Patrick Sean Tomlinson / @stealthygeek / "Torque Wheeler" / @RealAutomanic / Kempesh / Padawan v2.5 - "Conservative" sci-fi author with TDS, armed "drunk with anger management issues" and terminated parental rights, actual tough guy, obese, paid Quasi, paid thousands to be repeatedly unbanned from Twitter

[AprilRains]

What do you wanna bet that Fatrick, as an actual rough guy, breaks up consensual and welcome flirting directed at female barflies and serving staff by "sexist jerks" on a semi-regular basis

I don't doubt he'd claim that, but I suspect in practice it'd all be in his head.

 

[Coyotee_Bongwater]

It’s not as hard to get an agent and sell a book as most people think. Then once you’ve delivered one, even if it didn’t do so well, the publisher will usually green light another book. And so on. Pat is so desperate that he’s willing to work on spec, which helps.

Calling it now: He’ll find no publisher for his Tiny Tim tome and will release it as a Kindle-only essay or something else embarrassing. He’ll have to sort something out or make up a face-saving lie. It’s not going to get picked up, let alone be a smashing success.

If Pat were a real author, he could sell Tiny Tim based on a proposal and two or three sample chapters. But he’s not, so he can’t.

What can he do? Be very fat indeed.

View attachment 3323219

I know he has one confirmed buyer of "Tiny Tim in SPACE" in me
If he can just get 10% of people who've viewed this thread and think like me, then over 200,000 people would have bought a piece of shit book to mock and use as toilet paper

I WILL take a shit on this book, inshallah

 

[Piggy Higuera]

Does the timeline work so it makes sense that he only got the Tor deal just because of his dopey trolley problem tweet? That's the only thing that would make sense. His Ark books were with a bullshit publisher; they're accepting submissions from non-agented black authors, maybe they'd be into a first-person horror novel called "Dodging the Pepperoni Grinder: Book 1 of the 'Feets Don't Fail Me Now' trilogy".

Yeah, the tweet where No-Empathy Pat said he'd ruin the lives of 1000 couples with fertility problems by letting their unborn children die to save some shitty screaming kid who hangs out at burning fertility clinics was 2017, Gate Crashers was 2018 and was obviously written in a day or two.

Imagine how insufferable he must have been those precious few months between the book deal and Norm/11.

Bonus:

https://sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/tomlinson_patrick_s

Last line of the entry is, "To date, Tomlinson has shown himself to be sparky but not succinct. [JC]"

Wha?

 

[The I Scream Man]

Still I'd advise anyone with irl knowledge of this goofball that if they do ever feel like dishing, they're better off just dumping and leaving. You really don't want to engage with the kind of people on these two sites with your potential dox hanging in the breeze, there's just no percentage in that.

Also note that people who do show up and claim to know the cow irl get asked to verify and banned if it can't be done. That's why you'd be best off taking some time to put it all in one post and then move on without autistic demands for positive identification.

Although note that the reason for this is there have in fact been a lot of idiots who derailed threads by pretending to be the cow, or to know the cow, or some other BS.

If I was going to recommend any course of action to anyone who knew anything about a current cow it would be this: go find Null, he makes his contact info publicly available, and draft up a nice email to him with all the info you have and any verification as to who you are that you feel like sharing. Ask him nicely to not spread your dox all over and just give the info over and tell the truth, say you don't wanna get involved in the discussion beyond that info because forums are gay or you're scared of the hacker known as 4chan Kiwi Farms or whatever, and that's that. Null posts your info, you can lurk and read it being posted and everyone cracking up at some retard, and life goes on

 

[John Andrews Stan]

Bonus:

https://sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/tomlinson_patrick_s

Holy shit, I didn’t realize Pat is a YOUNG ADULT author! He sure keeps that quiet while he’s LARPing as the next Isaac Asimov, doesn’t he?

 

[Piggy Higuera]

Holy shit, I didn’t realize Pat is a YOUNG ADULT author! He sure keeps that quiet while he’s LARPing as the next Isaac Asimov, doesn’t he?

Weird, right? The main character was a barely-wait-not-actually-legal adult so maybe that's why they labeled it that way.

Referring to Rick as a Young Adult author sounds like something that would infuriate him.

Rick "Sparky" Thomas - YA Firebrand

 

[John Andrews Stan]

I wish Josiah Muñoz had asked him, “So, are you going to write books for grown-ups after you’ve gotten more practice with YA?” That would have made Pat hotter than a nigger fart in his wife’s vagina.

