"looks like the sister blog has nothing to say for two months after trying to crush me every chance"

Oh Nicky. I have plenty to say, and always have.

I haven't gone anywhere. I haven't shut down. I've just been waiting. Waiting for you to go back to who you really are. When you were put away, many felt pity for you, as did I. Many wished you well in recovering, as did I. Only my wish was for you to recover from being an asshole, something you apparently cannot change.

So I've been watching, and waiting, and while I haven't been wanting you to act up again so I could start posting once more, it happened anyway. So many felt pity for you around that time. A group on another site decided to all declare they never took issue with you and you were this poor sick soul. The rest of us knew you were an hateful egomaniac who loves and pities himself too much.

Let's recap a recent blog entry to see just how far Nicky has come since his "visit", and see how this poor sickly soul has been working on bettering himself. Last we saw of him, he was a spiteful homophobic alcoholic who was constantly looking to pick fights over the internet and constantly threatening people, even women. He has had his internet access limited quite a bit, so has he learned his lesson in the few moments a week he is allowed online?

I go away for a few days at a nice hotel with money to burn, I had me a bottle of beer, and a can of SPARKX. If you don't know what that shit is, it's an energy drink with alcohol in it.

Most guys your age get hotel rooms with whomever they are dating or married to. You got a room by yourself and got drunk, again. So, he still drinks.

To the fag who said my technology taken away from me, you can go to hell.

Hell has more net access than Nicky. He hasn't made any videos as of late, which is a sign his technology was in fact, taken from him. By the way that last sentence had homophobia, name calling, and a wish for someone to, well, go to hell.

Ben if you're looking for a fight, I am standing here waiting for the day that I can kick you square in the face with a well placed roundhouse kick. You want to fight me pal, or you're just too busy sucking on your mother's left tit. I am standing here. You calling your little coward friends up to pick on me, grow some balls bitch.

Whoa, Nicky! Talk like that is what got you bitchslapped off the net, by a woman no less! Surely you won't continue your supposedly former negative actions like the ones that got you pulled off the web like a ten year old past his bedtime, will you?

Mark my words, I will put you in the morgue with my bare hands. I can walk too on temp insanity.

That sentence by itself is enough ammo to get you thrown back in, at the very least, enough to justify Kim completely removing you from the net. And since we document everything you write, know that if you try murdering anyone in the future, myself, Rusty Nail, and many others have saved the above sentence to make sure your imprisonment is long and full of large men who like butt loving.

I don't make threats and you suck on your mother's left tit.

That sentence is perfect as-is.

Your problem is you can't stand on your own feet to fight with me, you hide behind your recent group of assholes.

Still a lot of anger and violent fantasies. At this point, no one is going to be surprised or feel pity when autoaim sets his sights back on Nicky.

So, I'm back. According to a few emails I have received, so are the book burners. From what I have been sent, Nicky has decided to go after them again after they stopped, started bashing them again, and now they are gearing up for more videos. He's back on Rusty Nail once more, and many of his other online foes seem to be noticing Nicky's recent pleas for negative attention, and it appears he is once again going to get it.

As for me? Well dissecting his current blog posts is really Rusty's thing. My thing was always reposting old bits Nicky wrote on the net or elsewhere, pointing out his past lameness, but also showing people that he was just as bad a decade ago as he is now. I've also on many of those occasions shown how Nicky has the ability to turn any tragedy into something about him. Some tragedy somewhere can magically be written to make him the victim.

And that's how I'm going to end my comeback entry! So let's get into the time machine and go back to 2002, after a scaffolding accident at the John Hancock building left 3 dead and 7 injured, and see how Nicky was able to make it about...Nicky.

(note: This asshole knew nothing of paragraphs at this point, so the following is harder on the eyes than usual, and for that I apologize)

