movie with her long black hair, black lipstick, and waitress outfit. </blockquote><br>
Of course she does.<br>
<blockquote> “What would the two of you take,” she said as she took a puff of her Newport. While the cigarette dangled from her mouth she took a notepad out with a pencil so she could take the order. </blockquote><br>
The waitress smokes chitty menthol cigarettes while taking my order? Fuck you, lady, this isn’t the nineteen fucking eighties.<br>
<blockquote> “Which one of us first, </blockquote><br>
To plow that waitress ass.<br>
<blockquote> this place give me the creeps,” Jerry whispered to Eugine. He felt he was sitting in a diner where Rod Serling had some input on the layout – inspiration being Night Gallery in some ways, and with the paintings of Death it gave him the creeps. </blockquote><br>
Ugh, more namedrop. I hat this story so much.<br>
<blockquote>It made him think of all those people Eugine had to bury and how they were watching him toss the funeral dirt upon their graves. The waitress was there taking the order and was giving the two in the booth the creeps, they didn't know what to make of her with the crucifix around her neck and the black denim outfit. She had a thin chain hanging to her mid thigh for her small notepad. They thought she was ready for a séance or some other form of activity that communicates with the dead. </blockquote><br>
Oh for the love of fuck.<br>
OK, Pacione, this woman is not creepy, not scary. Black denim isn’t scary, they sell that shit at Hot Topic. Hell, they used to sell that shit at K-Mart back in the day.<br>
She sounds like she’s a typical truck stop waitress, probably using the crucifix to snort meth.<br>
<blockquote> “Okay lady, I will take a coffee,” Eugine said to the waitress.<br>
<br>
“What would you want in it?” she asked as she took a drag of her cigarette.<br>
<br>
“I will take it black,” Eugine answered.<br>
<br>
“I will take a coffee with sugar only,” Jerry answered the waitress.<br>
<br>
Loud heavy metal music blasting from the speakers while she took their order. They weren't prepared for a heavy metal diner – and the grotesque paintings on the wall portrayed scenes of demise covered the walls along with a painting that seemed to be staring at them. One of the paintings seem to have the portrayal of Christ's return in a realm of the black plague in modern times – walking around in blue denim and a leather jacket where people are coughing up blood and part of their lungs upon the concrete. </blockquote><br>
Dick Jesus is a Dick.<br>
<a href=https://imgur.com/gallery/gf3C8Ue></a><br>
<blockquote>The artist who portrayed this dark return was an artist out of Roselle, Illinois, who took a lot of Christian hued themes and made them into dark dystopic images of horror. Some of the writers would come in just to get ideas from the paintings and pen the stories of unsettling horror to the mind and soul. </blockquote><br>
Of course they do.<br>
Man, this is all stuff I thought was badass when I was nine.<br>
Grow the fuck up, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote>They sat in the <B>–SNIP--</B>- Orion by Metallica filled the speakers in the back of the room, and this was scaring Eugine because it matched the sinister tone to the paintings. </blockquote><br>
I cut out more shit abougt the lungs of hell, funereal dirt, and other shit htat he’s repeated 50 times before.<br>
And of course he named one of his Gary Stu’s after a Metallica song. He has NO imagination or originality any more.<br>
He just. Plain. Sucks.<br>
<blockquote>The paintings reminded him of all the people he had to commit to the ground – such as the horrors drawn upon his dismal times. He couldn't really think about his coffee staring at him because of every damn funeral he had to attend or every wake he had to speak for a eulogy. It was if they were making a blood covenant with the dead – just thinking about having to cover them with the funeral dirt disturbs them. Eugine took out a small silver flask he keeps for whiskey and pours some of it in the coffee cup – his hands were shaking with fright.<br>
Especially since some of the paintings look like the ones done by the dead contributors of his magazine. The paintings from the walls rang true to him because they resembled how the dead were sleeping within the open casket. Also if they were getting ready to document their own demise as they were getting ready to die. The painting portrays them sleeping in an open casket as they're in their own wake. Being the witness to that really gave Eugine Verner the chills as he took a sip of his coffee spiked with hard<br>
<br>
liquor. He was growing nervous waiting for Orion, the nervousness in his eyes told everything and Jerry knew that something was going quite wrong – ungodly wr0ng! He saw the paintings on some of the walls and they happened to be the wake portraits of the dead of his contributors with pennies over their eyes.<br>
One of the c0ntributors to SINNERS DANCE actually touted to one of the contributors to IN THE DEPTHS saying, “I hope you die alone, you sick fucker – how dare you write about someone's death!”<br>
That contributor fell into the icy Fox River. No one was able to find her body until months later – they were a frozen slab of flesh with no signs of life. They perished in the abyss of the underworld where their false Gods have no dominion. The little pentagrams around their neck couldn't save them from the horrors to come, the horrors came for them where they don't have the coins for the ferryman. They found the body with the eyes still open – staring into the black infinity with their soulless eyes, forever joining the demons in the dark. </blockquote><br>
Yeah, I’m still in favor of the guy’s from In the Depths are serial killers.<br>
We’re not seeing them as heroes here, they’re getting to look more and more like psychopaths who kill everyone in their way.<br>
<blockquote>Their frozen screams forever descending into the blackest shadows of infinity where the souls scream in the Devil's Choir – the horrors of demise becomes the playground for those who wrote within the pages of IN THE DEPTHS. T—SBIP--</B>--. It was if God himself actually gave them the middle finger because He saw something wrong in his eyes, the death was a touch of his wrath – not since he sent Sodom and Gomorrah in the depths of brimstone that the wrath had been fully unleashed to the contributors of SINNERS DANCE and judgment was in the pens of IN THE DEPTHS. The contributors of SINNERS DANCE had pawned their souls to be in the magazine and this is something that looms over Eugine's head as he drinks his coffee in the booth over macabre atmosphere. </blockquote><br>
OK, so God himself is punishing Sinner’s Dance? Being published in a magazine is the same as living in Sodom & Gomorrah?<br>
Goddamn, Pacione, we all know that In the Depths is a stand-in for your shitty magazine, that all the named ‘cool’ writers are supposed to be you, but trust me, God is not going to strike anyone down for being in other magazines or being better writers than you.<br>
You suck so much.<br>
<blockquote>His hand started shaking in horror when he found out another contributor was found dead on the icy waters of the Fox River for trying to put a hex on a contributor from IN THE DEPTHS for writing the dead of the other magazine as re-animated corpses. In the vein that Dr. Herbert West did in the film The Re-Animator injecting them with a glowing green liquid. </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
<blockquote>They were writing stories about the fresh dead bodies of the contributors of his magazine – some of them hanging with their neck snapped in two! He saw the<br>
<br>
photographs of that suicide and looked on in horror as he saw the two coins for the ferryman. The person who documented this was named Tony Goldburg, and actually wrote the detail of the neck snapping – the parting words for the dangling cunt was GAME OVER dropped at her feet. Another contributor to SINNERS DANCE plummeted into a sharp head of a fence about two days later – cold steel impaling her eye. </blockquote><br>
He repeats more, and then starts throwing in ‘cool deaths’ he saw in movies. I mean, the Re-Animator was a good movie to watch stoned or with your girlfriend because you’re both 13, but come on…<br>
<blockquote>Lisa Carglio was found impaled to the top of the fence like the way Vlad The Impaler would impale his victims while eating his diner – he would put them through a long spike and they would bleed out. He used their blood to dip his bread – her blood was covering the entire fence as she plummeted out of the balcony window of her second floor apartment in Chicago. Basically her death was showing the world how the gods kill</blockquote><br>
No, it wasn’t. No they weren’t. And Pacione, you’re a goddamn moran. (sp intentional) and holy shit this is just goddamn stupid.<br>
<br>
Here, have something to cheer you up…<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.imgur.com/zot4VWk.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i.imgur.com/zot4VWk.png" /></a></div><br>
<blockquote>– her fate became in the hands of the whipping dance of the dead. The pits of the eternal fire became the place that greeted her as she saw her spiritual death – she was watching her body hanging from the fence in a grotesque display as she was pulled to the abyss with her tormented silent screams. Eugine learned of both deaths while nervously drank his whiskey spiked coffee and looking at the menu. He seemed more distracted by the demise of the last two contributors because they died in rather horrific ways, and Misty Gersley wrote one of those yarns in the pages of IN THE DEPTHS actually documenting the graphic death of Lisa Carglio – the 0ne that gave Eugine the most nightmares. The story was called IMPALED BEAUTY QUEEN – something that gave Eugine a decent into madness as he sat in the diner waiting for Orion. Nervousness grew in him as he observed the painting of his contributors laying in the caskets all in a row – with the coins over their eyes, </blockquote><br>
Sick fuck alert.<br>
Not only did they publish pictures in the magazine, not only did they write about the deaths, they then have a life-size painting in the diner?<br>
Why are the cops not arresting everyone? Why is Orion still on the loose.<br>
WHY AM I STILL READING THIS?<br>
<blockquote> the horror in his eyes as he saw those portraits on the wall with the drawing of William Hope Hodgson staring at The House of Borderlands. The nightmares in print were really wearing Eugine down as he was taking a smoke from his Clove, and the atmosphere was uninviting to him.<br>
He stepped into the lungs of hell when he thought about the death of Karen Lynn Mosley, the way she hung herself and the noose tightened around her neck as a tourniquet – in the back of his mind he could hear her neck snapping in two. The mental picture of her dangling in the living room with her black Victorian dress and lace up high heel boots. He couldn't get over the literary shrapnel and napalm fire in print delivered by the writers of IN THE DEPTHS – especially when Gersley had the gall to write IMPALED BEAUTY QUEEN, a visceral yarn about horrifying demise of the SINNERS DANCE contributor, Lisa Carglio, waiting at the edge of the river Styx. The writers of IN THE DEPTHS take to the gruesome deaths like sharks in a feeding frenzy – to them, it's<br>
<br>
blood on the water. He was growing more agitated as he heard about the recent deaths, as the Grim Reaper came for his contributors. Sitting in that booth he felt the impending horror of the walls crumbling down upon him as the hand of doom. Between sips of coffee laced with hard liquor, a sense impending horror was looming over him like a black cloud of misery. In his mind, he knew the contributors of his magazine were each taking turns committing deicide. With each photograph they contributor and each drawing they send in – they were collectively taking turns nailing Christ to the cross. Within the weeks of being published on the magazine, they've already written their obituaries and the pennies were placed over their eyes. </blockquote><br>
OK, you know what? He still hasn’t explained why GOD HIMSELF is killing these people? There’s no reason for it. I mean, Pacione hasn’t been murdered by God, why is what Eugene writing so goddamn terrible?<br>
<blockquote>The writers of the other magazine were writing macabre stories about them as they haven't yet rotted in their tomb. They would describe in gruesome details of many ways that would scare the little Hot Topic Mall Goth kids. Horror that would tear right into the soul, almost if they personally each had the keys to death and Hades. Eugine was thinking about those deaths and gave him the chills – continued to look around for this one called Orion.<br>
One of the deaths happened right near the diner, one of a Hanna Yellin – found her blood soaked body with shards a windshield impaled in her forehead. </blockquote><br>
On Law & Order they would call that “probably cause” and we’d watch Ice-T ram a nightstick up someone’s ass.<br>
<blockquote> She had a story in SINNERS DANCE, but later standing outside of the diner – a 1989 Buick ran into her full force and she hit head first into the windshield. In the story, she called one of the In The Depths contributor's Satan's Minion because he wrote about the death of one of her friends. </blockquote><br>
A reasonable reaction.<br>
<blockquote> Her half-rotted soul was dragged off into the underworld the instant her death was handed down to her. God really saw something wrong in his eyes when it came to her, pretty much gave the female abomination the middle finger as the bitch died. </blockquote><br>
A kind and loving God, ladies and gentlemen.<br>
<blockquote> She was staring at the black abyss as she had the shards of windshield hit her forehead impaling deep into her brain. Salvation was denied to her when she paid the ferryman – for her perverse takes on the dogma and making it work for the spirit of Sodom and Gomorrah. The silent screams from her lungs as she was dragged off to the second death greeting her at the age of twenty-two. She had a photograph of herself that was standing on an American flag with dirty shoes on the ground. </blockquote><br>
I’ve fought for my country when it told me to, and I still don’t think that the woman deserved death. I wouldn’t be friends with her, but the Supreme Court ruled it freedom of expression, and with the state of the US and its labor laws right now, I sure as shit understand why someone might do it out of frustration.<br>
And it sure as shit doesn’t deserve death.<br>
<blockquote>That death didn't get to Eugine yet, but there was a looming horror in the diner as Eugine was sipping his coffee laced with hard liquor. Jerry was growing nervous as well – Orion wasn't there as they waited, and the death toll grew by the minute, by the hour. </blockquote><br>
So while they are sitting in the diner, the contributors are getting slaughtered?<br>
Dude, you’re gonna end up in the back room, tied up, with a gimp climbing out of a box.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/CAA74qO"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/CAA74qO.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote>The horror within the place grew upon their tormented souls as they knew they were already in the lungs of hell – and it was breathing down their necks in form of the<br>
<br>
pictures on the wall of their contributors laying in open casket with coins over their eyes. Within the time they sat in that diner, another group of contributors have coins to pay the ferryman – their sorry wayward souls were dragged off to the underworld. It got to Eugine at how many people had taken a dirt nap after getting published in his magazine<br>
seeing in the back of his mind, all the coins that. It got to him as much as seeing his friend Stephen Nicolas Marshall getting impaled in the forehead with a two inch wide and a eight foot rod flying through the windshield of his 1973 Olds. </blockquote><br>
– Stolen from many movies.<br>
– <blockquote> Eugine wasn't able to do nothing but watch. The already dead motherfucker didn't see it coming – the Reaper wanted his sorry ass and the leftover brain matter decorated the back seat. The poor plagiarizing bastard saw it coming too and was not able to do a damn thing about it. Mortality was knocking at the sad motherfucker's blood soaked car door with what was left of his brain matter in the back seat. He was staring into the abyss of eternal damnation as the rod impaled him between the eyes – the most grotesque way of meeting the Master Reaper. Marshall watched himself being ripped out of his blood mangled body, and seen in horror where he was going to spend the rest of his dying days. He personally watched the coins being placed over his eyes as he died a horrifying death – came for him at the flash of a blade. Eugine actually stood outside of the editor's office when he witnessed his friend die and be pulled back into the realms of Hades.<br>
As Eugine drank his liquor laced coffee, his hand started shaking in horror thinking about how some of the contributors of his magazine dies. What really gave him the chills was how the writers from In The Depths would capture the detail of their deaths in every grotesque description – especially from Misty Gersley. IMPALED BEAUTY QUEEN actually left an unnerving chill down his spine because she was detailed in the way his contributor died. </blockquote><br>
Contrary to Pacione’s belief, not one bit of this is hardcore or impressive. Like I said before, it’s like that fat kid who smells like spoiled milk trying to explain the movie he stayed up late to watch on HBO when you were both in the fourth grade.<br>
Go fuck off, Pacione.<br>
<blockquote> Plummeting down a second floor balcony then head first hitting the spike on the fence, echoing the way Vlad The Impaler would kill his enemies. Dipping bread in their blood and eating it with his dinner, one of those things that Eugine used to not read about – macabre acts written in in the pages of history. He can't get the death of the one left hanging from the head on the sharp point of a fence. </blockquote><br>
Jesus, how many times are we going to have to read this fucking Vlad the Impaler part. I mean, the dude was cool to read aobut when I was in 6th Grade, but beyond that, not really.<br>
This is like the fourth or fifth time he’s made reference. It’s long since had any gory or scary parts worn away.<br>
And the fact that the magazine writers keep writing all the details about the killings, still make me believe that Pacione accidentally wrote about serial killers.<br>
Just a reminder…<br>
Todd Hollins’ roommate is STILL getting gored by that spider.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/wosnd1Y"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/wosnd1Y.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<blockquote> He sat there nervously with Jerry drinking their coffee while the waitress was making the rounds – the paintings on the wall had this unearthly feeling to them, as if they were recording the deaths of his contributors.<br>
The coins over their eyes as they were prepared for burial – coins are there to hand to the ferryman to cross the river Styx. The atmosphere started to give Jerry the chills as well with the loud heavy metal music blaring. It made the place even more frightening<br>
<br>
when The Thing That Should Not Be by Metallica started playing in the background. </blockquote><br>
Of course it did. Between being surrounded by serial killers, having the world champion of the White Trash Waitresses Working in a Shitty Diner take their order, and the velvet paintings of murderers, of course it would play a fucking 30 year old song.<br>
<blockquote> He actually thought the hybrid children with gills upon their chest were going to walk in the diner. A looming horror grew over both their heads, and abject terror was slowly growing within the depths of their human soul – knowing each photograph they publish or story they run, another demise loomed over their collective heads. Jerry's hand shook as he was trying to light up his clove cigarette. He and Eugine couldn't stop thinking about the eerie painting portraying the SINNERS DANCE contributors. All of them, laying in open caskets with coins over their eyelids all in a row. It was if they were reliving the horror of having to watch the people pour the funeral dirt upon their casket – while the dead watched themselves get covered with burial dirt upon the final resting place. The burials became fodder for Nickolaus Allan Cicerone's short story “The Burial Of The Young.” In the story, he would be describing how they would be scratching at the inner walls of the closed caskets if they were buried prematurely. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. Self insertion. Just kill me again.<br>
<blockquote> Then as they were buried they were being greeted by the second death. The Shades of Hades howl for them as they reach the dead by their legs pulling them feet first into the depths of the underworld – the final separation between man and God. The elegant clad visitors didn't know what was coming for them as they waited for the person who actually dropped the mysterious invitation for them to meet at a Borderlands Diner. They saw some of the paintings in abject horror especially one done by Lilith Skeezix, someone who just wants to be known as a pen name or painter's name. The paintings in some way had left the In The Depths writers inspired to pen the more horrifying yarns. </blockquote><br>
Christ, he’s repeating himself so badly that I’m worried I may have actually suffered a stroke. I’m starting to root for Eugene and Jerry to escape before they’re hunded for sport.<br>
Holy fuck, I’m almost done with this piece of pig-shit and fucking Orion STILL hasn’t shown up? What, is hunting down BMX riders in the New Mexico desert?<br>
Ugh. Fuck, I was wrong. I’m barely 2/3 of the way through this shitty book, and so far they haven’t done jack or shit.<br>
My God, I’m bored I could probably masturbate to Scooby Doo cartoons.<br>
<blockquote>Eugine and Jerry each looked around for the individual named Orion as they stared up and down the diner they were getting more nervous by the hour. They were having unsettling thoughts about the contributors who are now in the stages of a second death – spiritual death, they're <b>--SNIP--</B> ground as the Shades pulled him into the concrete feet first. It appeared almost if he was caught up in an oceanic undertow as they pulled him into the underworld, a rude awakening to the horror within his dismal times. Stephen Marshall's death was the thing that haunted him the most because he actually watched the sorry fucker die.<br>
“What's wrong man?” Jerry asked Eugine as there was a growing worry in his face. “These fucking paintings – they are giving me the creeps. Some of them actually drew<br>
portraits of our contributors laying in open caskets with coins over their eyes,” Eugine answered as he gulped his liquor mixed coffee. Those paintings to him gave him the chills thinking about them in abject horror.<br>
Especially the ones which were done by Lilith Skeezix, and they could hear the howls of a black cat on the other side of the diner. </blockquote><br>
Oh Jesus, you don’t want to know how much I pulled out that just repeated shit.<br>
I mean, how many more times he just repeated this shit.<br>
Oh, and SURPRISE BLACK CAT. Holy shit, in order to get what the diner looks like you have to mine it out of like at least six pages.<br>
And to remind you:<br>
The Story So Far: Gay man gets letter to meet strange gay man in diner for buttsecks. Nothing happens.<br>
<blockquote> The owner of the diner has at least six black cats and they sit at different points of the diner's area, as familiars to a unearthly disturbed Man of God. </blockquote><br>
Of course they do.<br>
Of course he is.<br>
You have to wonder: Why does Nicky seem to think all of this is cool and interesting to the reader? It comes off as seriously try-hard.<br>
<blockquote> They sat there staring at the patrons as some of them thrashing their fingers across the keyboards penning their disturbed yarns of abject terror within the glowing bluish white screens of their word processors at nerve-breaking speeds. The deaths of his contributors <B>—SNIP--</B>clouded over their heads as they could see the funeral dirt being tossed on the caskets of their contributors within days to weeks of being published within the pages of their rag.<br>
One of the other deaths that happened was of a Janis Beresford who ran a venomous<br>
<br>
gossip blogzine that took a shit upon people who wrote within the pages of In The Depths. They later found chatty little bitch beheaded from a shard of steel. Her dead fuck of a boyfriend was also found similar to a cut off chicken about the same time, both laying in pools of blood as they were both introduced to Lady Guillotine. Both were staring into oblivion as they were beheaded with a large shard of steel – death came for them at the flash of a blade. </blockquote><br>
More bullshit cracked out.<br>
Some revenge fantasy from Pacione about someone else.<br>
Ugh, this is just getting stupid. Stupider? Spputiters. Help help help<br>
<blockquote>She's now spending her second death in the underworld where her brother's rotted corpse was for the past few years – both fucks beheaded like chickens prepared for a meal. Her dead fuck of a brother appeared in Sinners Dance – they actually photographed him when he became a stiff, they met a fate worst than burning at the stake. </blockquote><br>
So they waited for this guy to stiffen up?<br>
THAT MEANS THEY WERE THERE WHEN HE WAS DYING!<br>
<blockquote> They were friends of Jerry, and he was forced to see the closed caskets because the deaths were too gruesome to show an open casket. Their heads were cut off at the bottom of the neck – Beresford often stalked the author, Zorn Hritz in his life because she didn't like what he did and later stalked Misty Gersley. The obsessed nobody constantly stalked her due to the fact she published Zorn's work posthumous in an anthology – his cousin was in charge of his estate, and found some finished stories in his hard drive. Something which she complied featuring writers who were published before In The Depths was conceived. Misty wrote a story killing Beresford off similar to how they killed Marie Antoinette by sending in the guillotine. Beresford over the past years, sent a volume of harassing letters to Gersley because she was publishing Zorn Hritz. </blockquote><br>
Who gives a shit about Zorn Hritz?<br>
This is really starting to turn into a revenge screed.<br>
<blockquote>Beresford was responsible for the torch and pitchfork party and making Zorn the guest of honor with her message board and website. She would be posting photographs of setting fire of the mag<B>—SNIP--</B> standing over the coffins of flesh they leave behind while the friends of Zorn Hritz would actually write the descriptive horror stories about how they died – or when they stare at their own fleshly coffins as they died. </blockquote><br>
I cut a shitload of stuff from the story. Just repeating shit over and over and over.<br>
But, I figured I’d leave the next part, because holy shit…<br>
<blockquote> The kind of thing that would be coming from the pages of Nickolaus Cicerone, since he writes about people going to their second death; a spiritual death. Cicerone and Hritz often traded ideas back and forth for stories, sometimes using each other's stories as backdrops for eerie tales of the afterlife. Cicerone actually revised some of Zorn's </blockquote><br>
Of course he did.<br>
<blockquote> works that were finished, but still on the word processor as his best friend passed away. They even collaborated on one which the subject matter was about retribution from the afterlife called “Pacione's Laugher.” </blockquote><br>
And here’s Pacione just shoving himself in, or missing his own name in the Find/Replace.<br>
The “Pacione’s Laughter” thing is supposed to be…. I don’t know… <br>
I guess it’s supposed to be impressive, supposed to get the reader to go “FUCK YEAH, NICKY!” and fist-pump, or whatever. But it’s just… sad. I mean, I know he intends it on being some kind of chilling thing, but since we all know he’s a squalid hunchback with the hygiene of Bub from Day of the Dead and a voice like a chipmunk that inhaled helium, all I can think of is wheezing high pitched giggling.<br>
<blockquote>That collaboration appeared in Misty Gersley's magazine and she even added a sequel to the story of her own. The elements of that sequel became the framework for IMPALED BEAUTY QUEEN. Jerry actually read “Pacione's Laugher.” </blockquote><br>
Ugh, he just can’t help himself.<br>
Like a chronic masturbator in court.<br>
<blockquote>A lumbering chill that went to his very soul. Especially in the story they killed off a Madison, Wisconsin, based industrial performer screaming about being liquored up. Found him beheaded with a thick sheet of metal while driving drunk down the highway. It was two weeks before James Michael Fanalle's death when the story got published. The head of his label, Chad Arpe, died by his own hand because of an overdose.<br>
The medical examiner found him with a dirty needle dangling from his veins with his flesh turning a pale shade of green. His eyes were staring into oblivion, while his spirit was looking upon the old greenish gray corpse – touched by the hand of doom over time with his breakfast on a mirror or the black liquid shit cooking up on a spoon.<br>
The head of his label met his end just as Fanalle did because he actually messed with<br>
<br>
the publication date of IN THE DEPTHS. He would constantly send dead dismembered cats to the members of the magazine, especially to Cicerone's family – often to his older sister who looks after the family. Fanelle made them a target because the entire Cicerone family each carry Conservative values, something that Cicerone wrote on a solo basis left him a disturbed feeling. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. Even doing this, I could see it as a justified escalation.<br>
And who gives a shit about the fact they have Conservative values? Ann Rice has conservative values and nobody gives a shit.<br>
<blockquote>Almost if he was writing a prophetic tale of Fanalle's death and the descent of the maelstrom of addiction of the owner of his record label. Since they had pictures portraying some of the authors of IN THE DEPTHS as kings and queens of misery and woe, seated with the lord of the flies. The album covers of James Michael Fanalle would often mock the stories of the IN THE DEPTHS roster often portraying them in unflattering situations. One of them urinated on a photograph and used it for an album cover of a deceased spouse of one of the writers after they urinated on it. They had the brass balls to send the fucking thing to the editorial office of IN THE DEPTHS. Shows how many times the two had their breakfast on a mirror or drank down their earnings, especially when they desecrate the dead. Time was ticking down for them, life for Fanalle and Arpe were out of season – beheaded and the other with a dirty needle hanging from their arm.<br>
It was almost if the dead was trying to send some of the deceased whispers of madness into his heart. Something within that diner gave him the chills especially when he thought about the collaboration between Cicerone and Hritz.<br>
The photograph and illustration of Hritz's portrait gave Jerry and Eugine a sense of abject horror. Almost if the illustration was alive and breathing within their minds; in a way if Zorn Hritz's ghost was in the room watching them from beyond. The illustration was of Zorn Hritz sitting in the graffiti room at The Exit as he took a sharpie to the torn up seat – done sometime prior to his passing, they immortalized his signature and sent copies of the photograph to Borderlands. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. So this guy is so immensely popular he can vandalize shit?<br>
Oh, wait, he’s ripping off a sort of famous bar in Chicago that I heard about a long time ago.<br>
Christ, Pacione, at least try to make up your own shit.<br>
<blockquote>Blah blah blah, I, Nickolaus Pacione, like to sniff my mother and sister's panties while I furiously stroke my medically diagnosed micropenis and imagine myself being anally mastered by Brian Keene, who I love so much and <b>--SNIP--</B> living out some sick horror writers creation. His hand was shaking in fright while he takes a drag from his Clove cigarette while Eugine was taking long swigs of his whiskey. They truly both feel like a couple of jagoffs waiting for the writer of the mysterious letter who goes by a moniker of Orion. </blockquote><br>
Ugh, he’s STILL drinking that cup of coffee. So either it’s the size of a goddamn German beer stein, or he’s sipping it so slowly his backwash is filling up the cup.<br>
And it’s the same Clove cigarette.<br>
Once again, here’s the problem with Pacione’s writing. All of the characters are action figures that don’t actually do anything, secondary characters are cardboard cutouts, and the world itself is just a flat gray plain that very little detail is added.<br>
What do we know of the diner:<br>
It has at least on waitress, who’s dressed like a lot lizard. There’s losers wearing denim and boots typing on their laptops. There are booths. The diner is gray and chrome. There are velvet paintings of Elvis, I mean, Cicerone Pacione, it’s owned by some gay mass murderer named Zorn, and… umm…<br>
It has a door?<br>
<blockquote>Seems if their life was depending on this particular meeting. They almost felt like someone from their roster was about to ride the lightening and the IN THE DEPTHS roster was personally going to pull the switch. It was looming there staring back at them in form of the illustrations of their contributors with coins over their eyes laying in <B>–SNIP--</B> their eyes. Jerry stared at this coffee while Eugine took a nervous drag off his Clove. There was a sense of looming horror over the both of them as they sat in that booth, almost if they were being watched by the Master Reaper himself. </blockquote><br>
I just cut out ANOTHER description that was damn near a copy-past of the shit we’ve been reading.<br>
<blockquote>As if he was the one who was doing the whole game over for their contributors – as Eugine was forced to attend the premature wakes and funerals. The racing thoughts and nervous ideas wandering in his mind as he took that drag, the horror of knowing his <B>–SNIP--</B>eaper was in human form. </blockquote><br>
Again, almost the EXACT same thing I just snipped out.<br>
Lungs of hell. Check.<br>
Funeral Dirt? Check.<br>
Man, the whole hing just sucked.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>One of the deaths was of a Jessica Wagner who actually stole some of the stories in the magazine and plagiarized the characters to make them hers. She got a story published in SINNERS DANCE by stealing from Zorn Hritz – she openly plagiarizes his content. They found her dead as she was found floating belly up somewhere in the Atlantic, also found dead in ocean was Joe Capote with an arm chewed off by a shark at the shoulder. Eugine published her in a heart beat because he can't stand Zorn Hritz.<br>
Her plagiarism was perfect for the mag along with the collaboration of Joe Capote who openly steals from Nickolaus Cicerone's work. </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
OK, I personally want everyone in the story to die now.<br>
<blockquote> Both their ends came sudden, they didn't even know they were going to hell for what they did. The obituary for both plagiarizing losers came as a bolt of lightening for Eugine, it was if he didn't know what hit him because they found Capote as a mangled mess in the ocean. Harsh lesson of stealing being the wages for it, demise! Demise hit them both hard as they were getting published within the pages of Eugine Verner's magazine.<br>
Demise and decay were the constant companions in his magazine and stomping grounds for the writers of In The Depths – following the touch from the collective kings and queens of misery and woe. Within the walls of Borderlands. There were abject horrors breathing in some blasphemous form were some entity or being documented; madness becoming the written downfall – observers within the depths of a second death.<br>
In Eugine's alcohol drenched eyes, what he knew that he was sitting in a place where the king of misrule was looking down upon both he and Jerry. All the while they waited for a mysterious moniker who called themselves Orion – </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
So,…<br>
You know what, I don’t even care any more.<br>
<blockquote>in the back of his mind he was about to face the lord of this world. In that diner, Eugine Verner and Jerry were feeling an impending horror weighing down upon them.<br>
<br>
The reality staring clearly at them as an open casket<B>—SNIP--</B> their flesh being cold to the touch as a long black Chicago winter.<br>
Eugine thought about one of the magazine writers actually lived with a washed up interviewer who hasn't seen an interview in print for nearly twenty years – but he ended up writing a weird story about this interviewer and got picked up in the magazine.<br>
The interviewer spent five years in a mental asylum somewhere on the outskirts Tinley Park, Illinois. Eugine was actually friends with Carrie Anne Russo, retired interviewer and promoter – but when she got published in SINNERS DANCE, she was later committed Jeremy Usher Insane Asylum because of the story written by the room mate. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. Just, Ugh. I stripped 4 pages of bullshit out, and you can’t even tell.<br>
And of course she spent time in the mental asylum for the terrible crime of… ummm… because of a story written by her room-mate?<br>
<blockquote>She went mad because the words about the author describing how she was haunted by the homicide of her brother who was a cab driver somewhere in Itasca, Illinois. </blockquote><br>
And here we see one of Pacone’s most disgusting habits. He ties in personal real life tragedy to his shitty characters and then donesn’t understand normal people’s reactions.<br>
I’m drunk as fuck and I can see how the room mate was a shitty person.<br>
This room mate decides to write a story based on the murder of the person’s brother, going into horrible detail.<br>
<blockquote> She sees him in the halls of her apartment with his throat slashed from one end of the chin to the other. The author and room mate of Carrie Russo who actually documented this portrayal of unspeakable horror was Gurnee, Illinois, based true crime author David Rule and ghostwritten in part by Keith Gregory Cormier of Coal City, Illinois – Cormier did many stories that were true ghost stories and they were published within the pages..<br>
The story could easy been out of the pages of a D. Paul Cooley book. Carrie Russo was a little overweight and carried herself as a Glam Goth who went to Glenbard West High School, The Class of 1987, while David Rule who attended Lake Park High School. He actually graduated in the class of 1994, would have a grunge look to him and wore his hair long – went to college at Harper Community College. Eugine actually found this<br>
<br>
story in the magazine when his girlfriend left it laying in the office – the illustration for the story was done by Walter Kane. The drawing of her was of her in a padded room shrouded up mouth to toe in a sheet with belts around her. Resembled a kidnapping victim in the scene of a Crime Noir film or found within the pages of a dark whodunit. </blockquote><br>
Ugh, we get details that don’t matter.<br>
Then we get another peek at Pacione’s BDSM mummying fetish.<br>
<blockquote>They portrayed her as being entombed alive within the rubber room where she could live out the rest of her little world only thing keeping her company are her bloodcurdling screams of madness. While in the rubber room they kept her system pumped with hypnotics – </blockquote><br>
They kept her pumped up with hypnotics? AHAHAHAH! No.<br>
<blockquote>mainly keeping her loaded with 100 mg Zyprexa and 2000 mg of Seroquel then injecting Lithium through an artery in her neck while they keep her under tight shrouds. </blockquote><br>
As someone who is on a multi-thousand mg dosage of Seroquel, I can say that normal people, with 2,000 mg of Seroquel daily, would need nothing more than someone to just wipe the drool off of their mouth.<br>
<blockquote> Dr. Joseph Kaforski would be giving her enough medication so she can remain somewhere in her head and macabre fantasy world – haunted by the nightmares of her slain brother as they were taking turns slashing his throat. Within that forsaken place she would be disconnected with the fractured reality. That fragile reality she had were being buried as a premature burial within the walls of a rubber room – the kind of things that would be written within the pages of David Rule. </blockquote><br>
So the Dr.is a shitty person. Rather than snapping her out of this world, he’s keeping her in it.<br>
Why is everyone in the stories Pacione writes complete pieces of shit?<br>
<blockquote>Another who was a patient up there was one named Travis Anderson, whom would continually open and close The Holy Bible on his genitals. The other disturbing acts he did within the walls was take his fecal matter then smear it on the walls of the wing.<br>
Him being committed was immortalized within the pages of a short story penned by a Jason Zima whom known Anderson personally since middle school, Anderson's insanity inspired some of the most psychotic psychological Gothic short stories ever written. The very thought of him being locked away for opening and closing the Bible on is genitals was disturbing enough, let alone painting the walls with human fecal matter – the thought of using human waste to decorate the walls leaves a disturbing picture that leaves third degree burns in the back of the human soul. </blockquote><br>
No it doesn’t. Most people, seeing that, would just shake their heads in sorrow and hope that the poor person can get treatment.<br>
You know, human compassion?<br>
Of course, that’s all alien to Pacione.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Such stories about being institutionalized become a looming shadow to Eugine while he eyeballed his coffee. </blockquote><br>
Pacione projecting his own fears on his writing and assuming everyone else feels the same way. If I was completely gone, I’d want caring institutionalized where people would care for me and keep me from hurting myself and making sure that I’m not in constant pain.<br>
Pacione can’t imagine others caring for him because he can’t care for others.<br>
<blockquote> The rough drafts of those stories are often published in a small magazine by the same editor – showing where the writers came from; the institutionalized Carrie Russo was --Bah blah blah--- dead around the time his best friend, an actor named Kevin Hughes was found dead in a seedy hotel somewhere in Chicago – they found him with a dirty needle hanging from his arm and skin was turning green.<br>
“This fucking place is really giving me the creeps with all these paintings of the dead<br>
<br>
--- OUR dead!” Jerry whispers to Eugine out of the corner of his eye. There was an impending horror that was living within that diner. </blockquote><br>
Oh, now he gets creeped out.<br>
<blockquote>-<b>--SNIP--</B>-king them as they could see the dead in their tortured minds. As they stare at their now cold coffee, </blockquote><br>
So they’ve been sitting there long enough for their coffee to go cold?<br>
Man, Pacione really does leech off of people and businesses if he thinks that it’s OK to sit there till your coffee is cold and not order anything.<br>
Oh, and I snipped 4 pages of him just repeating himself.<br>
<blockquote> they see the nightmares hanging upon the wall staring right at them as if they were alive and breathing entities documentations of death itself. The works of Skeezix were almost if she made a pact with The Father Of Lies – the uncanny use of the dead in the paintings were staring right at them if they were done without a soul. Jerry pretty much was holding back the piss from being released in his pants. There was something he felt in that room as he and Eugine were waiting for the one who called themselves Orion. But deep down in their soul they could hear God laughing at them because they did something tha<B>—SNIP--</B>rom the dying of the second death as they were being observed by the Master of Lies. One of the dead was named J.K. Willard who they found knocked into pieces outside of Wheaton walking down a rail road track he called himself “AngryInIllinois” -- the contributor was offering doctored pictures of Zorn just as he died. The God wasn't too happy with that one so he was struck dead because his crime was as unforgivable as the blasphemy of the Holy Spirt. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. More poorly written revenge screed.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>They collected his remains with two coins in the dismembered hand where they can see the stil exposed bone. His remains became food for the angry Demi-Gods, and God was laughing as the corpse was picked apart as the coins for the ferryman were still in his hand. Damnation in hell as Charon awaits. The crime he did against the dead was take a story written by Hritz and put his byline on it then contributed it to SINNERS DANCE – thou shall not steal. The laughter of God is heard in the walls of the diner as another met thy maker, the shadows upon their mind – when nature plays God saying, “I will take your life from you. To whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee. Another death that happens just once after 10 thousand years while their soul remains trapped under ice.” </blockquote><br>
Notice that Pacione thinks that God himself gives a shit about his writing, and that even looking at Pacione’s writing will get you punished by God.<br>
The only reason he claims to be religious is so he can spew hatred all over everyone.<br>
He’s a racist, a religious zealot (as long as he can pick on people), a sexist, a gaybasher, and a bully.<br>
<blockquote>Another case over in Oxford, England, of a young editor-in-chief actually plagiarized another story. The found the bitch impaled chest first into a fence staring into infinity – the editor-in-chief in question was named Sarah Elizabeth Cochs. They buried her closed casket because the family couldn't handle the huge gaping would coming out of the chest of the heartless bitch. </blockquote><br>
Pacione seems convinced that the mortician wouldn’t fix the whole and that she’d be in the coffin without a shirt.<br>
Remember, he’s never actually been to a funeral.<br>
<blockquote>She plagiarized another story of Zorn's and sent it to Sinner's Dance – somewhere<br>
<br>
beyond the grave he's laughing because he sees revenge in his eyes. Revenge being in the form of a second death, vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord. There is a special place in hell for someone like them and it awaits them as they die.<br>
She not only put her byline on Zorn's stories but also put a byline on a story written by Albert Joseph Poe. </blockquote><br>
Another Pacione self insert.<br>
<blockquote> The moment they buried the heartless bitch, people started to use her grave as a toilet – as in they actually pulled their pants down and deficated on her tomb while they were still burying her. Some of them actually had the balls to take a piss on her in her open casket, according to the public record. </blockquote><br>
He actually thiks this is cool.<br>
<blockquote> Someone had a video of this act somewhere on her website which they hacked on the day she died. She actually posted some of the plagiarized stories of Albert Joseph Poe on her site House of Horror.co.uk. She even plagiarized the one that is now called THE FANDOM WRITER. The editors of SINNERS DANCE were motified tha someone actually took a shit on the bitch's grave. In life she prayed to graven images and called them her God. Even she watched in horror from the bowels of hell as they were doing that to her in death. That's what happens when one is a frozen cunt in life. Her site was vandalized with the words “pariah in mortality” upon them.<br>
A sense of horror went down Eugine's back as he was holding back the shit from flowing down his pants. He found a photograph of the burnt house of J.K. Willard after his death, they immediately set torch ot his residence and vandalized his vehicles saying, “ROT IN HELL FUCKER.” </blockquote><br>
And this is aimed at me.<br>
::sigh::<br>
Like he thinks it’s going to bother me.<br>
<blockquote> They were taking turns smearing horse shit on his headstone and diging up his remains so they can stick his servered finger up his ass – </blockquote><br>
So edgy, Pacione.<br>
Sorry, you fat fuck, but nobody will do this too me based on what you say.<br>
<blockquote> while his corpse rots in his grave, his soul screams from the lake of blood. The Bastard of creation he shall become, abominati0n, death within his sin. God was giving them the highway salute because of the acts they've done in his eyes – the act they've done which was the equal to the blasphemy of the Holy Spirit. Someone above wasn't really pleased with the act that they actually committed a sin from the ten commandments, of thou shall not steal. Gersley wrote about this fuckers death too in a story called “God's Highway Salute.” Appearently these were getting to Eugine Verner as he was holding back the shit from flowing down his leg. He saw the painting upon the wall of their deaths, the dismembering death of J.K. Willard and the Vlad The Impaler death of Sarah Elizabeth Cochs complete with the spike impaled where her heart was supposed to be. The horror in his eyes when he saw the two coins laying within the severed palm of the h-<b>--SNIP--</B>-were watching their souls get fucked in a second death.<br>
It was said that the brother of Zorn Hritz actually buried a Brian Baupauder alive for catching him with a manuscript of his brothers – putting his byline on the thing then publishing it as something that Baupauder wrote. </blockquote><br>
So Zorn’s brother is a murderer.<br>
<blockquote> The brothe found the alleged plagiarizing son of a bitch, dragged him into a cemetery then beat the shit out of him then after beating the shit out of him he tossed his body into an open grave then dumped dirt on him. He took a plane ticket to where Baupauder lives then dragged him out of the house. Baupauder was beaten unconcious in the cemetery then when he came to he was shot in the head like a zombie then he was continued to be buried – the brother urinated on his freshly dead body. The fact that this was documented in the paper and Zorn's brother got off on a legal technicality – a self-defense justification and temporary insanity, he wasn't institutionalized for killing Baupauder, in fact he got to walk. </blockquote><br>
Right here shows that Pacione thinks that the fact he’s bipolar means he can get away with everyone.<br>
Self-Defense? He flew to the guy’s city, drove to his house, beat him up, drove him to a cemetery, beat him again with a shovel, put him in an open grave, dumped dirt on him, then shot him, then buried him?<br>
Temporary insanity? No. He planned, plotted and carried it out.<br>
Sorry, Nicky, but you’re ‘hero’ is guilty of Murder One.<br>
At least own up to it.<br>
<blockquote> He recognized the story as being written by his brother and B. Paupauder had a photograph of the same manuscript with his byline on it – tracked his address down and hunted him like prey. </blockquote><br>
Murder One<br>
<blockquote>One of those things where Baupauder was desecrating something that wasn't his and something that was written by the dead. Taking something that was of the dead that didn't belong to them either unleashed a supernatural wrath or a human willing to play God in some circumstances. There were no coins for Baupauder as he was beaten badly, buried alive then shot. The kind of thing that frightened Eugine the worst that his contriburtors WERE plagiarists, and it was bothering him all the more when he saw the gallery of death hanging on the walls of the diner.<br>
Baupauder's death wasn't documented because it wasn't one of those freak deaths the<br>
<br>
other contributors suffered – he actually died at the hand of another, justified violence. </blockquote><br>
No. It was not justified. No matter what Nicky thinks.<br>
It was cold blooded murder by a psychopath.<br>
<blockquote>Madness lived within that diner, it was about to nail them as a ton of bricks as they waited for the one called Orion – though as they waited they felt as they were being judged by the horror upon the walls. Such horror deplicting the horrific death and grotequese displa-<b>--SNIP--</B>-ing for the crimes but his sentence is life without his wife as she was buried while she had her eyes open. Because of being foced to watch the gaping wound seen in her neck, he went into a downward spiral praying for death to come upon him too so he can join his dying bride in hell. There was a card put in her open casket upon the opened wound her neck and the card read when it was opened “GAME OVER.” </blockquote><br>
OK, I cut a shitload of it. It was just the same shit over and over and over.<br>
But here we have someone “forced to watch the gaping wound in her neck” and then she was in the casket with it untreated.<br>
This just shows Pacione’s never been to a funeral or done any research.<br>
Then, he thinks that it’s cool that Zorn and his supporters do this shit. This isn’t cool, this isn’t edgy, this isn’t tough. It’s fucking cruel acts done by shitty people.<br>
And the fact that Pacione thinks that it is acceptable just shows plenty about him.<br>
<blockquote>Another one who went to this slain bride's funeral is one called Mike Mullig and when he showed up a posse of Zorn Hritz supporters actually turned around then punched him to death. One of them held Mullig's arms and then counted each punch as it landed in his chest. </blockquote><br>
I FUCKIN TOLD YOU!<br>
<blockquote> The reason they did this was because of something Mullig had done to Zorn just before he died and that was actually wiped himself with the creative nonfiction work that was detailed in the death that Robyn Hintz had done. When they were done beating on him, they dragged his bloodied body to an open grave then shoved him in.<br>
Just before dumping the funeral dirt upon him, one of them unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and relieved himself on the libelous son of a bitch. </blockquote><br>
Oh, but it’s OK, because, see Zorn is actually Pacione. And those people did things that Pacione doesn’t like.<br>
Honestly, he really fantasizes about this shit happening to people he doesn’t like.<br>
<blockquote>This one actually kept threatening to send a mental health letter to his brother to have him locked away for a good long time in a padded cell and placed in four point restaints. All the while they pump a continous strain of pills where he can't function in the world. Kept in a room as a sick wartime novelty. Jerrod got Zorn's brother committed by a petition he did online, and they sent this completed petition to a mental health facility so they arrested Zorn's brother and sent him to the mental health unit. </blockquote><br>
THAT’S NOT HOW THE WORLD WORKS!<br>
Holy shit, he’s terrible.<br>
<blockquote> The details of these two deaths were actually written in the magazine by Zorn Hritz as he co-wrote with the editor of In The Depths of this in grotesque detail. This was called “The Nail In The Coffin” and Skeezix had a painting on the wall based upon this. Both the painting of Robyn Hintz and the painting of Mick Mullig after the aftermath of him getting punched to death. They punched him so hard and repeatedly in the chest that one could hear the plexis cracking. The painting on the wall staring back at Eugine was the painting of the beaten corpse – what dawned on him about Mullig was that he was a contributor to SINNERS DANCE. Jerrod Hintz was docmented to die almost two months later because of a blood clot in his brain, almost if he prayed to God to let him die because the only person in the world he loved brutally killed herself. In a sick way, it serves the bloated faggot right for doing a<br>
