Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. Those who can’t teach, administrate. Those who can’t administrate, legislate.
He who can do none of the above is Pacione. Where Pacione goes, stupidity follows. The same goes for a group of people who have been dubbed the Legion of Nitwits (by Brian Keene, not I, but I love the name).
The Rusty Nail tags along, attempting to make sense of it all. I observe, dig, and report.
-Russell Nayle
Go fuck yourself with a harpoon gun you faggot’d piece of shit — why don’t you go play, “Let’s go drink what ever is under the kitchen sink!”
You certainly are thorough, Mr. Pacione. You even leave comments in the about section hoping that no one but the owner of the blog notices that you’ve been here.
I applaud Rusty’s reportage.
Mr. Pacione, it’s rather obvious that you haven’t gotten any poontang in years. And Little Willie, Willie won’t . . . do it for you, will he?
This blog is severely funny =)
I wub you, Rusty.
Hey Rusty – drop an email to me, please? Thanks!
Hey Rusty, does my blog merit a link in your blogroll?
http://williammeikle.blogspot.com/
Willie
Sure. You’ve been added.
OOOOH! Me too! Pretty-please!
(Already have your feed in my blog sidebar, too. Sweet!)
I’ve added you as well. Came for the Nicky laughs, stayed for…well, the Nicky laughs and the other fun stuff too.
You’ve earned yourself a sidebar link, Zombie. Thanks.
I just wrote this out for someone on sf_drama who wondered why Nikki has such a hard-on for me. I thought you folks might be interested too, so here is My Personal Nikki Chronology, beginning with the annoying but not particularly alarming anonymous e-mail I received from him in … 2003, I think.
1. Receive e-mail. My brief and (I thought) polite reply is the source of his oft-repeated claim that I “questioned whether he was a writer.”
2. Wonder, “Who the fuck is this guy?”
3. Become slightly alarmed as I learn more about his history. Have him checked out; decide he’s a pussy and I don’t need to worry about him.
4. Become irritated that he is so widely using my name and our imaginary “feud” to promote his work. Disassociate myself from him as much as possible.
5. Get to the point of feeling almost sorry for him because he gets mocked so widely and responds so satisfyingly that it seems like baiting a crippled, toothless bear or something.
6. When he mocks the post-Katrina losses of every bookseller and library in New Orleans in an attempt to insult me, decide he’s not worth feeling sorry for because he is a huge asshole who has brought most of the abuse upon himself. Still don’t involve myself with the anti-Nikki brigade, though.
7. During a bored and somewhat cranky phase, look at some of the anti-Nikki sites (Rusty Nail, etc.). Realize, “Welllllllll … this is actually pretty funny.”
8. Join the anti-Nikki brigade in mocking him if and when I feel like it, because he’s going to use my name to promote his shit regardless, so I might as well have some fun.
9. Profit.
Nicky reminds me of one of those small dogs that always barks at me as I go past (this seems to happen to me a lot).
I can’t help an urge that swiftly rises to kick said beastie.
However, as I would never do such a thing, kicking Nicky seems therapeutic as well as for the good of literature as we know it.
#9 is good. He does seem to sell a lot of books for me.
He’s sold books for a number of authors. I can seldom resist the urge to buy at least one book from each author at whom he rants.
His marketing skills are quite effective — for other authors. I’ve bought books from Frank, Keene, Brite, SanGiovanni, Freeman, Paffenroth, Koehler, Ristow, and the Hintz/Balzer team, all because of the Nickster.