If you know anything about me, you know that I LOVE CRAZY PEOPLE. They are the spice of life. They make dull things interesting.
One of the craziest people I’ve ever encountered is Tim Nasson, whose awkward, poorly syntaxed writings appear at Wild About Movies. I first wrote about him last year when I told you how he’d been misquoting people he interviewed. Then, this past summer, I talked about his new trend of pretending to have interviewed people he had not, in fact, interviewed. Then I had to tell you about some funny lies he told about me on his site, and then I figured, what the heck, I might as well publish the e-mail correspondence I had with him. Why should I be the only one who gets to enjoy his hilarious delusions?
And now I am honored to report that Tim Nasson has posted a comment on this very blog! In the last entry I mentioned, another reader was talking about problems he’d had unsubscribing from Nasson’s mailing list. This prompted Nasson himself to chime in and post this:
you are such a [swear word]
hope you get burned by the FBI for harassing Wild About Movies
We have records of not only your IP address the 30 times you registered for promos but also your physical address, which you inputted into our system, 30 times. GoDaddy, and everyone else you emailed laughed when we provided them with ALL of the information and think you’d be better off locked up in a loony bin with Eric D Snider.Check out his www.alexa.com rating – his site’s, then www.wildaboutmovies.com Don’t think any movie studio has called him lately, asking to buy his site. Nuff said. Anyone who reads this site is obviously pathetic, like poor little, or rather should I say, poor ugly Eric. I should add that he emailed me wishing me to die of AIDS. I am not stupid enough to post anything about his site on my site because, as you know, there is no such thing as bad publicity, and publicizing his name or site in any way would give him free attention.
Now, here’s how you can tell Tim Nasson is more than just a jerk — he’s straight-up insane. People who are merely jerks will tell a lie or exaggerate something, but it’s usually based on an actual grain of truth.
Crazy people, on the other hand, just make stuff up.
Obviously, I never e-mailed Nasson wishing him to die of AIDS. The only germ of truth there is that I have e-mailed him. About other things. Non-AIDS-wishing things. I’ve never said anything nasty or personal to him, except for my repeated mentioning that he’s crazy, and I stand by that assessment. The fact that he would make up something so ridiculous and patently false is proof enough of that.
As long as we’re telling the truth about things, I figured you’d probably want to see the (apparently abandoned) Wild About Movies MySpace page. The highlight is down the left-hand column, under “Books,” where he gives what he says is the prologue to his “autobiographical novel.” You should read this, though be warned it has a bit of R-rated language and sexual dialogue. If it truly is autobiographical — and remember, he has posted this himself on his MySpace page — then his father was a religious zealot, his mother had previously had a set of stillborn twins, and Nasson was the consequence of an unwanted pregnancy. That sounds sad, but trust me, it’s not sad the way he describes it:
It all happened, began, to be exact, on the fifteenth night of September in the year 1970. Destiny was to blame for almost all of it. Perhaps that darn hooligan, destiny, was playing a sick and twisted joke on the lives of two pathetic, newly married strangers. Strangers I say, because their marriage was a rushed one. From their introduction to holy matrimony only four full moons went by.
Or this, near the end:
Whatever pains birth brought on would be made up a hundred fold in raising the child that was now on its way into a bright new world, Sherry thought to herself that day only a year ago. Until the doctor whispered to her that the baby he had delivered was born still. All seemed to have not been lost, though. There was another head soon squeezing out of the vagina. However, when the doctor slapped this babys bottom, it did not utter a sound. It, too, was not meant to suckle from his mothers swollen breasts.
Why would I want Nasson to die when he provides such a steady stream of hilarity while alive?