<br>
plagiarism of Zorn's entry and submitted it to SINNERS DANCE. </blockquote><br>
So doing a plagiarism deserves being punched to death by an psycho mob?<br>
Pacione, get fucking help.<br>
This isn’t even a fiction story any more, it’s just Pacione wishing death on all the enemies he’s made for himself.<br>
<blockquote>In other words, his wife's insanity became the catalyst for the last nail that would be his coffin. The day when he saw his entire world come cashing down upon him, a world where he will be spending it without his dead bride. The whole horror that followed both the nigthmares of Mullig and Hintz were that they were looking into the eyes of death, while one was condemned to dying alone and the other was punched to death. The bearers of retribution were the ones willing to send Mullig back to hell because he actually told the world that Zorn's final story was written by Jerrod Hintz. Therefore, actually submitting the creative nonfiction story as a work of fiction for Jerrod while he was burying the wife who committed self-murder. What she couldn't handle was the entire lie that Jerrod fed the world about writing a certain story when the truth got out that the story was written by the late Zorn Hritz.<br>
The disrespect for the creations written by the dead seems to be a very common thread when it comes to Eugine Verner's publication; just that he has an open hatred for the writers of IN THE DEPTHS that he welcomes plagiarized stories with open arms. </blockquote><br>
So that’s OK that the In the Depths panting denim clad S&M Daddy’s fucking murder people?<br>
Pacione, you’re making these the most unlikable piece of shit good guys in the world.<br>
<blockquote> As in they doctor up everything to make the story into something they wrote, but seems like the moment they get a plagiarism published – death is greeting them in a way where they will not <B>–SNIP--</B> It was if the damned were screaming WELCOME TO YOUR MORTALITY ASSHOLE in the back of his head as he was looking on at the horror upon the canvas.<br>
“F-f-f-u-u-ck this man, we need to get the hell out of here! Fuck this Orion bastard because I think we were lured here to see the book of life erase our names from it,” Jerry shammered in horror as he saw all the paitings of the grotesque deaths of what was the portray of his friends in a second death. </blockquote><br>
YOU’VE BEEN THERE FOR AN HOUR, ASSHOLE!<br>
And yeah, I think he’s right.<br>
<blockquote> It was getting to him as he felt his hand shaking almost being that he was the sole witness to a person who got knocked to pieces from<br>
<br>
walking in front of a Metra rail.<br>
<br>
This was just after he got offline after stealing the idenity of another author, but some of his family caught wind of this and followed was a downward spiral that would been the media shitstorm. They actually left a message on their blog, a final parting message when they posted was how they were having Johnny Law breathing down their throat. Officer Michael Barlow caught wind of this on another website and actually took the intitiative and started the manhunt. Barlow was one who knew Zorn Hritz since childhood, and Barlow made a vow to crack down on anyone who'd smear Hritz's memory. </blockquote><br>
Abuse of police powers.<br>
Jesus, Pacione. You really can’t make anyone seem to look good.<br>
I hope this cop ended up in trouble.<br>
<blockquote> The body of this one was found knocked all over the Metra Station in Glen Ellyn, Illinois. They found two coins in the poor sack of shit's hand and a farwell note, with two words written on it “GAME OVER.” </blockquote><br>
Killed by the cop.<br>
<blockquote>There was a clipping about this death on one of the walls entering the diner along with a blown up picture of the dismembered cadaver. According to the clipping, the dead body was that of a man named Scott Garton. Barlow left a message on Scott Garton's board saying, “I am coming for you, and throwing everything in my power to see you locked away, you son of a bitch. I hope you find the dumbest motherfucker to represent you.” Eugine was a follower of Scott Garton's website “The Barbwire Hanginging” and Garton's site would try to bootleg Zorn Hritz' entire catalog. He even loaded a video up lighting Zorn's photo on fire and it was showing his face doing it, Jerry looked at this photograph when he was sitting in the Chicago office but when he sees the clipping of Garton' cadaver slewn all over Glen Ellyn, Illinois. It left an unhinged nerve in his body, almost if he was living out some horror writer's sick nightmare. </blockquote><br>
So the cop is also killing people?<br>
Fuck.<br>
<blockquote>It was if Jerry was the sole witness to the second deaths upon the world of the contributors. The world that were his friends or connected to him in some way. Wandering in the nightmares of an endless funeral – life and death become the endless cycle but the horro<B>—SNIP--</B>ing within the ground. Almost if they were wandering close to their own deaths as they held the coins over their bodies which were cold to the touch as they were staring into black infinity. It was though they were watching their contributors were being buried alive before them but they were already dead before they knew they were to meet their fate. It was if they were in the grave from the womb. From Eugine Verner's waking nightmares he saw everything painted before him in the eyes of Lillith Skeezix.<br>
Jerry turned around and bolted out of the booth saying, “fuck this, this Orion is fucking with us – I am getting the hell out of here. Whoever sent that invitation wanted us to see our nightmares and this place was true house of horror. Almost if we were forced to see what our friends suffered as they turned their back upon a God that had unleashed another wave of Judges upon us, and this Zorn Hritz is one of thoze judges as his work was purposely left in the booth conjoining us – this is true hell upon earth and I don't want to see this.” </blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah. I snipped a bunch of shit because Pacione sucks and just repeated this shit over and over and over.<br>
So now Jerry runs out of the diner. ::sigh:: This could have been done 50 pages ago.<br>
<blockquote>At that point, Jerry was doing all he could from not releasing a stream of piss down his leg. There was blood where sweat should have been because of the intense fear of what was burning in the back of him, he felt like the grave was more inviting than what he was forced to see within that diner. He didn't want to be in the Midwest version of The House <b>--SNIP--</B>-ually torched the thing in the bookstore because of what Cicerone did to one of his friends in that one. It drove his friend mad<br>
<br>
because of the horror invoked within the pages because it was all real to him.<br>
<br>
“Fuck this Orion asshole, it seems like these IN THE DEPTHS fuckers set us both up. Setting us up for our own deaths in some way,” Jerry screamed to himself in terror. He was wondering what horror waited Eugine and as much as he hated to leave his friend alone in the diner, he was too frightened to return. It was if that the person painting the nightmarish paintings in graphic detail of their friends with the coins upon their eyes, it was if she was actually doing the horrors as preminitions. </blockquote><br>
Oh man, please let something fucking happen.<br>
<blockquote>There was a stranger there, a male who was in his mid thirties overhearing Jerry screaming this of Orion. Walking up to Jerry then taking a drag of a Newport cigarette, then taking an end of the cigarette and putting it out between his eyes. </blockquote><br>
Ofcourse these was.<br>
Of course he did.<br>
Only Pacione would think this is cool and badass.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Fuck who?” this person said as he was putting the cigarette out on Jerry's face. </blockquote><br>
::sigh::<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Who the hell, no, who the FUCK are you? That fucking hurt putting that cigarette out on my face,” Jerry writhed in pain. </blockquote><br>
Standing there, writhing.<br>
<blockquote> “I would be Orion,” he hissed. </blockquote><br>
Oh, of course it is.<br>
Pacione probably thinks this makes Orion into a bad mother-fucker instead of a fat sad fuck.<br>
<blockquote> “I was reading up about you Jerry, I find it funny that your contributors were dropping like flies. In fact I was the one who took the photos of your friends who were found charred and beheaded – that was a good photo to take,” Orion brags as he takes a drag off the same cigarette he puts out on Jerry's forehead. </blockquote><br>
Wait, how can he take a drag off a cigarette if he put it out on Jerry’s forehead?<br>
<blockquote> “You faggots piss me off – I wanted to kick Eugine Verner's ass for publishing the plagiarism of Zorn's story. Especially after Zorn been dead,” he continues. </blockquote><br>
This whole time Jerry is doing NOTHING.<br>
<blockquote>Jerry looked on in horror, he saw that he was about to either be killed or have his ass kicked royally. </blockquote><br>
HE JUST PUT OUT A CIGARETTE BETWEEN OYUR EYES!<br>
OK, this just shows that Pacione has no idea what any kind of pain comes from anything he talks about.<br>
Which just reinforces that he’s never had anything actually bad happen to him.<br>
Like he went to the hospital for an ice cream headache, went to the ER for an infected scratch, and called and ambulance because he scraped up the back of his neck with a ballpoint pen.<br>
<blockquote> “What do you want from us?” </blockquote><br>
They obviously want to give you some surprise buttsex.<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/6BUTTYS"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/6BUTTYS.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Your fear. Your nightmares, you see – I am another Judge. Us Judges lived within times of the Old Testament and we killed the persecutors, as what Samson did shoving the pillars,” Orion continued. He looked on at the diner where Eugine still sat. </blockquote><br>
Of course he is.<br>
Of course they were.<br>
Of course they did.<br>
<blockquote> “Hritz wrote of these things, and the nightmares he had were of Cicerone being the one who was able to unleash the wrath of God upon the world in his words. Many of your magazine feared Ciceron for this and for Gersley with her story, Impaled Beauty Queen,” he said as he dragged from his cigerettes. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah.<br>
<blockquote> “Why us?” Jerry shammered. He fell backward as he was trying to get up, blindsided by the pain of the cigerette burning into this head and could smell the metallic fuild coming from his head. </blockquote><br>
Wait, what?<br>
Metallic fluid? Is Jerry an android? This story might be cool after all.<br>
<blockquote> “It's because I've seen you pervert the views of the world for far too long. I've seen<br>
<br>
this for many years, you see I might not look old but I am the oldest of the Judges. I am not a vampire, but I have been blessed with a long life or cursed with a long life – the first murderer, Cain is my father,” Orion continued. </blockquote><br>
Of c ourse he is.<br>
Which explains why he kills everyone.<br>
<blockquote> “I was forced to carry his curse being the one to wander the land for centuries as observer but haven't aged. I still look like I was when Samson destroyed the temple where a woman shaved his hair to take away his strength. The knowledge of In The Depths was given to the editor's by me to have the writers come and tell the stories of horror as it was seen from the eyes of the modern Judges.”<br>
Jerry looked on in even more horror, “S—SH—I—I-T-T! WHY HAVE YOU PICKED US? What have we fucking done for these nightmares – for them to torment us within that fucking diner?” </blockquote><br>
No shit.<br>
I agree.<br>
I mean, seriously, Orion? You’re worse than Cain was. At least Cain’s crime was a crime of passion.<br>
And that God fucked him. Abel sucked.<br>
<blockquote>Jerry stared wide eyed and acted if he was staring into the lungs of his own death. Orion grabbed Jerry by his head and thrown him at least 14 feet across the terminal. He barely missed the oncoming Metra train hitting him. </blockquote><br>
Of course he’s super strong.<br>
Christ, Pacione, just quit writing.<br>
<blockquote> “I have to find Eugine,” he said as he was gasping from the near death experience. He knew he was staring at death's face when he was looking at the son of the original murderer.<br>
The original murderer, if I remember right that would be Cain killing his brother. God please help me, I don't want to die here. I need to find Eugine and get the fuck out of here, Jerry looked on as Orion started running after him.<br>
“SHIT!” Jerry screamed. </blockquote><br>
So Orion is a bad guy.<br>
Orion is actually the villain.<br>
Called it.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>He was staring in horror and thought about all those contributors. They met their maker at a blink of an eye especially Karen Lynne Moshley the story written about her death was handed by Zorn Hritz. That was one of the first stories he got picked up within the pages of IN THE DEPTHS with Lilith Skeezix illustrating the fucking thing. The story was called “A Perfect Day For A NeoViccy Hanging.”<br>
“The whole thing with Zorn Hritz, where the fuck did he get the idea for the suicide story? The whole thing about one of our contributors who actually convinced someone to commit suicide,” Jerry was asking while shaking in mortal fear. There was something happening there, one thing he wanted to cheat – his own death.<br>
“His research came from way back on that one, she used to call him a fucking retard and shit like that. The editor of the magazine read of this on Zorn's website and invited him to test out the story—he even got the suicide down to the last graphic detail The grave without the headstone, they considered that poetic justice,” Orion answered in a<br>
<br>
cryptic tone.<br>
<br>
“OH FUCKING CHRIST!” Jerry started bolting there as Orion related the death there of his best contributors there, also a dear friend of his. He had nightmares for weeks about that<br>
one.<br>
<br>
Jerry sprinted to the diner to fetch Eugine Verner.<br>
<br>
“Eugine, we need to go. I mean now. I encounted Orion. He nearly threw me into a commuter train and put a cigarette out between my eyes!” Jerry screamed.<br>
“FUCK THE TIP MAN,, FUCK THE TAB. DINE AND DASH MAN,, DINE AND DASH – NO TIME TO EXPLAIN!” Eugine saw the cigerette burn between Jerry's eyes.<br>
“HE DID THAT?” Eugine shriked, “ACTUALLY PUT A FUCKING CIGARETTE OUT RIGHT BETWEEN YOUR EYES!” “He revealed something and this is even more horrifyijng. You ever heard the story<br>
about Cain and his brother Abel, well this asshole is a direct descent of Cain who lived for eaons,” Jerry tried to catch his breath. </blockquote><br>
Oh man.<br>
Just…<br>
Just…<br>
Fuck this.<br>
<blockquote> “DAMN IT JERRY, I DON'T WANT A FUCKING SUNDAY SCHOOL LESSON. This isn''t funny, if I wanted that I would have joined my girlfiend as she would go to evening service! But if you say he did that to you, then I have to get out of here too,” Eugine responded a little annoyed if not pissed.<br>
“Okay let's get the hell out of here!”<br>
<br>
Both Jerry and Eugine headed out of the diner. Jerry was in middle of the street and a car was speeding at him at about fourty miles an hour.<br>
Eugine shoved Jerry out of the way and took the hit. “Eugine! What the fuck!”<br>
Blood was spurting out of Eugine's mouth, the bones in his ribs cracked and impaled vitual organs.<br>
“Please God don't let Eugine die on me, not here! Not fucking now!” Jerry pleaded. The license plate was from Illinios and read “Immortal 1.”<br>
It was a black and gray 1985 Buick Grand National. </blockquote><br>
So Orion drives a fucking Buick PoS?<br>
And is killing people?<br>
He’s the bad guy.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “He saved my life! But at what cost --- I am about to lose my best friend because of the ferryman was trailing him all along,” Jerry lamented. Orion was looking on and had this mug look on his face.<br>
“HERE'S TWO COINS. YOUR FRIEND WILL NEED HIM WHERE HE';S GOING!”<br>
<br>
The car hit wasn't premediated, but a freak accident as the other deaths were. </blockquote><br>
No, it wasn’t.<br>
We all know that Orion killed him on purpose.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Jerry, I knew my days where numbered when I found out about Moshley's suicide. Tell my girlfriend I am going to hell anway!” Eugine said as he took his last gasps blood<br>
<br>
was filling up in his lungs from where the bone impaled the outer wall. </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The fire department EMTs came to get Jerry, they called in for a blue ambulacne because he was dead upon arrival. Eugine was frightened because he knew the fate that was coming for him as Orion threw the two coins to him. Money to pay the ferryman and the coins were from Ancient Greece!<br>
The one EMT was looking on as the blood was continueing the flow from Eugine Verner's mouth. Jerry knew one thing, Eugin ended up one thing and that was dying alone along with a violent death.<br>
“Someone please stop this shit! I am sick of seeing my friends die God Damn It!” Jerry screamed as he was running for sacred ground. He saw what came for Eugine as the doors slammed on the blue ambulance. That one is usally called in when someone was about the die, a grim reaper with an engine andweels.<br>
Jerry thought more in horror and the nightamres about seeing his editor in chief being a painting for that grim wall of fatality.<br>
He was walking for about two hours up the Illinois Prarie Path.<br>
<br>
“Why? Tell me why must all my friends and contributors have to die!” he was screaming as he fell to his knees.<br>
“WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT, ARE YOU TESTING ME LIKE THE ONE CALLED JOB?” IS THERE SOMETHING I DID THAT PISSED YOU OFF?” WHAT KIND OF GOD ARE YOU, WHAT KIND OF GOD WOULD LET PEOPLE DIE BEFORE SOMEONE'S EYES!” Jerry was screaming up to the skies angry because he felt this was someone punishing him. </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
Just… stop.<br>
<blockquote>It was about 11 PM when he approached Central Dupage Hospital, he managed to swipe a thermal blanket and a pillow then sneaked into the chapel to lay down. They hardly checked the place because the chapel was accessible twenty-four hours a day. </blockquote><br>
You know that Pacione has probably done this more than once.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “ALL. MY. FRIENDS. D—D--D--E-A-D!!!” he started sobbing. He was as frightened as a child who would be repeatedly receiving physical abuse from a parent and made them promise not to tell. He took off his boots, and went to lay down at the corner of the chapel that was the darkest corner, he took his coat off to make it like an additional pillow.<br>
In his dream he was standing in a funeral home with twenty open coffins. Every contributor who died from Sinners Dance were laid out in a mass wake. It played out as a story that was written from an IN THE DEPTHS contributor. When he was wandering around he saw the open casket of a face he didn't want to see – his own!<br>
“NO! I DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS---I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING SEE THIS! OH GOD NO, SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!” Jerry was trying to run out of the room but the doors were locked from the<br>
<br>
outside. He was like a rat, and that was one thing – trapped.<br>
<br>
In the dream, Zorn Hritz walked up to him and punched him in the stomach. The punch knocked him back a few feet. </blockquote><br>
And Zorn is still a bully.<br>
<blockquote> “That's for every person you published who plagiarized my work! I saw that the ferryman was trailing your friend, Eugine Verner. He was waiting for him, and Skeezix was documenting all the deaths as they were painting their souls on the wall. All of us were watching all your mistakes, and were documenting your downfall.....”<br>
“Zorn Hritz, I thought you were.....?” Jerry squeaked.<br>
<br>
“DEAD? WELL I AM DEAD YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER. I APPEARED IN THE NIGHTMARES OF EVERY CONTRIBUTOR OF YOURS AS THEY WERE DYING. YOU SEE I WORK FOR THE GRIM REAPER NOW! I AM THE FOREBEARER OF DUSK,” Hritz went to sit down on one of the chairs grabbing a beer from the fridge. </blockquote><br>
Of course he did.<br>
Of course thre was beer.<br>
Goddamn, Pacione’s ‘tough guy’ characters suck.<br>
<blockquote> “How about a drink Jerry? You're going to be here for a long time, by now you haven't slept for days with all the funerals and wakes you've been attentioning. The Grim Reaper would leave the parting note of Game Over and I would leave the coins for them as they died so Charon can take them across the River Styx. I became the angel of death,” Zorn sat back clad in black leather, lace up leather boots, and a long leather quarter jacket.<br>
“I get to help reap the souls of the dead, and I get all the beer I can drink. Pretty damn cool huh, not a bad way to enjoy the afterlife if you ask me don't you think?” he said taunting Jerry. </blockquote><br>
So he’s a cheap hitman dressed up like a gay S&M dome?<br>
He sucks.<br>
<blockquote> “YOU! SICK! FUCK! YOU MOTHERFUCKING SICK FUCK!” Jerry got up again.<br>
<br>
“Well comes with the territory, after all I write horror drawn directly from real life,” Zorn responded with a smug look on his face.<br>
“Why don't you say your last goodbyes to your friends? They've been waiting for you. They can't hear you because they've been empty shells for a long time, their souls right now are in a second death! The judges were sent to do my Boss' will,” he continued.<br>
“What they did when they wrote for In The Depths was their tithe.” “Who is your boss?” Jerry asked.<br>
“It's not old split foot! I hold here the book of life, and none of their names are on it. Want to have a see? Have you received Him Jerry?”<br>
“W-w-h-a-a-t d-d-o-o y-o-u fucking mean by that?” Jerry now becoming more frightened, he was turning pale white.<br>
“Do I smell something coming from you Jerry, as in do you need a change of skivies? It smells like shit, is that the final shit you take Jerry, you know the one that dogs take<br>
<br>
before they die. I had dreams of Him sending demons to the pigs, and your contributors are bringing back those demons in their perversions. DO I SMELL THAT, IS IT ME OR ARE YOU TAKING WHAT THEY CALL THE DEATH SHIT?” Zorn inquired almost if he was making fun of Jerry, “almost like you need a fucking diaper change, motherfucker.” </blockquote><br>
Ugh.<br>
<blockquote> “Death shit! What the fuck is a death shit?” Jerry shammered trying to regain his composure. He was looking in the book of life and seen the name of his friend that died at the hands of The Watchtower Society.<br>
“What? He's in there, how!”<br>
<br>
“Look inside, and you will see why when you wake up. I can see where you're sleeping at, I am not God but I work for him. It was too late for your friends, Eugine Verner was given plenty of chances but he spit at the offer at all the times it was presented to him,” Zorn replied. </blockquote><br>
And now we revert to being a Chick Tract.<br>
<blockquote> “I don't have hatred for your staff at a person, I am just doing a job,” he continued, “Go and have a look at the open caskets in this chapel of bones. You see this is a replica of the chapels made of human bones, and this is where I remained since the day I died. It was because I did nothing wrong when I died, I didn't kill anyone or took illicit drugs like your friends did. I knew some of them in life as well, and what I knew it was already too late for them—-I've written about 300 manuscripts, and left instructions for my family how to get them sent out on my behalf. On my last will and testament, I asked that the money from each sale is done in a Zorn Hritz Memorial Writers Fund to help other writers that your boss had fucked out of being published. Eugine tried to fuck with my legacy, what would make me immortal on earth. Immortality on earth lies with your name in the pages of a table of contents, if you want immortality in the next – you would have to talk to my boss personally and on your own. You know that He's listening,” he added. </blockquote><br>
And Zorn makes himself out to be a fucking GI Joe villain.<br>
He wanted immortality, and kills anyone who interferes.<br>
Someone throw a bucket of water on him.<br>
<blockquote>Jerry looked on at the one, a sense of horror was growing on his face because he can still hear her muffled screams. It was if she was actually burined alive the sufficated she was taped up then put in a pine box the same length as her.<br>
“What happened to this one?”<br>
<br>
“Egyptian Mob hit! She did something that pissed the mob off so they wrapped her alive in vet wrap from head to toe leaving her eyes exposed so she can watch them bury her,” Zorn answered.<br>
“What did she do? Sounds like she did something bad!” Jerry looked on bewildered. “She pocketed $300.000. They practice the way they punished people in the days of<br>
<br>
Anicent Egypt. They made her breathe in some kind of numbing agent but kept her concious to watch what they were doing, they made her eighteen year old son watch but they let him go as they were finished wrapping her for a premature burial – it's a terrible way to go, and this one her soul is still trapped inside her body though her body been dead for about a week. No rigor mortis on her body, she still looks like the day she was buried,” Zorn candidly looked on with that one. </blockquote><br>
So they tortured and murdered a woman in front of her 18 year old son, and we’re supposed to see these guys as the good guys?<br>
Fuck. No.<br>
<blockquote> “That one isn't going to hell or heaven, but condemned to be in the Egyptian afterlife where she's left for their God of the dead. She can still see everything around her. She was about 190 lbs so they put her in a white flannel sheet first like a shroud, then they added about 10 layers of vet wrap on her. She used some of the money she pocketed to finance the project she sent to your magzine,” he added from there.<br>
“Wait Eugine told me he heard a woman screaming from the darkness and being mummified alive, that was her? Oh God, I know who she is—it frightens me that I found out she got caught uyp with the mob,” Jerry looked on reached for her hand. She looked at him with a muffled scream then her body was just her coffin as well as being in an oblong box.<br>
“Sadly, that was her I am afraid. She was only 44 years of age too. Her life to look ahead of her but now her after life she was condemned to have her soul mummified in the body she died in – her body perfectly preserved. They kept all her organs in place but they finished the burial processes after she finally expired what made it more horrifying her son R,J Oslen was forced to watch all this unfold – they didn't kill him, but gave him a fate worst than dying forced to watch a loved one die,” Zore added. </blockquote><br>
You juts know Zorn sucks a lot of cock.<br>
<blockquote>Jerry collapsed in the chapel of bones ended up waking up on the hospital chapel again. He heard a few perple walking into the place a couple nurses.<br>
“I think we got a vagrant here, someone call security...”<br>
<br>
“Wait, I am not a vagrant. I was seeking sanctuary because I just saw my best friend die before my eyes – he saved my life as he died, shoving me out of the way of a car,” he quickly sat up pulling the thermal blanket off of him.<br>
“Oh thank you for the bedding, sorry I had to borrow it without permission. I hope that's okay – he died from having a bone fragment impale the wall of his lungs. I couldn't get over the horror before my eyes – all that blood, and had the worst nightmare,” Jerry continued as he was completely in shambles. </blockquote><br>
blah blah.<br>
<blockquote> “Wait, we had a gurney come in from that. The person had this Gothic appearance to him, internal bleeding I think. Would you like to visit him, if you need to lay down there<br>
<br>
is a pull out bed in the waiting room ove there. Stay as long as you have to. My name is Elizabeth Stoker, and I use to work at a hospital were it was overran by a horrifying bug problem.” </blockquote><br>
Of course she is.<br>
Of course she was.<br>
::sigh::<br>
Pacione never heard of fumigators, obviously.<br>
<blockquote> “I think I knew a little bit about that, didn't parts of the hospital get burned down because of this? I think I will take you up on your offer with the waiting room deal,” Jerry decided to take them up on the invitation. He was weary and downtrodden, they provied s place of rest for him. He knew one thing with Eugine, his life was a game and now his final life was expired.<br>
Jerry walked over to the room where they had Eugine laid out they were prepared to cover his head and wheel him to the morgue. </blockquote><br>
So he was brought to the church? Where Jerry was hiding?<br>
How the FUCK does this work?<br>
<blockquote> “I never had a chance to thank you for saving my life. You know the things your girlfriend had around the office, I am going to keep them around. I will do some changes, but keep the intregity of the magazine. Something that you refused to do, though I am going to keep some things going in your memory because that would be something you have wished,” he said as he lamented for the weary.<br>
Eugine didn't say a word, the touch of his flesh was colder than a Chicago Winter. Sinner's Dance will live on but the direction it took was a little more darker but welcomed more blue collar guys. </blockquote><br>
So he’s going to do what Pacione wants.<br>
This isn’t ‘learning a lesson’, this is flat out “do what I say or I’ll kill your ass” learning a lesson.<br>
<blockquote>Jerry walked back to the waiting room area where he retired on the hide-a-bed usually kept in the rooms for the dads to stay in the room whit new moms They kept one here for those who are looking to stay and watch over their loved ones. He saw a priest, walk into the room and gave Verner Last Rites. There was a crisis councilor who came in to speak with Jerry as he sat up in his pad for the night.<br>
“My name is Elaine Pacione, and if you need anything – feel free to ask. If you need estra clothes, my husband keeps a few pairs of his jeans in the locker room. He's an orderly here, I am sure he wouldn't mind if he parted with one pair of them – he gave a man his Sketchers Boots in middle of a cold October morning when he was released from the hospital in sock feet. He's what they call the modern day Good Sumeratan,” the councilor introduced herself. </blockquote><br>
Oh. My. Fuck.<br>
He just can’t resist, can he?<br>
And I doubt it that Pacione ever gave anything to anyone else ever.<br>
<blockquote> “That would be great, thank you for providing the actual bed and a change of clothes. I honestly haven't slept in days because I kept going to funeral after funeral and wake after wake, I am sick of seeing my friends die before my eyes,” Jerry was now calmed down from coming very close to having a nervous breakdown.<br>
“I never came across anyone that generous in my life. Not even Eugine was that, until<br>
<br>
the very end where he gave his life to save mine. I just had this very fucked up dream about seeing a mass wake in a chapel made of human skulls, there was a writer named Zorn Hritz saying he was working for God and The Grim Reaper for all the beer he can drink. His job was to hold the book of life for him within people's nightmares and those who were forced to see the a modern day version of the Judges.”<br>
Elaine Pacione sat down at the corner of the bed and listened attentively.<br>
<br>
“You know what they say of dreams, that is the way God talks to his people or through messengers. I think have a plain black pull over hoodie in the office closet. It's a mens and I will see if I can get that for you, and I will talk to the nurses to see if they can get you some estra bedding,” she added.<br>
“Holy shit – the generousity. I never came across anyone this kind,” Jerry responded. </blockquote><br>
Once again, basic human decency and charity is beyond Pacione, so it’s beyond his characters.<br>
<blockquote>They left the room and told him there was a magazine on the table if he wanted to<br>
read it. He walked over in his sock feet to take a look at what it was, there was a horror over his eyes. It was a drawing of Zorn Hritz holding the book a life.<br>
Jerry stepped back a bit and thought, just as in my nightmare. I am going to stay for a while though all the people here are offering me a place to rest for a few days. I better call Eugine's ole lady and break the bad news to her. Lord please help me with the courage to do this. I've been guilty of a lot of things in my life but all the things that I've seen Jerry do in the past. He did something he never did before, and that was lay down his life. So please, though I never spoke to You in the past but take me out of this damned valley of shadow of death! Will Eugine ever rest in peace?<br>
“It was just as Zorn Hritz said in the nightmare, the friend of mine who died in the hospital among the Elders actually appeared in the Book of Life,” Jerry said as he was looking at that magazine. </blockquote><br>
Oh for fuck’s sake.<br>
This whole story sucked.<br>
BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!<br>
<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Epilogue<br>
<br>
<br>
It was weeks after they finally laid Eugine Verner to rest, after the funeral and his passing. The horrors that plagued Verner in his life seemed to end as well, but the weight of the world is now upon Jerry as he was currently in charge of the magazine.<br>
“It's what Eugine wanted me to do if anything happened to him. I owe him for that....” Jerry said on video addressing the future contributors. He not only kept some aspects of what Eugine did but did as he said with the contributors who came from blue collar background writing Gothic works. He was acting upon the convictions he was given.<br>
<br>
Some of the past contributos couldn't understand that when they walked in they saw him with his eyes closed and kneeling.<br>
“Ever since Eugine saved Jerry's life, it's been strange seeing him like this...” </blockquote><br>
Yup, this is a Jack Chick Tract in literature form.<br>
<blockquote><br>Another looked on and thought at least he lived. Jerry will have one hell of a story to tell that's for sure. He will be strengthening the reach of SINNER'S DANCE – kept the name to preserve Eugine Verner's memory. I<B> –SNIP--</B> to get that much done, well that's a start. This path took being a writer as well added something more to the magazine. Not bad for an ex-ass kisser.<br>
<br>
“It is finished....” </blockquote><br>
<br>
Thank fucking God.<br>
<br>
OK, this ‘story’ could be easily cut down to about 11K words before an editor got ahold of it.<br>
It isn’t even a fucking story. It’s just Pacione writing death/revenge porn about his enemies, then his Gary Stu’s scare or kill people so that another magazine does what he wants.<br>
<br>
In closing:<br>
<br>
You suck, Pacione. Get a job sucking dick.<br>
Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-59488792657546227872015-05-31T09:24:00.001-07:002015-05-31T09:24:34.448-07:00It's Gonna HappenI have decided, thanks to an untreated headwound and a desire for self-inflicted suffering, to attempt to critique (and ridicule) one of the longest and most self-pitying of Pacione's works...
The infamous: Game Over
Which is nothing but a revenge fantasy-screed, and strangely enough, one of Pacione's last attempts to do fiction. It features pretty much all the Pacione standards, including Gary Stu's and strawmen, people talking to themselves, teleporting characters, and barely constrained heaving male lust for other men.Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-75172999461974601722015-05-28T22:03:00.000-07:002015-05-28T21:59:40.386-07:00Review of Dark DealerReview of: Dark Dealer<br>
by: Nicky “Spackleback” Paicione<br>
<br>
I’m going to be honest. Originally I had walked away from everything to do with Nickolaus “I Want to Fuck my Sister” Pacione. I decided that the slimy little git wasn’t worth my time. I had a lot of other things to deal with, and he wasn’t on the list.<br>
<br>
Despite that, or maybe because of it, I kept getting harassed by him. He would post digusting comments on anything I put up on any site, made horrific claims about me, from child abuse to murder to him claiming I was not actually a veteran of the military.<br>
<br>
But, like people keep trying to convince those of us who have to deal with the disgusting little troglodyte, I tried to ignore him. To take the high road.<br>
<br>
But, as of today: FUCK THAT NOISE!<br>
You see, one of the great things about the internet is that when someone goes at you, you can always choose to fight back. I’m the type to fight back, rather than just lay there and take it like a sheep at a Scotsman Meetup.<br>
<br>
So, with that in mind, let’s move one.<br>
<br>
This particular “Story” by Spackle Back Nicky is the lastest in his attempt to become relevant to the world of writing in the real world like he is in his own mind.<br>
<br>
He intially titled this “Stygian Dealer” and flat out told me in emails that he knew he was ripping off the title to one of my old TTRPG works. I told him I didn’t care and to go away, since books often have the same titles, but no… he had to keep right on going.<br>
<br>
So, I’m going to use it’s original title:<br>
<br>
Now, normally, Clippy the Paperclip would join me, but he lost his long battle with Pacione induced depression last year, blowing his head off with an apostraphe, leaving behind MS Word and Powerpoint as survivors.<br>
<br>
<blockquote><strong>Dark Dealer</strong><br>
By Nickolaus AbLert Pacione</blockquote><br>
Right here the little mouth breathing idiot mispells his OWN GODDAMN NAME! AGAI N! I mean, make no mistake, gentle reader, I’ve misspelled my name. Of course, I was either so drunk that dwarves were following me around trying to put a keg-tap in my ass or I was suffering a head wound, but hey, we’ve all done it, right?<br>
<blockquote>Dedicated to Kim Kowalcyzk </blockquote><br>
This dedication is the literary equivelant of waking up in a Motel 6 with a dead tranny hooker.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>“Children will always be afraid of the dark, and men with sensitive minds to hereditary impulses will always tremble at the thought of the hidden and fathomless worlds of strange life which may pulsate in the gulfs beyond the stars or press hideously upon our own globe in unholy dimensions which only the dead and the moonstruck may glimpse…”<br>
-- H. P. Lovecraft<br>
Supernatural Horror In Literature<br></blockquote>
By the dead god’s assholes, I feel for poor Lovecraft right here. It’s bad enough he was afraid of black people and was once attacked by a roving Rrenchman, but now his name has to be in this inane drivel? <br>That’s like getting bitten by a rattlesnake who then gives you scurvy and leprousy.<br>
<blockquote>The thing I have been called disparagingly by a zealot, a merchant of the macabre – something that I would never be able to do again, well; the fuck with him.</blockquote><br>
OK, right here… WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THIS BRAIN DEAD, SISTER PANTY STEALING SHITHEAD?<br>
See, he used to try to write stories, but the past few years his ‘stories’ have all become just masturbatory fantasies where he writes long screeds against perceived enemies. He reminds me of that guy that stands outside my local 7-11 with his horned Viking tinfoil helmet, except the homeless guy smells better and wears better clothing and has a cool tinfoil Viking helmet.<br>
Actually, Pacione is nothing like that guy. That guy I’d at least give a couple bucks to.<br>
He has NEVER been called a “merchant of the macabre” by anyone, anywhere, outside of him wiping the grease off of his mirror and whispering it to himself while holding a flashlight under the fifth chinfold on his neck.<br>
<blockquote> I am a dark dealer and the kind of things I do paints a horror of the soul. The illness inside everyone doesn’t want to face. What dwells in his nightmares, breathing and wandering became a horror writer’s playground and the muse for black metal acts who can’t stand assholes like him – show me a zealot and I will show you a believer who is actually cool. </blockquote>
Or for fuck’s sake, this kind of meandering drivel is why nobody reads his shit. It isn’t that he has bad ideas, or that he wrote fan-fiction, or that he smells so bad that his stink remains attached to word documents, it’s that he….<br>
STOPPED WRITING STORIES.<br>
Mark my words, gentle reader, this is probably going to be 13K words of him yelling at people who couldn’t give a shit less about him.<br>
Which is really gonna make it hard to milk this lolcow.<br>
<blockquote>
“You shall never write a dark tale again,” he said.<br> </blockquote>
WHO SAID? Who the fuck said this?<br>
Great, we get 13K words of Pacione talking to himself. Maybe I’ll go back and critique his old works instead, at least those were funny.<br>
<blockquote>“I will always have an idea wandering around in me and will draw dark subject matter from it. As my former classmate called me and Edgar Allan Poe on word, fools,” I responded. </blockquote>
Great, now the fat fuck is talking to himself.<br>
<blockquote> I shall be this zealot’s guide into Stygian as the realities I stare at are like Christ going right into the bowels of hell himself, what nightmares breathe and what nightmares dwell – I am the voice of these things and the voice of those who can no longer speak because they were forced to die by their own hand because of something the crimes the wretched bitch known as The MySpace.com Mom had never been tried for and thrown out. </blockquote>
…sigh…<br>
Ok, now he have him claiming… something?<br>
Oh, and throwing the MySpace Mom in there so he can profit or gain recognition about something that happened that he had nothing to do with.<br>
Christ, this is the reason people dislike him so much.<br>
Well, that and his cyberstalking. His calling people IRL, his threats, his cowardly way he attacks people, and that he stinks, he’s ugly, he’s greasy.<br>
<blockquote> Madness shall be thy guide – how this man speaks in King James English; spouting scripture every other word that comes out. Sheep in wolves clothing and hiding behind a painted smiling face – someone who called me evil because I’ve been designed to be a Stygian dealer, the horrors of the surreal and phantasmagorical</blockquote>
ahahahhahhaa<br>
I’m sorry, every time I hear Phantasmagorical I think of….<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/8pvEKjS"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/8pvEKjS.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a><br>
Except he wishes he was as cool as Troy McClure.<br>
…sigh… I gotta review this shit? Why again?<br>
Oh, yeah, because I keep touching myself. Dammit.<br>
<blockquote>What might be the pure and lovely to some – is downright hideous and dismal to another, </blockquote>
For Pacione that would be: Shampoo, clean laundry, clean sheets, clean blankets, shaving, personal hygiene, warm water, showering.<br>
<br>
All of those will make him flee like Dracula from a hooker covered in crosses, garlic, and a Twilight T-shirt.<br>
<blockquote>in other words something with pink curtains and covered in pastel is heaven for someone who Luke might bleach their lawn being he read Poe on audio. I want to do that to any zealot who shoves that asshole who died in 2000 still preaching 14 years later on youtube.com; he’s already twanging his fucking harp – and that is not the same way I see God at all, and he’s the same God this zealot believes but it is just a fucking religion to him. Staring reality in the eyes scares the shit out of him because it is like a children who will always be afraid of the dark – some who believe in God never outgrew their fear of the dark in some ways, that fear they pray that it passes that something is always drawing near like a still beating hideous heart under the floorboards. Monsters they seek and they summon, a monster they shall become – the abyss staring at them back when they look in the mirror.</blockquote>
Sorry, did he say something? I fell asleep.<br>
<blockquote>“You want to say I will never write a dark tale again, sit in the diner with me in Carol Stream, Illinois, and I will show you a Stygian world that mirrors reality – the real world I am not sullied by and you try to mold people into a Sunday School lesson,” I say as I sip my coffee and take a bite of my steak.</blockquote>
I know I fell asleep, but how did we get to this diner? Why are we here?<br>
Wait, is Pacione trying to bum a meal off me. Goddamn it!<br>
<blockquote> I don’t believe in fairy tales, but at the same time I was the Brothers Grim with reality. Welcome to my nightmare you zealot and do I really scare you yet – horror breathes, horror grows from the depths and shadows of anywhere and everywhere. It can be in the neighborhood or my old street in Glendale Heights as horror did happen there when I was 16, you want to say that Christ can deliver me from this madness – well this madness is the cross I shall bare as I had battled a stigma since I was 22 years old and the mental graffiti that lingered from this. </blockquote>
Is there a story in here somewhere?<br>
<blockquote>He says to spread the gospel in every nation right, but what about the ones this zealot would ostracize – these ones they ostracize are my children and my children’s children. The world is black and stygian – where Utopia had long been molested by corruption and an industry is a damn cesspool so I will show a world where a faith is born out of a light forged from one’s own fears and demons – casting their own shadows, casting the horrors born of time and scars of time don’t heal as Christ does heal. My friend, The Christian Woman, had opened her eyes to see a faith that’s more realistic than the world the Pastor’s Spouse or the zealot with the painted smiling face had seen – as the blackened shadows from the sky shall reveal what God had gave me among the den of fools. When it is born among the fellowship of those like me, the Stygian dealers yet showing the world that Light cast shadow – realities and subject matter that the mainstream are scared shitless of, the church has a lot more to worry about than Slayer. Carl Jung calls these narratives our shadows, our dark side as everyone has these – even when one has a sincere faith, and Believers have a dark side.<br>
The ideas this zealot and the Pastor’s Spouse have of a church – it is like Willow wrote being that a church as a mausoleum. I will not fit your “mold” or someone else’s fucking clone – I believe yes, but not the same as I was 18 or 19 years of age. I see things where people are afraid to go – what they fear, is something I am not afraid of and that is what H.P. Lovecraft feared and that is the fear of the unknown. When they wander alone in the madness, waiting in the dark with the barrel of a loaded gun – do they either call upon God or say fuck the world, decorating the wall with their brain matter in the process after giving oral pleasure to the barrel of the pistol before pulling the trigger. This new decade – the rules of the game had changed, people who are coming to God have long hair and tattoos now and are reading works by Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft – as I am the curator of The Library of Unknown Horrors and the ringmaster of Tabloid Purposes. They called me many names like they did with Lucifer himself, an archaic entity born out of a Gnostic heresy who had read those Gospels -- yet at the end of the days I am praying upon my knees to He Above, the zealot might had seen a black snake of rebellion in me but what I do is not a rebellion nor conformity, but a corrosion of conformity. </blockquote>
OK, about the only thing notable in this is his claim that he prays.<br>
Prey is more like it. Constantly looking for underage girls to pose in bondage gear and change in his filthy bondage sleepsack he bought used off of eBay.<br>
Think about that. He bought a USED bondage sleepsack off of eBay. I mean, I don’t mind bondage, hell, it can even be fun, but for FUCK’S SAKE, don’t buy used shit with someone else’s jizz all over it.<br>
Cheap motherfucker. No wonder he was bumming food off me up there.<br>
<blockquote>“I rebuke you in the name of Christ – get behind me o den of devils,” he claims as I make these dark, surreal and macabre revelations that that are seen from the eyes who had seen a Miss Linda or world where people hasn’t quite crossed over to the other side as a Christian college and a haven for the New Age are right in the middle of each other. </blockquote>
What the shit does this all mean?<br>
<blockquote>And a book I read revealed that a very blasphemous kind of Satanist also lived there too – who said the greatest way a Christian to serve God is to become an altar of a Black Mass, a fucked up way to go especially when they deny killing infants and sacrificing virgins on SJR. This zealot and the Pastor’s Spouse had just put us back in the new Dark Age being reborn where superstition had hidden science – where medicine had been thrown away; praying for the black plague to once return for blasphemers of the Holy Ghost to take their lives as they are praying for death to breathe new life. Your fucking stigmas had put us back in the dark ages once again – where you claim that I need to turn my life over to God, I already know Him pal and he’s coming back to reach out to the freaks and the geeks, and the sideshow oddities that were cast aside and thrown away. </blockquote>
Holy shit, the amount of sheer stupidity in all of this is just mind-boggling.<br>
I don’t even know how to answer any of this stupid shit. Instead I’ll just fall back on the old standby: Fuck you, Pacione, you suck.<br>
<blockquote>As I am part of the island of misfit toys; where I was cast aside and thrown away – </blockquote>
Actually, you kind of checked out. You became a disgusting slobbery troll and society wants nothing to do with you. You aren’t part of the Island of Misfit Toys (notice correct usage), because that would assume that you were cool.<br>
No, you are standing in the Garbage Pile of Self Inflicted Stupidity.<br>
<blockquote>a pariah by my peers and classmates who said I had the wrong friends and listened to wrong music claiming I am too old to listen to heavy metal music. </blockquote>
Wait, is he saying that people are telling him he’s too old to listen to heavy metal?<br>
Bitch, I’m older than you are, and nobody has told me that line of shit.<br>
What actually happened is you tried to use a heavy metal fan page on Facebook as a place to spew your bile and hatred and pimp your ‘writing’ and got told to Get the Fuck Out.<br>
It had nothing to do with age, and everything to do with you being a disgusting pervert who some people claim steals his sister’s panties and jerks off into them.<br>
<blockquote>I am of the Island of Lost Souls where people played God with my health, pumping medications in me and a bitch saying I needed decades of therapy.</blockquote>
OK, he NEEDS those medications.<br>
A little public service announcement: Do NOT drink alcohol on high doses of Seroquel. It causes micro-strokes. Going on and off Seroquel will cause kinesthesia and other problems.<br>
And Peaches, you DO need decades of therapy.<br>
<blockquote> Where some say I need to give up as a publisher and give up as a writer, a Stygian Dealer, </blockquote>
Two things…<br>
He absolutely does. I mean, he no longer writes fiction, instead he spends his time writing shit like this. All it is is a bunch of masturbatory bullshit where he tries to justify all his bullshit. He can’t get submissions bcause of his predatory stupidity, so he steals public domain works and reprints them without any changes.<br>
As for Stygian Dealer, once again, he has no idea what that actually was, so he thinks that Stygian just means darkness and blackness (which it basically does) instead of what I’d originally used it for.<br>
How do I know he took it from me? He emailed me crowing about how he was going to steal my (out of print) title so that any time someone googles it they get his drivel.<br>
No, I’m not worried. One, it’s out of print. Two, well, it’s a different genre. Three, I’m not really threatened by anything a balding basement dwelling child predator fat fuck threatens me with.<br>
<blockquote>my advice to the zealot and my momma told me this – expand your horizons and take the fucking blinders off your face my life is not your fucking toy you can break an throw away here, as some are saying I am taking a creative license with God’s Word – well He called us to co-create with him and not a bystander. </blockquote>
Oh shut the fuck up.<br>
<blockquote>You see me as I am sitting in this diner with my thoughts wandering in my head, as you might see me when I just turned 20 years old and studying Philosophy in college; </blockquote>
Because I have a time machine that will take me to timelines other than my own? He went to college for less than a year, flunked out, and got an F in his philosophy course.<br>
If I had a time machine, I sure as shit wouldn’t use it to go see him.<br>
I might use it to punch his mother in the stomach.<br>
<blockquote>walking in the diner</blockquote>
And promptly chasing out the paying customers by bugging everyone for change so he can buy something to eat.<br>
<blockquote> after the Pastor’s Spouse’s bedtime </blockquote>
Where she’s probably getting well-fucked and he’s just jealous.<br>
<blockquote>and I am guessing the zealot goes to bed at 7 PM too and his church is in the country –</blockquote>
He’s really obsessed with other people’s bedtimes, isn’t he? Plus, what kind of insult is this? <br>This is the kind of crap you’d be embarrassed to say in 5th grade.<br>
<blockquote> I don’t exactly see the country church signing Amazing Grace,</blockquote>
Signing it? Is it the church for the deaf? Or are they printing up the sheet music and signing it for people?<br>
<blockquote> as I sometimes hear an industrial metal act singing this as one did during the wake of September 11, 2001,</blockquote>
Ugh, and he tries to get cred off of using a tragedy in his works.<br>
<blockquote> this is the heart of the new decade – the nexus of the new century but the mind of someone who was the still beating hideous heart of the decade of despair. Salvation you offer man, but self-damnation you give – meaning you are the dark soul in the heart scaring someone in the hands of a loving God. <br>
“Nick, if you were to die where you would wake up? What exactly would you sincerely say standing before God as he asked – why should I let you in Paradise?” the zealot asked.</blockquote>
Ugh. I can’t even follow this shit.<br>
<blockquote>“What kind of question you would ask trying to sound clever and thought provoking?” I respond with a question of my own as I gulp down my coffee and look in the journals. He really doesn’t realize what kind of gruesome cargo and mental graffiti I carried in the depths of my mind – and the depths of his soul as he looked in abject terror as I presented my own question as some questions are true and answers are false and what he may not want to see, he will see. </blockquote>
Oh fucking please. Every single thing Pacione has written wouldn’t scare my bunny slippers or dust bunnies under the bed.<br>
<blockquote>“What are you writing in that composition book and may I see it?” </blockquote>
Asked nobody ever.<br>
<blockquote>he responds.
