Expose The Tard Exposing the truth from as far back as 1993.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

In Defense Of Melany Part 2

Months ago Nicky commented to Melany in anger that he may not be the father of their child, and I shot back using his own words from almost a decade ago where he admits that he is in a letter to their child.

Well recently he did it again
I just hate you with every bone in my body. You're going to wish all you want to see me locked away but we all know that I got some of my freedom the day you left me. You still want to slap me across my face for what I am saying here, this is my blog and I can say what I wish when I wish. You hold no control over what I say or what I do. Maybe that son isn't even mine.
yet even though I had already posted damning evidence before, I remembered having more, which I just found from his now deleted livejournal from 2003 courtest of my N: drive. What I am about to post here hasn't been seen in years...
Date: 2003-01-30 00:09
from father to his non-custodial son
Security: Public
Mood: depressed
Music: Theory of a Dead Man

Happy birthday son -- it is your fourth birthday last night. It was four years ago that I was in the hospital with your mother (even though the mother and I are not talking,
we will always be your parents.) I will always be here for you even though the state would not allow me to be your father, my mind was too far gone and need to get the help I needed before I even began to be a father to you. A year ago I did a post like this and one of the longest I had done on livejournal in a long time along with the one on my birthday; I think of you all the time my son. This was about three years ago in Feburary that I had to sign you away to adoption, it kills me every time when the holidays come around and when your birthday is here and gone. I hope that your family who is looking out for you is doing a good job since if I tried to write a letter to you, I know that the bitch Blankenship would not make sure you get it. I still have a hate for her that is very strong as it was in 1999 -- but this post being that you are now four years old but when you turn 14 or 15, that your family would allow you to seek out the father that loves you but the state would never let you see. Your mother might hate me and I never speak with her -- it doesn't mean that we don't love you though. I don't know how she is taking it when she had to adopt you out -- but when I had to sign those papers it felt like the very thing that was keeping me alive was no longer there. So I continued with my writing in vain hopes that when you do find me, that you would find that first then seek me out. I will be 38 when you are old enough to seek me out, that would be a long time though because of the fuck ups of the system Iowa is.
Nicky we did this before. Everyone knows that you know you are the father. Most importantly the great state of Iowa does which is why they were smart enough to write you out of the picture for good. The sad yet comedic slant in your plan is that if anyone ever does try to seek you out, fandomwank and Encyclopedia Dramatica's pages on you show up on the first search page, guaranteeing that anyone that seeks you out online will learn the truth about you that you don't want known.

Of course if you don't believe Nicky, there's always that writer friend of his Theo Wolfe who wrote Loss of Blood. In fact let's read that again, shall we? If you don't want chronic eye bleeding from reading one of his pieces of shit from beginning to end, the following story has the important parts in bold so you can skip past the over dramatized garbage he wrote years ago. (please note some names have been removed, others purposely misspelled)
Tuesday, February 9th, 1999, the Loss of Blood
Written by Theodore Wolfe and Nickolaus Pacione

Those of you that may have read most of my fiction may not know where my imaginations come up with such terror, but that is a creation of my own imagination. In the years that I had spent reading H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allen Poe, and Stephen King -- horror is taken from reality as well. Theodore saw a copy of the police report that I had hand written, and was reading books written by John Saul (he, his wife and Melany
(lol wat) told me to look into him,) H.P. Lovecraft, Robert Bloch, and as well as books of true crime such as case studies of Jeffory Dhamer and Jack The Ripper -- for me this is a true story when I had moved to Mason City's North End, I was actually jumped outside of my apartment.
I told Theodore of the case after he read the police report in the local newspaper. I wrote the rough draft under the suggestion of Officer Jessica Buckman because she was the officer on the scene when I was beaten down -- and said that I can make the report into a gothic tale. Theodore is a young writer, and grown up in New Hampton, Iowa, that was interested in writing out my police report as a story. I gave him the go ahead and this is what he'd come up with. It is based on what had happened February 9 to me.
Theo had been wanting to write a story on the lines of Robert Bloch and Stephen King, then read some of my fiction in a coffee house while I was waiting for my bus in Des Moines. Then using my police report, he wanted to write something that is likely top scare the shit of someone from Iowa as well as in Chicago Illinois. His wife, (
lol wat again)whose name is also Melany, liked the idea and I gave him the go ahead, with Buchman's and my input -- "Loss of Blood" born. He gave me the rough draft, then with Barbara A. Oldham while on my break from work -- made the final revisions, as it would read similar to either "Method Into The Heart Of Madness" or "The Wrong Side of The Tracks" then made a reference to "The Comatose Letters." After I'd been reading the rough draft, at 20, Theodore is still learning the talent, the gift.

