Note: Before any of you take me to task for poking the crazy person, it should be noted that said crazy person has recently begun threatening my fiancee again. So, fuck that noise. It’s prudent to remind people of what they are actually dealing with, should they happen to be contacted by him.
If you’re new to the Internet, Nickolaus Pacione is a deranged man from Illinois who lives in his grandparent’s basement, where he shouts at the world from a computer. He fancies himself a professional writer (he’s not), a publisher (also not), and concert promoter (thrice not). He doesn’t like gay people, some racial and ethnic minorities, grammar, soap, or common sense. He believes that there is a vast Illuminati-like conspiracy to keep him from being published. In years past, he has stalked and/or harassed a large number of both professional and amateur authors and editors, including myself, Ray Garton, Poppy Z. Brite, Darren McKeeman, David Niall Wilson, Mary SanGiovanni, dgk goldberg, RJ Sevin, Shane Ryan Staley, Angelina Hawkes-Craig, Brian Knight, Susan Taylor, and dozens more. His threats, while never progressing beyond his grandparent’s basement, have included everything from lighting his perceived rivals on fire to kidnapping their children. He has been locked up and medicated a few times since then, but — like herpes — he always comes back.
And if this listing on Craigslist is any indication, he’s looking for love. Since it is often difficult for the novice to understand Nicky-speak, I thought I’d translate portions of the listing as a way of providing a valuable community service.
It’s actually been two years since I actually did a personal ad on Craigslist.org.
Nick likes to say “actually” a lot. Actually is actually his favorite word. You can make a fun drinking game out of this. Do a shot every time Nicky says “actually”.
I am also published if some of you actually ask that question.
I am looking for that one woman who has the patience of a saint because I am…
Unemployed; spend my disability check on fixing my computer each month after I infect it with viruses from visiting unicorn-porn websites; live with my grandparents; subsist on a diet of Coke and Cheese-Doodles; shout racial, ethnic, and sexual slurs at my computer; don’t own a car so I need you to drive me everywhere; think hygiene and bathing are all part of the conspiracy to keep me from being published; etc.
I end up getting women who are geographically undesirable
Translation: I don’t own a car, my relatives refuse to drive me anywhere, and the bus doesn’t travel to these potential suitor’s neighborhoods.
I refuse to date a girl from Coal City or Morris, because they hardly leave the area in terms of going out on a Saturday or Friday night.
Who can blame them? If you went on a blind date with Nick Pacione, would *you* want to be seen in public with him?
I have a unique charm to me that some can’t stand.
Extreme B.O. and rampant homophobia are “unique charm” in the same way that Justin Bieber is good music.
but others actually find this kind of funny
looking for that one lady who’d be willing to date me when I come into the city.
Translation: I need a place to crash. Can I sleep with you? If not, can I at least sleep on your couch?
person who is actually a starving artist type
I would run up and down the stairs of the subway for exercise when I am in Chicago.
In the paragraph before this, he said he goes to Chicago every three months. Translation: I exercise once every three months.
I am a Renaissance man.
Renaissance Man: a person whose expertise spans a significant number of different subject areas. Da Vinci was a Renaissance man. His contributions to society included numerous scientific observations, inventions, and art. Nick Pacione’s contributions to society include trying to lure an underage girl into a cemetery for a “modeling session” and writing the following opening sentence: “From this that eludes me which I pen this – as what I say what eludes me is sleep, and from the sleep becomes the etchings where the dreams begin.” (Excerpted from Collectives In A Forsaken Landscape).
Some college buddies actually coined
I like eating at dives and diners for the most part
Best First Date Ever!
I have the Italian looks, but got the Swedish height.
And the brain of a diseased, meth-addicted howler monkey jacking off into a razor-laced grapefruit.
I am actually a Chicago
DRINK! (Shit, I’m out of whiskey…)
The thing that the ladies are drawn the most about me is I am a photographer.
Translation: I take pictures of pigeons. And also of myself squatting on various pieces of public real estate.
I honestly really don’t mind dating a BBW just as long they’re height and weight balance out
As someone who has dated several BBWs, I’m not sure what this sentence means. Is he looking for a blueberry?
I want a woman I like to actually be able to carry
DRINK! I don’t care that you can’t stand up! You wanted to play a fun drinking game. Now drink!
I am a male hetero pig.
I am a male hetero pig. There. Fixed that for you, Nicky.
I don’t mind if the woman actually dresses normal
DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!
I really don’t look like the bookish type, I hardly drink alcohol.
Study that sentence. Repeat it aloud. Ponder its eloquence. Marvel over its structure. That shit should be hanging in a museum somewhere. Maybe he *is* a Renaissance Man!
I am actually a Christian believe it or not.
Drink! The power of Christ compels you to drink!
I am known in the Chicago area because of my website
I am known in the Chicago area because of my website as that creepy fucker who stalks and threatens people.
actually outlasted many of it’s hosts.
If you aren’t drunk by now, you’re playing the game wrong.
When at parties, my book collection is actually a conversation piece because the authors in the small press, some of them I actually worked with.
A DOUBLE SHOT OF ACTUALLY! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!
Sometimes it grows on a person
Write your own joke here___________________.
others might find this kind of sense of humor openly offensive.
In Nicky’s world, saying things such as: “I want to kill all fags”, “your mixed-race son is a fucking mongrel”, and “I will kick you in the cunt with a steel-toed boot” are just jokes.
I love being a writer, but I wish I did make a little more money doing it.
I wish that, before I die, mankind might set foot on Mars, but we make do with what we’re given, Nicky.
I might take the lovely lady with me to different events as moral support.
Translation: Carry my boxes of self-published books, pay for my way into the convention, pay for my food, pay for my taxi, and keep me from getting my ass kicked when I spew my special little brand of invective at the wrong person.
So, yeah. There ya go, ladies. What’s that? You’re still not convinced? Well, then…
Have a look at this.
Just drips with romance, doesn’t it?