I hand him over my composition book and looked in his own dismay that I have written my own haunted palace. <br>
Sickness and faith had became of me<br>
Death had seen my reality and friends had gone<br>
Madness sings a subtle sad song -- blind had see <br>
Horror of the soul shall become the scars of me<br>
The zealot, I shall call him Isaiah Brendan here – looked at what I scrawled in the pages of this journal and gave me a dirty look. He had short cropped hair and wore a blue suit much like the zealots like Johnny Miracle crying on the television screen and responded like the woman at Faith World Outreach when she read some of my scribbling in the pages or the composition book. <br>
“Something that evil should never be written,” Isaiah claimed as he was pulling out his King James Bible pulling out John 3:16 – saying God love the world he gave his only son, well it the King James doesn’t fit all here. Evil to him – to me it is pure and lovely, art in my eyes as it is a horror to others as it is the words spoken by cemetery poets and madmen. </blockquote>
Anyone who quotes John 3:16 I automatically assume doesn’t actually own a Bible.<br>
<blockquote>“What you never read The Mask of Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe? Reading a little Poe is good for the soul man – it is not going to hurt you as you seen things from a midnight dreary; even Poe wrote about Italians. And wrote about Quacks in his day, reading William Hope Hodgson or H.P. Lovecraft is not going to hurt you either – time to seek the things outside of the pews and see where the map ends,” I smiled with a very dark look in my eyes. If he knew what God had done – on Poe’s death anniversary, seeing something I penned and compiled joining the worlds of literary immortality as these tomes I edited, museums in print God used to have a hell of story to tell. </blockquote>
Sorry, I fell asleep, did I miss something?<br>
<blockquote>“Literature outside of The Bible will not reach these reading eyes,” he said shielding himself with his Holy Book. </blockquote>
OK, let’s be honest. This has never been said by anyone outside of a living caricature or a strawman. Yet Pacione goes on and on about someone who was probably trolling him in real life. Nobody says shit like this. No-fucking-body.<br>
<blockquote>With his eyes he stared at me like I was drawing pictures of a catacombs or seen dreams within old churchyards and Gothic cathedrals as they would be in the streets of London or the dark and grimy landscape that was Baltimore, Maryland. </blockquote>
Has he ever been to Baltimore?<br>
<a href="http://imgur.com/Z6Jos1Q"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/Z6Jos1Ql.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a>
So dark. So grimy.<br>
<blockquote>“What have you done that brought people to Christ?” he responded, sort of echoing the things that the pastor’s spouse had pulled out on me – therefore calling Edgar Allan Poe and I, fools, on his 205th birthday. As she is an ignoramus; ignorance is the poison cast upon eyes of authors – and philosophers as well. God I experienced wasn’t in the pews in the church – but he was no different from a church than either a haunted nightclub or outside the street of Christ Hospital when a Good Samaritan had given me the shoes upon his feet – I will ask in Oak Lawn, Illinois, at the age of 30 who does this?</blockquote>
Anyone who’s a decent person, you goddamn mouth breathing troglodyte.<br>
It’s called charity, and people do it all the time, Pacione. It doesn’t surprise me that you’re mystified by basic human decency.<br>
<blockquote> I will not take Scripture and pound it over someone’s head like he would, as I sat there with my coffee – looking out to the darkness of this February night, as it was the anniversary of when I got stabbed. </blockquote>
Stabbed? AHAHAHAHAA! Stabbed?<br>
He scratched the back of his neck with a ballpoint pen and tried to claim some teenagers did it. He also had an ambulance carry him away because he managed to draw blood.<br>
<blockquote>“Let me say something here if you haven’t read Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. When you look and see demons around every bush as well – you see someone who writes dark and ebony imaginations as the feathered bird Edgar Allan Poe had penned when it Quoth it’s words nevermore,” I replied. <br>
“Who wrote that you quoted?” as he looked on with a sense of horror – a trembling fear was growing in his eyes as I revealed a really cryptic quote. </blockquote>
Oh fuck you, Pacione. NONE of that is cryptic. Everyone has heard that shit to death. You have to learn that shit in 7th grade, and I was a backwoods hillbilly.<br>
<blockquote>“Friedrich Nietzsche – the philosopher who some claimed was insane for saying God is dead,” I replied, “I do read actual literature outside of the Holy Bible as we have the God Above we both adore – The Raven was a poem I read when I was fourteen years old, and this was a week before I became a writer. Exactly one week before my writing period began.” </blockquote><br>
I suddenly hate Edgar Allen Poe.<br>
<blockquote>“Heretic, dark dealer – merchant of evil in my eyes; I bind you Satan in Jesus name. I pray that you never write this rubbish anymore as it is that of work being of the babbling pagans and hypocrites,” he responded in a tone that sounded like either Benny Hinn or Kenneth E. Hagin as his body is rotted in the coffin as his soul is in Paradise in his eyes of twanging harps and everyone looks like a pussy. He may not realize I can sound like someone from either TBN or TV38 (back before they became TLN,) but he makes Christians look like nimrods and assholes – it’s okay to read books and watch movies, I invite Isaiah Brendan to actually watch a movie with me at Icon Pictures in Chicago and the movie I want him to see with me is What Dreams May Come as written by author Richard Matheson before he died.</blockquote>
Oh for fuck’s sake. Right in the middle of this imaginary conversation he wants to invite people to the movies and shit like he’s trying to arrange a date.<br>
<blockquote>“I am not a hypocrite and introduced Christian heavy metal performers to actual literature, </blockquote>
He’s full of shit. He’s never done jack or shit like that. I’m sure next he’ll tell us all about how he trained Navy SEALS not to eat books. Which is impossible. Nobody can teach a snake eater not to eat a book.<br>
<blockquote>where I learned they are actually cool and talk literature with them as I can also speak of my faith man. Maybe you can learn from us; the wicked generation,”</blockquote>
Why does it sound like he’s about to proposition this guy for some gay sex in the bathroom.
<blockquote> I smiled with a darker look in my eyes – a look warm but at the same time frightening, the eyes of a Stygian Dealer.</blockquote>
Seriously, are they going to kiss?<br>
<blockquote> He may not like the fact I pulled out Iron Maiden’s Murders of the Rue Morgue with a copy of the short story it was based upon – the horror in his eyes of someone who was more informed, someone going into a faith in God who has a dangerous mind. He may have been seeing me as I might have blasphemous glare in my eyes – almost if I revealed the bowels of hell and the Hounds of Tindalos with my knowledge of Gothic Literature.<br>
“I bind you in Jesus name,” he screamed</blockquote>
As Pacione took all of his hard cock up his greasy ass.<br>
<blockquote> as I revealed what I said as everything revealed in the night are the nightmare in his realization that he was dealing with an author who was much more updated with Edgar Allan Poe traits and H.P. Lovecraft’s fears had been conquered for him addressing Robert Cormeir’s subject matter – giving what he wrote some more venom. He is afraid of wandering in places filled with crimson velvet and walls of pale grey as the living room of the house has a painting of the late Richard Burton Matheson as this old dark house was on Bloomingdale Road in Glendale Heights, Illinois, and D. Justin Mowrer might fear looking at this oval portrait as some drawings have the Hounds of Tindalos. These dark perverse revelations actually seen upon the walls --- the dark visions he vehemently protested as such scarlet horror seen in the eyes of someone an aging 30something who outlived Robert E. Howard and growing close to the age of an author who died at the age of 38 from Chicago, Illinois, as well actually coming up with vague and archaic visions.</blockquote>
Sorry, did I miss the gay sex? I went in to the kitchen to make a hot pocket.<br>
<blockquote>“I am what yet to come,” I actually replied realizing the nightmare I had when I was 20 years old was one seeing me as I wrote The Cabbie Homicide. As I had been looking upon the old photographs and the oil painting of S. L. Wickham captured this particularly frightening nightmare to life. Someone who had been called a hybrid with the horrific realities drawn from my mind – wandering and breathing in the pages of a bleak December like Edgar Allan Poe when he wrote The Raven, and in the November of 2009 where a friend had succumbed to a disease that has no cure but the cure being that of death when it is too late. The nightmares seen among his eyes – the demons I took on as my own, not the supernatural demons in the pages of The Bible as they are legion and many but facing the blasphemous demon known as Stigma – shame, and being cast aside like the island of Misfit toys by those who believe in the Church as it has the fucking pragmatic legalism.<br>
Isaiah Brendan looking on in abject horror – knowing he would call me wretched and the bastard born from the whore of Babylon, that I wasn’t the tempest enchanted by the words spoken by Edgar Allan Poe when he said quoth the raven nevermore as he recites that the man here. I address have a God in common we both adore – even the Maven bows before the Prince of Peace but the place of worship has a hard time taking someone as me as I became with a faith that takes on The Werewolf Order addressing his “God” – the Temple of Set a “pussy.”<br>
“Children are always afraid of the dark, and zealots never outgrew their fear of the dark or explain the unexplained away. Well man, the paranormal is just common dinner conversation in the Pacione household,”</blockquote>
oh for fuck’s sake.<br>
He calls himself “The Maven” like he’s some 3rd rate supervillain that couldn’t take Superfriends era Aquaman in fight. Hell, The Maven would probably lose a fight against Gleek.<br>
<blockquote> I laughed; almost taking on traits of Vincent Price when he was playing in The Last Man On Earth when he called the vampires in the climax – freaks, mutations. </blockquote>
Showing that he missed the whole point of the goddamn movie.<br>
<blockquote>
“You’re a lunatic,” he screamed. <br>
“Lunatic? No – just someone who is a well rounded reader who got his tastes of literature from the music he loves,” I replied casually and looked at him with a look that scared the photographer when I was 17 years of age. He looked at me like way I mentioned Tabloid Purposes IV to D. Justin Mowrer – that I am the embodiment of the many faces of the fear the unknown, as I am the tabloids become flesh sort of like how Rod produced and created The Twilight Zone in the 1950s addressing issues as Racism, Hypocrisy. Bullying and mental illness if the issue is right – as the lines of good and evil are now blurred where evil can look like a Soccer mom or a pastor’s spouse unleashing a heresy without knowing they did. </blockquote>
OH MY FUCKING GOD, SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!<br>
<blockquote>“Afraid to stare reality right in the eyes – see it as we’re part of the real world, as strong language exists in real world. We’re not a G-rated Society anymore pal, the rules had changed,” I added.</blockquote>
…sigh… He has no idea…<br>
<blockquote>“You….are an entity of sin…” he screamed.</blockquote>
Well, he’s right. According to what people close to him have revealed: He tries to lure underage models into doing unsupervised shoots in graveyards in bondage gear on their own dime, he used to peek in on his sister showering and steal her panties, and lots more disgusting things.<br>
<blockquote>“An entity of sin you claim? Sorry – I am a Christian saved by grace, but just someone who doesn’t sugar coat it and will swear at a pastor’s wife because she is a fucking fake saint shoving zealots down my gullet. You show me a zealot I will reveal one who is actually cool – I guess you are not ready for that yet,” I smiled.</blockquote>
He’s just showing himself to be a smarmy asshole.<br>
<blockquote>“These things I have written unto you that believe on the name of Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God,” he started shouting at me when I mentioned that.
“You are spouting 1 John 5:13 – yes I can do that to, but I am not going to stoop to your level. That would be the King James Version of this; but I am not showing outright hatred for the world though existing in it and finding common ground where I can actually open the dialog,” I replied.
“Demon,” he responded.
“Was Poe or Lovecraft evil in their day? Poe – I think he was writing in some aspects about his life, H.P. Lovecraft was a fiction writer who had a weird Parthenon – creating horrors that rose from the clay and sea when he created the entity called Cthulhu. Sit down and read a story like Call of the Cthulhu and you might learn something --- expand your horizons and you might like something new and shiny,” I smiled as I casually gulped my coffee in that Carol Stream Diner. </blockquote>
How does someone “casually gulped my coffee” in a fucking diner? That would be something like casually sip or casually drink, not what he’s fucking talking about.<br>
No wonder Clippy killed himself. This stuff is robbing my will to live.<br>
<blockquote>“You’re evil! I live to crush evil and darkness – you shall not produce any more books and succeed with them either,” he responds.<br>
“You are wishing the fate Lovecraft and Poe both suffered and didn’t deserve for what they’ve done – both were gentle souls in their time, but me; someone you don’t want to meet in a dark alley when I was either nineteen or when I was 28 because they are both me. The author who deserves that fate is the one who calls a disabled person a ‘retard’ or degrades the mentally ill by saying they need decades of therapy. I didn’t have the breaks as a writer others have man – look where I fucking lived, Crossway Books was in my backyard and writing Gothic Horror – you have to sometimes create your own,” I said calmly but looking at him with a darker look in my eyes – sort of how I look at Jehovah’s Witnesses knocking on my door when I was 20 years old as I would darkly call them murderers or seeing them as Children of the Damned all grown up. <br>
“Lovecraft didn’t do it for God so he deserved his fate,” he replied. <br>
“Have you even read a Lovecraft story?” I asked growing pissed at what he said of HPL.<br>
“I only read the Word of God,” he shuddered, <br>
“Christians are reading Lovecraft too man – they might understand why he was critical of religion of his day and might had blasted Republicans in his day. But how would he feel if a Republican got him in a public high school to be read for future generations because of project I developed for a story I wrote and got published in England,” I replied in an even more casual tone and smiling. <br>
This man is evil, Isaiah Brendan thought.<br>
“Like H.P. Lovecraft I explore the fear of the unknown and I play with real places like Richard Matheson – real haunted places are my favorite places to create terror with fiction. Then writing a short story where I have a UFO flying over Moody Bible Institute – I was just being funny, the things within the tabloids are sort of my inspirations and the seeds for genre fiction,” I chuckled. <br>
“That is not of God,” he screams. <br>
“I am not a preacher and on the pulpit – I am an entertainer and my courtroom when I address people who lie to me and accuse me of stealing is the court of public opinion, and it was H.P. Lovecraft who wrote – ‘If religion were true, its followers would not try to bludgeon their young into an artificial conformity; but would merely insist on their unbending quest for truth, irrespective of artificial backgrounds or practical consequences.’ Well he was talking to the outsiders and outcasts writing that – I gravitated to HPL because he was treated like a pariah as a child,” I replied, “Going to that Glen Ellyn, Illinois, bookstore when I was 20 – finding Lovecraft changed my life and we wouldn’t have this conversation now would we?”<br>
“I rebuke you Satan,” Isaiah Brendan screamed growing frightened by what I revealed to him.<br>
I actually calmly recited this from my blank book – and the horrors grew in his eyes when I reveal my personal haunted palace. That it was almost two years I first took that pilgrimage to Richmond, Virginia, seeing my projects as an author join the first project in the library in Richmond.<br>
Lunatics and madness become the faith when it falls<br>
When one preaches in the daylight and the choir <br>
Prayers spoken upon the lost fell upon the deafened ears <br>
Horror seen in hypocrisy and illness unseen, speaking to walls<br>
Damnation and redemption die within the suicide of years...<br>
<br>
As Melody Graves wrote in her story The Looking Glass, voice is the voice of praise and the sound of blasphemy – it enables us to speak and the word processor enables us to compose things a little faster than in the day of Poe or Lovecraft, the age of the weblog and yellow journalism lack journalist responsibility. Where some will not engage someone on an intellectual level – as this zealot is seen here bringing us back to a time of an age of superstition – as what Isaiah Jeffery Brendan would call someone like me, one where he had called me a merchant of evil as an author aka a dark dealer. I just challenge him to see the world through my eyes and turn the camera upon himself, as this is the point of view that God has seen us – I’ve shaken off the dust of years in realities some don’t want to see when someone ostracized the freaks and deviants in the world, yeah someone like this I would personally bleach their lawn. <br>
“Isaiah let me ask this question – would you evangelize at gunpoint? Pointing a loaded gun at their head forcing them to receive Christ; I am not going to pull the Pascal’s wager shit either if I am going to speak about God here – just be creative and let it come out through my characters,” I responded. <br>
“You know about the Pascal’s wager?” Isaiah asked. </blockquote>
Holy shit, I fell asleep again.<br>
<blockquote>“All too well and refuse to pull that shit on someone either – I just don’t want to be a Christian that is an asshole about it,” I responded basically saying in a term that is not Christianese. I guess I disturbed his comfort zone a little bit here as he is having well I am guessing he is in his 60s when he said I would never write a horror story again – well getting in his head, became his horror tale I wrote just for him making it every line a nightmare where he shall sleep with one eye open. I am not driven by vane deceit as the one pastor’s wife suggested when I told her I was going to study Philosophy at College of DuPage, but my nightmares from Iowa had made themselves manifest when I was getting ready to go to Ontario and before I appeared on the radio in Joliet, Illinois. </blockquote>
Once again, he failed the one philosophy course he took.<br>
And ‘vane deceit” makes me think of weirder things.<br>
Holy shit is he goddamn stupid.<br>
<blockquote>I sipped my coffee and looked at some of my manuscripts thinking about that fucking fake saint who was the ex-youth pastor had said in Mason City --- what the Pastor’s spouse and this zealot pulled opened old wounds from that boogeyman. I kept being haunted by that asshole’s blank pages comment and the horror that unfolded on February 10, 1999, as it was after the events I wrote Mental Graffiti in August that year before returning to Glendale Heights, Illinois, aka my version of Stephen King’s Castle Rock, Maine – a densely populated Castle Rock, picture Castle Rock Maine, with nearly 30,000 people and you will have my hometown from my teenage years and my boyhood home of Roselle, Illinois. I tell this as I am revisiting Carol Stream, Illinois, as I did during the events of A Late Night Appointment. This zealot, Isaiah Brendan, I kept having memories of that motherfucker from Iowa – so I was showing great restraint from not socking him. <br>
“So I am not blowing up at you and you’re going to pull out that dead Kenneth E. Hagin shit on me – as he might be on Youtube.com still preaching in the video archives, someone like that is dead as in he went playing his harps in heaven. Leave his rotted cadaver in the ground as he is like a flowering cadaver when you have those fucking videos up after he’s gone – true my ex-classmate pulled these out, and saying I need to take a plunge in a baptismal pool. There’s nothing memorable about that if you’re going to be baptized – look at what Head did when he got baptized, he went to Israel,” I replied. <br>
“It’s shameful for men to have long hair and tattoos,” he claims.</blockquote>
OK, let’s just cut this shit here.<br>
There is literally nothing in this ‘story’ that justifies it as a story.<br>
He’s just sitting in a diner, arguing with a strawman.<br>
There’s no conflict, there’s no drama, and all he does is namedrop better writers and quote better writers like it makes him an author.<br>
This is not a story in any sense of the word. You can’t even say it’s just a bunch of stuff that happens, because nothing happens.<br>
It’s 10K words of jack and shit.<br>
There’s no reason to buy this. No reason to read this.<br>
And frankly, it just deserves ignored, which is why I’m not going to justify it by doing an entire critique, or a critique at all.<br>
Some fiction exists merely to be fun, merely to amuse. Other fiction seeks to educate. Other fiction seeks to address problems in society or address conflict.<br>
This does none of that. All it does is… showcase a idealized version of Pacione (usually referring to being in his 20’s instead of a 40 year old fat failure) arguing with a strawman. The worst part is, he controls the narrative, and still comes off looking like the tool.<br>
It’s 10K words of him arguing with a strawman, ranting at imaginary enemies, namedropping shit from the Breakfast Club to Call of Cthullu to The Last Man on Earth.<br>
He states that people call him “The Stygian Dealer”, “The Maven”, “The Human Cthullu”, and all kinds of stupid shit.<br>
And he tries to come across as the tough guy.<br>
And like everything else he does, he fails at it.<br>
So, I’m going to go drink a bottle of Jack Daniels.<br>
Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-74522519528674136252015-05-28T21:52:00.000-07:002015-05-28T21:59:55.128-07:00A Little Bit Of DataNow, some of you may wonder why I am mainly concentrating on the old works of Nicky "Spackleback" Pacione instead of his more recent works. It is not because I don't have access to them, I do. Sadly enough, Mr. Pacione probably made enough money from me in order to buy himself a couple bars of soap and shampoo, but he probably instead spent it on sleepsack bondage porn.<br />
<br />
The reason is fairly simple: He has stopped writing stories, and instead has been concentrating on writing long-winded screeds against his perceived enemies as well as namedropping more famous works and people. Sometimes to compare himself and his previous works to them, other times in order to denigrate them, or other time to make serious claims of abuse about those people.<br />
<br />
Additionally the screeds he prints are largely people to imagine themselves talking to an idealized version of him at some random point in time and some random place, as well as conversations with straw-men entirely in his head.<br />
<br />
I showed in Dark Dealer that it is very hard to critique, must less a comedy critique, a work where the author spends all the time rambling on about disconnected crap with no plot, no characterization beyond caricatures or straw-men, no conflict. Even the conversations are boring and trite enough where the reader ends up sympathizing with the supposed bad-guy and honestly wishing that the narrator would get hit in the face with an ash-tray or something.<br />
<br />
To be honest, the screeds are boring. I'd end up saying the same things over and over, since all Pacione does is make up imaginary enemies and have imaginary conversations where he challenges random people to meet him in a diner to buy him lunch and listen to him babble on like a politician with a cratered head-wound.<br />
<br />
So I'll be doing more and more of his old works until he at least puts out an honest to God piece of fiction instead of a fantasy where he 'pwns' all his perceived enemies somehow.<br />
<br />
Unless they are under 5K words, then I might give it a whirl.Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-65005978144061063702015-05-28T21:36:00.001-07:002015-05-28T21:36:04.375-07:00Review of A Whining HunchbackWelcome back to Warlord Ralts Reviews Spackleback the Hunchback
<br>
Providing you've recovered from the microstrokes induced by reading the horrid GAME OVER by one Nickolaus A. Pacione, you've probably come here for the same reason people hit themselves in the head with a hammer. Because it feels good when you stop.<br>
<br>
Today we will be reviewing <b>I Want to See You In Black</b> which I found online on a rather crappy internet site that looked like it had been done by a blind man pounding on the keyboard with his cane.<br>
<br>
To preface, Nicky wrote this story after a classmate of his was killed in High School. Did he write this story because he was close to the guy? Did he write it because he wanted people to know about the tragedy of the death?<br>
<br>
No.<br>
<br>
He wrote it to make his reputation better and to try to prove what a good non-fiction horror writer he is. He did it for no better reason that to toot his own horn.<br>
<br>
Now, I'm not going to critique and review this with a complete eye for grammar, since, to be honest, I completely suck at grammar. That's why I have editors. I'm going to review this with an eye toward just how goddamn retarded Sparkle Pony's works are.<br>
<br>
So, with that, let us examine Pacione's great early work "I Want to See You In Black" with an eye toward comedy.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The detail was vague</blockquote><br>
And here we fucking go...<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but at the same time it was similar to the old horror films that are set at old dark houses.</blockquote><br>
Hopefully we'll find out what kind of horror film. But probably not. He probably just used this to try to set the tone. And failed horribly.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I kept having a premonition about the idea that some of the classmates won't survive after their graduation,</blockquote><br>
So... wait. He had a premonition of an idea, or his idea was a premonition? And seriously, that some won't survive after their graduation? No fucking shit. That's like looking at the babies in the maternity ward and saying: "Some won't survive after being born." Thank you Nost-tro-fucking-dom-mas.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I didn't know what that meant</blockquote><br>
This puts Sparkle Pony's stupidity right out there. How the FUCK can you not know what it means when you have the idea that some classmates won't survive after graduation? How goddamn stupid do you have to be to not understand that?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but when I was walking around in that building, I saw a casket placed an alter.</blockquote><br>
An alter what? An alter-ego? It's placed on an alternative what? Oh, wait, he means "<blockquote>on</blockquote> an <blockquote>altar</blockquote>", even though that... well... fuck it.<br>
<br>
It's just wrong.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> In that casket was a kid wearing an I.O.U. sweatshirt and his skull crushed in,</blockquote><br>
So this kid is in the casket with a huge dent in his head so it looks like a deflated soccer ball? What? And wearing an I.O.U. shirt? I don't know about you, but at all the many funerals I have had to attend over the years the people were wearing their best clothing, and the family usually had the mortician to make them look decent.<br>
<br>
This right here tells me that ol' Sticky Back Nicky didn't even go to the funeral. That he's just making this shit up as he goes along.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> blood was all drained out of his body but in a way one can see the breathing coming into the cold air.</blockquote><br>
So the blood was drained out in a way that the person is still breathing? So he's a kind of vampire?<br>
<br>
More proof that he didn't even go. He's never even seen a fucking dead body, or even looked at pictures of them.<br>
<br>
Seriously, read that. What he's clumsily and stupidly reaching for is "the emblamer and mortician had done a wonderful job, making it so that my friend looked as if they were just sleeping, as if I should have been able to see the faint plume of their breath in the icy air of the funeral home." But instead we get the equivalent of a cratered head wound.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Much as how a few described how he looked before they pulled the plug.</blockquote><br>
So are we going to get a description? Of course not, this is a Sparkle Pony story. In other words, even though this is his friend, he never went and saw them in the hospital.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I've seen a note placed upon his coffin, and it read -- "Don't let them pull the plug! I have my life ahead of me and I don't want to die!" </blockquote><br>
A little fucking late. He might want to have put the note in his pocket, or maybe on the life support equipment. This is just typical Pacione bullshit.<br>
<blockquote> All the former classmates from when I was at Marquardt were there; everyone clad in black and wearing something close what was in The Cure videos.</blockquote><br>
I love how he tries to make it sound heavy metal, when it's actually just funeral dress. "Something close to The Cure videos, hurrrrr..." not "Everyone clad in black and wearing their Sunday best." Why not? Because Nicky "Uber-Christian" Pacione doesn't understand what the shit he talks about and has no comprehension of "Sunday best", instead choosing to think that wearing semen and food spattered clothing on his unwashed body when he crawls out of granny's basement is perfectly fine to go to any event.<br>
<br>
You know he showed up at this guy's funeral smelling like a bag of hooker assholes smeared with sour cream and left in the sun.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I imagined it much as what they see in Tim Burton's movies.</blockquote><br>
So right about here the corpse should jump up and start dancing while singing a snappy song?<br>
<br>
It's a funeral, not something terrifying. Hell, The Last American Virgin is scarier than a funeral.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> One of them was toting a bible under her arm, and preaching to the others about the salvation from spiritual death. </blockquote><br>
Yeah, people do that at funerals. But to Sparkle Pony, it's terrifying. The comfort that people find in the Bible, and the comfort they find in the thought that their loved one did suffer a spiritual death but rather still exists in Heaven is scary to Pacione because he doesn't understand basic human nature.<br>
To him, everyone is just puppets that he can smear his own motives and opinions, without actual feelings or motives of their own. Because he can't comprehend how it feels to lose a loved one and how one can gather comfort from religion at such a time, he thinks everyone else is merely trying to gain some kind of advantage in the name of their God or their personal ego.<br>
<blockquote>But one thing was different about the time when I was living in Iowa, and the time frame of this dream.</blockquote><br>
Please God let it be something interesting. Anything. A hobo screaming at a sprinkler. A car running over nuns. Something. Anything. Please. God.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The difference being that the dream it was echoing all that was going on during the time of December 8th, 1989.</blockquote><br>
Ummm... OK. I guess. Help? I'm scared?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It was too young for a thirteen year old to be thinking about things that dark or deep in nature but the conversation about one's own mortality never came into play, but everyone was looking at it because of the death of Brian Wallace.</blockquote><br>
What was to young? Or is this Nicky trying to explain that instead of everyone talking to him, they were paying attention to this Wallace dude?<br>
<br>
He'd never had the conversation about death before, even though he was 13? His dog Fido had never died and he hadn't been held by his mother while he cried and she tried to assure him that it would all be all right?<br>
<br>
Of course not, and because Spackle-Back had never encountered death or had the "death talk" from his parents by 13, he assumes that everyone else did not.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I remember the clippings about his demise all too well, it played a huge part in the nightmare when it wrote itself out in my sleep. </blockquote><br>
AH! So Sparkle Pony wrote this why sleeping! That explains the shitty writing.<br>
<br>
And just the clippings? Only what the papers showed? When I was 12 and my friend died, I was told all the details, not only by my parents, and my friend's siblings, but by the school rumor mill and the school counselor.<br>
<blockquote>The type of thing that would be the perfect set up for a Gothic novel during the age of Symbolism or Uncertainty;</blockquote><br>
A funeral? No. It wouldn't. Gothic novels contain a lot more elements, but to Cum Sticky-Nicky Gothic only means people dressed all in black.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> just the way it was done haunted me for quite some time and there were different variations of the dream and they appeared at various stages when I got older.</blockquote><br>
So the kid dies, he goes to the funeral, and it gives him nightmares for years?<br>
No wonder every time he tries to carry through with his stupid ass "horror target" threat the demises he writes for people he hates read like something written by a 12 year old. He has no idea of <i>why</i> things are scary, of what is actually scary, and instead just goes for "oh, you died, so now aren't you terrified and going to have nightmares?" and thinks he's completely emotionally and mentally terrified his "victims" with his shitty writing.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>I would actually hear them taunting in the dream saying I was the cause of his death.</blockquote><br>
So now we get to where it is all about him. Oooh, scary. In the dream people taunt him! SPOOKY! I R SKARD!<br>
<blockquote> They would taunt and say, "because of something you've said; the reason he's gone --- nothing can be done to be brought back." </blockquote><br>
::sigh:: So... um... scary? Boo?<br>
<blockquote>As bleak or macabre as it appears, the dream was one of the most abstract within a shadow that was cast.</blockquote><br>
That isn't bleak or macabre, that's just normal survivor's guilt dreams.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> One would say of this would appear rather blasphemous in parts,</blockquote><br>
What, that dream people teased you?<br>
<br>
That's not blasphemous.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>but it is exactly how I described it back then.</blockquote><br>
Because you didn't understand the English language?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Horrors from the fever induced dreams and sickness invoked sleep.</blockquote><br>
THAT'S his fever dreams?<br>
<br>
Ooooh, fucking scary.<br>
<br>
What a pussy.<br>
<br>
In my last fever dream I played cards with Jason Vorhees and we drank shots of tequila that was dribbled into our shot glasses from the nipples of exotic looking dusky skinned women with delicately slanted brown eyes and long white hair. We sat on a shattered plate of white ice, seated on chairs of bleeding bone, our cards on a table carved of glass, while around us a thunderstorm raged and purple lightning crackled in the clouds.<br>
<br>
Not scary, no, but still definitely a fever dream.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I was expecting something to awaken out of his grave saying,</blockquote><br>
"For the love of God, let me out!"<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "You never went to my funeral! It's your fault that I'm gone. I am going to haunt you for the rest of your living days!"</blockquote><br>
So he didn't go to the funeral, despite his claims above.<br>
<br>
Consistency in writing, thy name is Pacione.<br>
<blockquote>Then in the dream I saw Ms. Jacobson walking up to the coffin with a Bible in hand.</blockquote><br>
THE FIEND!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I remember it in some detail because she was clad in a black dress similar to how she would dress criteria to how she did in 1994,</blockquote><br>
Ummm... in a Bulls jersey, pants around her ass, a pistol stuck in her belt, and Nike tennis shoes? How the fuck are we supposed to know how she was dressed based on the year? For all we know, she's wearing a black miniskirt and that's it, dancing around the funeral with her tits hanging out.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but instead of the denim blue she would be wearing everything in black.</blockquote><br>
Umm... scary?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I didn't tell her about the dream relating to this</blockquote><br>
Because that would involve actually talking to a living woman, and that makes Sparkle-Pony piss his Underoos.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but it came from that chilling revelation she made years later of me.</blockquote><br>
She made a revelation of him? Shouldn't that be too him? And what was the chilling revelation? That she stole the kid's penis and kept it in the freezer to jam up her ass while she shed blood for Bhaal by slashing the throats of hobos?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Horrors which lay as the eyes are seen for the gruesome cargo to bear;</blockquote><br>
Umm... what?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but even then it was a time when it was a thought that came to mind that was a question of death and life. In some shape or form, it was a shadow of what was to become or an understanding that could not be studied or explored during that time frame.</blockquote><br>
Why do I have the feeling the Pacione poorly copied this from some other work, completely misunderstanding what it meant, and he has no idea what the fuck he just said?<br>
<br>
Go ahead, parse that? When you're done clawing out your fucking eyes, get a transplant and come on back, and we'll finish reading this with the eyes you got from the little boy in Idaho.<br>
<blockquote>I remembered the details as they were told about the funeral who went to class the next day,</blockquote><br>
In other words, he dimly remembers what people who actually went to the funeral said. <br>
<br>
<blockquote> the nightmares that are often the penning of them are when they say -- no son shall go before their father or mother.</blockquote><br>
So it's scary because only in nightmare scary lands do children die before the parents? Fuck, this just shows that Pacione is a closeted, basement dwelling, over-sheltered loser who has zero experience in the real world.<br>
<br>
Guess what, Sparkle Pony, people die.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> But I could just see them just looking at me in a way saying, "You don't belong here."</blockquote><br>
Here's why. Because they'd be talking and Pacione would slouchingly make his way over to them, the disgusting reek of unbathed body preceding him, his panting breath from the exertion of walking upright covering them in a foul odor of rotting food particles and horrible halitosis, and he'd invade people's personal space with his foul odor of unwashed ass, moldy clothing, rotting food, and old semen to try to listen in on the conversations they were having about the passing of a friend.<br>
<br>
I don't know about you, but I'd give the foul hunchback the same look. Probably along with a "Get the fuck out of here, Pacione." and a healthy push.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It is in this that the memory of such paints a darker detail into the mind about the dream while Wallace stood there;</blockquote><br>
So now the dead guy is standing there in his dream?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> even when everyone else was watching his body in the casket I was watching him as he was drawing his finger out -- slowly with him pointing at me. It was almost if I was the one who committed the deed. </blockquote><br>
So in his dreams, everyone else is looking at the body, but the guy's spirit is standing in front of him, and now he's scared?<br>
<br>
So, this whole story is just about how he had a nightmare about a funeral he didn't go to and a person he barely fucking knew in passing?<br>
<br>
Pacione, you suck as a human being.<br>
<blockquote>"You've killed me Pacione!"</blockquote><br>
With your stench!<br>
<blockquote>"How....... I want to know? "</blockquote><br>
I squealed, my grape sized scrotum tensing up against my shit smeared taint.<br>
<blockquote>"You've killed me in the sense of the way you were or are!"</blockquote><br>
It gibbered, it's brains spilling out of its head from the horrific wound.<br>
<br>
Bleh.<br>
<blockquote>The nightmares that play out while I was in a fever induced sleep one can only tell what kind of madness it portrays or portrayed.</blockquote><br>
This just gets shittier.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> From a rational mind, it would not always be explainable --</blockquote><br>
Let's try: Nicky knew a guy that went to his school in passing, guy gets killed, Pacione doesn't go to the funeral, eavesdrops on conversations to hear about it, gets sick from an infection after shoving a plunger handle up his ass while he masturbates, has a fever dream, then writes a poorly written account of the dream.<br>
<br>
TA-DAH!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but from a mind that is sensitive</blockquote><br>
**cough** PUSSY! **cough**<br>
<br>
<blockquote> to all things that gather from one side of madness as it is drawn from memory and nightmare. One way or another, it is a darkness that becomes a painted picture which portrays a macabre distortion -- another sense as it became or was, the idea of what haunts me about his death was that all the things that he was going to be; now are going to be never.</blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah.<br>
<br>
"I'm a tremendous man-gina who gets scared easily."<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I won't say into full detail about the actual funeral,</blockquote><br>
Because he didn't go.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but some would be able to speak of the details;</blockquote><br>
And Pacione would sneak up, surrounded by the smell of mold, unwashed ass, filthy body, and rotting meat, and listen to <i>others</i> speak of the details.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> from what I was told a lot of people showed up from the school.</blockquote><br>
Which just shows us he didn't go, despite his claims.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Just that the old demise and the dreams as they stand; the gruesome cargo that follow from them -- waiting for the perspectives seen in a pattern of distortion.</blockquote><br>
Think about this: Just hearing about a funeral is enough to make Pacione piss his pants.<br>
<br>
This, the guy who threatens to kick everyone's asses. The guy who claims to be "the most dangerous man in publishing", the guy who insists that everyone call him Nickolaus "Wrathchild" Pacione, pisses his pants at the mention of a funeral.<br>
<br>
Yeah, you're obviously a tough guy, Pacione.<br>
<br>
You probably shit yourself at the sight of sock puppets, don't you?<br>
<blockquote>"He did this to me! The fucker did this to me!" he shrieked pointing the finger.</blockquote><br>
And now we're back to Nicky supposedly being at the funeral, or maybe dreaming about the funeral, or maybe this is just Nicky remembering how his stench once made someone's hair fall out when Pacione walked by. Who knows?<br>
<br>
Who fucking cares?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I felt my heart shoot up my throat when his pale finger pointed at me with that I.O.U. sweatshirt and his Cavs;</blockquote><br>
Oooh, not CAV'S! EEEK!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the thought if this when one reads this now might not sound so chilling,</blockquote><br>
Nope, It sounds like the whining of a sheltered little man-child who lives in a basement.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but this is coming from a fourteen year old who was running a high fever.</blockquote><br>
Who was a 14 year old little sheltered pussy who would eventually end up living in a basement.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The madness within the dream painted a picture described as something only Edgar Allan Poe or Stephen King would end up writing about in their works.</blockquote><br>
No. They write scary stuff.<br>
<br>
This is just some man-gina whining about a nightmare.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Just as it would gather, a madness within a dream as the memory of someone dying being fresh within the mind.</blockquote><br>
Waaaah! I got scared!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Mortality was always a subject I wrote about for this reason because it played into one's dreams and nightmares.</blockquote><br>
Yet he has not true understanding about what is scary about mortality. Why? Because to him, other people aren't really real. They're just cardboard cutouts that either block him from what he wants, can be used to get what he wants, or can be given whatever motive Pacione assigns them. He doesn't really understand other people, because he's a selfish self-centered moron, and so he sees them all through the lens of his sheltered existence.<br>
<br>
Which is one reason why his writing sucks.<br>
<br>
Even the threatening emails he sends me where he threatens to burn my family alive in front of me aren't really frightening, because you know someone like Pacione would only hurt himself trying to make a Molotov cocktail.<br>
<br>
Probably by seeing the curving nozzle of the gas pump nozzle, mistaking it for a cock, and jamming it up his own ass so that he fills his bowels with gasoline.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The gathering within the eye inside shadows.</blockquote><br>
The gathering within the eye of the fat fuck eavesdropping on people's conversations.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Things like this dream would invoke me not sleeping for days at a time,</blockquote><br>
Horseshit. Pacione doesn't have the mental discipline or the physical endurance to walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> namely when I would fall sick for some reason or another.</blockquote><br>
Let's see why:<br>
<br>
Unwashed clothing.<br>
Lack of personal hygiene<br>
Pig-sty of a room<br>
<br>
Oh, and desperate for attention.<br>
<br>
That's why he "got sick", since this is the same man who once had everyone call an ambulance for him because he was sitting on the ground crying over an ice cream headache.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Hellish was the word to describe that dream as it was there,</blockquote><br>
Boring as fuck is actually the correct term. Hellish is something else.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the illness laden sleep or when I did sleep, that nightmare would on occasion found its way into my mind.</blockquote><br>
Years later, he still has nightmares about a funeral he didn't go to for a guy he only knew the name of.<br>
<br>
Yawn.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> A dwindling madness of a young teen with a mind of a now twenty-nine year old,</blockquote><br>
A clumsy was of saying "a young teen who has since grown into a 29 year old man."<br>
<br>
<blockquote> sick---words to describe what was around back then.</blockquote><br>
Boring -- words to describe what was around back then.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Those damned dreams as they made themselves manifest within the eyes of a madness one was not able to find the words to document it.</blockquote><br>
Isn't he cute, trying to make his pussy-fied nightmare seem scary?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The dreams back then only played into the depths of the dreams that I have now.</blockquote><br>
WAAAH!! I STILL HAVE NIGHTMARES!<br>
<br>
From a funeral he didn't go to for a person he didn't know.<br>
<blockquote>A rather unsettling thought as it is there now, but even then if a teacher was to read about this --- it would be a promised trip to the councilor's office to find out what was gathering in my head.</blockquote><br>
Not any "darkness" as he claims, but for the councilor to try to find out why he's such a tremendous pussy.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Not even the online journals I kept when I got older can really document the type of dreams I was having back then,</blockquote><br>
Why not? Afraid the servers that it would be posted on would melt down from electronic laughter?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> even the ones now weren't as gruesome as the one were back then.</blockquote><br>
Anyone else want to punch him in the head right about now?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>My dreams back then were rather Gothic or grotesque,</blockquote><br>
My dreams back then were full of hot women in black clothing who usually spit on me or sprayed mace in my eyes or full of the horrible image of showering or wearing clean clothing.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but hard to describe;</blockquote><br>
I just did.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I don't think I would be able to openly write about them back then as I do now.</blockquote><br>
Oh, wait, he's referring to the dreams of his awakening homosexuality.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Back then if they only knew what were in my nightmares;</blockquote><br>
They'd know that you were a closeted homosexual who needed some serious mental health to cope with the issue that you were a self-hating gay man.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> as far as some of the councilor's knowledge they would find a way to help it instead of finding a way escort someone head first into the choices that lead to their demise or madness.</blockquote><br>
And here, dear reader, is where we read about how poor Mr. Pacione, having "suffered" from dreams of hot sweaty man-love, feels that the only choice he had was suicide or madness if he acknowledged just how much he desired hard cock in his ass or mouth while he furiously masturbated his micro-penis.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Someone in the dream the councilor sat in the darkness clad in all black,</blockquote><br>
In Pacione's belief, making the dream "Gawthik"<br>
<br>
<blockquote> pointing her icy finger at me -- laughing. Saying, "You will never make it past your freshmen year!"</blockquote><br>
Well, if it wasn't for special education classes, he probably wouldn't. Hell, if it wasn't for the pity of the school faculty, he'd probably STILL be in High School, furrowing his greasy and acne covered brown in a vain attempt to understand basic hygiene in Health Class.<br>
<blockquote>Eyes from madness gathered in one's dreams, struggling around in the darkness to find a way out.</blockquote><br>
Help, I've fallen asleep and I can't wake up!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Hell, if there was a way to describe this --</blockquote><br>
There is, but it requires a working knowledge of the English language.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> it would come close to the place of gnashing of teeth,</blockquote><br>