--Nickolaus A. Pacione
final revisions: February 9 - 14, 1999 Feb. 9 1999:*
After all this happened and I had time to calm down and think, There was a lot more I could remember and thought I better let the PD know. The altercation at the South Bridge mall happened when about four males and three females, all under the age of 18, were involved -- one was a coworker named Elizabeth (Liz) Anderson, 17. She harassed me about working Friday the 12th, when she knew that I already had plans to go
see my (child) and fiancee, Melany in Iowa City. At this time, I'd told Anderson to leave me alone . Then I walked through the youth center in the mall. I talked to a youth pastor Larry Day about getting a ride to Iowa City. I called John from the Assembly Of God church. I left from there -- Murl , Gelpart, with another young man followed me into a book store where a friend of mine works. From there I asked, "What do you want and why are you guys following me?" I said, "I hope you realize I can get you two for stalking and harassment." Gelpart said, "Just tell me what you said and I will leave you alone, if not I will make your life hell for the rest of the days you live in Mason City " . Gelpart said that someone told him I said that his baby was ugly when I didn't even know the child, and when I had a newborn (child) of my own.
I said to him,"That's an out right lie and you know it!!!" Gelpart still didn't budge then An, a friend of mine who worked got right in front of him and told him to leave but he just waited out side of the store. From there I gave An eye signal to call security and mouthed it .The security guard , Trent showed up . I asked him to keep an eye on Gelpart, 17, and Murl, 16. I walked across the hall to the Zoo , another business in the Mall. When I was standing there I was watching for Sean and D. J. And I saw Sean make a motion as he was going to slit my throat.
When Trent showed up to the Zoo, he told me I better get my ass out of there and he that he'd will keep a look out. He tried to keep them occupied while I made my exit to J.C. Penny's. When I exited J.C. Penny's, one of Gelpart's friends tried to corner me so then I darted back into J.C. Penny's. When this occurred, I was looking for the security guard again . Then the guard, Trent walked with me to the employee's hallway , then called the police In the mean time, my coworker, Liz and Sean's sister with another girl whom I did not know was on the SE. end of Mall waiting for me to go out of the building that way. Right before the police officer had shown up, Gelpart jumped in the face of Trent , the security guard, he said "I'll floor you right now, mother fucker!!". I just looked on not saying a word, but then he'd shouted at me saying that I am next. I said you lay one hand on me and I'll have you handcuffed and butt raped in prison. That's when the woman Police officer, Buckman, showed up and then she asked what was going on , first to Sean and then D.J. (probably Dale Murl), which I found out later his name , after every thing was done and over at the Mall. I decided to walk over to a friend's house where I used to stay at . She wasn't home so I decided to walk on home but I was keeping an eye out for Gelpart and Murl because I'd known what type of people they are . When I walked back to my apt. I was greeted by three individuals and it was Sean's younger sister and my Coworker, Liz, a young male -- about 18 with Sean's sister said, "I would slit your fucking throat if I had a knife right now, you Goddamned snitch!!"
My coworker, Liz , tried to keep me from entering my home. They tried to keep me talking until Sean, D.J., and another juvenile, a runaway who had escaped from Waterloo's Juvenile Center, Jason Scholby, 15. Jason showed up and was already at the gas cause he must of received a ride to the gas station next to my apartment from some one. Liz, my coworker, said in an evil tone, " Sean is going to kick your ass, and you'll not going to go to the Police about it -- I'll make sure of that myself. They are going to pull you off some where , where no one can find you so you won't narc on any one else -- maybe if you are lucky, they just allow you to breathe."
Her motive was that she wanted me murdered, as the person named David Gordon did back 1993 at the DAVEA Career Center in Addison, Illinois, but her motive was that I was the one that turned Murl( That happened in mid Aug. 1998, when I narced on D.J. ( Dale R. Murl, Jr. ., on a possession of marijuana and assault charges which he was on parole for.) Liz said, "Nick, you are a constant narc and you don't deserve to live." (Later, after this all came about I was told by a couple sources that she wanted to plot my death -- it was while Barb and I were typing up the rough draft of the police to turn into Buckman, of The Mason City Police Department.)
As I looked over my shoulder, and I thought "Oh shit, I better take off to the east and then north to the store where I work because there was a tall male, which I had later been told to Jason Scholby, the Waterloo Runaway." Gelpart had caught up with me at the door of the shop where I work. I felt a violent pulling as I tried to open the front door. As I opened the door, I screamed in terror to Barb," BARB!!! BAAAAAAARRRRRBBB!!!!! Call the police!!!! Now !!!! NOW Dam It !!" Sean had pulled me outside by my left sleeve and my upper chest was still in the store -- then I felt something hard hit the top of my head, a weapon of some kind and my Boss Barb screamed at her husband Jack to come up and Jack pulled me into the store and pushed Sean off me . Then Barb told me to stay in the store and she was going to see what was going on. I then took off my quilted flannel then my black t-shirt and went into the bath room because I felt something warm, pulsing liquid on my back. I then thought, "Shit!! Oh God-- no, I cannot be bleeding!!" Tried to wash my hands and thought, no I better let the police see me first.
After Barb called the police, it seemed to be hours because I was bleeding pretty horribly, and in my eyes -- I was looking at my hands in terror because all the voices around me were as an echo as in a cavern of pipes and concrete. At this time, Buckman had seen what had happened to me -- the blood flowing down the front of my face, and five pools of blood on the floor. She told me to lie down and do not move because I had lost about a quart of blood -- more than what I'd lost when I was bit by a good sized rat in the shop. I'd lost enough to cover two mid-sized towels. Then Buckman told Barb to call the ambulance -- I could see at the corner of my eye that the EMTs had gotten there about 8:45 PM. I heard one of them tell me that he was going to roll me over into the stretcher -- I felt a chill of death on my skin as how I can describe it, and my skin was pale as a vampire from an Anne Rice novel. I felt something around my head, a gauze with another dressing to stop the bleeding.
I murmured to the EMT that I was cold so they covered me up in five blankets then I was asked to grip the EMT's finger -- I could barely move because I was harnessed to the fucken stretcher and wrapped as damned mummy. I felt three EMTs lifting me up through the door -- with one of my neighbors from the apartment and Officer Buckman looking on as I was centered on a cart. It is here I felt something like the sleeping bag I would use -- but similar in the material, that the EMTs would use to wrap me in while I was riding in the back of the ambulance that reminded me of the scene in Halloween II where Lorie Strode was taken to the hospital. The Police Officer who walked in the back said that they will follow behind to North Iowa Mercy Hospital.
In my mind at the time when I lay in the stretcher, all I could think about are if I am ever going to see
my son again -- this is the darkest fears of a young father because how bad I thought I was beaten. And as I slept, all I could think about are the nightmares that haunted me about how many people had wanted me murdered. One had said that I should not be thinking about such horrors, but as this happened -- I have to reflect and relate, the closest I can relate is the attempted murder in Addison, back in October of 1993, while I was still in Glenbard East.