John Hancock Building

This weariness plays in the mind as I am writing this — that in the weariness and worry playing out reflecting from a dream that I had the prior night. I know now that it has to be written and said because the horrors are what eating me inside. In the knowing that even when time had grown to place the horror in the distance that it is always going to cast an ugly shadow in the nightmares as they are seen as they are written out. A week passed since that bizarre and disturbing accident unfolded before everyone's eyes who were in downtown Chicago. From the years in the time that I have lived in Illinois; there were many things of a nightmarish nature I have witnessed with my eyes — but as I am writing this now, one cannot begin to even fathom the horror that took place over the past week near the John Hancock Building. That it comes in the mind of someone who lived in the area — the nightmare had played out in the mind of something like that happening when I was in the train station. The questions that will haunt the mind of the death coming from the horror that the accident left behind — all that horror of the people who had their children at home and left now half orphaned because of the accident that happened at the John Hancock Center. The writings in the mind knowing that what was seen from the pictures depicted of the absolute horror as this is captured in pictures and words — the falling of the scaffolding from the 40th floor of the sky scraper, the day where a mother lives out their nightmares as they watched their children die before their eyes and being helpless to prevent it from happening. Images of horror being from the macabre mix of blood, broken glass and twisted metal — the death of the three being in the mind as I am wondering what if something like that was to happen when I was in Union Station. I had nightmares about the glass and the statues falling in the Grand hall, of all the shit that was happening in the past few months. It is what described the nature of hell — repetition. It is in repetition where the nightmares are even more horrific over time. In what is described the nightmares as I drift into the states of altered sleep; one will best describe the dreams as an alternate cosmos and being the colour out of space. I sit in the front of a glowing screen in the darkness trying to find answers that I will never have. The questions of what happened and the reasons behind the nightmares are the answers that I will never come to know. Where it comes in the questions of the now — the words as they are falling within the dreams and nightmares as they are lurking within the near future among the thoughts as they are there in the mind. In the mind as myself -- where the dreams drawn the body from a physical weariness. Where it shows among the pages as I write them here — the journal which I had kept over the period of a year and the fear as it is written out knowing that once it is written one can look back at it for future notations. It is where I appear in the great hall of Union Station where I can see the seas of blood coming down the stairs — I find myself losing my mind and sitting beside myself in what the thoughts are as they wander in the mind. The horrors as they are written out here — of the twisted and distorting in the eyes of the one appears as the thoughts of the pure and lovely in the other. I know by now my mind is drawing from the emotional distress of the horrors that are drawn around me — where fact is more horrifying than the fiction that had been written over the years. It is in pages as what is written here the truth is that mind who is in torment is coming to terms with their fear of the unknown. I cannot begin to come to terms with the fear of the unknown as it is seen in the pages from the journals of my dreams — the nightmares as they’re reflecting the horrors coming of the unknown. Where nothing — it is nothing that can be described as true beauty is where in truth even that is in a perverse distortion. In the blackening holes of the mind where the nightmares as they are written become personified. Descending into the depths among the fire — that it comes where I stand before the sea of blood flowing down the stairs. The dream sequence of the horror which took place on March 9th, 2002, being in the sense that no one can really begin to make sense of the accident. The nightmares as they are written — being the sense of images of a descending inferno, that being the horrid remains of the fire of a hundred years past. Where the black smoke fills the sky and the blood fills the ground in massive seas — where the horrors of after it remains. Where one comes and tried to lay down for the night with the worry playing out after the fear of the unknown became written on the faces of those who could not anything but watch. Where I find myself within the depths of the sleep that I want to awaken but not able to awaken. It is within the forsakening thoughts of where in the dreams as they are being among the depths of the black cosmos — where in the depths of the thought being where in the nightmares are written and watched in the mind being among the absolute horror. I am taking to the thoughts of the weariness of the mind where the nightmares play in the mind where it projects itself as a theatre in the shroud of darkness. Among seas of the nameless that is already as it remains as the Atlantic Ocean had been turned to blood along with the Great Lakes — where it comes among the nightmares tainted the ways of the ones who were left behind in the raptures of the deaths of the multitude. As I sit here before laying down for the morning; the thoughts as they are in the mind were from the dreams as they are winding among the being where they stand. It was while still in bed where I find myself in the midst of the dream that I describe in the horrors from the loud earth shattering crashes from the devastating winds. Overwhelming horrors as it is in the mind — where the written thoughts inhabit the nightmares descending into the depths of the sleep impending. I study the pages while I am recording the nightmare as it was still in my mind after 24 hours from the last sleep. The horrors among the mind as the mental picture is vividly painted — where I was riding around in the car with a few friends when I saw the thing falling from the sky. It is where everything that is in reality appears as an episode of Twilight Zone; as where I was first getting on a plane alone for the first time in seven years — being where the dream being in the matter of seeing a creature tearing the hell out of one of the aircraft engines. It was in the mind of the horror being in the matter — where it is overwhelming thoughts of the aftermath of the past few months. In the mind where everything plays out in the overwhelming worry of the mind where the dreams are evident as they mirror the fears that become — in the becoming of the nightmares of the unknown. In the paths that are in the unwritten thoughts of the mind — it is the depth of the thoughts that haunt the psyche when the sleep descends and the eyes are staring at their openings. In the moments where as I would feel as I have the appearance of being in a coma — but for a short period, my heart racing with the mind as it sees the horrors where one should not even begin to write what they seen from their dreams. Infinity where one comprehend where I cannot understand the hellish repetition of what is there in the mind. This is in the mind as I am writing the details among the pages of these journals as they are in the collective of the mind — where it stands of the torment of the mind. As this where is it upon the pages, that it is in the narratives of the emotionally strained by the horror among the screen glowing from the news of what took place and unfolded before them. Understanding the questions of a tormented being among the words that one tries to find or understand where they see the horrors as they slip into their hours of sleep. Where in the horrors seen from in the thoughts as they are in the reflections inside the river along the streets of the loop. In the words among the mind where the final thoughts as they are falling. The darker confusion — where it stands among the thoughts as they are written in the back waiting for the horrors as the dreams play out from the ones who are still alive; seeing where they saw the last hours of their loved ones. The nightmare of the sound crashing from above; where the unknown fears inside the dreams where they are seeking for the reasons why. In the questions and the reasons why where they are not to be found — in the seeking for the reasons that are from above why that their God taken their family members before it was their time to say their mournful good bye. The reasons they don’t begin to understand where they are forced to say their mournful goodbyes over the daughters who died not too much older than myself. So young — as it is tormented in the sense where they were forced to witness the horrors as they are haunted by the absolute horror. Where it would appear as a combination of a Jack T. Chick tract and the pages of a horror novel which had came to life before the eyes of everyone around them.