A mouth?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> especially if the face of the devil was the guidance councilor.</blockquote><br>
So, Satan tore off her face and wears it like a mask, as if he's Leatherface or something?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The type of things that the nightmares were triggered will always come up in some form of debate in one way or another.</blockquote><br>
"Tonight, on Nightline, Nickolaus Pacione, gigantic man-gina or weeping infected pussy? Our panelists will debate about the triggers that make him curl into a hysterical ball, like fluffy bunny slippers, cartoon rabbits, and thesauruses." <br>
<br>
<br>
<blockquote>In some way or another; one can hear God laughing at them as they've gone mad!</blockquote><br>
Hearing God is kind of a definition of being batshit crazy. Yeah.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The dream as it stands, the councilor and the deceased both staring in a darkness so piercing within a silent room -- way it is being extremely cold; the kind of cold that can be felt when touching the flesh of the dead when paying their last respects. It becomes the thought within a tormented memory and symbolism of the last respects.</blockquote><br>
Is it just me, or does this just show how little Pacione knows? The dead aren't really that cold when they're laying there at the funeral or wake. A little cooler than room temperature, yeah, but not the space cold 0 Kelvin that Pacione alludes to.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> All that was living was now dead, and finally gone -- </blockquote><br>
Not all, but all the potential of the young man Pacione is using to try to make himself seem like a good writer is gone. Pacione, of course, wasted any potential to be a contributing member of society by squatting in his grandmother's basement and snacking on the treats he finds between his hairy ass cheeks.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>only to them in memory they live within dream and nightmare. Just they found their way to appear in the dreams of the people they've bullied,</blockquote><br>
And here we go with Pacione's Greatest Hit: Everyone's Picking Me!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> as one last time to make the lives of the living hell in their sleep.</blockquote><br>
Help! Granny! They're bullying me in my dreams because I'm too much of a pussy to even stand up to someone in my dreams!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Such an ideal swimming around within the head of teen at that age, innocence penned as it was already lost. Gathered in pieces of life and demise as it was, or what it is, from a memory that already passed away. Pieces told and lost after the ways of faith had taken their souls away; waited among the chapel they stood -- the councilor and the deceased with the fingers pointed in one solitary direction.</blockquote><br>
Wah wah wah!<br>
<blockquote> It draws into the points of horror and insanity, depths with them becoming the nightmare as it is told from a fictional reality. Everything within the dream played itself into one detail and the next,</blockquote><br>
More crybaby shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and how I envisioned it was exactly how it was going to be especially when a tall, fat bully was getting engulfed by winter immune bees. </blockquote><br>
Wow. That's is revenge fantasy? That someone who "bullied him" (Probably by insisting that he needed a shower) would be attacked by "winter immune" bees?<br>
<blockquote>The type of thing that would be the makings of a horror film;</blockquote><br>
BEEEEEEEEESS!<br>
<br>
Hell, it didn't seem that scary when I was chasing people around with bees in Bioshock. It actually made me laugh my ass off.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> or a Gothic tale of its kind but one wasn't able to imagine especially for a person of my age at that time to come up with something that ornate.</blockquote><br>
He can't now either.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Usually the nightmares back then for someone my age was of themselves taking a test in their underwear or</blockquote><br>
Cliché alert!<br>
<br>
<blockquote>everything on the test was a multiple choice question --- everything was one letter or a number.</blockquote><br>
Only Pacione would be scared by that. I'd be more scared of a 500 question test that I had 15 minutes to complete that only consisted of essay questions.<br>
<br>
Multiple choice? Big fucking deal.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The idea that one finds their book they've been studying had a face pulling out of their pages literary.</blockquote><br>
Best. Typo. Ever.<br>
<br>
By the way, gotta love the image. Reading a book, and suddenly a face is pulled out of the book. A "literary" face.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Something as a death of a classmate ages them,</blockquote><br>
Naw. The death of a child, or a parent, or a battle buddy, or a best friend, that ages you. Some dude you went to school with and didn't know? Not really.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and I never cried at funerals or at a wake. </blockquote><br>
Because he's never been to one?<br>
<br>
Or because people aren't real to him?<br>
<blockquote>They always end up calling me "Stone Face" Pacione</blockquote><br>
Oh look, another nickname he claims to have.<br>
<br>
That's a total of:<br>
Wrathchild<br>
Iron Horse<br>
Stone Face<br>
Literary Danzig<br>
Unbreakable<br>
<br>
And about 20 others. All to try to convince us he's some kind of badass.<br>
<br>
What's funny is the idea that he didn't cry at anyone's funeral doesn't really make him seem like a tough guy after everything we've learned about him, but rather it just acts as further proof he's a self-centered asshole.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> because I hardly shown an emotion when someone died, as in I never cried when someone passed away.</blockquote><br>
Because he's a total douche?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I made like it didn't bother me but all this time it did.</blockquote><br>
Supposedly he's Mr. Stone Face, but he still has nightmares about a funeral he didn't go to for a person he didn't know.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Some might think I am dragging on;</blockquote><br>
EVERYONE thinks you're just rambling on, Sparkle-Pony.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but in the details as it remains, the dream that waited there wandering as a hound in the fog.</blockquote><br>
A lost mangy flea bitten mongrel wandering around in the garbage smelling fog? Big fucking deal.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I found myself trying to run out of the chapel but the doors were locked.</blockquote><br>
In his dream. Remember, he didn't really go. LOL<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That was the thing they found the most disturbing about me back then.</blockquote><br>
That he was a complete and total pussy who smelled like a dead hobo stuffed with sour cream and garbage left beneath an overpass in the summer?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Some of those dreams had their way of coming forth now, but more so when I am traveling around.</blockquote><br>
From alley to alley to give blowjobs to sweaty men.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I thought I would never see this particular dream again -- let alone writing about it. I take that back, part of what was written in the short story Haunted Thoughts was from this dream too.</blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah.<br>
<blockquote>Deeper it falls as the mind gathers within the corners of the dream, only as they find one answer to the nightmares are not the answer at all.</blockquote><br>
Because it has a different answer?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Even when the nightmares call up more questions and looking for that answer only leads to more questions left to be asked; the things of God and Satan are often blurred when it comes in the perspectives of the nightmare or the dream.</blockquote><br>
Wait? This is it?<br>
<br>
So this was nothing more than Nickolaus "Wrathchild" Pacione (snicker) crying to us about a nightmare he has about a funeral he's never gone to?<br>
<br>
As a story, I rate this slightly below the badly Xerox'd manifesto I got handed out front of 7-11 in 1987.<br>
<br>
As non-fiction I rate this as whining drivel from a basement dwelling man-child who can't take care of himself and so has to rely on the generosity of an elderly relative.<br>
<br>
In conclusion: Pacione, you suck. Go back to sucking dick in the bus station and quit writing, since you completely and totally suck at it.<br>
Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-67091100251014110752015-05-28T20:57:00.001-07:002015-05-28T20:57:04.593-07:00Review of... oh, who gives a shitReview of "The Witch's Party", story by "Nickolaus Albert Pacione AKA Nikita the Goth", review by Warlord Ralts<br>
<br>
Welcome back, gentle readers! It is, Warlord Ralts, recently released from the psychiatric ward after my many reviews of the Fat Goth Horse's many gibberish-esque works. I reinstalled Word, and brought the file up containing the donated review copy of this story and within 15 second the paper clip was standing in front of me with dynamite around his waist threatening to blow up my operating system.<br>
<br>
Luckily I talked him down, and he went off in the custody of the WinSock files to undergo counseling, and was thus excused from the following horror:<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The Witch’s Party</blockquote><br>
OK, the title isn't that bad. Perhaps this won't be too bad. Well, having reviewed Fat Horse Pacione's work again, the fact that his name isn't in 72 point bold repeated like 12 times in neon red flashing letters makes me somewhat nervous, almost as if he's embarrassed by this story.<br>
<br>
This can't be good.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>It was Halloween of 1997 when I was invited to a Halloween party in Naperville, Illinois, and I had no idea what was in store for me because this was an actual party helmed by Goths.</blockquote><br>
Oh God, and it starts. First of all, how the hell do you not know what is going to happen at a Halloween party, no matter who it is "helmed" by. I mean, I went to a Halloween orgy, and I knew what was going to happen, because I knew the people who were running the party.<br>
<br>
And "Goths"? Well, knowing Mr. Pacione's habit of trying to make out the goth subculture to be surrounded by ghosts, goblins, and fat stenchmonsters with mouths full of shitsickles. Oh, wait, the last part is true when Pacione's around. Anyway, it might be much more amusing to imagine the "Goths" as Visigoths, straight from their raping and plundering tour of Rome. But, on with the story:<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I thought it was regular Halloween Party, but what I wasn’t expecting that the party was actually ran by actual witches.</blockquote><br>
DUN DUN DUUUUN!!!<br>
<br>
In typical Pacione fashion, he's just blown his load all over the fucking place. You know, they say writing is a lot like sex, and if that's true, in Pacione's case, his past girlfriends probably had him firing greasy man-goop on their bellies following by a sobbing apology more often than his greasy pork mini-sausage befouling their nether regions.<br>
<br>
But witches? OK, knowing what scares Fat Horse (Women, fat people, falling off a fence, cats, paying his own bills, moving out of the basement, vaginas) they could be just Wiccans, or they could be Scooby Doo witches. Doubtful they're going to be Shakespearian witches, because that would be cool.<br>
<blockquote>They invited me because they said, “What’s a Halloween party without a horror writer?</blockquote><br>
Umm, a Halloween party? A party without a bloated misshapen man-child stinking up the joint and clumsily pawing at anything he might think has a vagina?<br>
<blockquote> Nick, you’re going to this.”</blockquote><br>
And once again we see that his characters are, like the man himself, gutless fucking wonders who have other people tell him what to do.<br>
<blockquote>Here I am the Christian of three years at the time this story is told.</blockquote><br>
Obviously the witches are planning on sacrificing him at the party, since they need a victim who willingly arrived. They'll obviously strip naked, dance before him, slice their nipples with blades and make him drink deep of the blood flowing from their bosoms, before one after another riding him to take his seed deep inside of them so that they could bear the child of Satan at the next harvest moon. Once he is sated, they shall slit his throat and drink deeply of his life's blood, the leader of the coven riding his dying erection and using his last orgasm as his body shudders into death to quicken her demon seed.<br>
<br>
Oh, wait, that would actually be cool. Trust me, this is going to suck.<br>
<blockquote> I was working as a baker at Bagel Street Cafe during this time of the party.</blockquote><br>
This is how we know it was fiction. How much you want to bet that he tells us constantly the character is a baker, but does not describe on fucking bit about the job itself. Research and Pacione aren't very well aquainted, much like him and personal hygiene.<br>
<blockquote> I always loved Halloween because it was a time to capture the imagination of the things that wander in the night or the things that are crawling within the shadows.</blockquote><br>
Like all true Christians everywhere, he loved Devil's Night/All Hallow's Eve/Halloween. And notice, he fucks up again, calling Halloween " to capture the imagination of the things that wander in the night or the things that are crawling within the shadows." in other words, Halloween captured the imagination of said creepy crawlies, not the narrator. Nice fucking prose, dipshit.<br>
<blockquote> This was when I first started getting serious with writing dark fiction, and this was something that would end up inspiring me some way or another especially when I was dating a solitary witch at the time.</blockquote><br>
OK, this made me smile. So, we've got a writer writing about a writer who writes dark fiction. Of course, he was dating a solitary witch at the time. This makes me giggle. Just wanted to point that out.<br>
<blockquote> I did a reading for a public access channel at the time so I saw a little bit of fame from this but not the money.</blockquote><br>
A reading? As in sat there, on a chair, his cheese laden asscheeks drooping off the sides, and read from a book in his high pitched and lisping voice? I refuse to believe this, even PBS has some standards.<br>
<blockquote>I felt like the complete outsider at this party,</blockquote><br>
You were, they were human, making you a <blockquote>complete</blockquote> outsider.<br>
<blockquote> everyone was in long capes and dresses</blockquote><br>
Even the men?<br>
<blockquote> (The ladies resembled something from the 19th Century Gothic, or from the story Masque of The Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe.)</blockquote><br>
Once again we see Mr. Pacione's brilliant descriptive voice in all its richness. Notice how he tells us how the lace looked, what material the dresses were made of, how they fell about the character's bodies, and gives us little details on each character to impress them into our imagination.<br>
<br>
Oh, wait. He NEVER fucking does this. Instead, he tells us what they resemble, without any description. Mr. Pacione, I pray that you never witness a crime, for your descriptive talents would allow the Elephant Man to escape when you described Dracula to the police.<br>
<blockquote> The men were wearing a little more dressy takes in black</blockquote><br>
But I thought they were wearing dresses?<br>
<blockquote> – something I would see years later at the Metro when I did a shoot there.</blockquote><br>
It wouldn't surprise me that Pacione or one of his characters would go on a shooting spree. Oh, wait, he means photography! OK, so he's a horror writer, a baker, and a photographer. Well, at least he's not a Marine who can swim through 100mph water.<br>
<blockquote> I felt like the odd man out because I was the one who had the blue collar take,</blockquote><br>
Notice he's not describing jack.<br>
<blockquote> and at the time when I was going to this party I was working as a baker.</blockquote><br>
Second time he's told us. So, he went to the party dressed in his baker's clothing? An apron spattered with semen... I mean flour?<br>
<blockquote> I had the vampire hours meaning I was up by 1 AM,</blockquote><br>
Ah, yes, vampire hours. I hear the late shift referred to as "The Vampire Shift" all the time...<br>
<blockquote> the kind of hours that I would spend writing before I had to go to work. I started work about 2 AM, so I often took a half hour to write before leaving.</blockquote><br>
Oooh, a whole half hour to jump around bellowing and flinging feces onto a page! Why, his intense envisioning of the Lord of the Rings would be done in no time at that rate!<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Type O Negative blared from the speakers at the party</blockquote><br>
A well known witch band.<br>
<blockquote> and another would sit at the piano and play the theme for Halloween.</blockquote><br>
So a speaker would sit at the piano and play the theme from Halloween? Another what?<br>
<br>
Christ, Nick, you suck.<br>
<blockquote> I truly felt like Ted Nugent at a Feminist rally.</blockquote><br>
Doubtful. Ted Nugent would be getting a ton of pussy, where you are probably going to be frightened by a moth or a some shit. See, he's trying to talk about feeling out of place, but his metaphor sucks.<br>
<blockquote> I learned one thing when helming a site on FireFly.</blockquote><br>
This had to have been a Tripod site with horrible flashing font and graphics and sparkles.<br>
<br>
What he's trying to do is make himself seem "in the know" about Sci-Fi.<br>
<blockquote> (As of writing this they’ve been a dead site for eleven years – I was the second generation host of the venue Shadow of Darkness – I turned it from a vampire role playing venue to a hardcore horror venue.)</blockquote><br>
In other words, he ran off all the V:tM players, and then howled around on an empty board claiming it for himself.<br>
<br>
Notice that he doesn't notice that all he did was destroy other people's creativity, probably out of jealousy.<br>
<blockquote> What I learned from there was expect the unexpected and this was something that I became very familiar with over time.</blockquote><br>
Ummm... WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING? Oh, wait, it's to show the audience that nothing will phase him at all, because he's learned to expect the unexpected.<br>
<blockquote>I will say the things people don’t have half the grapes to say or will say them so openly.</blockquote><br>
Ah, now we See how he's a tough guy. He speaks him mind, while insulting everyone who doesn't open their mouth to spout off whatever half-baked thoughts he has.<br>
<blockquote>When at this party, I wanted to make some remarks but I knew if I said them – the people at the party would stop what their doing and collectively say, “Fuck You!” I expected them to say it but they didn’t – everyone kept to the corner of the couch and would hold séances to see if they could communicate with DD Home.</blockquote><br>
So everyone crowded onto the corner of the couch? What a fun party.<br>
<blockquote>They didn’t pull the witchboard out until later, but I knew they were playing with things they weren’t supposed to.</blockquote><br>
So the witches didn't pull out the witchboard? Or are witches not supposed to play with a board named after him.<br>
<blockquote>It wasn’t my place to do so, I was their guest. A year to the day later from doing the first ghost hunt and a month after doing the second.</blockquote><br>
Where we these ghost hunts? What did they have to do with? Was a ghost seen? I can't wait to find out!<br>
<blockquote> I started to feel a little spooked by the idea they were pulling out the Witchboard at midnight – yet it was a Halloween party full of real fucking witches, who’d fucken thought, and I felt like I actually stepped into the depths of the unknown into the pages of a Lovecraft story or someone else’s Gothic horror works.</blockquote><br>
Aw shit, instead of desribing what it was like, he just tells us to go read someone else's work. Typical goddamn Pacione. I want to know more about the party! Were these real witches, the types who don't wear underwear? Do they dance naked? I WANNA KNOW!<br>
<blockquote>I sat on the couch without my binder full of the works I wrote, and the ones I did back then weren’t as epic as what I was doing in the present.</blockquote><br>
Present when he's writing this story, or present when he's featuring in the story? And why is he sitting on the couch writing instead of watching the panty-less witches dance?<br>
<blockquote> I never really wrote of séances until now, but looking back there was a chill in my spine knowing what they were doing – necromancy, communication with the dead. I had this feeling I should have ran, but I didn’t because I knew if I stayed I would have a hell of a horror story to tell when I got older. Something I knew then, it was going to make a hell of a horror tale to relate – one that wasn’t made up either.</blockquote><br>
Do you feel anxious to know? Or do you figure that Pacione's going to fuck this up to? Well, let's continue, gentle reader, if you haven't gouged your eyes out with a shot glass by now.<br>
<blockquote>“What the hell are you all doing with that thing?” I asked with a little concern. I knew they were opening a doorway that couldn’t be closed, but I wasn’t there to preach at them for doing so</blockquote><br>
Yet he demands that they tell him, even though he wasn't going to preach at them? And if he KNOWS what they are doing, why is fucking asking? They're opening a door, duh!<br>
<blockquote> – I was a guest because I am a horror writer and the baker;</blockquote><br>
Yes, because no Halloween party is complete without the baker there!<br>
<br>
"Honey, did you invite a writer and a baker to our daughter's wedding?"<br>
"Nope."<br>
"CALL OFF THE WEDDING!"<br>
<blockquote> I see the world as someone who worked blue collar jobs but having the education enough to see the kind of thing they were doing since I actually did a paper about D.D. Home.</blockquote><br>
Wait, so he's saying that blue collar workers are uneducated? What a fucking pretentious douche. This from an author who's never actually held down a job and never completed a full year of college. Is it just me, or does it make you want to punch both the writer and the narrator in the mouth?<br>
<blockquote>So I had a working knowledge of the occult, but I never practiced</blockquote><br>
Occult writer, baker, occult researcher. And can you believe he's still single, ladies?<br>
<blockquote> – it was just interesting material to write about in the realm of horror, and spending the night at a witch’s party it was the thing that would be in the pages if Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark.</blockquote><br>
Name drop. Take a shot.<br>
<blockquote> It was a horror story waiting to be done, but it wasn’t the time to actually do it.</blockquote><br>
So he ran home a furiously masturbated.<br>
<br>
Oh, wait, he didn't, instead we have to continue to listen to this drivel.<br>
<blockquote> So I just sat there silently and observed as they moved the white eye across the board, almost if they were trying to make contact with someone that night.</blockquote><br>
OK, notice that he asked a question of the people in the room, that we know nothing about beyond the fact that theyu are all clustered at one end of a couch, from the sounds of it perched gargoyle-like on the back and arms. This party doesn't sound much like a party. And why are they using a white eye, possibly stolen from a corpse, to use a Ouija board? Why aren't they using the pointer? Oh, and on the subject, it's a Ouija Board, you gibbering retard. We all know you are calling it a witch board because you're too goddamn stupid to use Google to look up the spelling.<br>
<blockquote>They had a sense of horror to them knowing something was summoned</blockquote><br>
What the shit is this supposed to mean? Pacione, you suck.<br>
<blockquote> – something was going through the gate at the night of the witch’s party. Something was opened that night, and it was the lungs of hell breathing down everyone’s neck.</blockquote><br>
Oh my God, just make it stop.<br>
<blockquote> I knew it at the time, but they didn’t</blockquote><br>
The baker/writer/occult researcher knew, but honest to God panty eschewing witches didn't? Either he's lying, or the witches weren't witches.<br>
<blockquote> – it wasn’t my place to preach or speak because I was their invited guest. I didn’t want to piss them off by pulling the hellfire and brimstone preacher act,</blockquote><br>
Once again, he's their guest, but is he being silent out of politeness and curiosity? No. He's being silent because he doesn't want to piss them off, because the character, much like the author, is a total pussy.<br>
<blockquote> living up to my Online persona GothicPreacher.</blockquote><br>
Namedrop. Take a shot. No, not a bullet, I don't get to kill myself, you don't either.<br>
<blockquote> I knew what they were doing was summoning powers they had no control over.</blockquote><br>
So he stood there and watched as they summoned a great old one and the world was devoured by darkness, because he's a total pussy.<br>
<blockquote> The kind of thing that would be the plot of a number of horror stories in print, some of my friends actually written some of these plots.</blockquote><br>
Oh God, attempted name drop. Two shots. Wanna bet he doesn't make any details on what these things are?<br>
<blockquote> I watched and did nothing – after all, it was Devil’s Night.</blockquote><br>
Or because he's a total pussy. One or the other, take your pick.<br>
<blockquote>“What are you trying to summon on that thing? Does it even work?” I asked with a skeptical nature.</blockquote><br>
How much do you want to bet that they don't answer? Apparently the narrator lives in a world full of cardboard cutouts, all of which do things, but only when he lets him. These aren't characters, as there are no actual descriptions, no character development, they don't even speak. They're props, that's it.<br>
<blockquote> I’ve seen some weird shit and written about it in the full length, but I won’t mention the full length here.</blockquote><br>
But yet he's still skeptical, even though he went to a party with "real witches", he's still skeptical.<br>
<br>
Or a goddamn retard.<br>
<br>
Take your pick.<br>
<blockquote> But thinking about this almost 13 years later it still freaks me out a little bit, as much as how my former room mate who is now a Born Again Christian used to mess with the Witchboard.</blockquote><br>
OK, in case you didn't know, he wrote a supposed scary story about this room mate, entitled, amazingly enough: The Roommate! in which we find out that he was frightened of the woman because he had a dream of her children having her faces. Oooh, scary!<br>
<blockquote> I stepped into an entirely different world when I was at that Halloween party – I never saw so many women wearing cloaks or had a lot of pentagrams around their neck.</blockquote><br>
Yet he's supposed to be a Gothic writer, and he's never seen... oh, wait, he means he's never seen that many women when one wasn't spraying mace into his eyes.<br>
<blockquote> One of them walked off with a cross necklace I wore to the party – an actual crucifix torn off a rosary.</blockquote><br>
So, now they are not only witches, but thieves. And he tore the crucifix off a rosary? That doesn't make it a holy relic, you goddamn moron, it makes it a crucifix you stole off your grandmother's prayer bead necklace, you fucking moron.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>I wasn’t used to people walking of with things, so this was new to me.</blockquote><br>
In other words, this narrator has never before been around other humans, never interacted with the human race? Wait, maybe the scary part of this story is that the narrator is actually the ghost of a baker who was kept chained in the basement, deformed and horrific in appearance, where he wrote gibberish on the walls with his own feces and studied the occult through the rats that worshipped Molarham in the walls.<br>
<br>
No, that would actually be a cool story, instead of more Pacione drivel.<br>
<blockquote> It was similar to the first ghost hunt I went on, but this was something a little more disturbing.</blockquote><br>
Fuck, more about when his fat ass fell off a fence. Note we get no details on this ghost hunt, just constant reference to it. Look, Pacione, nobody has read your crap, nobody cares about your other shitty stories, and you HAVE to assume your reader has never read your bullshit, and thus explain things that you are going to constantly make reference too. This is just more proof you're a piss poor writer.<br>
<blockquote> I never actually set foot in a realm of witches before this, the only exposure to witches was my ex-fiancée who was a solitary witch.</blockquote><br>
Is it just me, or does "The Solitary Witch" sound like a Harry Potter ripoff? Either way, do solitary witches wear panties?<br>
<blockquote> (At the time of this party, I was just started dating her. They always seem to invite the horror writer to these kind of parties.)</blockquote><br>
No, they always invite the fat stinky fucker. Jesus, this just gets and more stupid.<br>
<blockquote>I called in sick at the place I was working as a baker,</blockquote><br>
Again the shit with his baking job? Does he defeat the witches ala Spongebob with his mighty spatula and a carefully timed throw of a handful of flour? Shut the fuck up, we figured out what your job was the first five times you told us!<br>
<blockquote> knowing this party would go late and it did. Some of the guests didn’t leave until about three in the morning.</blockquote><br>
OK, so where are we in the story timeline? I'm totally confused.<br>
<br>
So here the fat ass baker/writer/occult master is taking up one end of the couch, the coven of witches and warlocks have all shrunk themselves with magic and are crowded around a witch board on the other end of the couch, and it's either right when they pulled out the Ouija board, or 3 AM, one of the two.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Sitting in on a séance is an eerie thing to think about.</blockquote><br>
No it isn't. Fuck, even Victorian England ladies used to do it, and they fainted if you jumped out and yelled BOO!<br>
<blockquote> It’s about as eerie as when my mother and stepfather decided to seek out a psychic artist in the summer of 1991 they’ve seen on Unsolved Mysteries.</blockquote><br>
Namedrop and unconnected bullshit! Triple shot! Hey, maybe you'll get lucky and go blind!<br>
<blockquote>That was the kind of atmosphere I stepped into when I approached this Devil’s Night party. There was nothing for me to expect, and one thing I came to learn over the years is to expect the unexpected.</blockquote><br>
Aw crap, once again, this expect the unexpected bullshit. Something tells me that Pacione just watched a movie where they said that over and over. Holy fuckballs, we're most of the way through the story and not jack and shit has happened.<br>
<blockquote>There was nothing macabre at work there, but there was a lot of weird shit going around – seeing that they were all witches and I was the only Christian there.</blockquote><br>
What weird shit? So far all we have heard is some baker fuck who thinks he's a writer and expert of the occult blather on and on about how great he is! What the fuck has even gone on? And why would witches, pantyless masters of magic they are, invite a Christian baker to their orgy? Man, this story sucks.<br>
<blockquote> There were no familiars being sacrificed that night (black cats or a dog,) though it was called Devil’s Night.</blockquote><br>
BWAH-HA-HA! Our "expert" actually thinks that witches would sacrifice their familiar? Remember when I said that research wasn't Pacione's strong suit? Right here, baby, this is proof of that all the way. He's too goddamn stupid to even use Google or Wikipedia. Sacrifice their familiars? AH HA HA HA! Pacione, you completely and totally fail.<br>
<blockquote> The kind of thing people expect with these parties</blockquote><br>
Panty-less hotties in black lace? Orgies? Ritual fucking? That's what I expect!<br>
<blockquote> – I heard the horror stories over the years from the church I was active with; and some of them came from people who had the occult background.</blockquote><br>
They "had the occult background"? Is that some kind of disease? Is it like "having the gay" or something? Holy crap.<br>
<blockquote>I have this notion they have this constant fear of the dark, and the things that crawl in the shadows are the things that capture their imagination the worst.</blockquote><br>
Aw shit. Who has the fear of the dark? The church goers? The witches? The familiars? Scruffy the janitor? WHO?<br>
<blockquote> The kind of things that horror films are made of,</blockquote><br>
Film? Holy crap, this just... just... fuck you, take a shot.<br>
<blockquote> or some warped horror writer who wants to bring someone back from the dead with the written word.</blockquote><br>
And what the shit is this supposed to be?<br>
<blockquote> I sometimes wonder if they tried communicating with the dead in those parties and if they reached anyone, when the communicated parties been a sleeping corpse for nearly centuries with the flesh rotting off their bones.</blockquote><br>
Umm, what? They are trying to communicate with a centuries old corpse? I thought during seances they tried to communicate with the spirits! And then, usually someone who's only been dead a decade or so.<br>
<br>
Goddamn, Pacione, you fucking suck.<br>
<blockquote> Rotting away into some decayed state,</blockquote><br>
Because rotting and decayed are different.<br>
<blockquote> with their spirits either wandering the earth or burning in the depths below.</blockquote><br>
So nobody goes to Heaven or Vahalla or the Bronx in Pacione's stories?<br>
<blockquote>“Are you sure you’re going to get someone dead, long been dead?” I asked with a bit of skepticism to my voice.</blockquote><br>
Great, once again the narrator is taling to the carboard cutout again. And more skepticism? Of course he's skeptic, nothing has happened and he's at a party of mannequins.<br>
<blockquote> I knew these things were relatively eerie with the way they have their letters, the guys of Parker Brothers don’t really know what kind of powers they would unleash when they unleashed the talking board.</blockquote><br>
Wait, so now Speak 'N' Spells are evil? Oh, wait, these "witches" are using a fucking Ouija board they bought from Wal-Mart made by Parker Brothers? BWAH-HA-HA-HA! Oooh, scary!<br>
<blockquote> I knew what they were trying to do, and in some ways it was giving me the chills thinking about it – necromancy.</blockquote><br>
Aw crap, of course they didn't answer. Because in Pacione stories, other people don't really exist.<br>
<blockquote> The kind of things that would end up in the pages of H.P. Lovecraft or Algernon Blackwood – occult forces.</blockquote><br>
Double Namedrop. Triple shot!<br>
<br>
Are we at least going to see some of these occult forces, or is the narrator going to just blather the fuck on?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Powers they communicate but have no control over; something they try to talk to – the dead, but they find themselves unleashing the holy gates of hell. They don’t even understand the dark forces that would emerge when they play around with the talking board.</blockquote><br>
Aw man, lecture time. So these "witches" don't understand the dark forces? What kind of suckass witches are these? Let me guess, they can't even fucking fly, and they probably wear panties. These witches suck.<br>
<blockquote>I knew what they were trying to do, sometimes people would see the fucking heart shaped eye fly across the room.</blockquote><br>
::cries::<br>
<blockquote> I was expecting something like that to happen at this party, but didn’t – there was no one getting safety pins being rammed though their hand or throat.</blockquote><br>
So he went to the party expecting to see the witches getting horribly attacked by the spirit, and all he saw was a flying pointer? Big fucking deal.<br>
<blockquote>Just a few fiddling around with the theme to Halloween on the piano,</blockquote><br>
That asshole is still playing? Someone needs to sneak up behind him and brain him with the Ouija board.<br>
<blockquote> and going for the green colored alcohol or the vodka straight from the bottle</blockquote><br>
Green colored vodka is totally Goth.<br>
<blockquote> — then follow the talking board!</blockquote><br>
Now is it a talking and walking board?<br>
<blockquote> Trying to see if they can talk to the long dead or the recent rotting corpses in the ground, though they’ve been long dead – they wanted to see if anyone was listening as they ran the heart shaped eye over the talking board.</blockquote><br>
Is anything actually going to fucking happen? <br>
<blockquote> I didn’t feel comfortable with the fucking thing laying around – even when my cousin used to play with one of these.</blockquote><br>
Namedrop? Sure, why not, just take another fucking shot.<br>
<blockquote> I keep thinking about what that one radio show host who’d often try to get Deicide’s vocalist Glen on the air.</blockquote><br>
DO-DO-DOUBLE NAMEDROP! Drink, motherfuckers.<br>
<blockquote>(Glen actually wrote “FUCK YOU” in blood in response to that invitation. People actually becoming possessed by demons when they fuck with the Ouija board – I would watch the broadcasts early on because I knew there was inspiration for the blackened horror yarns. He cause some controversy when he said he would kill himself at 33 in honor of the song Sacrificial Suicide. I would hear the Ouija board horror stories on the air, something that I could use as some source material.)</blockquote><br>
What the shit is this? Was this him trying to justify to the editor why this story was written? Or was it just to namedrop bullshit?<br>
<blockquote>Being at this kind of party, I actually felt like I stepped into an occult horror film.</blockquote><br>
Why? Nothing happened. Man, the narrator is a total fucking pussy.<br>
<blockquote> I didn’t have my manuscripts with me at the time, back the I had them all in binder </blockquote><br>
I find that hard to believe, seeing this isn't a manuscript either.<br>
<blockquote>– that was when I was submitting to the Prairie Light Review, and one of my college buddies was the editor at one time.</blockquote><br>
Which is probably who he gave frequent and loving blowjobs to in order to be published.<br>
<blockquote> I still remember him and we do keep in touch,</blockquote><br>
He means: Still gently swap semen into one another's throbbing and sensitive anuses, their manhood spearing deeply into one another as they bite into pillows, the glitter covering their bodies swept away by their mingling lovesweat as they take turns deeply pleasuring one another, until the narrator collapses in a sweaty heap, semen leaking from his gaping rectum.<br>
<blockquote> it was him who said I should submit something for it.</blockquote><br>
Meaning that the narrator should submit one gaping and well used rectum to his penis.<br>
<blockquote> The editors didn’t want anything dark, so they kept me on a leash in that sense</blockquote><br>
Judging by this story, no they didn't. This isn't dark, this isn't scary, and this isn't Gothic or horror or anything. This is the disjointed ramblings of a mentally ill man with a subhuman IQ who crashed a party.<br>
<blockquote> – going to that witch’s Devil’s Night party, I felt like I wasn’t in their world.</blockquote><br>
And you totally failed at bringing the reader into that world.<br>
<blockquote> I was just an observer, their welcomed guest – a guest who might have some strange stories to tell about the party years later.</blockquote><br>
WHAT STRANGE STORIES?<br>
<br>
That's it? Nothing fucking happened?<br>
<br>
OK, problems with this piece of fecal matter:<br>
<br>
Nobody but the narrator ever speaks, and when the narrator speaks, nobody answers, making the reader wonder if he's alone in his basement with corpses or mannequins or cardboard cutouts.<br>
<br>
He makes reference to scary stuff, but doesn't even tell us if anything scary happened. A Ouija board pointer floated across the fucking room? That's it? That's not scary, that's shit that JR High kids do with string.<br>
<br>
He does constant namedrops for no other reasons than to drop them. The names he drops has nothing to do with the story, except to tell the reader that the author can spell the names.<br>
<br>
There are almost NO descriptions. The only description we have is a vague description regarding clothing, no details, no nothing. We have no idea how many people are at the party, except the autistic guy who keeps playing the Halloween movie theme on the piano. We don't know where the party is being held, what the area looks like, and apparently the couch and piano are floating in a big void.<br>
<br>
There isn't even a story in this story. No buildup, no conflict, no resolution, nothing. This isn't a story, and it fails even grade school requirements for a work of fiction. I've been handed poorly Xerox'd stuff by homeless people that were better stories and were technically more of a work of fiction than this.<br>
<br>
The narrator is a bad speaker, attempting to be pretentious and educated and knowledgeable, but instead coming across as blissfully ignorant and possibly mentally handicapped. He isn't engaging, you end up hating him three paragraphs in, and you have no idea what he looks like. For all we know he's a semen encrusted Lego brick.<br>
<br>
Unable to spell "Ouija Board", the author resorts to witch board for awhile, until finally resorting to Cletus-like speech and referring to the Ouija board as a "talking board" for the rest of the story. I expected the narrator to encourage the board to return to its haunted cornfield. The lack of even a bald attempt at research makes this shit-tastic story even worse.<br>
<br>
All in all, the story fails on ALL levels. Technical levels, this story bursts into flame and falls flaming into the ocean to kill a marooned hooker.<br>
<br>
This is just further proof that the author is a delusional moron who imagines he's a writer, but in reality could fuck up a knock knock joke.<br>
<br>
Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-21489462978428639542015-05-28T20:52:00.001-07:002015-05-28T20:53:59.444-07:00A Review of.. FUck, I don't know any more, I think I'm having a stroke...Review of <b><a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewshortstory.asp?id=48680&AuthorID=8374">Inquistion Revisted</a></b><br>
<br>
Ahh, a beautiful Wednesday afternoon, sunshine, BBQ, cold beer, and happiness.<br>
<br>
And then there' s this god forsaken mind numbing aneurysm inducing thing.<br>
<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/Sparkle-Pony.gif" border="0" align=right border=5 alt="Photobucket"><br>
<br>
Written by Mr. Nickolaus "Sparkle Pony" Pacione, the following is supposedly a non-fiction account of a time in his life when everyone plotted against him, he went insane, and he showed the world just what a total badass ninja he was when he saved the president from laser guided parakeets? Of course he did, it's not like they could call on <b>you</b> to save the president. I'll be you don't even know how to defuse a parakeet and would have just shit yourself when Batman came leaping through the window. Oh, wait, that isn't this story, that's something I dreamed about when I blacked out after trying to read this fucking thing.<br>
<br>
The following is written by God's Gift to the Literary World, if nothing else for the fact there are 5th graders writing Harry Potter and Twilight fan fiction who can look at this stuff and say "at least I'm not that bad."<br>
<br>
First thing, this thing is freely available for review and critique at <a href="http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewshortstory.asp?id=48680&AuthorID=8374">this fucking place </a> where you can find the FULL whining text in all of its narcissistic glory in case I fucking missed something. This is my second time through it, since I read the first version of this puling pile of pigshit, and about all the new one has going for it is that he turned on the spellchecker and grammar checker and used it. However, as we all know the spell checker will give you sentences which are spelled correctly, but make no goddamn sense.<br>
<br>
So, without further delay, I present to you, Inquisition Revisited, proof that even if you polish and wax a turd, it's still a turd:<br>
<br>
(As always, original text in <blockquote>bold</blockquote> with my work normal)<br>
<br>
<blockquote><i>"Job, there is something about you that pisses me off!"</i><br>
– Stephen King, Storm of the Century</blockquote><br>
So he starts it off with something he rips off from a much better writer. Wonderful, this promises to be wonderful.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>It was a few days after the Columbine shooting took place when I started to lose my mind.</blockquote><br>
Of course it was. This is so typical of ol' Sparkle Pony (pictured above) that it's basically one of his signature shitstains. Instead of telling us a rough date, he likes to link a major disaster or tragedy to himself, no matter how tenous the connection. I can already tell you right there that there will be a tale of how other's bullied him and drove him insane.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I had no idea what was going on upstairs,</blockquote><br>
Because not even GOD knows what is going on in Pacione's miswired little brain. And let's stop right here. He'll claim, like he always does, that I'm picking on the mentally ill. Well, he's bipolar, not a Down's Syndrome patient trying to write. he doesn't get to hide behind his bipolar disorder when he accuses people of being 9-11 terrorists, traitor's to their countries, child molesters, being involved in necrophilia or incest or both, and such nice things like that.<br>
<br>
So, let's get it up front. I'm not picking on him because he's bipolar, I'm picking on him for his atrocious writing style, his refusal to take any kind of criticism, his willingness to attack people for no other slight than to be better than him, and his general all around assholishness. But, back to the steaming pile of pig feces.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but I know that I wouldn't last another day living with the accusations of child abuse looming over my head. </blockquote><br>
That would be because you physically beat your infant son so badly that your then girlfriend called CPS, had your parental rights terminated by the state to the point of not being able to <i>ever</i> contact him again.<br>
<br>
In other words, you couldn't live with the guilt that you're an enormous shitbag who beat an infant with special needs for crying, pooping, spitting up, or any other normal baby thing.<br>
<blockquote> To this day I still have frightening nightmares about the accusations,</blockquote><br>
Instead of horrible nightmares about the horrific trauma you visited upon an infant that needed extra help.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> those accusations drove me insane and that was the moment I wanted to reach for the bottle.</blockquote><br>
Good, you child abusing doucehbag.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> People from The Christian Fellowship in Mason City, Iowa, having a pitchfork and torch party.</blockquote><br>
Not literary. (Snicker) OK, let me explain that a bit. Whenever he used to try to write literally, he would write literary, which is just funnier than shit. Anyway, love the way he makes himself out to be the victim right here.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I was the guest of honor –</blockquote><br>
The ONLY thing he'd be a guest of honor at.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> one of those parties I clearly wanted nothing to do with.</blockquote><br>
Of course not, it had human contact. We all know that you prefer to huddle, bag-lady-like at the edge of the couch or the corner of the room and jot down notes and run away giggling when people approach you.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The kind of thing one doesn't even want to begin to imagine,</blockquote><br>
Or that you can't describe, Sparkle Pony.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but in many ways you see the puppets dancing. They basically go at "God's Command."</blockquote><br>
Here we have the self-styled MAN OF GAWD!! who believes he's divinely permitted to torture and destroy other writers and people he doesn't like, bitching about other Christians, which I guess is OK, because he's a MAN OF GAWD!<br>
<blockquote>I remember those few weeks well.</blockquote><br>
Let's see if you describe them to us!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It felt like I actually was living out a plot of one of my own horror short stories.</blockquote><br>
Aw shit. In other words nothing exciting is going to happen, and this is going to be a bunch of boring bullshit where nothing happens, you repeat the same shit over and over, and reference better writers and works.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Those nightmares seemed so real to me, and they are scars in the back of my mind</blockquote><br>
Awww... poor Sparkle Pony.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> because in the nightmares I can still see the youth pastor from that church holding the blood dripped screwdriver that tore the flesh from the back of my head.</blockquote><br>
Actually, it was a ballpoint pen. (Snicker)<br>
<blockquote> "Destroy the outsider," he would bellow into the darkness.</blockquote><br>
Of course it was darkness.<br>
<blockquote> "Down with the outsider and his thought patterns," the rest chanted back.</blockquote><br>
What "rest"? The rest of the darkness? The rest of the preacher?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I felt the lungs of hell touching my body and it wasn't a burning heat but a freezing cold. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, he actually used it right. Now we know he reads my reviews, and whether he likes it or not, he is a better writer for it. Or, this was an accident.<br>
<blockquote> The nightmares continued well into the times I spent at a friends residence.</blockquote><br>
Probably nightmares where he had to have a fucking job and act like a real human.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The fact that 11 years had managed to be left behind with them, but still I could see those fucked up nightmares as vivid as I write them to this day. </blockquote><br>
I HAD TO WORK A JOB! I HAD TO ACT LIKE A REAL PERSON! THE HORROR!<br>
<blockquote> "I have the outsider's manuscripts – to me they're nothing but blank pages and they shall be burned as such," he continues.</blockquote><br>
They should have been burned as a crime against literacy in the execution of a cease and desist order against Pacione taken out by the Written Word.<br>
<blockquote> During the haunting duration of the nightmare what I saw in his hand was a small disk with everything I've written on it from the age of nineteen to twenty-one.</blockquote><br>
AHAHAHAHAHHAA! Two years of writing, and it fit on a fucking 3.5 floppy. A fucking 1.5 MEGABYTE floppy. Two years of writing, using a word processor, and it's all on a 3.5 floppy? AHAHAHAHAAA!<br>
<br>
Pacione, you suck.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He first set fire to the manuscripts, and then tossed the floppy disk on the ground and allowed someone to run over then until they got destroyed.</blockquote><br>
I picture one of the congregation running back and forth in a skin tight bodysuit, covered in glitter, with track shoes, dancing on the fire and dancing YMCA!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Living there during the years of 1998-1999, I had a lot of macabre nightmares about being the outsider there.</blockquote><br>