February 10, 1999:
It had been almost twelve hours to the horror that occurred outside my apartment --of when I got brutally attacked by a blood thirsty individual. Indeed, one would ask what had happened because the incident appeared in the newspaper in Mason City. In my mind, I'd could only think of the most horrific attack on oneself and of the trip to the Emergency Room -- the picture in my mind was of the pool of blood that I was lying in from the hour that I was beaten down by a tall, thin individual. His face was long and hair was a dirty blonde that he kept tied in a ponytail. His eyes had a darkly blank stare to them -- as a demon that Pacione's fiancee, Melany had spoken of in her dreams, as well as the nightmare Melany had after Pacione given her a tour of the place called Ravenswood. As I was lying on the stretcher, I was able to see the nightmare clear inside -- I am barely awake, but very weak because of the loss of blood.
When I saw the blood on the floor, I was thinking that I was not going to live to see the next day because I had been bleeding as heavy as the day that I lost part of my finger -- I was living out a horror tale that would appear on Pacione's web site where He'd written the tale, "The Comatose Letters." My terror was becoming quite real because I'm quite nervous when I walk around the North End of Mason City, Iowa, near where N. Albert's friend had messed up his arm in a fight during mid September on the North End, near the apartment where Nick had made his home. It was last night, that I'd been attacked and the thoughts inside were quite unspeakable as the pictures Pacione would describe of his nightmarish images -- I found myself lying on my back thinking, "God -- Oh Dear God, I am bleeding -- I'd been fucking cut, but where?" All that I could see is a police officer in her mid 20s, telling me to lay down and stay calm. I shouted, " I want this mother fucker in handcuffs, and make sure that his hands are bleeding because the cuffs are tight around his goddamned wrists!"
I was still shaking at the time when the female officer had been on her knees until the EMTs had appeared to the place where I had been lying down. My skin was quite pale from the shock of what had just occurred -- pale as the flesh of a vampire that had just been embraced, such thoughts one had were of not being able to see
my wife (haha wat) and son ever again because how much blood that one had lost. But the picture of the black shape, a 17 year old male -- a minor who had the personality complex equal of Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde. Something of this nature is always frightening, in the sense that something is going down as the fight of Pacione's friend was in on the North End of Mason City. As what Nickolaus described in his nightmares about walking around in Chicago -- near the town where he lived seeing graffiti from a local gang, I'd seen similar shadows in Mason City before moving out of New Hampton, Iowa, to live in Mason City.
Last night, as I'd fallen asleep -- I dreamed that I was walking the streets of Downtown Chicago with Nickolaus as my guide, and what he had showed I was pictures of a frightening nature. Such pictures that he told me in a letter were as icily frightening as what he'd wrote of in his fiction are of the darkest fears inside his mind, but as what I'd been told that one should not be writing of such things because it is the work of an unsound mind. In one way or another, Nickolaus had been considered a madman in the eyes of a rural city because of the dark, vampire-like thoughts that he describes about his nightmares. Such as what had happened to me last night, my wife had known nothing of the horror that I sit down to type in my personal journal -- one that I describe was of the loss of blood that was invoked by the beating on the North End that had taken place.
It was a horror film playing over and over as a story of Nickolaus' would quickly be unleashed about 8:30 in the evening -- in one's mind when I got beaten down the night of February 9th, one cannot begin to imagine the horror that is crawling around inside one's mind that would drive another to beat another down. Only as this thought lurks inside -- I am a bit touchy, touchy with a sense of dread. A dread that appears in form a loss of blood that is slowly dripping on the floor -- similar to the darkening paranoia inside the morbid fears as one would fall into a dark, tormented sleep. The dream that I had was of a tall, heavy set individual smashing in the door of my place on the South End of town -- with the intent to slash open my throat. The individual was that of a demented personality -- making Norman Bates seem like a better person to hang around with than him.
One of those that I dread if
my wife (lol haha wat), Melany *, and young (child), (name withheld), would fall victim to what his motives are. The horror in my mind that I'd find them on the floor, cold and lifeless because he'd taken their life -- before I would even return from work, but as I'd seen this I'd awaken from the sleep, I was lying in the ambulance -- alone with the EMT in the back of the ambulance, wrapped up inside the sleeping bag and five blankets. One could not see the outside of the ambulance, but the fear inside one's mind had left one's thoughts blank from all the things that are around me at the time -- the very hour that color of the hour was black as the darkest sky. Inside that I'd see the things lurking among the terrors -- the terrors of the soul as a shadow lurking as a stalker waiting to take the life of one that should not be facing in the waking hours. The waking hours at the time of the loss, the loss of blood.
Not to mention my previous post pointing out all the other numerous times he admitted to being the father.