That's what happens when you act like an asshole, treat everyone like shit, and leech off of other people. Oh, and are a greasy, snaggle toothed, open-grave breathed, disgusting hunchback. One or the other, I don't know.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I was the outsider and didn't exactly fit into their small town mold. </blockquote><br>
Because you were a disgusting man-gina?<br>
<blockquote> Over there they would watch the high school football game,</blockquote><br>
HORROR OF HORRORS!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> when I was back in Glendale Heights – I would go to Elmhurst and do an open mic.</blockquote><br>
You know people only clapped because it was finally over. Or booed at him. Or went home saying "Holy fuck, what was with Quasimodo?"<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I think about those days often when I go to the nightclubs for signings,</blockquote><br>
And get run off when the cops got called to get that foul smelling greasy hunchback out of the club.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the nightmares about the fucker called a youth pastor setting fire to my papers.</blockquote><br>
Fat loser has a nightmare. THE HORRORS!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It's every writers worst nightmares</blockquote><br>
My worst nightmare is waking up without my penis.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> along with the one who says, "write a book just for me and only me. I'm your number one fan, and I will the only one to see it."</blockquote><br>
Stolen from Stephen King.<br>
<br>
Actually, my second worst nightmare is my scrotum becoming filled with angry bees.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Living there, I don't think Stephen King would be able to make some of the shit up that goes on over there.</blockquote><br>
Bet he could. Why? Because he has a functional brain. I can too: "Small town is perfectly normal except for the squalid hunchback who leeches off of other people." Oooooh, spooky!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> This kind of horror that I faced through April and May,</blockquote><br>
What? Book signings, nightmares, and people going to football games? HOW DID YOU EVER SURVIVE!<br>
<br>
Oh, wait, the horror of everyone knowing he was child abusing piece of shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> was driving me to the point of madness. I knew that if I went to the First Assembly of God Church in Mason City, Iowa, about the issue they wouldn't be much help to me.</blockquote><br>
Because they didn't give out medication? Because they aren't miracle workers? Because you're a twisted and loathesome manchild?<br>
<blockquote> "Your testimony should fill all these pages instead of what you've written – in my eyes, your fiction is nothing but blank pages," is what still rings in the back of my head about the legalistic fuck.</blockquote><br>
I think you mean "moralistic fuck" but like everyone else in your life, including being a normal human being, you fucked that up too. And frankly, the literary world would be a better place if you'd just written blank paper.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I could picture someone like him wanting human thoughtless puppets where he could pull their strings – dance, puppet, dance.</blockquote><br>
Hey, look at that scary door.<br>
<blockquote> I really think he never sat down in front of a computer and created something that belonged to him.</blockquote><br>
I don't know, I bet he created a couple fists full of knuckle children cranking one off to porn.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I still hear those words to this day and get angry.</blockquote><br>
Obsessing over shit never said with imaginary enemies. Total Pacione.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I wanted to write a story with the fucker in it and kill him off in a way so horrible, people wouldn't believe that I actually wrote it.</blockquote><br>
If it had description or detail everyone would know you didn't.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> In my nightmares I see him and the female pastor from Mason City invoking a witch-hunt because I don't exactly think like them – they want robots instead of people who thought freely. </blockquote><br>
But robots don't have souls, duh! They need humans to buy their way into heaven with their bags of souls!<br>
<blockquote> Living there was similar to the pages of Anthem. When I get sick during the times when I was living at the apartment, I will have those nightmares and I hate talking about them because it reminds me of what happened to my young son; at the time of writing this he's about to turn eleven.</blockquote><br>
You mean when you beat the shit out of an infant? You hate talking about them because instead of writing a poignant story about a man realizing he had done wrong and how he desperately wants to atone for it, you'd rather just whine about how you're a victim and the child totally beat itself?<br>
<blockquote>"The outsider must go, he must perish!" the youth pastor chants to the crowd as they respond like puppets on a string.</blockquote><br>
I WANT TO BE A REAL BOY!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> People don't have witch-hunts in 1999.</blockquote><br>
Unless they live in Florida, where they recently tried to convict a man on witchcraft.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That seemed true to form, but on April 20, 1999, they had one and everyone who wore black clothing,</blockquote><br>
It was all in the papers. The Great Burning Times of Iowa was all over the papers and CNN!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> listened to loud heavy metal music, or read horror books.</blockquote><br>
Ummm... They had one, and everyone who blah blah blah... WHAT? WHAT FUCKING ABOUT THEM! Finish the fucking sentence instead of just trailing off into fantasies about hot man-sex in a bondage sleepsack.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Because of those things, we were the ones being put on trial because of a hideous act two assholes did in the high school library that day.</blockquote><br>
Read aloud your bullshit rambings and gave everyone coronary embolisms?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That gave the rest of the community permission to start another Salem Witch Trial.</blockquote><br>
They saw two teenagers dancing? Or were they having sex standing up and everyone thought they were dancing?<br>
<blockquote> Some might see this and ask, "Nick, are you making this up?"</blockquote><br>
No, actually, we see this, and we wonder what the fuck your point is, since we know there were no great Iowa Burning Times of 1999.<br>
<blockquote> I could fully picture that and would say no, because when I had the nervous breakdown.</blockquote><br>
What? When you had the nervous breakdown WHAT? You took part in a wild orgy with pantyless witches on Halloween? You had a nervous breakdown and realized what a fucking failure of humanity you were?<br>
<br>
Oh, wait, nothing. This is a Pacione story.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I had many nightmares about this and each one was too horrifying to put into words.</blockquote><br>
OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE! No, it isn't. I've written descriptions about people being torn apart by the undead, about cannibalistic children murdering and raping, about monsters from beyond space and time. I've been able to describe every nightmare I've ever had. Here's my one from last night.<br>
<br>
I was standing in front of my old barracks, the fog around my feet, fog that was clouds from further down the mountain, staring at the building. It should have been empty, my unit was gone to the field and we hadn't been allowed to leave a rear detachment. But my wife and children were in there, how they'd gotten there, I didn't know, but I knew that they were in there. And the ghosts of the Nazi's that had killed those people during the latter days of World War 2, people who we had found when we dug up the basement to lay the concrete, had them tied to chairs. I knew that an SS Major, the man in charge of interrogation training, was stropping a straight razor to go to work on my children. I knew that my wife was already slumped forward in her chair, drooling blood down her face from where they'd removed her teeth with pliers. Crimson streaking her torso from where they'd cut away her nipples and scored deep lines into the flesh of her breasts. That the laughing ghosts were around my family, resplendent in their black and silver uniforms, whispering the horrible things they were going to do to my family.<br>
<br>
And I was unable to move. The fog chains around my feet.<br>
<br>
That was my nightmare last night. Just the first few seconds.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That combined with the accusations of child abuse really weighed heavy on my conscious,</blockquote><br>
It should have, you fucking hunchbacked manchild.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and in many ways I am still haunted by this. </blockquote><br>
I believe I speak for everyone who knows what you did to that small child, who needed you to be a fucking man and care for it and love it, that you fucking well should be.<br>
<blockquote>I keep having the nightmares of people saying that I turned into my biological father</blockquote><br>
And you still didn't change. Did you dedicate your life to making sure it never fucking happened again? To be a better person? No. You whine and try to make yourself out to be a victim. That's why we all hate you.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> along with the nightmares of the youth pastor and the female pastor preaching off a near death experience.</blockquote><br>
What near death experience? When you got gouged in the back of the head with a ball point pen? Oooh, it's the Scary Door!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Things like that scare me to death for many reasons.</blockquote><br>
Things like fucking what?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> One he was violent when he was school, and when I look in the mirror, I see the fucker's face instead of my own. Except he didn't have red hair, he had long black hair and a reddish tint of a goatee in the black hairs.</blockquote><br>
You don't have red hair, Sparkle Pony, you have lank greasy locks. Wait, it's RED under all that fucking grease, grime, and dirt? EW EW EW!<br>
<blockquote>In the nightmares, I see the asshole quite well and still holding the screwdriver along with the clipping of the day that I was brutally attacked.</blockquote><br>
You see your father, or pastor?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> What disturbs me is that the people who stabbed me were friends of his. That youth pastor was a different kind of monster, one that hides behind a caring smile.</blockquote><br>
Because he had friends, he's a monster to Sparkle Pony.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That caring smile was a mask for something more horrifying and that was the act of trying to brainwash as many people as he can – his way of sharing the Love of God was distorted with legalism.</blockquote><br>
I think I know what he's trying to say, but he's saying it really stupidly.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That in turn is something so sinister that I can't even put the words to describe. </blockquote><br>
You can't, but anyone else who has passed an 8th grade creative writing class can. Loser.<br>
<blockquote> "God loves you," the youth pastor would say, but it was a mixed message by staring at him.</blockquote><br>
So you stare at him, and suddenly the words "GOD HATES YOU!" flashes in neon red letters on his forehead.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He said it with his words but his actions said "go fuck yourself; I don't like your kind walking into this church wearing all black." </blockquote><br>
Yes, that's why people hate you. Not because you call them terrorists, child molestors, necrophiliacs, and shit like that. It's because you wear black. Not the Goths, not the punk rockers, not morticians, just you, because you wear black.<br>
<blockquote>Staring right at him after he said that was saying without actually saying it was, "Hope you die fucker! You're an outsider and no one will bother to help you. The reason you lost your son is because the way you think –</blockquote><br>
Yeah, because you think it is OK to beat infant children for normal infant things.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the way you look and the way you carry yourself. If you want him back you have to look more like me, and think more like a puppet."</blockquote><br>
Or not, you know, NOT beat the kid, NOT let him shit in shitty diapers till the woman with a job got home, and NOT scream profanity at the kid.<br>
<blockquote>I thought when I stared right at the son of a bitch, you want to be a puppet you brainwashed fuck then dance. Puppet. Dance.</blockquote><br>
AHAHAHAHA! Like you could make anyone dance. The only thing you can get people to dance is the "Fuck Pacione Dance!" which this is one of the steps.<br>
<blockquote>I would look up to the sky and ask God why the fuck is this shit happening to me.</blockquote><br>
Let me speak for God real quick: BECAUSE YOU BEAT AN INFANT! God used to strike people like you with lightning.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I must had done something to piss Him off.</blockquote><br>
Like beat an infant and write the worst stuff ever?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Something that made most of the church population invoke some kind of witch hunt for anyone who has a Gothic appearance to them.</blockquote><br>
Too bad we never heard of the Great Iowa Emo Slaughter, which happened right after the 1999 Great Goth Burnings.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> In Mason City from April 20, 1999, to the day I signed myself into the hospital was a form of the Salem Witch Trials in the last year of the 20th Century.</blockquote><br>
So they did the dunkings, the hearings, the heated irons on the flesh, the weights on the chest, and all of that great shit, and I missed it? GODDAMN IT! I watched CNN and even FOXNews every fucking day back then, and never saw this! Aw man, I miss all the exciting shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Over there hardly anyone wore black clothing or read horror books, and over there it was if I was a stranger in a strange land. </blockquote><br>
Oh, so it was a Salem Witch Trial of one? Geeeetting booooooored.......<br>
<blockquote> In the nightmares I could still hear the dialog I would have with the youth pastor.</blockquote><br>
The only time he's actually a tough guy. Or bathes. Or has unrotted teeth. Or stands erect. Or has a penis longer than 2 inches erect. Or can actually write.<br>
<blockquote> "Why the fuck are you doing this?" I would ask.</blockquote><br>
In his nasally whining tone, with one finger jammed firmly in his nose and the other scratching his cyst encrusted lower back.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Because you stopped going to church, and everything you've done is nothing but an abomination in God's eyes! </blockquote><br>
For the Lord Sayeth: Care for the children, and watch over the infants, for I have placed the most precious treasure in your hands, and I charge thee with care of this most precious of all things.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>I am here as your judge and destroyer of everything you create – you're nothing but a leper," he answers back.</blockquote><br>
Wah. Love these feelings of persecution. Notice nothing about shame or sadness for abuse of a small creature that has nothing but unconditional love, but rather whining about his whining and his own persecution. Please, Sparkle Pony, go on with how everything is poor you.<br>
<blockquote> "This what you've done is nothing but blank pages, they shouldn't even be written – and you're wasting your gift on writing such abominations," he continues.</blockquote><br>
Ah, his gift.<br>
<blockquote> "God gave me an imagination and a free will," I would argue back.</blockquote><br>
When in reality, he'd giggle and flee.<br>
<blockquote>"Free will is a lie! God commands us to destroy anything that isn't of Him," he shouts as he takes the torch to the pile of classic books.</blockquote><br>
Yawn.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> His fear must be having a wide array of knowledge and a person who is self-educated. </blockquote><br>
Then he has nothing to fear of Sparkle Pony, now does he?<br>
<blockquote> From what I remember of him, he was a youth pastor only in name. He worked in the Christian bookstore in the mall for extra money.</blockquote><br>
Wait, you were scared of the guy who ran the Christian bookstore in the MALL? AHAHAHAHAHHAAA! That's like a riveting tale of police corruption and abuse, where you suddenly find out that it was all nightmares of the guy dressed as a policeman in the Village People.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Those two words he said still rings in the back of my mind even when I was hospitalized for a nervous breakdown less than three weeks later –</blockquote><br>
What two words? I want to know these words? Are they words that kill that only Pacione's iron will and strong mind resisted? Are they a pair of words that when put together drive men mad? Are they utterances of the Great Old Ones, or maybe of Those Who Dwell Below? Are they the names of Archangels?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> in the hospital I can still the two words ringing and burning in the back of my mind; blank pages.</blockquote><br>
AHAHAHAHAHAHA!<br>
<br>
You know, it might be an absolute riot to send him emails marked "Blank Pages" and see if this is all hysteric and hyperbolic bullshit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I could still describe the nightmares to this present day, a man doing things accordance to "God's Will." </blockquote><br>
Some Christian Book Store mall-worker telling you that your stories suck? You still have nightmares about? You snivelling little troll.
<br>
<blockquote> Doing things as a Nazi soldier</blockquote><br>
Anyone else want to punch him in the face while wearing a <blockquote>Hilter</blockquote> moustache?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and that's how he dressed in the nightmare,</blockquote><br>
He's not a Nazi, but he plays one in Sparkle Pony's dreams.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> he even looked like he could pass off as a member of the "SS."</blockquote><br>
Which, after Pacione's exhausting research on WW-2 for his epic masterpiece ripoff of The Crow, he of course knows what one looks like.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Something that could fit the pages of Fahrenheit 441 –</blockquote><br>
AAAAHHAHAHAHAHHAA! He means, of course, <i>Fahrenheit 451</blockquote>, and the fact that he thinks that the Firemen looked like Nazi SS is just funnier than shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> fear of the knowledge that breathes and beats within the pages.</blockquote><br>
Umm... OK.<br>
<blockquote>Such nightmares I still remember and when I crashed at a friends house in Chicago, those nightmares plagued me in such a dark and disturbing way.</blockquote><br>
TELL US ABOUT IT, JANET!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I knew that I couldn't talk to him about such nightmares, and I didn't even mention them to my doctor in Oak Park, Illinois. </blockquote><br>
Because you knew that everyone would just laugh at you for being a thin-skinned man-gina?<br>
<blockquote> Those nightmares about a torch and pitchfork party being lead by the uneducated youth pastor and the female pastor who preaches on a NDE.</blockquote><br>
That never happened. (snicker)<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Some would tell me to pray them out of the system, but something like that can't be healed with prayer – especially when they were triggered by the events of Columbine. </blockquote><br>
What was treated by the events of Columbine? Your shitty writing? You beating you son? Yes, all Columbine's fault.<br>
<blockquote> These nightmares were perplexed by the ones of losing custody of my son,</blockquote><br>
<blockquote>Perplexed:</blockquote> Confused or puzzled; Bewildered<br>
<br>
In translation: These nightmares were confused/bewildered/puzzled by the ones of losing custody of my son.<br>
<br>
Perhaps a better turn of phrase would be: These nightmares were compounded by the ones where I relived losing custody of my son because I'm a greasy stain of the asscrack of humanity, a human piece of shit who beat an infant repeatedly.<br>
<br>
<br>
<blockquote> seeing him at twenty saying, "You're not my father, and I want you out of my fucking life. You were never a father to me, I don't want to read the maps you created so I find you. You turned into your father!"</blockquote><br>
He wasn't a father, a father raises a person, cares for them, loves them, picks them up when they fall down, eases the hurts that life brings to a child.<br>
<blockquote> When I had my nervous breakdown, everything was crashing down on me at once. I came very close to losing my apartment, my job, and everything else if it was just dried clay falling to pieces. My engagement went right to hell at that moment because I knew her parents where the ones who made that notorious phone call.</blockquote><br>
Is there a way I can send whoever made that call flowers?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> When I heard the two words "child abuse" there was a looming horror over my soul.</blockquote><br>
The knowledge that you were a fucking worm who beat a special needs infant? I hope there was a growing horror WITHIN your soul, a guilt that gnawed at you and reduced the brightest day to smears of gray, that made food taste like ashes and drinks not slake your thirst.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That combined with what the one youth pastor said the reason I got stabbed for.</blockquote><br>
...with what the Christ Book Store Worker in the Mall said...<br>
<br>
Fixed for accuracy.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The reason he gave me still gives me the chills to this day. The things he was saying he was doing in the name of God – leaves an unsettling terror in the pit of the human soul.</blockquote><br>
No it doesn't. You got mocked by a some dork who works in a Christian Book Store in The Mall. Maybe in your soul, since you're a spineless coward, but most people would have laughed at him, told him to eat a bowl of dicks with semen sauce, and walked out.<br>
<blockquote> Those two words still linger at the darkest depths of my mind – "child abuse" along with my work being nothing but "blank pages." </blockquote><br>
That's FOUR WORDS you retarded baboon! For fuck's sake, watch some Sesame Street! Christ, there's 6 year olds chained in the basement with no more human contact than PBS who count better.<br>
<blockquote>Those still ring hard in the back of my mind especially when the child abuse accusations were unfounded.</blockquote><br>
Not according to the State, your ex-girlfriend, multiple witnesses, and a doctor.<br>
<br>
Stop lying, Sparkle Pony.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Yet they still hung my custody over me like some fucking carrot hanging from a fishing pole.</blockquote><br>
In other words, they told you to quit acting like some story-book troll, wash your nasty ass, and take a couple of parenting classes, but you responded with classic Sparkle Pony stupidity, cursing at everyone, claiming it was persecution, and screeching shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The child abuse accusations left a huge mental scar on my memory and it still tears me apart thinking about it. It reminds me how bad of a nervous breakdown I had. </blockquote><br>
Not fills him with shame that he beat an infant.<br>
<blockquote> The fat bitch of a social worker actually did the deed of hanging the carrot in front of me, and other social worker had the nerve to be nice to me after taking my son away.</blockquote><br>
Trying to make you understand that if you had acted like a normal human, a reasonable adult, and something besides a gibbering hunchback troll, you might have been granted visitation rights or pictures or something.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I wanted to do something terrible to her, something unspeakable –</blockquote><br>
But since you can't describe anything unspeakable, you couldn't think of anything like that.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I wanted to take loads of dog shit and unload them into the front and back seat of her car.</blockquote><br>
THAT'S UNSPEAKABLE? BWAH-HA-HA!<br>
<br>
Why not run up to the door, ring the doorbell, and run away giggling?<br>
<blockquote>"Hello Nick," the one social worker said when I was on the phone.</blockquote><br>
The horrible cruelty!<br>
<blockquote>I didn't say anything back though the look in my face said, <i>"fuck off and die, I don't care how you die – just fucken die! You took my son away from me, and you're going to be nice to me. FUCK YOU, God-damned sow! I hope something terrible happens to you! Talking to me with a painted smiling face, rot in hell you half-decayed bitch!"</i></blockquote><br>
The look on his face. Over. The. Phone.<br>
<br>
HAHAHAHAHHA! How "unspeakable" of you.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Those are one of those days I wished I practiced voodoo.</blockquote><br>
And you'd probably accidently set yourself on fire and turn yourself into a frog or something.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I wasn't in the mood to be nice that day,</blockquote><br>
So he just mumbled and jammed the phone up his ass.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> part of me wanted to give her the middle finger –</blockquote><br>
On that you'd cut from an unspeakable hooker when you murdered her and dumped her body in front of her Superior Court Judge of a father's house? Oh, wait, that would be an excellent story, while this one is just the rambling persecution complex whinings of a bloated hunchbacked man-gina.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> what made it even harder was the fat one's husband worked across the street from where I lived!</blockquote><br>
Which was too far for him to walk without taking two breaks and a nap.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>That particular one I actually told her to go straight to hell.</blockquote><br>
Mumbling and looking down, his lank greasy hair hanging in front of his face while he wrung his greasy hands together, and when the social worker asked him what he said, he said "nuttin'" in his high pitched voice.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> And right now as far as I care; I hope she fucking hangs herself for using my intellectual properties to fuck me over. (She did what the Washington Post did to a good friend of mine.)</blockquote><br>
No she didn't. And you don't have friends. Stop lying.<br>
<blockquote>I wonder if any others she stole their kid from actually has a voodoo doll of her on a dartboard.</blockquote><br>
Because you're too big of a coward to do it yourself?<br>
<blockquote>I knew that my world was crashing down by the day and week. I sometimes didn't sleep in the apartment,</blockquote><br>
To which your girlfriend celebrated by washing the sheets and sleeping in a clean bed.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but wandered the endless night like some vampire</blockquote><br>
Except without the cool wardrobe, the suaveness, the blood drinking, the turning into a bat, the mind control, the turning into a wolf, the supernatural strength, the allergy to sunlight garlic and silver, and without resembling a normal person. In other words, you wandered around like a filthy disheveled hobo.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> on the prowl</blockquote><br>
Scurrying from streetlight to streetlight with nervous girlish giggles is not prowling.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> or stayed all night in a diner to clear my head –</blockquote><br>
Until they left bars of soap hanging from the door to keep you out?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> something that would keep me away from the bottle. </blockquote><br>
Or facing that you'd fucked up not only your life, but your girlfriend's and the child's lives. Anything but that.<br>
<blockquote>I knew I hit rock bottom at this point, the fact I believe in God kept me from ending it there and then.</blockquote><br>
Thank God, otherwise the entire world wouldn't have you to laugh at.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> If I did that, I would have given up on everything that I was striving to do – </blockquote><br>
Get away with beating an infant?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>in that way, the sinister youth pastor would have won. I could still see his smile being a focal point for something much more sinister. Hiding behind the warm hearted facade was something, dark, something sinister that not even some of the more well known horror writers could begin to imagine.</blockquote><br>
No, YOU CAN'T, you unimaginative child beater.<br>
<blockquote>In the nightmares I could see both dry bones waking and setting things on fire that were of the old horror classics in print or books of philosophy.</blockquote><br>
Firestarter and he read the title of Cemetery Dance. (snicker)<br>
<br>
<blockquote>I still get nightmares about how I was banned from the library there,</blockquote><br>
For looking at porn on the computer and refusing to return books and harassing them to carry your crap.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and what they did had no idea that they would cut off my communication with the family back in Illinois – there, I was all alone.</blockquote><br>
Because only the LIBRARY possessed the remarkable devices known as pens, stamps, paper, and envelopes, which are considered mystical and magical objects, mysterious in their creation and storage to the rest of the world.<br>
<blockquote> "These manuscripts, nothing but blank pages – give me an Amen as I light them on fire," the female pastor shouted to the darkened skies as she took a torch to the pile of books and manuscripts. </blockquote><br>
What female? Oh, yeah, he keeps mentioning the female pastor. Oooh, The Scary Door!<br>
<blockquote>Rough drafts that weren't allowed to see the light of day.</blockquote><br>
Psst, what really happened is his computer crashed and he lost it all.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I watched in horror as they did this as the nightmare played out.</blockquote><br>
As they deleted his hard drive and forced him to bathe! DUN DUN DUM!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I was helpless to stop them because I was too medicated;</blockquote><br>
IT REALLY HAPPENED! REALLY! THE IOWA WITCH TRIALS!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> it was if they didn't want anyone to actually have an individual thought pattern. To them, writing something that really made people think was a sin in their eyes. Something that expressed a darker side of human thought, a darker side of faith.
This in the waking world was going on between April and May 1999.</blockquote><br>
So in reality they burned his works? Oh, wait, no, his computer exploded and blew off his penis. Wait, no... what really happened: He got in a fight with his girlfriend, went to deleted her writings, and accidently deleted his own. He then curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor and sobbed for six hours.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> In the nightmares, it was in the near future during the winter months; sometime in 2004. In the dream, they actually had copies of one of the books and tossed them into the pile of books to burn.
"What's not of God, shall be giveth to the fire with The Devil and his angels. Can everyone in the congregation an Amen!" I heard the female pastor bellow in the winter night.
The youth pastor only in name handled the torch and then tossed the floppy disks into the cold concrete along with books by Stephen King and Ray Bradbury.</blockquote><br>
Yes, because those floppy disks (all one of them) belong with those works. The only thing that they have in common is that they are made up of the same kind of markings.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That dark revelation gave me a bone shattering chill,</blockquote><br>
That 2 years worth the work fit on one 3.5" floppy?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and when I think about those nightmares years later. The very thought still frightens me to the core; the idea that some would see free thought as a crime. The chilling portrait of Rural America walking around as a dark entity in the duration of April 20, 1999, to the middle of May 1999. </blockquote><br>
Love this paragraph. I might have it inscribed in bronze and hung on my wall with LED lights lighting it and a plastic Jesus holding it up.<br>
<blockquote>Thinking about this gives me a nerve numbing chill as the nightmares are still vivid in the back of my head. The two words that still ring in my mind, and would end up being the trigger the dark nightmares about two people hiding behind a faith in God to do evil deeds wanders deep in the mind. Things such as that leaves a frozen terror in the depths of the human soul. </blockquote><br>
Blaaaaaaank paaaaaaaages.<br>
<blockquote> Such things they say, "Think upon the pure and the lovely, but in truth – one man's pure and lovely is another man's tormented nightmares. Those nightmares, reflecting the horrifying memories of the figurative torch and pitchfork parties by the youth pastor only in name and the lady pastor who preaches on a near death experience."</blockquote><br>
Wait, so now the pitchfork and torch parties were only figurative? So Pacione was just using hyperbole to make us feel sorry for him that he's a child abusing moron? Fucking figures. The only good thing in this "story" was the Great Iowa Witch Burnings of 1999.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>I've known these kind of nightmares all too well and wander as an entity within my dreams as I would fall into a doped up slumber. Time span of April 20, 1999 to May 8, 1999, are the things that cast a looming shadow in the back of one's disturbed memory.</blockquote><br>
Wait, like 18 or 19 days? Less than 3 weeks?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The type of things one wishes they were making up about their hellbound nightmares –</blockquote><br>
Hellbound nightmare? That some fat kid working in a mall bookstore and some woman pastor burning your works? THAT'S hellbound? What the fuck do you call the nightmares the rest of humanity has?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the things that horror stories are made out of is the best way to describe such nightmares about a youth pastor only in name or the lady pastor who preaches out of a near death experience. </blockquote><br>
Ummm... now. The best way to describe it is: Boring bullshit.<br>
<blockquote>I had these kind of nightmares when I was staying with the friend in Chicago and also while in the hospital The only thing that kept me from waking up and screaming was the drugs they had in my system. All those RX in my system, it was a god-forsaken-miracle that I was functioning –– the nurse and doctors didn't exactly want me functioning, when they pump one with such a high dose one is often sleeping for days on end. </blockquote><br>
They gave him 2 asprin.<br>
<blockquote>The reason for the breakdown was that I was on the receiving end of a modern day witch hunt from some of the churches and from the damned social workers using my intellectual properties to fuck me over.</blockquote><br>
Sounds to me like you used a nervous breakdown to avoid going to jail for Child Abuse you little shitweasel.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The horror that echoed the Salem Witch hunts many centuries before in New England. </blockquote><br>
Ummm... this shows that Pacione doesn't know jack or shit about those events. And MANY centuries? Less than 310. That's MANY centuries!<br>
<blockquote> The use of my own intellectual properties to incriminate me was a nightmare waiting to happen – that every horror plot came to mind actually came true that day.</blockquote><br>
Wow. Those are some boring ass horror plots.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> After the day when they pulled out the my written works, I began to think my darkest hour was yet to come. If there was any time that I wanted to have a drink of hard liquor by the fifths, it was then. </blockquote><br>
Instead of manning up and helping his girlfriend and acting like a real man, he went for long soulfull walks where he often blew men for pocket change.<br>
<blockquote>The nightmares were painted in the back of one's psyche, and everything was turning to shit before my eyes.</blockquote><br>
Because you beat a child, you tremendous shitweasel.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Started with the witch-hunts,</blockquote><br>
That never happened<br>
<br>
<blockquote> then the engagement started crumbling before my hands as a lump of dry clay.</blockquote><br>
Because you beat her child.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> What followed next was the legalistic churches</blockquote><br>
Church of the Divine Sec. 9 Sub 4 of the Penal Code<br>
<br>
<blockquote> started to corner me because of my nervous breakdown, deep down I heard the loud noise of the walls crumbling down upon me –– tried to pray to God for guidance but He wasn't listening.</blockquote><br>
Because he doesn't like child abusers either.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I actually felt like Job</blockquote><br>
Except Job got screwed on a bet, not because he was a child beating shitweasel.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> at that moment because I was losing my family (my then fiancée and my son,) </blockquote><br>
Because you beat an infant.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>the fight for custody was a nightmare –</blockquote><br>
Because nobody wants to give a special needs infant to a greasy, food stained, unwashed, rot-tooth, hunchbacked troll that likes to beat children. Probably as a precursor to eating them.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> one that I can't sit down and relate in detail</blockquote><br>
Because you suck as a writer.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but my mind was decaying by the duration of weeks. </blockquote><br>
<i>by</i> or <i>over</i> you blithering manchild?<br>
<blockquote> The only thing that was my saving grace was my writing habit. If I gave that up, I would end up the way Robert E. Howard would be before I turned twenty-three. If I gave up writing, my parents would have to make funeral arrangements because I would end up dead.</blockquote><br>
Because if he doesn't mainline some sentences every day, he goes into withdrawls and eventually ends up sucking dick at the train station for typewriter keys.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I think a lot about that duration when I lived there –– it would make for a really fucked up horror film. </blockquote><br>
Yeah, the most boring fucking horror film ever. You couldn't even get that shit on Lifetime or E! if you filmed it from the girlfriend's perspective.<br>
<br>
Oh, wait, you could.<br>
<br>
<i>A young woman, a mother to a special needs infant, feels trapped by the violent unwashed hunchback who beats her son. Trapped, with no wait out, and terrified of what the crazed unmedicated freak might do to her or her son.</i><br>
<br>
Yeah, I could sell that shit to E! in a heartbeat.<br>
<blockquote>The fact there was at least eighteen churches within blocks of each other, much like how it is with Wheaton, Illinois.</blockquote><br>
Three solid blocks of churches.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The difference between Mason City, Iowa, and Wheaton, Illinois, are that Wheaton is actually Goth and Horror friendly. </blockquote><br>
The sign "WELCOME GOTHS AND HORROR WRITERS AND EMO KIDS!" at the city limits is a dead giveaway!
<br>
<blockquote> The kids never really thought for themselves</blockquote><br>
They had printed instructions from the Church every morning on exactly how many steps to take for school. You could fuck them all up by parking a car in the middle of the street and watch them bumping into it for hours.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and never really knew what Atheism was or had an idea what the nature of evil if God and Satan were taken out of the question, their idea of an open mind is one that is open to what only God has in store for them.</blockquote><br>
Because they don't have the internet, they're all virgin's until marriage, they don't smoke pot, and the town used to be known as Stepford.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Chances are they were either home-schooled or went to a Christian high school, their parents would not allow them to own a Stephen King novel or a Richard Matheson book because they would deem them mental poison.</blockquote><br>
Yeah, I saw that movie too. I can't wait till Nicky starts dancing in the trainyard!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Living out there, it was a witch-hunt waiting to happen ––</blockquote><br>
They keep their dunking seat polished in case any women are seen without panties or fucking standing up.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> their logic is beyond raped with the idea of how a Christian oughta be. Their view of a Christian is something out of the movie Disturbing Behavior.</blockquote><br>
Anyone seen that movie? I haven't. You know what a good movie is? Cloverfield. It's one of those movies that if it scares you, you only watch once. But my favorite part is HOOAH! US ARMY OUT OF NOWHERE! Oh, wait, we're supposed to reviewing this "story", not talking about movies. Well, let's get back to it, but first, you should watch Hills Have Eyes 2 remake, just for the line "SHITMAN THE BARBARIAN!"<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That meaning no one there actually dressed in black,</blockquote><br>
They were all immortal from spider bites and never had funerals.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> grew their hair long,</blockquote><br>
The women were bald? Sexy. Know what's fun? Having a bald or near bald girlfriend and shooting all over the top of their head. Seriously, try it sometime. You fucking sicko, we both know you got hard at that thought.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> had an earring in a guy</blockquote><br>
IN a guy? How about "on" a guy. Otherwise, you're saying that none of them shoved earrings up their ass, which might be painful. Or, if you're like me, accidently tongued it off of her ear and swallowed it, choked on it, and threw up on the bed. Yeah, I'm suave.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> or some other piercing on their face,</blockquote><br>
I hear bones are in fashion with Christians now.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> or got ink (that is a slang term for a tattoo.) </blockquote><br>
Thank you Captain Obvious. Thank God you showed up, a child needs abusing!<br>
<blockquote>They see people dressing in black as either a witch or a Satanist –</blockquote><br>
Or a funeral director. Or a principal. Or a well dressed man. Or a mourner. Or on the way to church. Or someone wearing black that day.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> when in truth, they're are a man or woman in God just they see God in a different way. Something that was referenced in Lucifer Dethroned – about people that are drawn to the color black. In my observations, I think what they portrayed is a misconception about people who tend to live closer to the shadows of light. The way they portray people with Bipolar as being some kind of monster, that's formation of nightmares waiting to occur. Some form of a dwindling horror as it dwells in the back of a withered soul. </blockquote><br>
Ah, yes, every Sunday the preacher used to tell us how people with Bipolar were Satanists!<br>
<blockquote> When looking back at that area, there were only a few people who were kind enough to help me out or made me feel at home –– one of them had an article about Eva O being a Christian at the time. The photograph of her in the magazine was her caressing a crucifix. Since then she walked away from the church and God. When I see the shadows of the past about that place, the souls are often left as dry bones and whitewashed tombs –– left alone to their madness and the nightmares forge out of them.</blockquote><br>
I'm willing to bet they all have nice lives, people who love them, and bathe regularly.<br>
<blockquote>When I see the purple or green t-shirts that read "Upper Room Ministries." </blockquote> <br>
You what? Run away giggling? Curl up on the bathroom floor crying? Or run downstairs, climb in your bondage sleepsack, and furiously masturbate while ramming the stick of a hobby horse up your ass? Or maybe all 3?<br>
<blockquote>The first thing that I think is that they are zombies </blockquote><br>
Braaaaains. Braaaaaains and cunnilingus.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>because they're brainwashed with the logic of a preacher that preaches on a near death experience.</blockquote><br>
This story would seriously be better if we got to hear about it.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> A MOTHERFUCKING near death experience; what the FUCK lady?</blockquote><br>
BEAT AN INFANT? WHAT THE FUCK, SPARKLE PONY? Gouged in the head by a ballpoint pen? WTF, hunchback?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The only reason I didn't buy into it is because I am an educated man. </blockquote><br>
Who didn't graduate high school. Who dropped out of college. Who just barely use a spellchecker. Let's just chalk that up to Sparkle Pony not knowing the meaning of the term "educated man" and leave it at that.<br>
<blockquote>If I had an NDE, I would become an even darker breed of horror writer by playing around with it.</blockquote><br>
Unlike your award winning story "Fat Fuck Fall Off A Fence" and "Fat Fuck Fails At A Witch Orgy"<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That "church" was helmed by children of the grave;</blockquote><br>
Zombies?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> their world;</blockquote><br>
Graveworld! The next Ratchet & Clank Game!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and when they see it through a man with a dark mind their world would be that the center failed to hold.</blockquote><br>
Good thing that it's only Pacione writing. They're perfectly safe.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I could remember when I brought two from that church into a place where I check my e-mail at, they bolted out like a banshee in a cemetery. </blockquote><br>
In other words, they took one look at the mold infested, left over food strewn, semen encrusted hole in his grandparents basement, and they ran off screaming.<br>
<br>
Admit it, so would you. You'd figure this loathsome troll lured you down there to kill you, have sex with you, and eat you. In that order. Oh, and then make a suit out of your skin to wear so that the sunlight didn't burn his flesh.<br>
<blockquote> Horror crawled upon them as a shadow within darkness;</blockquote><br>
As they looked around the room and heard PACIONE'S LAUGHER!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> as an entity that watches the blind children pray around the cold headstones.</blockquote><br>
This is just all kinds of fucked up. Just picture a foul hunchback, his clothing spattered with grease, semen, food spatters, and grime, crouched behind the gravestones, giggling to himself as his shit and pus encrusted hand fondles his crotch. His beady little eyes set in the pimply dough like face fixed on the poor blind children praying at the cold headstones of the parents they lost in the terrible fire.<br>
<br>
Umm, THAT'S scary.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The madness became the catalyst for the endless nightmares, from the eyes of a man whose already fragile of mind they see someone whose about to see their walls crashing down on them. No matter how many prayers to God are spoken, He doesn't listen. The Fuck of Fucks doesn't hear anyone's prayer because there is something about mortals that just leaves Him royally pissed off. </blockquote><br>
No, just you, because you beat infants.<br>
<blockquote> Sometimes the slaves take it just a little too far. What is seen when the slaves act up are the horror that some wish not to see, but are the witness of a display of a modern torch and pitchfork party. They claim that if they are saved by grace – really in truth; the horrors of reality are weighing down upon them. Staring back as a shadow in the back of the mind creating the infinite nightmares that echo the madness crumbling down upon them. The shadows in the tormented memory would be created in the eyes of the youth pastor that is only a youth pastor by name and the pastor who would preach upon a near death experience.</blockquote><br>
Great, more shit about the minimum wage mall worker and the chick who almost died.<br>
<blockquote> Between the two of them, it's nearly sin to be writing of the nightmares they induced combined –– almost the memories are scarred in the back of one's mind of what they did.</blockquote><br>
What the fuck did they REALLY do?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> One saying what I do is nothing but blank pages,</blockquote><br>
Look! The Scary Door!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and the other causing me to lose all outside communication to my family back in Illinois.</blockquote><br>
So she got him kicked out of the library for being a foul unwashed freak who panted on the computers and stared at the blind kids. No shit. Where can I send her some candy and a bunch of flowers?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Every horror came to life when I lived there,</blockquote><br>
Wow? Vampires and werewolves and demons and devils and cybernetic killing machines that run off of human blood, and the next Shrek movie all came to live while he lived there? Why, he's lucky to escape with his life.<br>
<br>
Wait... he got in trouble. Oh.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and it was every horror playing heavy on the back of the mind –– the pure and the lovely turning to shit or that is the way it seems when the whole world was crashing down on oneself.</blockquote><br>
All just because he repeatedly beat an infant. And you call the world fair, when a greasy troll isn't allowed to abuse a baby without facing jail!<br>
<blockquote> Each day I was growing more sky high and fucked by the hour,</blockquote><br>
Doing meth and hanging out in the bus station bathroom.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> some refusing to help me get food</blockquote><br>
So he blew them for a hot-dog BEFORE they gave him the hot-dog? Man, he sucks at that too.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> or helping me find a way to get my custody back.</blockquote><br>
Lawyers don't really hang out in bus station bathrooms, Nicky.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It was just another carrot hanging in front of my face that I couldn't reach. </blockquote><br>
It was just another <del>carrot</del> dick hanging in front of my face that I could<del>n't</del> <de>reach</del> suck.<br>
<br>
FIXED IT FOR HIM!<br>
<blockquote>The nightmares of the constant holy-rollers tossing things of reason into the fire; it was if they were reflecting the shadow of abomination. Everything one sees within that kind of nightmare is every horror coming to life;</blockquote><br>
THE RISING OF THOSE WHO DWELL BELOW!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the kind of picture where they say think upon the pure and the lovely only to see the pure and the lovely all of the sudden turn into a world of dog shit.
When they would approach me with their fake smiling faces and holy roller demeanor. They would say it would be in God's will that I get to reach my family, that was a lie to my face told as truth.
Something that would play in the back of my mind as much as the one the greeter told me about saying I don't have ADHD – saying it was a lie from the devil. Being lied in the face by other Christians. Puppets dancing on the strings of a religion known as legalism. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah. More poor persecuted me bullshit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>I look at them now and sometimes ask them this with authority – do I scare you now? </blockquote><br>
That someone could be that disgusting? Fuck yeah it does. For the love of the Hanukkah Zombie, BRUSH YOUR FUCKING TEETH!
<br>
<blockquote>I found myself being seen as a monster there,</blockquote><br>
A child beating monster.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> a monster of my own making when they try to put a mental illness as something demonic.</blockquote><br>
Mental illness didn't make you beat your kids. The fact you're a piss poor excuse for a human being is why you beat that child.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The stigmas the pastors would put on a mental illness – thinking about it still gives me the chills in many ways. The kind of thing that drove Robert E. Howard to suicide – the kind of thing that would drive any fuck to the asylum. </blockquote><br>
BUZZ! Wrong for sooo many reasons.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Slavery in the name of God, and seeing those green and purple t-shirts reading "Upper Room Ministries" I wonder if they follow because of the near death experience. They are drawn to every damned word she says and like mindless puppets -- they follow. They follow to the point where they see no more free will, and in one's horror they obey every word she says.
She says, "Let us pray."
They without question bow their heads. </blockquote><br>
Yes, obviously mind control.<br>
<br>
In no other church does such a thing happen! THE FIEND!<br>
<blockquote>I, on the other hand, just kept my head up as an observer.</blockquote><br>
Like a true MAN OF GAWD would.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> A dark brooding beast that sat there – knowing that something was up when she started preaching from a damn near death experience.</blockquote><br>
Point of Order, Mr. Sparkle Pony, many people are drawn to the calling of God by near death experiences. This often happens in the human world. Perhaps if you bathe and brush your teeth, you may experience it someday.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I watched as they allowed themselves to become brainwashed by the day – by the hour, the things of nightmares were being written in the back of my scarred psyche.</blockquote><br>
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaank paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaages.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Somewhere in my nightmares I would hear the bitch preaching in the cemeteries as the demons scream for the unholy choir, a question if she was from the heavens or from the abyss below. The shadows of a dark memory crawling, waiting as an entity waiting to be awakened with an incantation from a blasphemous tome. </blockquote><br>
ALMOST HAD IT! Then failed so utterly.<br>
<blockquote> The nightmares etched in the back of my mind as they wander as entities all their own! The shadows of their memory become the blueprint for the late 20th Century witch-hunts</blockquote><br>
The Great Goth Burning of Chicago! The Emo Hunt of Wichita! The Anarchist Massacre of Reno!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> that shall cast a modern shadow on me for a good number of years.</blockquote><br>
Meaning that normal shadows slide away rather than touch him. Good to know!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> No matter how many times I try to wall the memories out of being made a demon in human form for my illness,</blockquote><br>
Or for beating an infant.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> they make their ways of being known. A dark, growing monster within the scarred remains of a tormented mind – with each memory screaming out incantations of the nightmares somewhere still-beating in the black heart of a tormented man. </blockquote><br>
Such horrible nightmares.<br>
<br>
Of a mall employee and a pastor.<br>
<blockquote>(Those nightmares made themselves felt while being placed in the walls of a mental health facility, where time stands still and not even God will hear the sick man's prayers. The nightmares of a Salem Witch Trial still-beating alive and well within the present day within the fucking cornfields in the rotting heart of Iowa.</blockquote><br>
Ah yes, the great Cornfield Witch Project.<br>
I forgot about that.<br>
<blockquote>I could still hear the female pastor telling the congregation in the green and purple t-shirts saying, "Let us pray."</blockquote><br>
THE FIEND!<br>
<blockquote> As I think of those times, they were somehow a madwoman's prey. When I see them bowing their heads somewhere to myself I would say of them, "Dance. Puppet. Dance." When I see that youth pastor only in name,</blockquote><br>
Christian Book seller at the mall.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> there is one question I want to ask the brainwashed fuck – Do I scare you now? </blockquote><br>
And we told you: NO! You're a foul little hunchback, not something from the depths of time with the blood of a thousand thousand sacrifices smearing its bulk with crimson blasphemies as it rises up from the depth of the earth and shatters cities when its shoulders heave from beneath the earth where it slumbered from before the sun was spun from darkness.<br>
<br>
You're just a nasty little child abusing hunchback.<br>
<blockquote>I keep hearing the self-righteous fuck's works, "Blank pages" ringing in my head. The words that scream witch-hunt in the eyes of those who seem to have a view of the world that isn't the pure and the lovely, but distorted and perverse.</blockquote><br>
YAY! It's the Pacione Repeat! Everyone's favorite dance.<br>
<br>
It's just a copy from above. And then a paste to beeeeelow! Put the text in again. And tuck the words in tight! Let's do the Pacione Repeat agaaaaaain!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Some might ask think this narrative of someone who fell from grace,</blockquote><br>
Or the whining snivellings of a man who is trying to come off on the victim after beating an infant repeatedly and terrorizing his girlfriend.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but it's a narrative of a man who's torments dwell and breathed on their own for a good part of a decade of the horrible things people did in the name of God. </blockquote><br>
Wait, you beat the kid in the name of God? You sick fuck.<br>
<blockquote>Such things become the nightmares of a tattered psyche, and the horror of it shall live within the pages of a narrative of a man who suffers with the stigma the church gave upon him.</blockquote><br>
Ah yes, in all of his photos we see where the Inquisitioner put burning brands against his cheeks to forever mark him with the word "SHITWEASEL" for all to see. Wait, no it didn't.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Being coined the modern leper in their eyes. Presenting themselves with hearts of gold, but in truth they have a hearts of still-rotting shit. </blockquote><br>
And they're still better than scumbags who beat infants and terrorize women.<br>
<blockquote>When they offer the way to heaven, the only thing they are giving in return is a detour into the depths of damnation on earth. Damnation seen in the guise of eternal life, the promise of the pearly gates but when they find out that one has a mental illness -– it became the gates of damnation. From the words of the holy woman and holy man raping redemption, salvation from mental illness is a lie. One that they say they have to seek deliverance from only to be the scarred horrors seen from one who suffers the most. </blockquote><br>
The infant. He's the victim here, Nicky, not you.<br>
<blockquote> Sometimes I wonder about the female pastor having nightmares holding two coins over her physical lifeless body – those two coins being for the boatman to cross the river Styx. </blockquote><br>
Aw man, not this shit again.<br>
<blockquote>The fact she preaches so much off her near death experience that she might have an obsession with it!</blockquote><br>
No shit. That kind of happens when you ALMOST FUCKING DIE!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She claims that she felt angels, but sometimes I wonder if she saw the boatman coming for her coins within the depths of her most death-laden dreams. The question if the near death experience she preaches upon still haunts her twisted mind, as often she prays to God for it to go away.</blockquote><br>
Ummm... It does, Sparkle Pony. See, you'd know if you had actually been attacked by a maniac with a screwdriver instead of getting stabbed with a ballpoint pen for groping the girl.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Only for the nightmares to be even more intense by the night – does she wake up screaming?</blockquote><br>
Probably. Something a sheltered manchild like you would never understand.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Does she beg God not to allow her to relive the horrors of that day she died, and does the lunacy haunt her day and night as she preaches out of her house? </blockquote><br>
Probably. That's what happens when you actually know what horror is. Something you obviously have no clue of.<br>
<blockquote> The madness within her dreams becomes the darkening battery of a shadow from a entity that doesn't run from his darkness,</blockquote><br>
Yes you do. You claim that you didn't beat that baby, despite the fact that the State said you did, witnesses said you did, and your ex-girlfriend has told everyone all about it, you pathetic failure.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> one that doesn't hide</blockquote><br>
Yes you did. You ran away and left your ex-girlfriend to deal with all the fallout, because you're a yellow bellied craven coward.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but still casts a shadow looming in the depths of ones more tormented dreams – the one who watches her puppets dance when she says, "Let us prey!" </blockquote><br>
What, is she leading them on the hunt?<br>
<blockquote> When I see those photographs of her, some of them look like she has pitch black eyes. She says she has her soul saved by Christ but when I see that photograph. The photograph brings a dark chill in the back of my spine being she might be a Child of Dagon – the photo looking she doesn't have any eyes! I am wondering if she has gills on her chest for her to breath when it rains. Some might not want to have that fucked up picture in they some of wouldn't even begin to imagine to illustrate from the depths of their shadows.</blockquote><br>
And somehow you made even that boring.<br>
<blockquote>Over the past eleven years, I had morbid hued nightmares about that pastor and the youth pastor only in name.</blockquote><br>
BLLAAAAAAAAAAAAANK PAAAAAAAAAAAGES!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Sometimes, I actually wonder if this lady pastor is really a Miss Linda (something a friend of mine once wrote a song about a psychic with all seeing eyes. First thing at that comes to mind when I think of this lady pastor – the very thought gives me the chills.) </blockquote><br>
In other words, now you're stealing from other people.<br>
<blockquote> I sometimes wonder if the lady pastor could really be a medium, or something of that nature – using a near death experience to preach; in some ways would give someone an icy chill down one's spine.</blockquote><br>
That she'd actually know you're a scumbag?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I sometimes have ideas of writing the Miss Linda into a story where she's holding the coins over her lifeless shell of body laying in the hospital bed, waiting to pay the boatman. </blockquote><br>
Except you'd "find it impossible to describe"<br>
<blockquote> When I see that photograph, I wasn't looking at a Holy prophet –</blockquote><br>
You were terrified that it was a woman!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I staring in the eyes of a Miss Linda.</blockquote><br>
And he rips his "friend's" work off wholesale less than a paragraph later. Nice work, Sparkle Pony.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> A damned mystic that hides behind the Word of God. Standing from her wooden podium and preaching out of her house. Her living, thinking zombies in purple and green t-shirts with the church name on the shirts walked in the doors of the fringe store. The moment they entered; got scared shitless when walking into a store that does body ink.</blockquote><br>
That's tattoos, in case you missed Ol' Sparkle Pony informing us of this insider fact earlier.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They though they actually stepped into a demon's apartment when they were in that place.</blockquote><br>
Yeah, I'm sure they did.<br>
<blockquote> They act like they walked right into the Devil's den, especially when I saw one of them selling off their Black Sabbath cassettes a few months earlier – with the thoughts of Let Us Prey in their mind. </blockquote><br>
Blah blah blah. I should namedrop shot you on that one.<br>
<blockquote>(Yes they were prey for Miss Linda. They sit and listen while she pulled their invisible strings with her hypnotic song, the song of the blond siren with black soulless eyes – Dance! Puppet! Dance! Their soul is slowly strangled in her spiritual tourniquet!) </blockquote><br>
Wow, he's just really ripping off his "friend", but it isn't plagiarism, oh no, not when Sparkle Pony does it.
<br>
<blockquote>I would loved to imagine them stepping foot at a night club in Chicago,</blockquote><br>
Sorry, Sparkle Pony, they probably have by now.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and if they actually set foot in The Exit – they would have felt like they stepped into the lungs of hell </blockquote><br>
Well, using it right once out of two stories just shows us that the first time was an accident.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>with the dungeon shackles on the walls with the scribble bench in the back room.</blockquote><br>
Yes, yes, and tomorrow we'll go to the scary Ice Cream shop.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> But looking back at those years, I kept having those disturbing dreams about the Miss Linda. She might go around thumping the Holy Book yet something was missing – her damned crystal ball! Her dark, soulless eyes in the photograph didn't even seem human but serpentine – it was if the nightmare was coming to life! I wonder if she could hear my darkening roar thundering these words as she lays with the blackest depths in her looming comatose nightmares of her soul holding out two coins over her sleeping corpse:</blockquote><br>
OOOH! Words!<br>
<br>
<blockquote>THAT WHICH IS NOT DEAD MAY ETERNAL LIE
AND WITH STRANGER EONS, EVEN DEATH MAY DIE</blockquote><br>
That he just plain fucking stole.<br>
<br>
So, in conclusion:<br>
<br>
Sparkle Pony beat his infant son for doing infant stuff.<br>
The State takes away the infant.<br>
The woman leaves him.<br>
He has nightmares about a guy who works in the mall calling his writing blank pages.<br>
In 2 years he didn't fill up an entire 3.5 floppy disk.<br>
He has nightmares about a woman who had a near death experience.<br>
<br>
Wow, what a tale of persecution and magic.<br>
<br>
BTW-This whole thing clocks in at 12,003 words. Originally it clocked in at 6,047 words.<br>
<br>
I added a fucking lot. And at least I made goddamn sense.<br>
Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-18390242692475962112015-05-28T20:48:00.001-07:002015-05-28T20:50:52.775-07:00An Ass in a Skull, a worse vampire story than TwilightVampires have captured the imagination of writers for centuries. From whispered tales of Nosferatu told around flickering campfire to sparkling creatures leaping about the forest with gay abandon in the sunlight, vampires are a dark part of us that we both identify with and fear. The goal of eternal life having been reached, even if it is at the expense of one's immortal soul, has long been the goal of the human race. Trading your very soul and the ability to enjoy a sunny July BBQ for eternal life, even if you lose your ability to hang out and eat garlic pizza, enjoy a good holy water bath, and still have to worry about falling on a fencepost, doesn't seem like that bad of a trade in this modern world where we don't really that much about our immortal soul.<br><br>
<br><br>
However, this story doesn't even contain a whole vampire, as you will see. This story has about as much to do with vampires as an empty gas can has to do with a NASCAR race.<br>
<br>
Before we go, let's get a prediction!<br>
<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/This-Story-Fucking-Sucks.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"><br>
<br>
Aw man, we are so dicked...<br>
<br>
With that, I present you with:<br>
<br>
<blockquote>In The Eyes Of A Skull</blockquote><br>
Because most skulls have eyes.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Written by Nickolaus A. Pacione</blockquote><br>
<center><img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/Sparkle-Pony.gif" border="0" align=center border=5 alt="Photobucket"><br>
Photo Of Author </center><br>
<br>
<blockquote>Word Count: (4,148 Words)</blockquote><br>
That's 4,148 wasted words.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Late-September, early October 1870 ––</blockquote><br>
Well shit, that shows how precise the details of this story are going to be.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the telling of a harrowing discovery can be said but what they say of what they found was something too terrifying for words.</blockquote><br>
Oh holy fucking shit. It can be said, but what they say is too terrifying for words? THAN HOW CAN THEY FUCKING SAY IT? Oh for love of God, That whole sentence just... wait... Oh fuck!<br>
<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/It-looks-like-you-re-reviewing-a-Pa.png" border="0" alt="Photobucket"><br>
NO CLIPPY! DON'T DO IT!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The skeleton of a being that was not of this region though it was skeletal remains.</blockquote><br>
Parse that sentence baby! The skeleton that isn't from around here even though it was a skeleton? Well what the fuck does it look like? Does the skeleton have bat wings? 34 ribs per side? Ninety teeth in the upper jaw? Three heads? Oh, wait, it is "something too terrifying for words" so we don't know.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The words itself cannot even relate to what they saw or related</blockquote><br>
Not Nicky's words, no. I mean, any half-competent Twilight fan-fiction writer could describe it.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but the nightmares of what lives within a child's tormented mind </blockquote><br>
Oh man, slithering snakes, formless creatures under the bed, parents that suddenly grow teeth and chase you through a warped and twisted house while your stuffed animal snaps at you with inhuman teeth...<br>
<br>
<blockquote>were in the sense true when they looked at them.</blockquote><br>
When who looked at who or what?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The teeth were not of a human –</blockquote><br>
Were they of... perhaps... SATAN?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> almost animal like, its thirst was that of living blood.</blockquote><br>
Oooh, spooky. Vampire teeth.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>One cannot begin to relate exactly the origin of this being</blockquote><br>
It's a fucking vampire, not one of the Those Who Dwell Below.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but one can agree on this much – within Glen Ellyn, Illinois, no one had ever seen anything of this nature.</blockquote><br>
Well of course not, it's like 9 years before the publication of Dracula. I mean, Nosferatu was pretty much a fairly learned man thing in Europe, not really stuff people in Shithole Illinios knew about in 1870.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though the town is 20 years old at this time, Illinois was just allowed in the union and it was toward the end of the Civil War.</blockquote><br>
Toward the end? It's 1870 in this story, and the Civil War in the United States lasts from 1861-1865, which means it's FIVE FUCKING YEARS AFTER IT! And "just allowed in the Union"? Seriously? Illinois became a fucking state in <blockquote>1818</blockquote> for fuck's sake! Talk about total goddamn research fail. <br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/iwouldhitit.jpg" border="5" ><br>
<br>
<blockquote> The person who carried the skull to the region was an outsider from Texas, and kept the knife that killed the vampire with him.</blockquote><br>
Except the fact that in Dracula the Texan Quincey dies, so he couldn't have carried the Bowie Knife anywhere.<br>
<br>
Research fail... drink.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though they all know him by name, they just don't want to say it because the darkness it brings.</blockquote><br>
The Texan's name? The skull's name?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The sightings of the skull were that of something which is left in an unwritten history that happened within the place.</blockquote><br>
In Pacione-speak that means that he can't explain shit without everyone twigging onto the fact that he's trying to claim that this is Dracula's skull. Except he's trying to make it more scary.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Though a lady named Trisha Williams saw this skull when it was first brought to town –– </blockquote><br>
So apparently the Texan rode into town waving it on a pole? Flashing it at women to see if their panties fall down?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>she didn't believe in the supernatural until she had the nightmares of a vampire being decapitated.</blockquote><br>
Dracula. A much better story.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The details of the vampire being dragged out to the sunlight and beheaded were the thing that brought her memory to the horror that was seen in her dreams, and seen from the skull standing before her in the room.</blockquote><br>
Wait wait wait. So she knows that the vampire was drug out into the sunlight and beheaded, and now the skull is <blockquote>standing</blockquote> before her in a room? What, did the fucking skull grow legs?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She knew that was in the store was something she could not understand until she saw the skull for herself. When she saw the skull she kept having the dreams about the Nosferatu,</blockquote><br>
So she knows about Nosferatu? She's a well read Shithole Illinois occupant, aint' she, since Dracula is a few years from being published.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but she couldn't put her finger on it.</blockquote><br>
Umm... a skull is kind of creepy?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Horror in the mind when she looks at the skull, kept thinking ––</blockquote><br>
"Maybe if I rub this skull on my ass it'll feel real good?"<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the skull, that being was in my dreams before it was brought here.</blockquote><br>
As a skull or as the vampire?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It was from the night she saw that skull she kept seeing the horror play out in her mind -–</blockquote><br>
Translation: From the night she saw that skull she had nightmares.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> of how many that the vampire killed.</blockquote><br>
Great, so now she's Allison Dubois?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The person who brought the skull to Illinois was a friend of Abram Van Helsing.</blockquote><br>
That's <blockquote>Abraham</blockquote> you gibbering moron.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> After the vampire was killed in Europe he was carrying the skull around like it was some morbid trophy.</blockquote>\<br>
Which is pretty badass for a fucking zombie, considering he died.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Is there something I can help you with 'mam?" Asked the shopkeeper,</blockquote><br>
Where the fuck did this guy come from? Did he just spring out of the ground like a goddamn flower?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "I take it you just saw the head of a slain Nosferatu; it was the same vampire that Jon Harker killed with the Bowie Knife he brought with him to Castle Dracula."</blockquote><br>
BUZZZ!<br>
"At the book's climax, he prises open Dracula's coffin mere moments before sunset and slashes open Dracula's throat with a kukri knife while Quincey Morris stabs him in the heart with a Bowie knife."<br>
<br>
Major fucking research fail!<br>
<br>
If you're going to write shitty fan fiction, at least do your goddamn research.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>She said nothing, blinked twice in absolute horror.</blockquote><br>
How does one blink in absolute horror?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She knew nothing about who Jon Harker was but knew one thing – this was the skull of a vampire.</blockquote><br>
Because she was just told so? Otherwise, how the fuck is some hick spinster from Asshole Illinois know about a vampire?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She thought and asked, "Why did they bring the skull of a vampire to Illinois,</blockquote><br>
Holy shit, a reasonable question! Probably the ONLY realistic shit in the whole shitpile.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and what does it have to be doing here shown as a macabre display?"</blockquote><br>
Just sitting there? Oh, wait, she's asking why it is being shown? Apparently between the first sentence and the second sentence she took a cratered headwound because some cowboy was outside firing off his pistols.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Her look in the face was that of someone horrified–</blockquote><br>
Or eagerly trying to figure out how to fuck the storekeeper?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> something with a monstrously;</blockquote><br>
With a monstrously WHAT? The shopkeepers monster cock?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> that it would be in that be the words telling of the horror that was from the castle in Europe with the parchment enclosed written by Dracula himself.</blockquote><br>
Oh fuck, now there's a letter from Dracula, why can't we just read that letter and go home to drink beer?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"You see, there is something about Glen Ellyn though and history of the supernatural –– this is just part of its history,"</blockquote><br>
Oh great, now we get some bullshit supernatural stuff? Wonder what it's going to be? (snore)<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the shopkeeper responded, "the skull of a vampire even when dead still has power over people.</blockquote><br>
So this goddamn moron is going to just show it off on the shelf for anyone to see? Come on, he'd at least charge a fucking nickel to see it.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The person who brought the skull in was a student of Abram Van Helsing. People have gone mad looking at the skull of the Nosferatu."</blockquote><br>
"So I shall just put it on the shelf for all to see! MWAH-HA-HA!"<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Trisha had an uneasy look on her face when he was relating the background of the skull, it was almost like she wishing or praying to God that she never asked him about it. She was looking at him like he wasn't right in the head though that was just him –– that he was half-joking in the manner he was relating the story and offered her a drink of whiskey.</blockquote><br>
HIT THE FUCKING BRAKES, JIMMY!<br>
<br>
OK, so this is 1870, which is pretty solid on morals and everything, since Illinois has been a real state for like 50 fucking years and is pretty goddamn civilized. A single woman, in an Illinois small town, goes ALONE to a fucking store, then accepts a goddamn shot of whiskey from the shopkeeper? WHORE!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She accepted the drink because she needed something to help her sleep</blockquote><br>
What, did night suddenly slam down? Bullshit, she accepted the drink because she wants to fuck the guy.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> after he related the rest of the details of the story,</blockquote><br>
Booooooring.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the horrors that were there within her mind were something she couldn't quite relate</blockquote><br>
Because Nicky is a shitty writer? <br>
<br>
<blockquote> otherwise they would lock her up in the same place they placed Mary Todd Lincoln.</blockquote><br>
For those of you who don't know, Mary Todd Lincoln ended up in the mental institution after the death of her husband and 2 of her sons.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She willfully took the drink</blockquote><br>
WHORE!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and asked if she could borrow one of the rooms that he had to rent.</blockquote><br>
So she could fuck the ever-loving shit out of the guy?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He agreed to the offer of the loan because</blockquote><br>
He wanted to tap that ass?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> there was no way she was able to sleep in her own house that night</blockquote><br>
and still be able to fuck her.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> after hearing that story he spoke of. It was mid afternoon when she went up to the room,</blockquote><br>
OK, so she's going to sleep in the middle of the afternoon? Anyone else believe that perhaps either Nicky doesn't understand what normal people are like, or this was supposed to be a porn story?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> he gave her the only room in the place with a bed big enough for two people.</blockquote><br>
Ladies and Gentlemen, the People's Exhibit B.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Usually when a married couple will come to town.</blockquote><br>
Or he wants to fuck the ever living shit out of the town spinster.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"You get this one all to yourself.</blockquote><br>
Till I close down the shop and come up here and ravish your body!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Hope you are able to get some sleep." He responded.</blockquote><br>
With a leer and a wink.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"I will, thank you for loaning this bed to me for the night –</blockquote><br>
IT'S MIDAFTERNOON, BITCH!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I wasn't feeling well all week,"</blockquote><br>
Is that Old West for "Give me cock now!" or something?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> she responded as she got under the covers.</blockquote><br>
So wait, she just got in bed in front of this guy?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Didn't even disrobe just went into bed with what she had on during the day –</blockquote><br>
That would be: Dress, bustle, bonnet, chemise, petticoats and maybe pantaloons, and God knows what else!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> slept in her corset.</blockquote><br>
Wait, this woman is wandering around town in just her corset? That means she's wandering around with her ass hanging out and flashing everyone her bush. No wonder the shopkeeper gave her whiskey and took her up to a room. Either she's totally delusional, has heat stroke, or is the local hump.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She laid there for a good two hours before falling asleep,</blockquote><br>
Because it's mid-afternoon?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the skull was the thing that was on her mind.</blockquote><br>
Bullshit. She's laying there masturbating, waiting for the shopkeeper to come up and replace her juice-slicked fingers with his hard cock.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> On her back</blockquote><br>
With 2 fingers jammed in her cunny.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> she drifted to sleep</blockquote><br>
Wrapped in the pleasant glow of an orgasm.'<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but had an uneasy feeling in her mind of what was going on around her.</blockquote><br>
That the guy was downstairs trying to get the local gossip to shut the fuck up so he could upstairs and get him some Old West poontang?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It was a matter of an hour before the whiskey played its role in helping her fall asleep.</blockquote><br>
Light. Fucking. Weight.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though as she drifted to sleep – her mind was still uneasy about the Nosferatu skull that she seen.</blockquote><br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/Skull_sm.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"><br>
Shown Above: Scary Skull.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The dreams she had before the display of the skull were that of a nature –– horror that cannot be explained in words</blockquote><br>
Ummm, I'm willing to bet she was dreaming of being shoved full of cock.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> as she saw the thing scratch gaping wounds into someone and drank their blood.</blockquote><br>
So she saw it gash holes in them and then SHE drank their blood? Otherwise it would "saw" and "drink", but I think it's funnier to picture her playing with herself and dreaming of drinking blood.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That was the thing that kept her awake at night even though the vampire was long dead</blockquote><br>
Kept her awake at night? She went to fucking bed in the afternoon for fuck's sake.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> – beheaded skull brought in as a morbid display so journalists can photograph the man who killed the vampire with the Bowie knife, and beheaded it with another.</blockquote><br>
Wait, so it isn't Dracula's skull? It's Quincey Morris' skull? WTF?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It was that which lived within her the past few hours, as she laid on the bed overlooking the rest of the trading post above the shop.</blockquote><br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Kind man, a little morbid, but kind," she said to herself as she slowly drifted to sleep.</blockquote><br>
So first we're told about her dreams then we hear what she had to say before she went to sleep? Oh come fucking on!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The skull was dwelling in her mind as a waking nightmare, as she pulled the blankets up to her neck and tried to close her eyes.</blockquote><br>
And here we go! SLEEPSACK BONDAGE TIME!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> When she did close her eyes she was able to feel the breathing of something cold on her but nothing was in the room.</blockquote><br>
So instead of opening her eyes and looking around, she just lays there?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She woke for only a second but went back to sleep – it was still in the mid afternoon when she went to sleep.</blockquote><br>
(beats head on desk)<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Earlier that day she was suffering from a bad cold so that was why she was offered the drink.</blockquote><br>
So wait, the shopkeeper knows that she was suffering cold, and having a cold makes you walk around dressed only in a corset? WTF?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Alcohol worked as a natural cough suppressant; but the side effect made her want to sleep ––</blockquote><br>
Do you want to beat him to death as bad as I do?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> though she could not blame the effects of the alcohol on her dreaming or what she was dreaming.</blockquote><br>
Sure she could.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Silence was something that was quite strong in the room as Trisha looked outside the window, from her bed she could hear the trains howling as a wolf to the moon.</blockquote><br>
Wait, so she's looking out the window, from her bed, while sleeping?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Better try and get some sleep, she thought to herself.</blockquote><br>
While asleep?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> This cold had been killing my senses. I cannot stop coughing and thinking it could be a plague that is going around.</blockquote><br>
That's called "consumption" and is deadly as shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though these dreams might be something to do with the sickness within me these days – that I haven't slept for days because of them.</blockquote><br>
And are wandering around in your fucking corset?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though the man who runs the shop was kind enough to loan me this room,</blockquote><br>
And hasn't come back up to fuck her? Maybe he's planning on murdering her?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I was too weak to head back to my home on the other side of the county.</blockquote><br>
The COUNTY? Jesus Christ, so she walked, in her corset, across the COUNTY? Why doesn't this bitch have a keeper?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She began to cough violently not knowing what was going on around her but she closed eyes once again after the spell of coughing was done,</blockquote><br>
Even though we've been told repeatedly that she was asleep. Continuity and the author of this piece don't even really have a nodding relationship.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> then began to realize she was breaking a fever</blockquote><br>
So she had had a fever and now it's breaking? Well, a fever might be the explanation for walking across a county in her corset.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but couldn't tell the signs of what was going on around her.</blockquote><br>
So now she's blind?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The strange notion was there that her illness revolved around the skull that was in the room below.</blockquote><br>
Yet she's been sick for days before she saw the skull? Wow.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She let loose a scream in pain because her body was cramping as she went to open a window then a thud because she hit the floor.</blockquote><br>
So she let loose a thud when she hit the floor? Wait, is she asleep or what?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The keeper ran up the stairs.</blockquote><br>
So her keeper has arrived, or is this the guy who runs the store/inn.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Had a frantic look to his face – he was quite young and running the shop to help support a young wife and son.</blockquote><br>
Yet he offers a room with a bed for 2 to a woman who is walking around dressed only in a corset?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> 27 years old but young enough to see when something was wrong –</blockquote><br>
Christ, 27 years old was fucking middle age back then.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> he did go to medical school but couldn't afford to keep everything going.</blockquote><br>
Yeah, like he needed a license back then.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He moved to Glen Ellyn because things got too costly in New England.</blockquote><br>
So moving across the country in a covered fucking wagon seemed better? This dude is a moron.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He sometimes rented out rooms above the shop to get some extra money.</blockquote><br>
And he killed the people who stayed there to make meat pies!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> His interest in vampires came when he was in correspondence with Jonathan Harker while he corresponded with Harker, at the same time he corresponded with Abram Van Helsing.</blockquote><br>
So, this retard corresponded with Harker, who was corresponding with himself, and was corresponding with Van Helsing? What. The. Shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That was how he got a hold of the Bowie Knife that killed Dracula,</blockquote><br>
They mailed it via UPS?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but the skull below was that of another vampire –-</blockquote><br>
Wait, weren't we just told that the skull was Dracula's?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> it was killed in Illinois within the winter of 1868.</blockquote><br>
So, 2 years prior to the story? And 25 years before the events of Dracula took place? (Which took place between 1888 and 1893, if you've done any research on the novel Dracula you know it's tricky, but you have to look at the Icelandic Press preface) Anyway....<br>
<br>
<blockquote>They sent the skull to the college he was at and they boiled the flesh off the bones,</blockquote><br>
OK, so they get the head of a vampire at a medical school, and they BOIL IT? To do what? Make Dracula stew?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> then used a method of wax to reserve the skull of the beheaded vampire.</blockquote><br>
So this wax reserves the skulls? In case someone else comes for the skull first?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> His studies of the supernatural came from the Van Helsing correspondence.</blockquote><br>
Despite the fact that none of this has happened yet?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That his research of the Nosferatu came from the letters written by both Harker and Van Helsing.</blockquote><br>
TIME TRAVELLING LETTERS!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He thought about those letters as he went up the stairs to help Ms. Williams back into bed;</blockquote><br>
With what? His penis?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> kept a wash basin near by filled with warm water.</blockquote><br>
So he kept a basic of tepid, dust filmed water by the bed? Ooooh, lucky her.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Went home to his wife for a moment to bring her over to help Ms. Williams out since she was a certified nurse.</blockquote><br>
So, instead of going upstairs and checking on Crazy Corset Woman, he runs home to get his wife? OK, that's a smart thing, I guess.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Take easy 'mam, let's get you back into bed here -– you don't look so good," he said while picking her up,</blockquote><br>
It's spelled ma'am, not <b>'</b>mam you blithering fucking idiot.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "If you need to stay here a few days you got the bed to recover in.</blockquote><br>
Wow, how mighty nice of him! A possibly plague ridden, feverish, crazy lady dressed only in a corset can stay in this room for 2!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> My wife will be on her way to check you over,</blockquote><br>
What, did she stay behind after he got her to fold the laundry or something? Does she walk slower because she has a peg leg?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and my older brother is a doctor.</blockquote><br>
So his older brother did it, but he couldn't? Great, Crazy Corset Lady is in the hands of Failed Medical Student and Peg-Legged Wife.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I will send him a telegram, he is all the way in Milwaukee.</blockquote><br>
Rather than get the town doctor. What a dick.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Keep the window open for ventilation,</blockquote><br>
Ummm... thanks?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and will try to keep you as comfortable as possible.</blockquote><br>
Once again, with his penis.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Lay down and I will tuck you in –</blockquote><br>
With his penis.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> we will take good care of you.</blockquote><br>
My penis and I.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> My brother went to Miskatonic University</blockquote><br>
Blatant ripoff alert!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and worked out of Arkham Hospital there.</blockquote><br>
So, has he met Batman or the Joker?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He did not study Alchemy</blockquote><br>
Well I hope not, considering it's the late 1800's.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> though but saw practices of Alchemy take place within the walls of the hospital."</blockquote><br>
Rather than the more modern at the time discipline of Chemistry.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>He gently lowered her to the bed</blockquote><br>
With his penis.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and put the covers around her, tucking part of the blanket under her feet and made a hood around her head,</blockquote><br>
SLEEPSACK BONDAGE EROTICA ALERT!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> then took a damp cloth with some cold water and rested it on her forehead,</blockquote><br>
After teabagging her.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "you must rest. I know you are uneasy about staying in a place with a vampire's skull but you must rest.</blockquote><br>
My penis insists.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> You are in no condition to be up and about.</blockquote><br>
Since you were wandering around the county with a fever dressed only in your corset.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Sorry if I had to put you into a cocoon but that was something I learned</blockquote><br>
On the S&M circuit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> when I was watching my wife and brother work with patients who had hypothermia.</blockquote><br>
Ummm... OK?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Here is something that might help get your strength back.</blockquote><br>
It's my penis!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> You sleep – I am going to sent a telegram to my brother in Wisconsin."</blockquote><br>
Like that asshole knows what is going on?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He had a cloth soaked with water, squeezed some of the water over her lips to keep hydrated ––</blockquote><br>
Instead of having her drink it, like normal humans.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> her body was weak, almost if a vampire drained her blood but no bite marks to show of entry. She was sweating bullets as they had no tomorrow, enough sweat to fill a drinking glass.</blockquote><br>
I know you're supposed to feed a fever, but for fuck's sake, he's going to give her heat stroke!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She was descending into stages of sleep where she was dreaming, but in the dreams she was having a nightmare that she was not able to wake from –– not at that time.</blockquote><br>
(Sigh)<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"I was wondering if it was that skull of a slain Nosferatu that invoked her to become this ill," the shopkeeper thought himself.</blockquote><br>
I doubt it, since she's been ill for several days, and apparently went riding around with her gash and ass hanging out.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The Morse coder was at the desk next to the bed, he used it when he had other sick people pass through town.</blockquote><br>
Ummm, WTF, over? Morse coders were pretty fucking proprietary to Western Union, the military, and the government. And those old lines weren't like fucking phones. They had to check to see if someone was using the line for transmission, wait, then tap out their ID code, wait for a recognition from down the line, then send the message. Since these were single-transmission lines, no multiplexing, they didn 't allow just some random asshole have a fucking Morse Code tapper in his house.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Got a hold of my brother – he will be in town within the day to help you. My wife is on her way over to help me while he is making his trip down to Glen Ellyn. You will be in good hands," the shopkeeper responded,</blockquote><br>
So he just noticed it was next to the bed, and the messages were magically sent because his fucking brother has one shoved up his ass and trails a fucking telegraph wire around behind him?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "I am going back down to check on that skull.</blockquote><br>
Just in case it walked off.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I will leave you to rest." He had a calm sound to his voice –– she was going deeper into her sleep.</blockquote><br>
Then why the fuck is he babbling at her and making all these bullshit impossible claims? And why the FUCK isn't he getting a doctor from closer by?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> This was when the dream became even more haunting because she felt the cold upon her face of the being that the skull belonged to.</blockquote><br>
Is he face-fucking her?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She appeared as Cleopatra as she was laying in the bed –– as Cleopatra was being prepared for a burial is how Trisha slept. The way the quit was wrapped around her and her feet elevated –– they might of asked if she was really suffering from the flu but shot and lost a great deal of blood or bit by a timberline rattler.</blockquote><br>
Read that again. Seriously.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The way she responded with her breathing it was as something was sitting upon her.</blockquote><br>
In other words, suffocating?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though her fever is getting higher as her sleep goes further into the dream.</blockquote><br>
So she stopped sweating?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Her eyes were going faster beneath her eyelids as she drifted in and out of her dreaming sleep.</blockquote><br>
Wait? She she's drifting in and out of dreaming, but she's still in REM? Bad fucking ass.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Ophillia, what do you make of her illness ––</blockquote><br>
And, just like all of Nicky's stories, someone has apparently teleported to another location. Ever notice that? Nobody really walks, runs, crawls, hunches, slides, or gallumphs anywhere? They all teleport.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> you worked in and out of hospitals,</blockquote><br>
Since you're an incompetent bitch who couldn't stay employed at an 1800's hospital?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I never saw someone this sick. I was wondering if you seen anything like this at Miskatonic when you did your residence," he responded with a nervous look.</blockquote><br>
Responded to fucking WHAT? Nothing was said, asked, shouted, mumbled, or gargled at him. As far as we, the reader, knows he's just talking to a fucking spider on the wall.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Once – when a person read the manuscripts about the Black Pharaoh.</blockquote><br>
Stolen from the Cthulu Mythos. So basically what we're reading is some kind of shitty fan-fiction?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I could not fully describe how sick they became but they had to leave him in the bed chamber for a few years.</blockquote><br>
A nurse? A fucking NURSE can't describe how sick someone because? And had to leave him there for a few fucking years?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> His mind never recovered from the illness though," Ophillia answered back with a calm.</blockquote><br>
See? Teleportation.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She knew that she needed the medicines to help this woman ––</blockquote><br>
Good fucking call.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> there were some plants outside of Glen Ellyn near an old trail.</blockquote><br>
I fucking hope so. Otherwise they're in the middle of a goddamn desert. Oh, wait, she means plants that can save the sick woman. Of course there is.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She knew where to find the plants,</blockquote><br>
Of course she did.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and while she knew where they were –– she felt the violent coughing that Trisha was giving off in her sound sleep.</blockquote><br>
While she knew... WHAT? WHAT MOTHERFUCKER? While she knew where they were.... he just trails fucking off?<br>
<br>
And this poorly spelled Ophelia can FEEL the coughing from Trisha? Is she standing there touching the other woman?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Between her coughing she descends further into the dream.</blockquote><br>
Great. Another tense change. Too bad the Mad Hatter and the Doormouse did of exhaustion.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"All we can do is pray. She will live, but this is a stage of her illness that takes her further into a nightmare she would not wake from because of how sick she is. Others had not lived through this stage of the dream," Ophillia continued,</blockquote><br>
Wait, if other people have died, she still runs the risk of dying! Seriously, Sparkle Pony, do some goddamn research.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "her fever is high but not fatal. We just have to keep her wrapped up and comfortable."</blockquote><br>
Aw crap. Something tells me it would better off to just fucking die than be treated by these people.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Trisha felt herself walk out of her body, this must feel like when one is either dreaming or a ghost, she thought. </blockquote><br>
I love this. No separation between her thoughts and description/action. Cute.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>She saw herself laying in the bed with the blankets forming a cocoon around her five foot frame.</blockquote><br>
Great, more sleepsack shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "I look like the Egyptian dead," she quipped to herself,</blockquote><br>
How the fuck would she know?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "I know I am not dead –– though the skull is still downstairs. I guess I could wander around as I am still asleep." </blockquote><br>
She seems to be taking this rationally.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>She was frightened about what happened to her but in her horror, there had been some curiosity toward her dreams -– that she watched her mummified body, asleep.</blockquote><br>
Wait, now she's fucking mummified? When did this happen? Did the two psychos babbling downstairs come up, remove her internal organs, fill her with salt and other stuff, and wrap her in linen?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She walked down the stairs to the skull of the Nosferatu ––</blockquote><br>
In her dream.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> with a bit of worry to her eyes, because she was not able to tell why it had lead her into a torment of sickness as the dream begins to play itself into detail.</blockquote><br>
Let's see if we get any details...<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The skull was still lifeless but looked at her if it was still alive with power as it was still alive.</blockquote><br>
So it just started hypnotizing her or something?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though it would remain as the eyes of the Black Pharaoh, with everything within the mind of hers as she sleeps –– her body; numb to the touch as she could feel the wet cloth trying to lower her fever.</blockquote><br>
OH MY GOD MAKE IT STOP!<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Her body was shaking from the chills she was feeling on her physical body as she heard the shop keeper and his wife work with her as she slept.</blockquote><br>
So now they're raping her?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> All while she looked at the skull she felt everyone around the outside looking up at the window where the skull was. That when she was asleep she saw the perspective – in the eyes of a skull looking outside toward the rest of a really young Glen Ellyn, Illinois. From them they see a dream as it plays out in the perspective – from them in the eyes of a skull.</blockquote><br>
I think I'm having a stroke...<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That in the window; she heard some chanting for the Prince of Darkness to awaken once again.</blockquote><br>
From the fucking skull? Or are there Satanists in Glen Ellyn?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> But even in her dreaming state she could hear them over her sleeping body taking about notes that were written about the Black Pharaoh that were found at Miskatonic University.</blockquote><br>