I shouldn't have to post any more proof, but for the record, Nicky is the liar, not Melany.

And please bear with me I am experimenting with different fonts trying to find one that makes it easier to read this site. :)

Wednesday, June 3, 2009


This is the epitome of hypocrite, and one of the reasons Nicky stopped making videos since his own words were his worst enemy.

What Really Happened To MySexyBoyfriend

You will be missed. :(

(thanks to the person who sent me this, along with all of her other videos. Some are already here, but soon, they all will have a new home and that includes the Hypocrite vids!)

Monday, June 1, 2009

Writings From The Grave or "HOMOcide"

The following is from a poorly written fictional story long since lost called "Writings From The Grave" by Nicholas Pacione, which I happened to save years ago. Rather than give someone back something they could have kept had they backed up their constantly crashing hard drives, I'm only going to post the funniest bits from it, and by "it" I mean yet another story where a woman is slaughtered in a gory manor. It was a piece like many of his from that time that featured long nonsensical rants about religion and phrases like
"The thoughts of the philosopher are left to be molested in the eyes of a pastor or a preacher.
Back then he wrote the words "molested" and "preacher" often. In the story, a brutal set of murders have befallen his state. The police have quite a case on their hands, so who you gonna call?
They had found a map of Du Page County with an upside down cross drawn on it -- it was starting from Roselle to Naperville, Illinois. They had to recruit a horror writer to study the patterns of the killings -- they gave the writer, Nicholaus Andrew Pacione, the pictures of the crime scenes to see if there was a pattern to the ritualistic horror that happened in a three year time span starting in October of 1987 to the year of 1990.
I wanted to stop after revealing his name, his middle name, as "Andrew", when we've seen in the past him say it was "Albert" or if you've read Tabloid Purposes 2, "Ablert", but he added a comma and ran that sentence on longer than it should have been.