Oh fucking hell...<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That being the place the doctor studied medicine.</blockquote><br>
A fake university. She's so screwed.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The dream carried on for another three hours as her fever was getting even more intense. She could feel the heat from her head burning as she stood before the Black Pharaoh as he held the skull of the beheaded Nosferatu.</blockquote><br>
Great, so her fever, which was already bad, is getting more intense? This woman's going to have her brain boil!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> As she looked back at him with the skull in hand, she knew that something was the reason why she was violently sick.</blockquote><br>
No shit? There's something that made her sick? She's not just magically and mysteriously sick?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Even in her dreaming state she felt quite faint and dizzy because of the fever that she was suffering from.</blockquote><br>
I'm not sure what to say about this....<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Not even her boyfriend was familiar with how sick she was but knew that she was going to be staying at the shopkeeper's spare bedroom for a little more than a week because a message sent in Morse Code.</blockquote><br>
THEY AREN'T FUCKING PHONES! And her boyfriend, who apparently she is living in sin with like a harlot according to the morals of the day, has a goddamn Morse Code telegraph in his house too?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though around her in the dream was silence, the outside as her body slept was the sound of communication between the shopkeeper and his brother.</blockquote><br>
Wait. He got there in 3 hours? What, did he fucking teleport too?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> As she was staring down the eyes of the skull, she felt physical body coughing violently as her fever rose above 106 degrees.</blockquote><br>
I think it's safe to say she's going to die.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> What is going on, why is my fever going above the fatality point?</blockquote><br>
How the hell does she know this? How the hell does she know how high her fever is? Is she looking down on her body after the retarded shopkeeper and his moronic brother rolled her over, pushed her ass up, and stuck a rectal thermometer in her? Because, you know, if someone is coughing and running a fever and unconscious, you can't exactly put it in their mouth.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I am still breathing but not responsive – couldn't cry for help if I wanted to. I am getting even more ill because of the eyes of the skull –</blockquote><br>
You were sick before it ever saw you!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> it was seeing that blasted skull with the fangs. Bleached and preserved with wax, and this being staring back at me that I cannot describe.</blockquote><br>
YOU JUST DID! A SKULL WITH FANGS! BLEACHED AND PRESERVED WITH WAX! I think I know what the fuck that looks like!<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/Skull_sm.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"><br>
Just add fangs. Fangs not included. Fangs prohibited in Massachusetts, Nebraska, Texas, Illinois, Iowa, and California.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>I know I am in good hands because the nurse and the shopkeeper are looking over my body as I lay sleeping.</blockquote><br>
She's fucking trusting about a man who plied her with whiskey and encouraged her into bed in the middle of the afternoon, and then tucked her in so tightly she couldn't move.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Why is it that I am able to see this being holding the skull of the beheaded vampire, am I going mad because of my fever or can't I awaken from this nightmare.</blockquote><br>
Oh for fuck's sake, just die already.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She was shammering in horror;</blockquote><br>
Shammering?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> she didn't know exactly what was going on with her body as she watched the Black Pharaoh –– Nyarlathotep, holding the skull of the Nosferatu.</blockquote><br>
So now she knows who Nyarlathotep is? Great, talk about a major fucking research fail. None of this stuff, ANY of it involving the Cthulu Mythos, was written until 1920.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He did not say a word to her but did nothing but look at her. She could not tell of the reasons why she was able to see him, the Black Pharaoh himself.</blockquote><br>
I'm rapidly not caring here.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> While her dream play its stages, the shopkeeper got a Morse code message from his brother in Wisconsin.</blockquote><br>
Wow, they worked just like phones!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She could hear the waking world around her but she was not able to respond.</blockquote><br>
Great.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Do you hear the tapping? It is the message from my brother I was waiting for," the shopkeeper said with great excitement.</blockquote><br>
I thought he was already talking to his brother.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> His wife, Ophillia, looked on as everything is getting better though the worst of the illness had still been playing out on Trisha. In Trisha's mind, Trisha was praying for death to come upon her because the high fevor was the torment she never asked or prayed for.</blockquote><br>
Oh God...<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"It's my brother, Stephen, according to the message he is starting to make his way down but the trip is going to take some time because he has to take the train down.</blockquote><br>
Let's see, back then he had 4 fucking choices. Wagon, Horse, Train, Feet. Which one of these do you think would probably be faster? I'm voting... Standing there and wishing.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He's got the medicine to help our guest," the shopkeeper responded hugging his wife,</blockquote><br>
So fuck you and your plants!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "he saw this happen to one of the doctors when they were studying for their degree,</blockquote><br>
Then they weren't a fucking doctor.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> one of them became violently sick after handling the skull of the Nosferatu. He responded as the vampire bit him but wasn't bit. He will be bringing some Menthol with him, said boiling Menthol leaves would help her recover.</blockquote><br>
What, like chocolate and dementors? This goddamn story is getting worse all the goddamn time!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Who ever saw the horrors within the eyes of the skull shall become violently sick and pray for death but live –– though in their sickness it would be unbearable."</blockquote><br>
So far it hasn't seemed that bad, except for the fever, the chills, the out of body experience, and seeing shit. Compared to being like... ohhh... shot. Stabbed. Blown up. Shrapnel. Being in a car crash at 60 MPH. All in all, this ain't that big of a deal.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>While they were receiving the messages, the dream played on while Trisha slept – she was in a tormented slumber induced by her fever. Someone help me, she thought to herself – her eyes were and not able to open because she didn't have the strength to open them. My body is a coffin</blockquote><br>
No, it's in a makeshift sleepsack.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but I know I'm alive but it feels like I am dying. My health depends on a Miskatonic graduate –– God, please let him get here in time. I hear someone reading a Bible to me but I cannot respond. All because I had to see the skull of the beheaded vampire I am sick as this; damn my curiosity – damn it to hell. I just pray to God that the doctor gets here in time because I am not able to wake up –– too weak to open my eyes. I don't know how long I have been asleep or how long I have been sick for. All I can say is that God – don't let me die. I am still looking into the eyes of the Black Pharaoh –– it seems so frightening as he points his finger toward my sleeping body. Still holding the skull in hand.</blockquote><br>
Why can't we have a description? Why can't we just get it described to us?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The skull – fangs dangling as they were still alive,</blockquote><br>
Wait? Dangling fangs?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and as the skull had no eyes in it, appeared to stare at me if they were still alive..</blockquote><br>
Yeah... I'm sure it does.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>It was getting into the second day, the doctor arrived – Dr. Robert Franklin. It was close to the midnight hour when he arrived to the shop, "Jesse where is the woman? I am here with the medicine, hope this gets to her in time."<br>
"She's upstairs – resting but really sick. We've been keeping her hydrated and comfortable until you arrived. She got violently sick after seeing the skull of the Nosferatu," he explained with some relief, "What do you want me to do with the Menthol leaves?"</blockquote><br>
How about you shut the fuck and shove them in your ass?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Find some hot water or boil some hot water on the stove. Then soak these leaves in with the water; she will recover slowly in a few days. I have seen this happen before but it was a lot worst with the doctors at Miskatonic; they died from this but apparently with Ms. Williams –– wasn't looking at the skull that long. Ophillia was watching over her pretty good then," the doctor responded, "Jonathan Harker omitted the details of what happens to a Nosferatu having power even after death. I studied along side with Van Helsing, because he knew how to reverse the effects of a vampire bite."</blockquote><br>
Holy fucking namedrop Batman.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"She is upstairs – Ophillia was reading scripture to her so she would respond in some way or form. Her fever was getting pretty bad. Thankfully to God –– she was not dying though,</blockquote><br>
Here's a hint: Someone running a 106 fever for more than an hour or so is FUCKING DYING!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> responsive enough where she was moving her head when she slept.</blockquote><br>
That's not responsive! Jesus, Sparkle Pony, do some goddamn research, or at least learn what the words you use mean.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> We had her wrapped up in bedding though because she was badly chilled to the touch.</blockquote><br>
But we knew she had a fever!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> She tried to open a window but collapsed after walking away from the window," the shopkeeper responded.<br>
While the brothers spoke downstairs; Ophilla was dampening the lips of Trisha with the cloth soaked with water. "Hang in there, the doctor is down stairs." Trisha responded slightly with a small moan, took the water as it was damped with a cloth to her lips. The doctor came up the stairs with the cooled water with the menthol leaves boiled into it, slowly he walked up without waking her.</blockquote><br>
Obviously he can't teleport. I'll be honest, this was one of the few times I've actually seen someone move like a normal human being.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "Sis, give this to her. Soak it on a cloth and rest it upon her head – Ms. Williams will slowly recover it should clear up her passages. Her fever will break in a matter of hours. Something I learned in the university, during my days as a resident."</blockquote><br>
Why the fuck he couldn't just tell them to use Menthol over the telegraph?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>It was eight hours later, Trisha began to awaken –– the scent in the room smelled somewhat like Menthol. She did not sit up but she knew that someone was watching over her, everyone around her were sound asleep. The days of vigil were paying a toll. She just stayed in bed – though still sick, but the details of her dream were still clear. The trigger was the skull –– that skull belonging to the slain Nosferatu.</blockquote><br>
<br>
Wait? That's it? The skull is still downstairs? Weirdo sick woman who wanders around in just her corset recovers from Menthol?<br>
<br>
THIS IS ONE OF THE WORST FUCKING VAMPIRE STORIES I HAVE EVER READ!<br>
<br>
Seriously. I've read better shit than this on the walls of a rest stop bathroom.<br>
<br>
I can't even rate this piece of pig's shit. I'll just give it a "STOP WRITING: PACIONE!"<br>
Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-23409779936948217492015-05-28T20:30:00.001-07:002015-05-28T20:39:28.341-07:00Death Row, a Terrible Story by a Terrible WriterWelcome to the next installment of horror. This time, instead of Nick "Sparkle Pony" Pacione's non-fiction fantasy accounts of his life, we have one of his actual stories. Oh, but this isn't just any story, boys and girls, but a very very special story. One that I'm sure ol' Sparkle Pony will be very sad is seeing the light of day.<br>
<br>
As we all know, despite his fabulous nickname, Sparkle Pony is about the biggest closeted homophobic this side of.. well... anywhere. He consistently gives out death threats to people, states he will not accept any sex scenes or mentions of gay people unless they are being beaten up or murdered.<br>
<br>
However, fate has a way of revealing things when you aren't careful. My mother used to sum it up with "God will get you if you don't watch out." This time it's ol' Sparkle Pony's turn to be gotten.<br>
<br>
Why? Well, let us review a work by Mr. Pacione called <i>Death Row</i>, which is a compelling tale of prison, told in the first person, written by him a few years ago.<br>
<br>
Join me as we fall down the rabbit hole and land upon the splintered bones of the Alices that preceded us.<br>
<br>
<blockquote><i>Death Row</i>
Fiction by Nickolaus A. Pacione</blockquote>
<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/Sparkle-Pony.gif" border="0" align=center border=5 alt="Photobucket">
<center>Photo Of Author </center><br>
<br>
<blockquote>It had been four year since I had been placed in the prison system.</blockquote>
OK, this isn't too bad. Maybe this story won't make us suffer hysterical blindness or attempt to chew open our veins to escape the stupidity.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I was placed in there for a crime that I did not commit, but the mother fuckers cannot find enough proof to find me innocent.</blockquote>
And total fail. See, the burden of proof is on the State. They have to prove beyond a "reasonable doubt" that you did something, you don't have to find evidence to prove your innocence. So, story failure number one. Drink, bitches.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I was locked up in Joliet since January 12, 1987, on a grand theft auto charge.</blockquote>
Four years on Grand Theft Auto? Wow. Talk about a suckass lawyer.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I have a wife and kid on the out side.</blockquote>
OK, so we've established that the narrator is there for a crime he didn't do, he got 4 years for, and that he has a family outside of the prison system. Well, so far, so good.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I did not steal the car, my wife's parents just had it in for me from the start all because they hated my way of thinking.</blockquote>
Wait, so did he take his wife's parent's car without their permission? That's Grand Theft Auto, baby. But it was because of the narrator's way of thinking? Aw fuck, so much for a sympathetic narrator. I'm already starting to hate this guy.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They were the small town types where they hated everything to do with the city, namely Chicago and Joliet.</blockquote>
Like indoor plumbing, electricity, and central heating? Or is it that they hate gross hunchbacks taking their car without permission?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> But that is not important, that is just a little backgroud on myself.</blockquote>
Oh, well, good thing it isn't important, because I stopped giving a fuck!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> My name is Gregory Pine, I was born in Chicago, Illinois, on January 11, 1966, my birthday is in a few days.</blockquote>
Happy birthday, Gregory!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I am writing this because there was something that happened in a five week period been today and the last five weeks.</blockquote>
What the fuck does that sentence even mean? Is he trying to say something happened between today and the last five weeks, or did he just stroke out on the connection word and start screaming and banging on the keyboard like a frustrated ape?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Today is January 20, 1995,</blockquote>
Nine days after his birthday? OK...<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and what I have came across in my three year period was that of what would write itself into a fucking nightmare.</blockquote>
Dare we hope that THIS is the nightmare it wrote itself in to? Or should we just hope that it wrote itself into a night since the author has all the literary ability of a cat. That's was hit by car. A week ago. On the interstate.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> As far As I can recall when I visited a friend of mine on the outside telling me stories and local folklore</blockquote>
Instead of visiting, you know, his WIFE AND KIDS! Hmmm... babbling friend or hot wet pussy? CHOOSE NOW!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> that Joliet Correctional Center is home of a lifer named Damian Pym,</blockquote>
Is he related to the Sergeant Pym of the story <i>Ghosts of War</i> where the author rips off The Crow in a laughable and horribly bad way?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> one that had been senteced for life because he had murdered 34 people though they had only found twelve.</blockquote>
So, he kills 34, the cops find and prove 12, but he got ONE life sentence? Shit, he'll be out in 30 days.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The police found the corpses buried beneath the faggoty motherfuckers apartment,</blockquote>
And he comes the fun ride. The killer, someone able to murder people, is a homosexual, as told to us by the author with the simple statement "faggoty motherfucker", which doesn't really paint the villain in a scary light, now does it?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the corpses were partly decayed and half eaten in parts.</blockquote>
Ummm... OK.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They almost fell ill to the stench of the remains --</blockquote>
Perfectly normal there. Rotting human bodies fucking STINK!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and they found a pair of bitemarks that appeared like that of a king cobra.</blockquote>
Where was the bite? They just found a pair of bite marks lying on the floor?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> But before the corpses were devoured they had venom injected in them like a black widow eating her prey.</blockquote>
Well why else would there be a fucking king cobra bite on them? To inject them with... kittens? Puss? (snicker) Or maybe to grant immortality? And if the corpses were devoured, why are they only half-eaten on parts? When I think of devoured, I think of a fat man hitting a deep fried Twinky, not delicate nibbles around the edges of something like someone's spinster aunt eating a banana.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They described the crime scene as unspeakable,</blockquote>
Well, that would be why they only got life on the fucker in court. You've kind of got to actually describe and photograph the crime scene. Man, those cops sucked.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but they found one victim of his horror walking away.</blockquote>
So, did one of the decayed and half-rotted bodies just get up and start walking away? Did the victim get found wandering down the street with ranch dressing on their ass?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Though as they found this one, they called an ambulance.</blockquote>
Rather than calling a tow truck as they did in other cases where they found victims? For fuck's sake, Pacione, watch a few episodes of Law & Order!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The police could not explain why the John Doe or Mary Jane survived,</blockquote>
Wait, so they couldn't tell her sex? Is it because she was half-eaten in parts?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but they found out that as she went into the ambulance.</blockquote>
Oh, they found out what? That is was a Jane Doe? Or why she survived? Oh God, just make the pain stop!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They tried to put some blood bac in her, but she grabbed the arm of the EMT and bit a chunk of flesh off of the arm.</blockquote>
Well, she's hungry after being decaying, half eaten in places, buried beneath the floorboards of an apartment, and then wandering down the street.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The EMT looked on in horror to what had taken place.</blockquote>
That seems like a calm reaction. You bit a hunk of flesh off of my arm, I'm going to scream and start punching the bitch. But not this guy, he's a trained EMT, he just looked on in horror.<br>
<br>
I hope he gets killed.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> About an hour later they found the ambulance overturned and the lifeless bodies of the EMTs in the ambulance.</blockquote>
YAY! I got my wish!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They tried to put two and two together then they found out that they got a vampire on their hands.</blockquote>
Umm. 2+2=Vampire? Damn, that's some fucked up math there. So, how the shit did they get vampire? I was thinking werewolf. Or maybe crazy bitch? Or hungry half decayed half eaten in places victim? Or... aw fuck it.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I was one of the police officers on patrol at the time,</blockquote>
No you weren't. Stop lying.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "Pine, do you know anything about this shit that was going on?</blockquote>
Probably not.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I am telling you that what is going on is fairly disturbing.</blockquote>
Really? A woman who is half decayed and half eaten in places attacks and kills 2 or 3 EMT's and wrecks a precious ambulance is fairly disturbing? Well, at least it isn't something that can't be described.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> In a way this really sickens me to see these EMTs torn apart like a mother fucking rag doll --</blockquote>
So, Officer Pine, who later steals a car and goes to jail and SURVIVES for four fucking years (Yeah, because cops who go to jail have really high life expectancies) has a partner who peeked into the ambulance<br>
<br>
<blockquote> made into someone's punk for all time."</blockquote>
Ummm? Why? Why are they made into what is prison speak for bitch? Because a vampire, a creature with supernatural strength and is damn near invulnerable, ripped them into pieces? Yeah, what a pussy for getting ripped to shreds by a starving vampire!<br>
<br>
<blockquote>"Does Mayor Daley know about this?" I had asked.</blockquote>
I'm going to rule No on this.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> "No, fuck no and I am not about to let him because this is something that is not human or animal."</blockquote>
Yes it is. It's a HUMAN who has been turned into a VAMPIRE! It's not some sparkly creature without any apparent weaknesses that prances around in the woods mooning over cheesecakes.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> In a way I had a deep horror to what had been happening,</blockquote>
A deep horror. As opposed to a superficial horror.<br>
<br>
<v> I knew, it was something that appeared like a vampire.</blockquote>
But is what? It appeared like a vampire but was really... a Republican? A Democrat? A member of PETA? WHAT?<br>
<br>
And how did it appear like a vampire? Did the person suddenly appear in a cloud of bats? Melted out of the shadows with fangs exposed leaning toward a Victorian maid's neck, needle sharp fangs exposed, and a slightly sheepish expression at being caught? HOW?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That new guy that just locked into Population.</blockquote>
So wait, did he just get locked into Population when the narration starts, during that "5 week period", or back during the memory of when the narrator had been a free man. Fuck, this timeline just got all fucked up.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> No one messed with him because there was something to him. Something that is very dark and forboding.</blockquote>
Yes, gangbangers and murderers often pay attention to things that are dark and foreboding. I'm sure the talk was "Don't mess with him, esse, he's dark and foreboding like the emo kid that dated my sister!"<br>
<br>
<blockquote>It was something that a friend of mine had told me about on the outside.</blockquote>
When he went and saw Dracula 2000 in the theaters?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He said that there was a man that had lived during the time that the time John Willes Booth had shot the 16th president</blockquote>
Well then, maybe they shouldn't have arrested John <blockquote>Wilkes</blockquote> Booth for it!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and saw the killing in the playhouse</blockquote>
So how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> then moved to New Orleans,</blockquote>
A hotbed of Vampires, or things that appeared like a vampire.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and then crossed paths with someone from the Loincourt clan.</blockquote>
The Loincourt clan? The Court of Loins! So, the groin courting people? WTF?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Appearently after the meeting, he had become immortal with a curse of the thirst of human blood.</blockquote>
Oh, wait, I get it. The Loincourt (snicker) Clan are vampires, and they turned that guy who saw Lincoln get gakked into a vampire because he'd moved to New Orleans?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The inmate had remained since January 12, 1984, I had been one of the police officers that arrested the man name Thames Flagg.</blockquote>
Oh what the fuck? I wonder if he's related to Randall Flagg, Mr. King's somewhat incompetent Anti-Christ figure? Great, so this is some kind of shitty fan fiction? Fucking great.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I wonder that he could of been related to that Chaplin that my pen pal, Theo Wolfe had written about in his journal entry about a Chaplin inhabiting the halls of a psych ward in a Des Moines hospital --</blockquote>
Aw shit, a shoutout to another one of his shitty stories.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> the one that they found posing as a Baptist Chaplin.</blockquote>
So he was in the military?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>Thoughts that are racing though my head are the constant nightmares that stand alone of what was written in Theo's journal.</blockquote>
TENSE CHANGE! CHANGE PLACES! A VERY HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The thing that ties this horror to what had happened in Des Moines is that every cellmate that Flagg had in with him was killed the next day as a fly in a spiderweb.</blockquote>
THEN STOP PUTTING PEOPLE IN THERE WITH HIM, DUH! Once again Sparkle Pony tries to up the ante, and it comes across in a clumsy and sad way. Who gives a shit about this Flagg motherfucker? So the narrator arrested him. Wait, does he know about Flagg because of the journal or because he arrested him? Wait, do we really give a shit by this point? I know Clippy the Paperclip doesn't, because he just wrote the word "Dynamite" and blew himself all over my screen in a shower of silver confetti.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I am writing of this in a rational nature,</blockquote>
Too bad you failed remedial English, hoss.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> coming from a man that spent four years in the police academy,</blockquote>
FOUR YEARS? HOLY SHIT!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> one was never told that vampires existed because in the years that I had been a police officer I had never came across anything this horrific except for an end result of a drive by shooting here and there.</blockquote>
Which is really comparable to some pale motherfucker going apeshit, ripping someone limb from limb then tearing the torso apart and throwing it all over the place and then licking the blood off the walls.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I knew that the reason that Flagg was locked up in here was that of a first degree murder.</blockquote>
That's it? Just one count of First Degree Murder? Wow, what a suckass vampire.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>They tried to give that mother fucker a lethal injection, but that did not kill him.</blockquote>
Because his sparkles made the nurse fall in love with him? Because his skin was like stone? Because, oh, I don't know... HE'S ONE OF THE FUCKING UNDEAD? Shit, why didn't they just give him a massage and a loufa rubdown while they were at it?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They even tried to cook the motherfuck in the electric chair,</blockquote>
Rather than in the microwave.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but the voltage wasn't strong enough to cook his genitals.</blockquote>
Ah, so like myself, his powers come from his genitals?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The prison guards were too scared to do anything to him because of the fact they knew what he was,</blockquote>
Well he's a pretty shitty vampire if he can't just turn into a bat and fly the fuck off. I mean, Christ, even that loser vampire in the Bugs Bunny cartoon could turn into a bat.<br>
<br>
"I WILL CRUSH YOU!"<br>
"Abracadabra!"<br>
*thud*<br>
"hocuspocus"<br>
"AHA!"<br>
"Abracadabra"<br>
*thud*<br>
Oh, come on, you remember that! The greatest cinematographic vampire fight ever done!<br>
"HOCUS-CADABRA!"<br>
<br>
It's called Transylvania 6-5000, and it's worth the watch, and better than this.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> they had came across someone that is immortal.</blockquote>
Because he was full of cats? Because he sure as shit is a piss poor vampire. No hypnotism, no changing into a bat, no superstrength to rip off the bars and run amok in the cellblock feasting on all the cattle?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They knew if he got loose, he would go out into the eternal darkness and feed of the blood of others.</blockquote>
So instead they just tossed convicts in with him. Man, these guards suck.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>I knew what would happen at lights out because I would hear the bloodcurdling screams that would be in the dark behind bars.</blockquote>
Great, so instead of getting him the fuck out of there, or soaking a nightstick in garlic and shoving it up his ass, or throwing him out in the yard for "exercise time" when he's asleep and watching him burst into flame in the sunlight, they just fed him other inmates? I'm beginning to suspect that the guards are the villains of this piece.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>There was something that took place similar three years ago,</blockquote>
TELL US ABOUT IT, JANET!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but there was a tie to both Damian Pym and Thames Flagg.</blockquote>
They're butt brothers?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They are one in the sam person,</blockquote>
Aw shit. This sucks worse than I thought. Oh, and it's spelled SAME, you gibbering jackass.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Pym did use the alias of Thames Flagg to get away from the Joliet Police Department.</blockquote>
So when they did a cell check, he just showed them his Damian Pym ID card and they let him go? Man, these guys suck.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They caught on after the high body count</blockquote>
Ya fucking think? Or howabout because they look like the same motherfucker and, oh, I don't know, they found Pym in Flagg's FUCKING CELL!<br>
<br>
I'd have loved to hear that fucking conversation.<br>
"BLOCK C, PRISONER TRANSFER!"<br>
"TRANSFER, ROGER!"<br>
"Hey, Flagg, drop down off the ceiling, you got paroled!"<br>
"I am not Flagg, Officer, see, my ID says Pym."<br>
"What the shit? Do you think I'm stupid? Get off the fucking ceiling."<br>
"But my ID says Pym."<br>
"Who gives a shit about your ID? Look at it, you made it in arts & crafts."<br>
"You will let me go!"<br>
"Are you fucking stupid? You got parole. Eh, fuck it, you're kind of boring and ugly anyway, we'll just let you go based on the ID card you made in arts & crafts yesterday."<br>
"BWAH-HA-HA! My evil plan worked!"<br>
"Whatever. Get out, douche."<br>
<br>
<blockquote>and the way they were killed was by a single bite.</blockquote>
Well, that's not too bad.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It was a frightening thing because they had found huge rip in the flesh of his victim’s neck as if that is where they had bitten.</blockquote>
Wait ,first they died of a single bite, which I see as two delicate fang marks, and now there's this GAPING FUCKING WOUND on the side of the neck that you can see the motherfucker's torn open windpipe through? And it's "as if that is where they had bitten"? Hey, douche, it probably is WHERE THEY GOT FUCKING BIT!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The forensic unit had done an autopsy on each of the bodies to discover that the insides have been fully desolved,</blockquote>
Desolved? Oooooh, dissolved. I thought maybe that instead of the insides being solved for X, the pieces had all been mixed up or something.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> like an insect that had been poison by a spider for its next meal.</blockquote>
So apparently this vampire, Pym/Flagg/Dispshit the Vampire/Edward, rips a huge hole in their neck, whips out his cock, jerks off into the wound, and his semen dissolves the internal organ? Because there's no fucking way you're going to poison someone by ripping a huge fucking gaping hole in their neck. The heart has to pass the blood through the veins to carry the venom to the rest of the body.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It was something that I could not describe in full detail because</blockquote>
You suck as a writer?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> of the horror that was hidden behind the prison bars.</blockquote>
Wait, I thought he got away...<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I kept thinking that he must of not been someone’s prison bitch because of all the inmates that the mother fucker had killed.</blockquote>
And here we have the classic literary device of Man VS Self, as the narrator must come to grips with feelings that are frowned upon in society, when he realizes that he has become strongly attracted to another man. In this narrator's struggle with himself, he has discovered that he wishes the antagonist to sexually master him, and has begun wondering just where the antagonist's sexual desire lie, so that he can remake himself to please the object of his desire.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The warden had no idea how to kill him,</blockquote>
Because he's a goddamn retard who never saw or read anything about vampires? For fuck's sake, even the biggest fucking hillbilly in the world has seen From Dusk Till Dawn, and we all saw how to kill vampires.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but they would not believe me because of they were devote Christians</blockquote>
What, Christian's couldn't kill vampires? Why, does it say in the Bible: And lo, thou shalt not slay Vampires, for God loves them better than hunchback bondage sleepsack fetishists!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and said there was no such thing as vampires --</blockquote>
Just some asshole who sleeps upside down from the top of the cell and eats random people. Nope, no vampires here!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> they thought that I was some kind of witch.</blockquote>
Or a gibbering fucking retard.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> But I just let them believe what they want to believe,</blockquote>
So that they don't destroy your lord and sexual master?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but as I am writing this journal, I had scratched the Egyptian symbol of light into the wall because according to Theo’s journal, it was a symbol of protection.</blockquote>
BWAH-HA-HA! So all Bella's dad had to do was drag her down to the tattoo artist and get her a tattoo of the Egyptian symbol of light? What the fuck is this shit? This makes about as much sense as having a garlic enema before going out and fighting a mummy.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The next day they said that Pym was being moved into another cellblock.</blockquote>
Did he eat everyone in the old one?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I told them about all those people that had been killed,</blockquote>
Because the empty cellblock with all the bloodsmears and dismembered bodies with their "desolved" internal organs<br>
weren't any fucking clue that he might have killed anyone?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and had passed the journal Theo Wolfe had wrote because that would hopefully sink that into their minds of what I was trying to tell them about Pym.</blockquote>
So he passed them a journal written in crayon? Fucking great.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They read the thing and handed them back to me,</blockquote>
Since the whole journal consisted of the words "I HAVE POOP IN MY BUTT AND YOU CAN'T HAVE IT!"<br>
<br>
Or it went something like this...<br>
<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/sir-a-message-from-batman.jpg" border="0"><br>
<br>
<blockquote> then they moved Pym into a solitary unit, but they did not bother to place a straight jacket on the mother fucker.</blockquote>
Because he might what? He's in a fucking cell by himself. If he can rip off the solid steel door, he probably can just take the straight jacket off like a normal man pulls off a sweater.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The only thing that will keep him comoany in solitary will be the whispers from the people he murdered.</blockquote>
Well, it could have been worse, this fucking narrator could have been in there jibbering at him.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The guard walked right passed an inmate tossing a salad,</blockquote>
And here it is. Not only did Pacione include a sex scene, but a GAY SEX SCENE!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> this is slang for a faggot eating out of someone’s ass.</blockquote><br>
Wait, that isn't right. They aren't eating fruit salad out of the guy's ass. The guy doesn't have turkey and biscuits in his ass. Tossing a salad is having another inmate eat out (not eat out of) another man's ass after the asshole has been smeared with jelly or syrup. The guy on HBO preferred Syrup.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> That is the only way that they get their nookie,</blockquote>
Nookie? What are you, 12? I'm pretty sure that some of these guys mounted up and drove a piledriver into the brown tunnel.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> especially if they did not see the opening of a cunt for years.</blockquote>
I have this mental image of this vagina suddenly appearing in front of people and opening like a shellless clam.<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/EWWW.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br>
<br>
<blockquote> My wife was a witch and my daughter was a spiritalist.</blockquote>
What, and that makes you an expert of dumbass vampires? My wife's a former combat medic and my daughter is a teenage girl, that doesn't make me an authority on jack or shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I did not fully understand their occult knowledge,</blockquote>
Or math. Or English. Or science. I mean, for fuck's sake, you spent FOUR FUCKING YEARS at the police academy.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but my daughter was good friends with someone that was a member of the Theosophical Society in Wheaton, Illinois,</blockquote>
Hit the brakes right here! The Wheaton Illinois reference is to his work "The Eyes in A Skull", which I rewrote into "An Ass with A Skull", which is probably the second dumbest vampire story ever written. This one being the first.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and my pen pal was a member of a Unitarian Universalist church in New Hampton, Iowa.</blockquote>
Great, more Iowa shit.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Theo had sent the prison guard a letter telling him about the fight that he was in with a Vampire that posed as a Baptist Chaplin.</blockquote>
So Theo was in the military during Desert Storm, and came across his unit Chaplin drinking blood from EPOW's, and the brutal fight left 1,202.1231231,12312312,1256345634, 97862 dead.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> This had woke them up about what I was trying to tell him.</blockquote>
Him, them, those words are interchangable, right?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> He said in the letter was that the only way that they can can kill Pym in there is to drag the mother fucker into sunlight.</blockquote>
Or behead him and shove his mouth full of holy wafers, wash the body down with holy water, bury the head at the crossroads and burn the body.<br>
<br>
Or cover him in glitter.<br>
<br>
Your choice.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They took the advise of Theo’s letter</blockquote>
Oh, thank God!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and they had an idea to get rid of Damian Pym</blockquote>
Light exposing him to sunlight?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> because they noticed that the cellbock was always dark</blockquote>
Funding cutbacks.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and there was a coffin where the bottum bunk will be.</blockquote>
Hold on. Wait just a second. There's a FUCKING COFFIN in the cell? What the fucking shit? How goddamn dumb are these guards?<br>
<br>
"Hey, John, you know that gibbering hunchbacked freak in Cellblock C?"<br>
"Who, that guy who claims he was a cop and writes all that stupid crap?"<br>
"Yeah, him. You know he claims this dude is a vampire, right?"<br>
"Pym? Naw, man, he's just a murderer."<br>
"Well, what about the coffin?"<br>
"Look, he's unspeakable and a deep darkness. Of course he has a coffin!"<br>
"Where the fuck did he get it?"<br>
"How the fuck should I know? Do I look like some sort of coffin collector? Look, pull down your pants, we only have a couple minutes before shiftchange comes."<br>
"Durrr...."<br>
<br>
<blockquote>The guard had managed to look around inside of Pym’s cellbock and found human skeletons and parts of limbs hanging from the door of the cell.</blockquote>
What the fuck? These are the WORST fucking guards ever.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They were the remains of the inmates that were assigned to him.</blockquote>
Wait, Pym had inmates assigned to him? Like on a menu?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The inside wall was painted “Heltor Skeltor” as in the trademark of the Manson family.</blockquote>
No, that's Helter Skelter (I think, I don't fucking know) and it's a trademark song by the Beatles. Jesus fucking Christ....<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They were shaking in horror because the vampire had been reading books about serial killers</blockquote>
Making him into a more dangerous vampire? Why does that fucking matter? He's an undead killing machine, who gives a fuck what he's reading? Would Dracula be any less dangerous if he read X-Men comics and jerked off to Professor X's bald head? That's like saying Hitler would have been far more dangerous if he read Martha Stewart.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and he used his powers to become a new kind of serial killer.</blockquote>
Vampires are already serial killers. He'd have been better off reading about how to hide bodies better.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The prison guards on duty made their move at nightfall.</blockquote>
Instead of just waiting till high noon, dragging his coffin out into the yard, and blowing it up with dynamite.<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/futurama_suicidevamp.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br>
<br>
<blockquote> They had moved him into death row</blockquote>
They took him somewhere away from the sunlight, at night, to kill something that needs to be killed by sunlight.<br>
<br>
These fuckers deserve to fucking die.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but they made sure they place a staight jacket and ankle cuffs on him</blockquote>
Yeah, because vampires don't have, you know, superhuman strength.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> before they escorted him to death row.</blockquote>
You know, maybe this isn't that good of an idea...<br>
<br>
<blockquote>“Pym, we are not going to offer you a last meal because we know what you are,” I heard them say as they walked him into Death Row.</blockquote>
Why the fuck not? They've been assigning him inmates to eat for awhile. Hell, they were even polite enough to turn off all the lights in the cellblock. What's with the sudden attack of squeamishness now?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “You already had enough to eat already because we had seen what you have done,</blockquote>
Oh, good thing then.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> we had set up a special room for your execution.</blockquote>
So just you wait until morning! And don't make any escape plans!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> In the meantime we are putting you on the green mile.</blockquote>
So a magical black man can save you.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> We are placing you in a dark room for now</blockquote>
We don't want you to be uncomfortable before you go to hell.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and you will remain here until the day that your sentence is carried out.”</blockquote>
Yeah, because he can't, you know, bend the bars and run off, or turn into a bat and fly away, or anything like that.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Fuck you and what you call the corpse you call your mother too, bitch.</blockquote>
What? That's his fucking "I'm a badass vampire" speech leadoff? Of just kill the dipshit already.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> You can’t kill me because I am immortal, You will rot as I will live on!!”</blockquote>
In a jail cell?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> shouted Pym, “You cannot kill me, I am a plague on the mortal race, mother fucker.</blockquote>
No, that's Pacione's writing.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> My brother was killed in Iowa,</blockquote>
Not shown: Brother.<br>
<br>
Wait, he can't be killed because he's immortal, yet one of his brother vampires was killed in Iowa and he brags about it? This guy is either really fucking dumb or in denial.<br>
<br>
Or it's just some hobo.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> but you won’t be able to kill me with your puny pistols and rifles.</blockquote>
But if they sprinkle him with glitter he will run off to haunt a high school.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> What is that smell?”</blockquote>
Probably from his cellmate shitting himself at discovering that his latest appeal apparently got him a vampire in his cell.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Garlic, take this fucking thing off of me you son of a bitches!!! </blockquote>
Wait, what? So the straightjacket is now covered in garlic? When did that happen?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>If I get out of this thing, I will tear your souls apart.”</blockquote>
So garlic robbed him of his strength?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> They tossed him into the cellblock and left the staightjacket on him for their safety.</blockquote>
Good fucking plan.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>“Bitch!!! I WILL KILL YOU!!!!!! YOU COCKSUCKING MOTHERFUCKER! I WILL TEAR YOUR FUCKING DICK OFF YOU FAKE BADGE WEARING FAGGOT! FUCKING BADGEWEARING BITCH!” the vampire bellowed</blockquote>
Well, this guy never took the Strahd Von Zarovich Correspondence Course of Suaveness. Otherwise, he'd be doing this:<br>
<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/strahd.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br>
Instead of sitting in a cell in a garlic straightjacket.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> with piss flowing through his veins.</blockquote>
Wait, so instead of blood, he has piss in his veins? Does that mean he's a piss drinking vampire? Man, this story is just failing more and more epically as it goes on.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>“I guess you won’t need a preacher,” the guard quipped, beating his nightstick against the bars in Death Row,</blockquote>
Wow, you told him with that quip!<br>
<br>
<blockquote>“why don’t be a good little fuck and shut the fuck up.</blockquote>
Such witty repartee.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> I cannot wait to watch your balls cook,</blockquote>
I'll bet he can't...<br>
<br>
<blockquote> you fucking bloodsucking asshole.”</blockquote>
It's piss-sucking asshole, get it right!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> The next day, they escorted him to a death chamber that is especially made for him.</blockquote>
At the low low cost of $26 million by contractors for the State!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> It had a chair that works in a way like the electric chair,</blockquote>
By zapping him with electricity?<br>
<br>
Why didn't they just pitch his ass out in the yard?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> they did the execution the only way that able to destroy him -- death by sunlight.</blockquote>
Which the special chair fired through wires and cooked the vampire's balls and the guard was able to have lunch! YAY! HAPPY ENDING!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Light by the break of dawn -- they slowly walked him into the chamber.</blockquote>
And of course, the vampire just calmly goes along.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Damian Pym, by the state of Illinois, you are sentenced to die by the rays of the sun. Do you have any words to say to the victim’s family before your sentence is carried out?”</blockquote>
Why the fuck are they even bothering with this?<br>
<br>
And if this guy is a vampire, why is he awake in the daytime?<br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Yes I do asshole and may these words burn in your soul as I die.</blockquote>
OOOOooooh! Now we get the cool vampire speech!<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Fuck you and may I see all of you in Hell!!” Pym answered.</blockquote>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/facepalm1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"><br>
<br>
<blockquote> “Knowing what you are you will die according to one of many ways to kill a vampire, we chose the way of sunlight.”</blockquote>
Wait, I thought sunlight was the ONLY way to kill a vampire in this story? What the shit? You mean they could have just run in there with shovels, hacked off his head, staked him in the heart, and had done with it?<br>
<br>
<blockquote>They had turned on the special lights</blockquote>
So they put him in a chair, with thousands of dollars in special lights that had cost the government millions of dollars in a Manhattan Project like crash program, that replicate....<br>
<br>
Sunlight.<br>
<br>
Fucking government.<br>
<br>
<blockquote> and Pym had turned to dust moments later.</blockquote>
Lovely description<br>
<br>
<blockquote> Damian Pym is no more -- he turned to ash like a cigarette after it's been smoldering for a good while.</blockquote>
The. End.<br>
<br>
OK, shall I explain why this story sucks, or just show you a cool vampire?<br>
<br>
Cool vampire it is:<br>
<img src="http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b185/T-Willy/VanStrahd_Vampire.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"><br>
<br>
This story had everything!<br>
<br>
Gay foreplay. Vampires. Death by sunlight. Gay foreplay. Babbling police officers. Gay foreplay.<br>
<br>
All in all, this story fucking sucks. Worse than his vampire.<br>
<br>Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3943214524410397329.post-65566615512504997302015-05-28T19:06:00.002-07:002015-05-28T19:08:22.332-07:00A Dumbass Tries to Get Everyone KilledHEY! It’s Warlord Ralts and his amazing time machine!<br>
We are going back in time with the original HOUSE OF SPODDERS by Nicky “Spackleback” Pacione. This is one he always brags about how amazing it is and how it puts him right up there with all the great horror writers. He wrote two sequels to this, which are lost to the mists of time since they were published with now-defunct publishing houses and it is doubtful that the screeching howler monkey ever saved any of his original manuscripts on any persistent media.<br>
This thing is actually readable, unlike his newer screeds, which is going to make it fun to milk this lolcow for lots of lulz.<br>
With that being said, let’s crack the hood on this Pinto of a story.<br>
<blockquote>House of Spiders</blockquote><br>
OK, let’s start with this. he blows the entire shock of the story with the goddamn title.
Of course, it isn’t a house, it’s fucking asylum or hospital or some shit.<br>
<blockquote>Written by Nickolaus A. Pacione</blockquote><br>
Well shit, that explains it.<br>
<br>
<blockquote>We look into the eyes of a person who was selected for a reality show but the details of what she was told that she would be doing was uncertain.</blockquote><br>
So, I’m supposed to be looking INTO the eyes? Who gives a shit. It’s supposed to be ‘look through’ but this, like everything else Pacione touches (soap, human relations, personal hygiene, not being a creep on the internet) he fucks it up like Grover trying to build a house.<br>
And who the FUCK takes a job where they don’t know what they are going to be doing. I had a shot at a reality show when I was younger and holy fuck, the contracts spelled shit out right down to the littlest detail. This just showed that Pacione, reality, and research never intersect.<br>
<blockquote> Though from the account of Joanna Hollins is one that paints the picture of what nightmares become when they answer the call. That call was one that begins the account that was transcribed to what they see here. </blockquote><br>
OK, holy shit. So, it is the Call of the Wild, the Mating Call of the Joliet Toilet Monster, the Call of Duty? Or is it just a phone call from the producers of this reality show?<br>
This paragraph is a hint to you about what there is to come, to use Pacione-ese. This is entirely going to suck out my will to live and make me hate you with the fiery passions of a thousand burning suns that I will be able to taste in my balls.<br>
<blockquote>Joanna was from a small town outside of Joliet called Mazon, Illinois,</blockquote><br>
Of course she is.
<blockquote> but her fascination with reality shows was one that was beyond anything that one can understand. </blockquote><br>
This right here shows that Pacione doesn’t understand people and never interacts with them. Anyone knows ‘that guy’ who is a little too obsessed with shit. You know him, he’s the guy that can tell you the exact square footage of a Super Star Destroyer or tell you how many steps it is from the Engineering Section to the Captain’s Bathroom aboard the USS Enterprise-C, or knows what page number covers elves VS the sleep spell in 2E AD&D.<br>
Don’t be ‘that guy’.
<blockquote> It was about January 24, 1997, when she got the call of being on a show which was hosted by the local news and the setting of it was in a local asylum. </blockquote><br>
OK, NEVER put dates, unless you don’t mind your story being dated. You know how many books I have from the 1980’s that say the world ended in 2000? Like, dozens. And I’m an illiterate hillbilly.<br>
<blockquote> She got the call about 8 AM, it was a calm winter morning within her Grundy County home.</blockquote><br>
It was calm WITHIN her home? She doesn’t have a roof? The winter is inside her house?