They were thinking that Pacione had an idea about how the crimes were taking place. “Pacione, we know that you write about things of this nature, and we were wondering if you can make out these pictures out -- the other pictures were provided by the Naperville Police, Bloomingdale Police, and the Du Page County Sheriff. The images that were found on the crime scene were diplicted to the celebration of Candlemas, a pagan holiday in February. We are suspecting that these crimes were that of a murder cult, one that had used the Necronomicon for their spiritual guidence.”
"Nickolaus, we know you write about this kind of thing using poor spelling and we need your help so you can make out these pictures out!" At this point, Nicky blesses the stumped police force with his David Caruso-esc wisdom, where he accuses them of pirating his work I shit you not.
“Officer Freedman, I will have to take a closer look at these pictures. Holy fuck -- I was quite afraid of this, this is something that was taken out of my rough drafts. About five months ago my rough drafts had been stolen from my locker in Glenbard North -- I don’t know how they were stolen, but the crimes that are taken place are straight out of my direct research of the occult and of my correspondence to a true crime writer out in Tacoma, Washington.
A crime has been committed alright, a crime most foul, a crime called PIRATING NICKY'S WORKS!
Do you think that I can call her? I am asking as your best friend?” Nicholaus states to the police officer, “Steve, trust me on this -- and do you think that I can mail copies of your findings to her.”
First they have to figure out who moved the question mark around. Because of this evil deed, it appears as though he is asking if Steve is his best friend then asks if he can mail copies of their findings to her, but he didn't actually, since it ends like every other question he asks: Without a question mark. Remember how I said he misspelled his own middle name at the beginning of a book HE edited himself? Well prepare for a second misspelling of his first name for the second time in this story!
Nik, if it can help our case, I am all for it. I have been a member of homocide since 1983, and I had never came across crimes this brutal. As a kid, I grew up in a small Minnesota town, but I heard horror stories on the news in the Twin Cities about murders -- I never thought that Du Page County would have murders that are so grosteque and disturbing, I cannot begin to describe the details.
Stop. Nicky's characters have always heard shit that went on in the past as previously pointing out in reviews on this site, but a cop whose job it is to document shit like this "cannot begin to describe the details" making Steve inept, much like the story's author.
"It is something that would only come out of the fiction that you would write. I am only 26 years old and have a son that is 14 years old;
Steve you SLUT! You had a child at the age of 12, which means you probably had sex when you were 11. That must be why you can't do your job right since you were having relations instead of doing your homework.
I never was prepared for the gang related murders and bizarre murders that would happen in Glendale Heights. I only pray to God that I don’t find a body that had been disembowelled or dismembered, but that all changed when I got the pictures from the murder of that woman in Addison, Illinois. The way that she had been just brutalized -- strangled while she was being raped, and the murderer had been cutting her open while he was fucking her, the murder turned out to be an African American woman in her late 20s. It frightens me how one would truely do such a deed.” Officer Freedman had said while giving me the go ahead to call Roxanne Edwardson, an aspiring true crime writer.
In reading all that I don't see where he gave the "go ahead". Maybe he was using sign language to Nik while reciting his epic gothy prose.
“Steve, I lived in Du Page and Schamburg most of my life -- gangs are a factor anywhere in Du Page County.“ I said while dialing out to Tacoma. “Roxanne, I had some pictures to show you -- how fast can you get to Chicago. When you get out here, book a hotel room in Joliet and call the Glendale Heights Police Department.
The homocide unit recruited me to help them
Now we see why!
with the investegation because the murders are mirroring the content in my manuscripts. How soon can catch the next plane to O’Hare Airport. Steve will be joining me in Joliet.” Steve was shaking his head to me,
Steve was shaking his head out of confusion, Nik. He was trying to figure out if you were asking questions or just stating shit that happened to sound like questions, and how confusing it must be to Roxanne to pick up the phone to hear someone asking, but not really asking. At this point we also see a twist: Nik is also a murderer! The whole time they are investigating one crime, he's murdering the English language!
Steve had put on an oversized flannel and black jeans, I was dressed in mostly black clothing -- and had some jewellery on.
At this point Steve dresses like Nik, while Nik is dresses like Dame Edna, no doubt a ploy to throw off the murderer and e-pirate. Nik's bling was no doubt part of the undercover work.
My shirt had kept a .22 pistol hidden from plain site. The ride into the city was long and Steve had many questions. “Nik, what made you want to become a horror writer? I know that this is a deep question, and while I was in college, I too wanted to become a writer -- I have some of my writings with me. I also have a curiousity for the occult like you, but I became a police officer because of the things that I had seen in college were quite disturbing -- my roommate was found dead, they said that he was sufficated with his own pillow. When I came into the room and I thought he was sleeping, I tried to wake him up and his body was cold to the touch -- later found that he had a cut from one side of his neck to the other.”
Steve didn't have time to become a writer as he was on the talk show circuit discussing how it felt to be the world's youngest baby-daddy at age 12.
It was quiet most of the way -- he had said nothing much after that. He sort of knew that the writings from the grave are a dark prophecy, one that would later speak of a being that was lurking in the dark of the Joliet Union Station. It was without a face and walked the station only at night. When Steve and I had seen this thing, we pulled out our guns and began to fill the fucker full of slugs.
The dark prophecy spoke of a story that would segue from a quiet car ride somewhere to shooting at a monster who would have gastropod mollusk garden pests shot at it.
“What the fuck is this thing, it is just keep coming at us. Do you have any silver bullets -- I am saying this because it has a strong odor to it, the odor of slow decay. It has the mind of Charles Manson, but smelled like the decay that is beneath the basement of John Wayne Gacy.
Do you non-believers see now why they got Nik on this case? That's right! Because he was bitten by a radioactive bloodhound years before that allows him to sniff out undead monsters. That, and his experience of being one of the few people on earth who not only sniffed John Wayne Gacy's basement, but remembered it'd distinct odor.
By the time that we got to the hotel in Joliet, we were too late because we found Roxanne all right -- her body had been wrapped in a sheet and duct taped like a mummy. She was still alive, but barely because her skin was cool to the touch -- the only part of her that was exposed was her face up to her eyes. They had her hanging from her feet upside down. Whe we tried to cut her loose, she flopped once like a fish and then she wasn’t moving anymore. “Nik, call the fucking ambulance -- she is still breathing and has a pulse, but she is baring awake. Her eyes are closed and she is badly shaken -- I am going to try to untie her and put some clothes on her, she looked like that she had been raped and someone had forced a knife across her wrists. This is too much -- it is like one of your stories and one of her crime articles.”
Steve you lazy asshole call the ambulance yourself. Regarding her being wrapped in a sheet and duct taped like a mummy, see bondage sleepsack.
She was mumbling something -- it sounded like the name of her attacker. We had stayed with her until the Joliet Police arrived, then we had picked up a blanket from the floor and had her lay down across the bed -- Steve managed to get a dress on her and I managed to get some socks and some boots on her feet, but we did the best that we can not to tamper with the crime scene.
Nik had other uses beyond his super sniffing powers, he was also an expert at applying socks to rape victims. Well at least she's out of that bondage sleepsack!
After we managed to get her fully dressed, I covered her up with a thick blanket.
Or not.
There was a pentagram on a mirror and a cryptic message on there, it was written in cat’s blood.
See? You thought that his sniffing duties were over and you were wrong. He was able to tell by the odor of the blood that it came from a cat.