<blockquote>“Hello,” Joanna responded to the call, still tired. </blockquote><br>
OK, I’m usually tired at 8AM, but that’s because I stay up till 4AM due to obligations. For Pacione, he thinks normal people would be tired because he’s:<br>
<ul><li>Never held a job.</li>
<li>Doesn’t get up before noon</li>
<li>Has no idea how other people live</li>
<li>Thinks 8AM is early</li>
<li>Can’t be trusted to look after a dog</li>
<li>Is a goddamn moron.</li></ul><br>
I mean, there are plenty of reasons she could be tired at 8AM. No coffee, sleepless night, all kinds of room for characterization. He just thinks that everyone nods along going “Yes, yes, 8AM is very early in the morning and not when I leave to work like a normal person.”<br>
<blockquote>“Do you realize what time it is, some of us are still trying to sleep.”</blockquote><br>
Said nobody with a normal schedule ever.
<blockquote> She was really tired from doing an all night study session, she had to write a thesis on abnormal psychology and a paper on phobias for her psychology class.</blockquote><br>
OK, if she wrote BOTH of them, in one night, she’s going to FAIL. A thesis requires quite a bit of time investment to get right. Meaning, I guess, we’re looking ‘into’ the eyes of a lazy idiot who is going to fail all their classes. I know, I know, some of you (and me, cough cough) held off on writing our thesis till the last minute for our Master’s Degree, but what she wrote is NOT a pair of thesis. Research papers, maybe a term paper, maybe just a homework assignment.<br>
This just shows that despite all of Sparkle Pony’s claims, he didn’t pay ANY attention in class and doesn’t know jack or shit about college or college classes.<br>
Research, thy name is NOT Pacione.<br>
<blockquote>“Is this a Joanna Hollins?” the person calling asked, “You have been selected by CLTV news for a reality show that is set within an old hospital.</blockquote><br>
Note they don’t wait for an answer. They don’t ask her if she wants to do it, they just act like they’re the Selective Service Board and she’s going to Vietnam.<br>
i’d tell these guys to hit the bricks. For fuck’s sake, Pacione, try to make shit believable. Do a little research. There’s plenty of articles, even in 2000, about how the selection process for a reality show goes. They don’t just pick random fucking people.<br>
<blockquote> We cannot go into the details of the show right now but if you give us your mailing address we can send you more information about what the show is about. </blockquote><br>
This sounds more like the last phone call someone got before their family started up missing fliers around town for them. Or maybe a scam. Completely unrealistic.<br>
<blockquote> We can tell you a little about the hospital we are doing this in, it has a macabre history of doctors killing themselves and nurses becoming violently sick without warning. </blockquote><br>
Oh by the dead God’s rotting scrotum. This is an intro to a fucking info-dump where Pacione blows his load all over the page. Instead of letting the characters discover this information, Pacione is just going to vomit it all up on the page like a dog who’s been eating from the kitty-litter box. <br>
See, this is where he should have kept this in his plot notes, and had the characters find out about it. Instead, he’ll jus tell everything and then get confused why nobody is amazed by the revelations later in the story. He’ll wonder why there is no sense of dread in the story, thinking that by doing this he’ll create a sense of dread and foreshadowing, but instead of foreshadowing he just had his major players wander out spattered in blood and yelling “OOOOH SCARY!” at the top of their lungs.<br>
But let us journey on into this pig-shit. I mean, we’re already waist deep, so fuck it.<br>
<blockquote> How they found the nurses in the hospital, blood drained from their bodies but barely alive. </blockquote><br>
Ugh. Typical goddamn Pacione. These nurses are surviving without blood? Holy fucking shit, I’m calling it now…<br>
Big spiders. Snore<br>
<blockquote>The kind of thing that writes themselves into old horror novels or urban mythology. </blockquote><br>
Unfortunately for this story, it’s being written by Pacione, which means it’s going to be a huge sack of shit that we all have to make sandwiches out of.<br>
Could you imagine a worse fate? You’re a scary goddamn monster, capable of making people wet themselves just at the whisper of your name, and then… FUCK… Pacione is the one writing about you.<br>
You’d just douse yourself in gasoline to get it over with quicker.<br> <blockquote> Pack as you would a camping trip because the area we are going to have you sleep in are the old resident quarters.</blockquote><br>
Holy shit, they have to provide their own camping shit. Once again, this just shows that the basement dwelling Pacione (Literally.He lives in the basement of a relative’s house) doesn’t do anything. At all. See, you and I, being normal badly-adjusted internet-using adults, know that a goddam reality show provides everything.<br>
Otherwise, you’re just camping with motherfuckers you don’t like while creepy strangers video you.<br>
<blockquote> We’ll be taping every move you make, and every move that your room mates have.</blockquote><br>
We aren’t paying for shit, but we are going to videotape you and sell it for pure profit for us!<br>
<blockquote> We are looking to take about 20 married and engaged couples then put them in this place, and have them tape their own accounts. We managed to call you because of a paper you wrote a few years ago, one of your high school teachers gave it to us since the teacher is a personal friend of mine.”</blockquote><br>
::headset:: Holy shit. This just shows that Pacione has no idea how anything works. To a normal person this would sound like a very inept serial killer trying to lure us into a van. To Pacione, this seems perfectly normal.<br>
These guys are just scouting out their next victims for their serial killer fetish. I mean, seriously… Tape your own accounts of us hunting you for sport because a friend of ours who molests… errr… teaches high school students gave us a paper that you, an underage girl at the time, wrote.<br>
<blockquote>“Sort of like the show that is on basic cable right now? Sounds intriguing but old, abandoned hospital places give me the creeps,” she </blockquote><br>
Hung up on these obviously creepy assholes and lived happily every after.
<blockquote>said with hesitation, “but I might as well do it.</blockquote><br>
Goddamn it.
<blockquote> It sounds intriguing enough.</blockquote><br>
That word does not mean what you think it means.
<blockquote> I thought this was a bullshit prank at first but seems like you got a legit deal here. </blockquote><br>
No it doesn’t. It seems like the laziest serial killer in the world luring you to his rape dungeon. I hope the spiders eat your stupid ass.<br>
<blockquote>I was looking for inspiration to write about, but right now I was running on dry with the ideas. I want to do this, but lets see if I can get my husband in on it as well.”</blockquote><br>
Running dry on ideas? Holy fuck, she’s a goddamn moron. She’s not doing a thesis, she’s drawing on a piece of paper with crayons and taking it to her handler, who then makes sure the bucket on her head is secure.
<blockquote>“I take it that you watch some of those reality shows, don’t worry
this is nothing like that show or similar shows,” the caller answered, </blockquote><br>
WHAT SHOW? “That show” implies a certain show. For fuck’s sake, Pacione, details, motherfuckers, do you write them? And notice it’s still an unidentified caller. This motherfucker has NOT idea how the world works outside of his dingy, dirty basement where he sleeps in a sleeping bag because he’s too lazy to make a bed.<br>
And no shit she watches them. In the 1990’s like 2/3 of America watched them. He acts like this is a shock, and “Ooooh, she watched reality shows, NOBODY I know watched those…” said nobody ever.<br>
<blockquote> “the place is said to be haunted for a number of years. We will be meeting you in Joliet Union Station, your meals will be covered along with your room and board when you are staying in the old hospital. </blockquote><br>
Well, her meals will be covered, which I assume means whatever she manages to lick off the floor and walls, and of course board is covered, she’s staying in an old hospital. For fuck’s sake…
<blockquote> The taping of the show will be for about 8 months, but what you are welcome to do here is bring your own video camera and make a documentary of the events that go on inside of the place. </blockquote><br>
EIGHT GODDAMN MONTHS! Do you know how much footage they’d have? Does he know how fucking BORING that show would be? Does he know that they edit out the boring parts and manufacture drama if they have to? Holy shit, he did NO research at all, not even watching a reality show.<br>
And bring their own camera? Said no fucking TV show ever. The behind the scenes are a selling point for the DVDs, they won’t let some no-name idiot make their own. Plus, that shit would be on YouTube in seconds, ruining the shawl fucking show.<br>
<blockquote> The reason I tell you to bring your own video camera is that one can document in case there might be a ghost that will walk into the room where you are staying at.”</blockquote><br>
Said no fucking producer ever.<br>
Now, I took several screenwriting and theater classes (Not as an actor) and there’s no way in fucking HELL that a producer would allow that shit.<br>
<blockquote>She agreed to the project because Joanna already kept a video
journal and after she got the phone call, she pulled the video camera and started taping. The show was going to use her own footage for it as well. A conversation between her and Todd, and a degree in film making and her husband was a writer of gothic novels.</blockquote><br>
Oh for fuck’s sake.<br>
Of course she took it. But instead of writing out the conversation, he just skips it. Then, of course she’s a video journal keeper.<br>
Of course he has a degree in film making and is a writer. Actually, it looks like that between the TWO of them they have aONE degree in film making.<br>
THAT’S NOT HOW DEGREES WORK!<br>
<blockquote>“I think you should do it,” Todd suggested to her, they were both in bed getting ready to turn out the light, </blockquote><br>
Of course he does. And of course he skips the rest of the day. Or they’re going to bed at 8:30AM.<br>
<blockquote> “I know that there is a lot going into your mind about this project. But something like this doesn’t come around every day;</blockquote><br>
What? Getting murdered by a fucking serial killer?<br>
<blockquote> this is an opportunity that one cannot even begin to pray for. If they called me, I would jumped at the chance.</blockquote><br>
Because I’m a goddamn moron who deserves to be taken out of the gene pool!<br>
<blockquote> They said you can bring someone along with you and I am glad that you offered to take me with you.</blockquote><br>
They said “MARRIED OR ENGAGED COUPLES” YOU INCREDIBLE ASSHOLE!<br>
Goddamn it, Pacione can’t even keep it straight. And let’s be honest, she basically volunteered him without asking.<br>
I’d be fucking pissed.<br>
<blockquote> I read some about this place that they are doing the show at, </blockquote><br>
Of course you did, ass.
<blockquote>it was something out of the pages of an Edgar Allan Poe short story. </blockquote><br>
Of course it was, ass.<br>
<blockquote> The nurses that became violently ill were in their late 20s, and the doctor that killed himself. </blockquote><br>
Well, there goes all the suspense.<br>
<blockquote> They didn’t say much on the reasons why but it had to go along with something that happened within the place.”</blockquote><br>
Gee, you fucking think? Things happen in place, must go along with things that happened in the place. WHAT THE FUCK? did this guy suddenly take a head wound? Did some robber jump out and shoot him in the fucking head? Is this guy a completely retarded asshole jus tlike Pacione and now we have to deal with the fact that he’s an author standing, only stupider and somehow less believable?
<blockquote>“I just feel very uneasy about it,” she responded,</blockquote><br>
No you aren’t. You took an unknown job from unknown people in an unknown place (that you’re dipshit boyfirend/husband/waht the fuck ever just happens to know about) for eight months! You aren’t nervous about shit.<br>
And you probably fake your orgasms.<br>
<blockquote> “I know I am excited about it but it scares the shit out of me about the idea of going into a place as that, with the history that it has.</blockquote><br>
No it doesn’t. Stop lying.<br>
<blockquote> I will do the show, </blockquote><br>
Ofcourse you will.<br>
<blockquote>but it scares me to death because of the place that I am doing this show in. </blockquote><br>
Let me guess, you get scared having to go to a new store too.<br>
I swear, Pacione is the ONLY author who is so terrified of going outside that he projects it on everything he writes. Him and going outside to strange places is like Rob fucking Zombie and his fear of white trash.<br>
<blockquote> Did they say how the doctor killed himself? I know it sounds morbid that I am asking this, but I want to know as much as possible about the history of the doctor.</blockquote><br>
Who gives a shit? He’s fucking dead. Worry about the mystery people luring you somewhere they can hunt you for sport.<br>
<blockquote> I was reading the outline for the show and it scares the shit out of me because how they did their research for this.</blockquote><br>
WHAT? Where the fuck did you get the outline? Did they send that shit via Hogwarts Owl Post? I mean, WTF? You just accepted. You haven’t read any contracts, you haven’t signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement, and you have an outline? And an OUTLINE for a TV show? For fuck’s sake, do your goddamn research you mouth breathing troglodyte!
<blockquote> I know I must try to get some sleep but that what happened to the doctor is what keeps me awake.” They kissed each other a good night and turned out the light.</blockquote><br>
Not pictured: Sex. Because Pacione can’t imagine anyone having sex with him, so naturally, nobody has sex anywhere at any time.<br>
He knows nothing about other people.<br>
<blockquote> Joanna was nervous for some reason and felt quite uneasy about the call and invitation to be part of a reality show, and especially about the subject matter namely. </blockquote><br>
How many times is she going to repeat this shit?
<blockquote> She thought, damn, Todd is asleep like there is nothing to worry about while this scares the hell out of me. The history of the place is what baffles me the worst and how the nurses became violently ill. </blockquote><br>Holy shit, shut up, bitch.<br>
<blockquote>It has to be about midnight, I have to get some sleep. What they left out about how they found the doctor was the way he tried to kill himself, the discovery of his body was one of the most grizzly in the history of Illinois.</blockquote><br>
Wait, he turned into a bear? Holy shit! Paging Dr. Grizzly to ICU, Paging Dr. Grizzly to ICU!<br>
“Yes, doctor, I have a pain in my … OH MY GOD YOU’RE A BEAR!”<br>
<blockquote> It was about 2 am when Joanna fell asleep, but felt uneasy about everything within the details told in the article and thesis of the show.</blockquote><br>
Fucking ugh.
<blockquote>Before she went to bed, Joanna had a camera set up next to her bed. As part of the requirement, before going on the show she had to do a video journal.</blockquote><br>
Well, now we know why they don’t have sex.
<blockquote> It was about 9 AM when she awoke from a disturbed sleep.</blockquote><br>
Holy shit, how long do these people sleep in?
<blockquote> The dream that she had was how she found the doctor, in the residence room. He was without his hand because he cut if off, couldn’t save himself in time then bleed to death from what little blood was left in his body.</blockquote><br>
Oh for fuck’s sake.
<blockquote>[day one] Video Journal of Joanna Hollins:
“The name is Joanna Hollins. I was picked to do a project that is hosted by CLTV, I don’t know the details of this show that I was selected for but I was told that it would be a documentary type of format. </blockquote><br>
OK, full fucking stop.
She knows this: The OUTLINE of the fucking show. That she’s going to be on a reality show. That it’s going to be in a haunted abandoned hospital.<br>
WHAT THE FUCK ELSE DOES SHE WANT TO KNOW?<br>
<blockquote> I don’t makes sense of the reasons why they ask us to bring our own cameras into the show, but I will find out later on as I am going to the train station.</blockquote><br>
They fucking told you why, you blithering idiot. I mean, it makes no sense to me, but it isn’t like they fucking told you.<br>
You know what, I hope you get eaten by spiders.<br>
<blockquote> I am just packing my things needed for the show, and the husband is going to be accompanying me on the start of the thing. Honesly I am scared as hell to do this because I know a little bit about the story of what happened inside the place. The details gave me some nightmares that I cannot begin to relate. My husband, Todd, is fine with the idea, but he seems more excited than I am about the project. I just have this notion that something is going to go wrong within the place that I pray doesn’t.
I felt very uneasy about the thing because I am going into a place
with a history that is darker than the House of Usher.</blockquote><br>
This is why people want to punch Pacione right in the word processor.
<blockquote> Though I might only be 21 years old, but something of this nature does make me nervous. My husband is looking forward to it because he wants to use what he picked up in the project and write a story off it. Just something about this made me feel uneasy, but he is like a boy scout who is telling ghost stories on a camping trip about the whole idea. I could hear him trying to scare the shit out of me as his idea of a practical joke. One thing that I am scared to death of is spiders, and that is something that goes back a number of years. But though the thing that gets to me is how the doctor killed himself those many years ago, and that is the riddle that will play out in the mind as I do this video journal for the show.</blockquote><br>
Oh for fuck’s sake.
<blockquote>I just feel like a character in a horror movie that is going to go to a
place that they know they would end up dead, </blockquote><br>
Yet your dumb ass is still going? You have all the self-preservation instincts of a baby stuck head-first in a water filled bucket.<br>
This whole thing so far, remember, is just this half-wit talking into a goddamn video camera. This is why trying to do video journals in literature is difficult as shit.<br>
Right now, we just have monologuing to us. And it sucks.<br>
<blockquote> just that notion I have. I cannot begin to describe this though it is something that scares the hell out of me when it comes to places with a back history behind it. </blockquote><br>
Of course she can’t describe it.<br>
Pacione can’t describe anything. He never has been able to, he still cannot, and he never will be able to.<br>
He is the ONLY writer I’ve ever seen who has gotten WORSE the more he writes.<br>
<blockquote> I have an allegory to bee stings, that goes back to when I was 16 years old.</blockquote><br>
HAHAHAH! What?
You have an allegory to bee stings?
<blockquote> It was on my birthday when I was at a friends apartment, a bee flown into can of soda and accidentally allowed the bee to get into my mouth.</blockquote><br>
Happy birthday!
<blockquote> I was carried out on a helicopter to Silver Cross hospital in Joliet. And what I was told of the place had an infestation of hornets, </blockquote><br>
What had an infestation of hornets? The soda? your friends house? The hospital in Joliet? The helicopter?
<blockquote> I don’t really have an idea of where this place is at but some of my friends are familiar with the old hospital.</blockquote><br>
Of course they are.
<blockquote> They used to squat in the place when they ran away from home, </blockquote><br>
Of course they did.
<blockquote>sometimes they saw the ghost of the doctor walking around in the halls.</blockquote><br>
Of course they did.
<blockquote> So what they told me about the place I was not able to sleep for weeks unless it was with some chemical assistance.</blockquote><br>
I suggest heroin.
<blockquote>The question of how CLTV got my phone number baffled me, but I was thinking they found a paper I wrote in 1990 about Illinois’ dark history.”</blockquote><br>
Looked you up on the internet, or maybe in the phone book?<br>
RUN, THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!<br>
And of course that was the paper you did.<br>
<blockquote>She turned off the camera and proceed to pack her bags up for the project. The words she could describe of herself being a bit uneasy. </blockquote><br>
Oh for the love of fuck.
<blockquote> It was about 11 AM when she and Todd made the trip to Joliet Union station, and there they were greeted by a midnight blue SUV. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, he accidentally described something! Take a shot.
<blockquote> It turned out the truck was driven by a person behind the project, </blockquote><br>
Of cours eit was.
<blockquote> “Are you Joanna Hollins? We spoke on the phone. I’m the organizer of the reality show type documentary.</blockquote><br>
Organizer. Not the producer, not the director, not the screenplay. The ORGANIZER! WTF, Pacione, do your fucking research, you mouth breathing howler monkey.
<blockquote> See you got your video camera, the members of the project have to film their own footage and what we are expecting is someone who keeps a video journal of each night they are there. </blockquote><br>
We aren’t going to buy food, you’ll stay in an abandoned building, we aren’t going to film you, you have to do it all yourself.<br>
What kind of sketchy fucking reality show is this?<br>
<blockquote> This must be your husband, Todd, I am pleased to meet with you. This place that we are filming at has a dark history behind it, I will explain more in the truck.” </blockquote><br>
I swear to fucking God, if one more person says “dark history behind it” I’m going to fucking scream.<br>
<blockquote>“Joanna, you seemed like you haven’t slept in days, you could tell me what is going on?” Todd asked his wife, </blockquote><br>
SHE SLEPT LAST NIGHT! RIGHT NEXT TO YOU! YOU FUCKING DOUCHE!
<blockquote>sounding a bit concerned, “seems like something you read in the thesis made you disturbed for some reason.”</blockquote><br>
IT WASN’T A GODDAMN THESIS, IT WAS AN OUTLINE!<br>
Is everything a thesis to Pacione? Does he not know what words mean?<br>
<blockquote>The truck had a camera in it and filmed them, they didn’t realize the
show was taping, </blockquote><br>
Missing the big fuckoff 1990’s era TV resolution camera.
<blockquote> “Do you mind, we are trying to have a private moment between husband and wife.”</blockquote><br>
Umm, you’re on a reality show, dispirit.<br>
<blockquote>“I apologize for not introducing you to the main camera man, this is the Hollins family. I want you to meet Thomas Edwards. He is the one that is going to be taping this documentary project for CLTV. He is not very familiar with the St. James Hospital.</blockquote><br>
Then he’s the only motherfucker in the world who isn’t. <br>
OH! And he’s the primary camera man?<br>
OK, little bit of theater background and going to a University where people are film majors: The lead stage hands, director, producer, stunt coordinator, steady-cam operator, and lead camera operateors will ALL go to a site to check: lighting, spacing, angles, and a shitload else. He’d be more familiair with that hospital than Todd is with his wife.<br>
<blockquote> The area of the hospital is in Dekalb, Illinois. The reason I told you to pack as you would for a camping trip because there are no bedding in the place. </blockquote><br>
::headset::
<blockquote> Beds but no bedding. It had been abandoned for about 20 years, since the death of the doctor and the discovery of the nurses becoming violently ill. </blockquote><br>
OK, once again: Why would they close the hospital because of 1 doctor dying and some nurses getting ill? There’s been hospitals that had fucking mass shootings that are still open.<br>
<blockquote> The nurses are still alive, and one of them was one of our sources of why we are doing the documentary. They could not explain why they became violently ill but the reason the doctor killed himself because he was in a lot of pain, </blockquote><br>
Ummm.. okay?
<blockquote> the medical examiner said that he killed himself because he had a bite of a spider on his arm.</blockquote><br>
A fucking spider bite? Dude, I know a guy who got bit by a fucking camel-spider in 1991 and he didn’t kill himself.
<blockquote> The animal drained his blood as myths of the undead. </blockquote><br>
CREEPY! SPIDERS NEVER DRINK BLOOD! OH GOD!
<blockquote>We were doing a project in a matter of months about haunted places or places with histories shrouded with bizarre happenings in them. </blockquote><br>
And Pacione rips off Ghost Hunters before it is even a show, retroactively ruining it for everyone who liked it.
<blockquote> I never had a chance to introduce myself on the phone, I am Catrina Taylor,” the staff member stated,</blockquote><br>
Holy shit, she’s been talking for like 20 minutes and JUST NOW she’s introducing herself?
<blockquote> “We have about a little more than an hour drive, and what intrigued me about the place is the history and the way it is designed. It was built in the 1930s, and one of the first modern hospitals for the mentally ill. </blockquote><br>
1930. Modern.<br>
Let that sink in.<br>
The discoveries of the horrors of the American mental healthy facility system was not discovered until the 1960’s. This place would look like some shit out of a real fucking scary movie, but instead, Pacione makes it seem like it’s full of chrome, glass, open spaces, and modern architecture.<br>
Instead of a place Batman would consider too inhumane to house the Joker.<br>
<blockquote> I will be staying with the cast on the project in one of the residential rooms.”</blockquote><br>
Said no director, producer ever.
<blockquote>“I will be honest with you, the history behind the place has some
pretty sick shit,” Catrina tried to reassure them,</blockquote><br>
THAT’S REASSURING?<br>
How does she reassure people that their loved ones are alive? “Your baby is stupid, ugly, and will probably be deformed, but it’s alive!”<br>
<blockquote> “ I will have the cellphones handy and have medical assistance at a press of a button in case things get too frightening. </blockquote><br>
::headset::
<blockquote> The reason I want to do this is because I am looking for the ghost of the doctor that died in there. They said of the doctor that he walks among the halls and leaves a trail of blood that was the place the spiders bit his arm.”</blockquote><br>
Of course she is.<br>
Of course he does.<br>
<blockquote>“Why did you have to mention spiders?” Joanna responded, sounding a bit horrified.</blockquote><br>
Because they’re in the title of the book, Jane, you ignorant slut.
<blockquote>“It’ll be fine, I am going to be there with you,” Todd tried to reassure her, “nothing will happen to you. It looks like we have arrived. Damn it almost appears out of the pages of a Poe story. </blockquote><br>
Take a shot.<br>
To the head.<br>
With a gun<br>
<blockquote> I could just hear the gears churning in my head, </blockquote><br>
This makes me want to punch Todd in the prostate with a spiked gauntlet.
<blockquote> let me see that video camera.</blockquote><br>
NO. you aren’t a cameraman.
<blockquote> I want to document this stuff, shit, this can make for some good inspiration. </blockquote><br>
Self-centered as Pacione. Yup, this moron is his author standing.
<blockquote> Is this the House of Spiders everyone is talking about? </blockquote><br>
This is the first time we’ve heard this name. The first ime ANYONE has mentioned this name.<br>
Someone please punch Todd in the head.
<blockquote>Damn, this is has some vibe that I cannot begin to relate but I can say this much. It does have that atmosphere of some of the gothic stories I have written.”</blockquote><br>
Of course it does.<br>
Goddamn it, I hate this guy already.
<blockquote>[day one] Journal of Todd Hollins:
“This place, I don’t even know what I can say of this place but all I can say it has a feel that is all of its own. </blockquote><br>
But he won’t describe it.
<blockquote> That I know my wife is horrified as it is from the dreams that she had from the story behind the place, but I am more intrigued by it. </blockquote><br>
Of course you are.
<blockquote> The staff and crew are going to be staying with us on the entire project,</blockquote><br>
No shit.
<blockquote> and we don’t know when it would air on CLTV but I know one thing. I wish they called me instead of Joanna. We will be presented with our rooms soon enough here and some of the roommates arrived within an hour from our arrival, one pair came from Racine, Wisconsin, and the other was up from Toronto, Ontario.”</blockquote><br>
And we will never hear anything else about them again.
<blockquote>It was a matter of hours before they settled into the abandoned hospital; for the next five months they were going to call the place home. </blockquote><br>
So they cut 3 months off the shooting schedule already?
<blockquote> Though the narrative given will be of the first few days, but by the time the entire project was done, no one can begin to find the words to describe what they saw in the place. </blockquote><br>
Ofcourse the y can’t. Someone fucking shoot me.
<blockquote> But it was within the first night that Joanna heard the walking around in the halls. </blockquote><br>
Of course she did. But nobody checked. It wasn’t filmed.
<blockquote> The stirring around in the darkness she felt, even though the room had heat in it and the cold was touching the feet as she slept.</blockquote><br>
Wait, and abandoned hospital has heat?
<blockquote> Her husband rested in the next room; they didn’t have everyone in the residential rooms, they had placed some of them in the waiting rooms (the ones that used to be used for the patients who had been in surgery for long hours, and the visitors would often spend the night. This is where they were placed.)</blockquote><br>
Umm, those aren’t waiting rooms. That’s recovery, or regular in-patient rooms. Goddamn it, Pacione.
<blockquote>She began to dream. In her dreams she felt the horror that was within the walls and in the walls she felt four pairs of eyes looking back at her, then another pair of fangs impaling the roommate she was assigned. The animal began to drink without end, though one cannot explain how these spiders had lived as long as they have.</blockquote><br>
Of course they can’t.<br>
See, THIS is one of the dumb things about his stories. He can’t tell you anything about anything in his stories because he’s incapable of anything that isn’t mooching off of everyone<br>
Let me use an example from me. I wanted to know what it was like to saw through a person with a chainsaw. I got a deer corpse from a friend and used my chainsaw on it. (Don’t do this…) So I knew. I wanted to know how many different types of spiders there were, SO I FUCKING LOOKED IT UP, but he’s incapable of any kind of research, not even his own experiences bleed through in his writing. He’s incapable of describing a fucking thing beyond basics.<br>
And this is why his writing sucks.<br>
And the she fell asleep. It is in EVERY ONE of his stories that features a woman. Women are incapable of staying awake in his stories.<br>
<blockquote> One of her roommates that the spider was drinking from was the person who organized the project to happen, then around the roommate were the nurses who were violently ill. Their faces were bloated with puss</blockquote><br>
Heh. That’s not on my end. He literally used the word ‘puss’, which means either their faces were bloated with face or with cats, and that’s without the fact that their faces might be bloated with vagina.
<blockquote> and mouths were swollen shut from the places the spiders had bit them. </blockquote><br>
Um… OK? Anaphylactic shock?
<blockquote> In her long nightgown and bare feet she watched in horror, but she was not able to scream or say a word.</blockquote><br>
Ugh. This is what I hate about having critiqued his work.<br>
See, being wrapped up like a mummy, or a woman in a long nightgown with bare feet is erotic to him. The more you read the more you become aware of it, until you can’t read that line without feeling nauseous.
<blockquote> She was so horrified by all that she saw there but when she tried to run, she couldn’t move her arms or legs. She was thinking, this was not real, I am dreaming. I see my own body still in the bed covered up which is the telltale thing that I am dreaming but I cannot wake up. What the fuck is going on here? I see myself sound asleep, and dead to the rest of the world. I must wake up, hey bitch, wake up here.</blockquote><br>
This is the most boring ‘scary dream sequence’ I have ever read. I literally almost fell asleep.
<blocquote>It was about 12:30 am when she awoke from the dream, and her
hands were clammy to the touch. The camera man was shaking her for about a half hour but she was not able to wake up on her own.</blockquote><br>
This shows again how Pacione doesn’t understand shit.<br>
If you can’t wake someone in the first 5 minutes, YOU CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!
<blockquote> “Joanna, are you all right? It seemed like you were having a nightmare so I had decided to try and wake you. I had this uneasy notion about the project as well but I knew it was something that the boss wanted to do. I knew of the place’s history before taking on the project. </blockquote><br>
Of course you did.
<blockquote> I do understand quite well about the reasons that you are badly shaken about this place,</blockquote><br>
Of course he does.
<blockquote> I know because I have seen this thing that one speaks of. ”</blockquote><br>
Of course he has.<br>
Christ, this is in EVERY fucking book and story he writes.
<blockquote>She began to look at his hand, since it appeared to be all bloated. The place where it was bit at was at the forearm. His face was bleeding from the eyes, and what she couldn’t describe was an absolute horror.</blockquote><br>
Of course she couldn’t describe it. This is a dry statement of facts, not a description.<br>
<blockquote> Again; when she closed her eyes again no one else was around. She was still dreaming, but the horrors within the place grew on her. It was a matter of hours before she awoke again, she kept the video camera close by for when she woke up. It was still dark when she awoke, turned on the camera and proceeded to do another entry in her video journal.</blockquote><br>
I hate everyone in this story so much.
<blockquote>[day two]
“Did you hear that? I know that someone won’t believe me when I do this entry but I think I heard footsteps in the hall. Not one but eight sets of footsteps but no one was around, my roommates are still asleep and think nothing is going on. Though I know different. I had a dream that was beyond anything that was disturbing, though I had an idea of what happened to why the nurses became violently ill. They had bites from
what appeared to be the resemblance of vampires, but they were not the undead people from the vampire myths. These were spiders that lived for hundreds of years. The thing that frightens me is that they were giving immortality.</blockquote><br>
OK, my eyes were starting to glaze, so I was skipping shit, but that…<br>
“giving immortality”<br>
So they GIVE immortality with their bites? FUCKING RAWK! Bite me, bitches!<br>
<blockquote> I went to check on my husband but he seems to be asleep without a sound, though one can hear the whispers in the hall. </blockquote><br>
So we have to hear this in her video, instead of it being descripted. Jesus, I hate this shit.
<blockquote> I went to check on the roommate that was sleeping on the top bunk, no pulse and not breathing. Their body was all bloated and puss filled, and the worst of the wound came from the arm. Two puncture wounds, similar to those of a venomous snake.</blockquote><br>
Did she scream? Run and get help? Shit herself? Nope. She just came bak and recorded it on her camera. Once again showing that Pacione doesn’t understand SHIT about human nature.<br>
Everything he knows about other people is from videos, movies, and TV.<br>
<blockquote>The lifeless body of the roommate was a frightening sight to
describe but I cannot begin to realize what all that happened. It all seemed normal from the first night but one didn’t realize that all the horror started within the first night, I might of seen the ghostly doctor walking around within the halls and when I went to get something to eat he was standing there, watching. </blockquote><br>
But of course, this is how we find out, instead of like we would in a normal story.<br>
<blockquote> I haven’t seen them for real but in the dreams they appeared. All eight of their eyes were staring at me; each of their eyes having a life of their own. In the eyes they walk around, as they appear to be with a soul that is all their own.”</blockquote><br>
Anyone else getting bored? Just me? OK, we’ll keep going.
<blockquote>Frantically she ran out of the room from the horrific discovery and called to her husband. Still wearing the nightgown that she packed, walking down the halls in bare feet. “Todd, wake up, there is something you have to see.” The cameras were following her every step of the way, “Something really horrible was in my dorm, you have to wake up. There is something here that I cannot begin to describe.”</blockquote>
Of course she couldn’t describe it.<br>
And of course she is wearing the nightgown. And barefoot. Walking around a destroyed abandoned hospital.<br>
<blockquote> She began to run into the area where her husband was passed out at, the roommate that was staying with him was being gored by a spider.</blockquote><br>
Umm, no description? And being GORED by the fucking spider? How big is this fucking spider? Bulls fucking gore people, how big is this goddamn spider’s fangs?
<blockquote>“Joanna, what the hell is going on?” Todd asked, with a bit of a
puzzled look on his face. </blockquote><br>
A spider’s goring your roommate, dumbs.
<blockquote>Then he saw the camera rolling, “Shit I cannot believe they caught that on tape; I wonder if they are actually going to air this. </blockquote><br>
Notice that Todd doesn’t want to help the person STILL being gored?
<blockquote> We have to go find Catrina, because she didn’t expect something like this happening. Though I have seen that ghostly doctor as well, seen the trail of blood that was there. </blockquote><br>
Of course he did.
<blockquote> I began to realize what was going on when we started to spend the first night in the place.</blockquote>
Ofcourse. The omnipotent writer.<br>
<blockquote> We have to leave, try to get everything you came in with and lets get the hell out of here.</blockquote><br>
Because going back for material things while A FUCKING SPIDER ISGORING YOUR ROOMMATE is fucking normal>
<blockquote> I saw what happened to one of the nurses, </blockquote><br>
But no the person STILL BEING GORED!
<blockquote> she is caught up within one of the webs of the spiders. The reason they are called vampires are that being
they live on human blood, but they don’t convert humans to vampires after they have been bit.</blockquote><br>
neither do normal fucking spiders.
<blockquote> We have to go get that nurse and get out of here, go find the rest of the people we came in with.”</blockquote><br>
Except the roommate.
<blockquote>Time ticked slowly as Hollins family proceed to find their way out of
the hospital, the camera crew was still alive as well so they proceed to follow them out. </blockquote><br>
Holy shit, skips over what could have been a cool scene.<br>
And the roommate is STILL being gored.
<blockquote> The reason why the spiders were alive this long was that they did drink human blood, and the venom from the fangs of the spiders made the victim violently sick. </blockquote><br>
Umm, normal spiders aren’t like that. So these spiders are as big as fucking oxen, and all their pussy-ass venom does is make people sick?<br>
Worst spiders ever.
<blockquote> Todd nervously grabbed his video camera</blockquote><br>
Gotta get those YouTube hits, baby.
<blockquote> and a pair of basketball shoes for his wife because the rest of the hospital was filled with broken glass.</blockquote><br>
But she wandered to his room with no problems.
<blockquote> “Put these on, sorry I couldn’t get any socks for you but I am sure we can get back to your sleeping area and get some socks. </blockquote><br>
WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT SOCKS!<br>
The spider is STILL goring his roommate, btw.
<blockquote> It is a good thing we didn’t unpack everything, it is easier to vacate the place.”</blockquote><br>
Of course they didn’t. They’ll go back for it, but wouldn’t pack it?<br>
This is supposed to be the tense climax, and this is so fucking boring, Family Feud reruns are more exciting.
<blockquote>Joanna grabbed as much as she was able to carry; along with her camera, without question she began to video tape the carnage. </blockquote><br>
I hate all these people now.
<blockquote> “Shit, I don’t think anyone would believe me unless I got the footage of this; </blockquote><br>
BITCH GET OUT OF THE BUILDING!<br>
<blockquote> the story of seven strangers about their lives being taped had nothing on this.</blockquote><br>
You know, I’ll bet he honestly thinks this poorly written piece of drivel is actually better than that reality show.
<blockquote> I know from what I saw in this place, I had to get the hell out of here But we had to find the nurse before leaving the place, I know nothing about the layout of this hospital but she can be almost anywhere.”</blockquote><br>
And he fucked up his tenses, making it seem like they already did those things.<br>
<br>
Can you see how he fucked up the story? There is NO tension at all.<br>
<blockquote>It turned out that where the nest of the place was on the same floor as they were staying at. </blockquote><br>
Of course it was.
<blockquote>The nurse was in the web and all that was exposed of her was the face.</blockquote><br>
::sigh::
<blockquote> She couldn’t move her body because she was pasted up to the wall.</blockquote><br>
He probably was imagining the scene from The Mist or Aliens right here.
<blockquote> “Todd, Joanna, get me fucking down from here,” she screamed with a horrified look on her face. One of the spiders proceed to bite into one of her arms, just taking enough blood to weaken her. </blockquote><br>
Ok, there’s a spider STILL goring Todd’s roommates, and that’s all the blood these ones took? Come on, you saw The Hobbit, you know how big and fuckoff scary spiders that big would be.
<blockquote> Todd frantically ran toward her, pulling out a pocketknife he had from the days when he was in boy scouts and quickly proceeded to cut her cocoon away from the wall.</blockquote><br>
Not seen: Spiders defending their food.
<blockquote> The cameras continued to roll while Todd was lifting her down from the silk prison. “Joanna, take this cigarette lighter in case they start showing up. </blockquote><br>
THERE’S ONE DRINKING FROM HER FUCKING ARM!
<blockquote> Spiders are scared of fire. </blockquote><br>
How the FUCK does this asshole know what horse sized, immortality granting, giant fuckoff immortal spiders are afraid of? I call bullshit.
<blockquote> Hold on nurse, I will have you out of there in a matter of minutes keep still long enough so I can cut you free.”</blockquote><br>
With a boyscout pocket knife.
<blockquote>The nurse’s hands were free so she could help in the process of freeing herself.</blockquote><br>
Which shows that Pacione doesn’t know shit about spiderwebs.
<blockquote> “Let’s not hang around. Tell the camera crew to turn off their cameras because the spiders are attracted by movement. </blockquote><br>
HOW DOES THIS ASSHOLE KNOW ANY OF THIS!<br>
Actually, spiders will run away from movement not being transmitted by their webs. And turning off the camera isn’t going to stop the movement. And the whole goddamn thing is being stupid now.
<blockquote> There is a way out of here and follow me; it is beyond these doors. </blockquote><br>
Of course this asshole knows.
<blockquote> First we need a way to get the rest of the spiders to go in another direction.” They nodded in agreement, Todd kept his own video camera rolling because he couldn’t resist the footage. </blockquote><br>
But he told everyone else to turn off theirs. Because it’s OK and makes him heroic to endanger everyone else, because…
<blockquote> “Okay just about have you free here, and time to get of here. I hear them coming, and felt one of their bone-like fangs impale me as I was freeing the nurse. </blockquote><br>
::sigh:: So he tells US, instead of actually describing it.<br>
<blockquote> Damn, that is it – now we fight these things.” He took his pocket knife and impaled it into the spider that bit him on the floor, saw human blood hit the floor as the spider pulled its abdomen away from the blade. </blockquote><br>
HAHAHAHA! What? This is goddamn stupid. Either the spider is big enough to gore and adult, or it’s the size of a normal spider. And what did it do?
<blockquote> Todd was looking in horror, “you got to be shitting me. </blockquote><br>
At least I agree with him here.
<blockquote> Run, don’t look back grab everything you got on you and run like hell.”</blockquote><br>
::headdesk::
<blockquote>They felt multiple legs chasing them as they ran down the halls and followed the trail of ectoplasm that resembled blood, “I think the doctor is trying to help us find a way out. Keep running.”</blockquote><br>
Ugh, of course he is.
<blockquote> Todd at this point was beyond horrified, stopped a few minutes to bandage his hand and kept going. </blockquote><br>
Beyond horrified, but able to stop and make a bandage in a few minutes. Jesus, Pacione has no sense of time or anything else.
<blockquote> The cameras were rolling and caught him, exhausted and the spiders gaining on them. </blockquote><br>
Because he stopped for a few MINUTES.
<blockquote> They didn’t realize that the very place where they were supposed to do a reality show was a house of spiders. </blockquote><br>
We knew, because of the title.
<blockquote>The party involved with the project felt the eyes looking back at them from an infinite darkness, knowing what was staring back at them were immortal. The screams they heard were nothing that they were able to do about it, and the people left behind in the house were the other roommates as they were being devoured blood first. The nurse that was retrieved from the nest had a gaping wound on her head from the impact that she took from when the spider took her.</blockquote><br>
Holy shit, when did all this happen? I want to read that story!
<blockquote>“Where the fuck is that cell phone? We need to call an ambulance for the nurse, she lost a lot of blood. Grab the sleeping bag and put her in it. We are going to carry her out, and almost there. Bandage her head up so the spiders cannot smell the blood.” Todd said taking charge, </blockquote><br>
Taking charge? This dimwit has been throwing orders since his room-mate got gored, except to save the roommate, or do anything halfway intelligent. This guy is dumber than a Second Lieutenant with a fucking map and a compass.
<blockquote>“we are almost out of here, it would be easier for me to carry the nurse out if we can package her up and belt her to a door to use as a stretcher. </blockquote><br>
You know ,this really feels like that fat kid that nobody likes telling you about a movie he watched on TNT when he was supposed to be asleep.
<quote> Hurry, I can hear the hiss of the spiders.” He motioned to one of the remaining camera crew, “Give the camera to my wife, and we can get out of here faster.” The cameras proceed to roll and in a matter of minutes they found the exit. </blockquote><br>
Notice there is no tension, no description of all this.
<blockquote> Todd and the camera crew stopped for a minute to close the hood around the nurses face because the snow started to fall to the ground. </blockquote><br>
And there’s his bondage sleepsack fetish rearing its ugly head.
<blockquote> A blue SUV waited for them outside, Catrina was firing up the Hemi while the camera crew unbelted the nurse from the makeshift stretcher. The nurse was barely awake, though alert to what was going on, </blockquote><br>
Of course. No tension.
<blockquote> “Todd, I never had the chance to thank you for saving my life in there.”</blockquote><br>
SAVING HER? This jerkass kept recording after ‘knowing’ that spiders are attracted to movement. He stops for a FEW MINUTES to make a goddamn bandage, he abandons everyone else (even though it stated they rounded everyone else up), and fucks up everything by the numbers, and she’s THANKING HIM! Holy shit.<br>
<blockquote>They drove away into the winter’s darkness, Todd looked at the wife and the rest of the surviving party. “I don’t think this will be going on the air, the events that happened were too frightening to relate.</blockquote><br>
You were chased by goddamn spiders. My grandpa coughs up scarier shit than that.<br>
You suck, Pacione.
<blockquote> I am thankful we made it out, </blockquote><br>
No thanks to that asshole Todd.
<blockquote> and the story will be told – just not now. Catrina, there are some things that are not meant to be a reality show. Not at the risk of the life of others, ” Todd explained, there is a thankfulness to his voice. More that he is glad to make it out alive. They took the nurse to the closest hospital that was about an hour east in Glendale Heights.</blockquote><br>
And a sudden stop.<br>
<br>
I rate this 0 out of 10 fucks to give.<br>
See, there was a story in here, but Pacione shows everyone that telling is worse than showing. It’s a terrible story (spider, boo) but it is made worse by Pacione’s piss poor attention to detail, his shitty story telling skills, and everything else.<br>
While it would be possible to tell this story even worse, it would be hard and you would actually have to try to do it.<br>
And in case you actually give a shit, this story is available, for free, on the author’s fan-fiction page.Warlord Raltshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14521758316517288612noreply@blogger.com0