I leave you not with the final line in the story, but one that comes a few before it, that perfectly sums up this whole piece.
All of this did not make sense, but the horrors that were keyed together were a nightmare that one either a true crime writer or a horror writer cannot key
Eerily enough, he was right! It neither made sense nor was it "keyed" by a horror writer. It was written by Nik aka Nickolaus Albert Pacione aka Nickolaus Ablert Pacione aka Nicholaus Andrew Pacione aka Dame Edna!

What did we learn from this story?
If there something strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call? Nicholaus Andrew Pacione!
If a story was stolen, from your lockeroom, who you gonna call?
Nickolaus Albert Pacione!
If you have a crime scene, and it needs to be sniffed, who you gonna call?
Nik Pacione!
If you're almost dead, and your socks aren't on, you go gonna call?
Nickolaus Ablert Pacione!
If you got a girl pregnant, when you're only 12, who you gonna call? HOMOcide Unit!

Response To Dutchess

Recently Dutchess Webb graced my comment section wondering why in the hell I was posting her name, and I don't blame her one bit!

I was in the process of typing my explanation in the comment area, but there are a few links I was going to provide so I decided to make a new post. (If you want this post removed so that your name does not appear here in searches anymore, let me know).
May 21, 2009 11:40 PM
Blogger Duchess Webb said...

How in the world did my online name get roped into being associated with you Expose? I have been FAR out of the Nicky Drama loop for many, many years. Heck, the only reason why I am here posting a comment now is because someone I knew mentioned this blog entry and that I was spoken about. It is funny how my online reputation far exceeds the time I actually have to have one. *lmao!*

My response:

Hi Dutchess!

Someone asked me if I knew of a female that had a history with Nicky, and for some reason since the name mentioned had "Lady" at the beginning, the only other name I could think of that had something to do with him at some point with royalty in the name, was you.

As for why Nicky accused me of being you? Honestly, he was getting desperate trying to figure out who would have known him so long that they had saved shit of his from a decade ago, and your name was among many he threw against the wall.

Example: This entry from April of 2008 (which I just now saw Dutchess herself found already lol!)
Blogger Nickolaus Pacione said...

Douche Webb = Exposethetard.

April 12, 2008 11:21 PM

Her response from a few days ago
Duchess Webb said...

Douche Webb? Wow. I have been so far out of the drama loop and yet he finds strange ways to drag my online name back into it. What a strange and sad little boy Nicky is.

That he is. In fact, I was creating a new entry here to show some of his most very recent postings elsewhere, and how they back up the correct theory that Nicky starts online feuds the second he has something to sell. It may be my fault, however, because in February of 2008 I posted an old blog entry of his where he welcomed Dutchess to livejournal. Nicky has a habit of bringing up old feuds with people from years and years ago and coming to conclusions using old enemies all the time, so there is a chance it wasn't my fault he thought I was her. If I was, my apologies. Dutchess is a good person and it should have been her, not Nicky, who got to run livejournal's goth board. For the record: I have had no dealings with Dutchess nor her me. It may amuse you to know however Mrs. Webb that since you last dealt with him, he was bitchslapped off the internet by a female no less, and now is online very little anymore. He also released an autobiography that has been read by thousands, but only one person bought it.

Speaking of updates, I have that, as well as a new video sent to me, and to top it all off, one of the GMC (Guy Montag Crew, who may want to change their name in light of recent news lol) informed me that while they still have a few leftover books waiting to burn, they are about to recieve another book of his that will be sent to them very shortly to add to the fire.

Report Him Anonymously

Copy/paste url of offending website