 

[instythot]

Does the timeline work so it makes sense that he only got the Tor deal just because of his dopey trolley problem tweet? That's the only thing that would make sense. His Ark books were with a bullshit publisher; they're accepting submissions from non-agented black authors, maybe they'd be into a first-person horror novel called "Dodging the Pepperoni Grinder: Book 1 of the 'Feets Don't Fail Me Now' trilogy".

Yeah, the tweet where No-Empathy Pat said he'd ruin the lives of 1000 couples with fertility problems by letting their unborn children die to save some shitty screaming kid who hangs out at burning fertility clinics was 2017, Gate Crashers was 2018 and was obviously written in a day or two.

Imagine how insufferable he must have been those precious few months between the book deal and Norm/11.

Bonus:

https://sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/tomlinson_patrick_s

Last line of the entry is, "To date, Tomlinson has shown himself to be sparky but not succinct. [JC]"

Wha?

Good information. I was confused as to why a published author would hand his series off to fat tits for him to write feminist furry horseshit all over it, but this clarifies that it was a video game license. How bad is that game for them to allow someone so fat to write under their banner?

 

[thismanlies]

Although note that the reason for this is there have in fact been a lot of idiots who derailed threads by pretending to be the cow, or to know the cow, or some other BS.

Spoiler: How I Know Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson

Not too long ago, I got a job that required me to move to Wisconsin. I thought Wisconsin would be a quiet, bland state known for its cheese and beer.

Nope.

First night I’m there, someone steals the stereo out of my car. I called the police but all they did was take my report over the phone. They even told me that it was probably one of the numerous *ahem* melanated children in the area and that it was better if I kept my valuables inside. There were so many of these children that I thought I was the only cracker in this box.

Then I met Fat Rick.

He introduced himself to me when I was moving some of my stuff in. I was taken aback by his rather piggish appearance, but I smiled and shook his hand. We got to talking and he mentioned he was an author and an amateur pizza chef. He seemed rather pleasant even if he did come off as a bit stuck up like he was smarter than everyone else. But it was nice knowing I had a friendly face to talk to.

About a week had passed and my living situation hadn’t improved. My car got stolen twice and my boss seemed like he could care less. But I did swing by a used book store and found the books Fat Rick had written. They were in the bargain bin for a dollar a piece and after reading a few pages, I could see why. But they made for a great conversation piece when I bumped into him again and asked him to sign my books.

My life got better after he signed my books but I feel like it came at a terrible cost. It started when I found that nobody had touched my car. It was a pleasant surprise at first but at the same time I noticed missing child posters on the light posts in my neighborhood. When I came back from work, I noticed that the number of missing child posters had grown to two. I drove to work the next morning and I found the number of posters had grown to four. That evening, I saw eight black mothers gathered on the corner of my street holding a candlelight vigil with members of my newfound community gathered around.

I joined the vigil in silent prayer for the missing children. But after a couple of minutes, I smelled something... savory. I looked around and I saw my neighbor Fat Rick carrying several plain white pizza boxes. I thought it was strange someone would bring pizza to a vigil for missing children, but members of my community tearfully thanked him.

"Oh Fat Rick" one of the mothers said as she sniffed away tears. "Your pizza's always so good. I don't know how you do it."

"Hush darling" Fat Rick said in a soft, compassionate tone. "If you need me to bring you food, you just let me know. I'll do anything to help."

Soon, other members of the community began helping themselves to Fat Rick's pizza. I even found myself taking a slice. When I bit into it, I noticed the pepperoni was unlike any pizza topping I had ever eaten before. It had a uniquely bold flavor that seemed to occupy every taste bud on my tongue. I remarked "This is good, Fat Rick. What's your secret?"

"I hand make every ingredient. I make my own dough, I grow my own tomatoes, I use only the freshest Wisconsin cheese, and I even grind my own pepperoni."

I chatted with Fat Rick while I watched the grieving mothers eat the pizza. I noticed a smirk creeping across the corners of Fat Rick's mouth every time one of the mothers took a bite but I didn't think much of it at the time. Sadly nobody ever knew what happened to those children. But there were two things I knew from the day the posters started going up. The first being that nobody seemed to mess with my property any more. The second being that Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson makes a damn good pepperoni pizza.

 

[Zbk3VmLfujjzjxBd43tL]

It’s not as hard to get an agent and sell a book as most people think. Then once you’ve delivered one, even if it didn’t do so well, the publisher will usually green light another book. And so on. Pat is so desperate that he’s willing to work on spec, which helps.

Calling it now: He’ll find no publisher for his Tiny Tim tome and will release it as a Kindle-only essay or something else embarrassing. He’ll have to sort something out or make up a face-saving lie. It’s not going to get picked up, let alone be a smashing success.

If Pat were a real author, he could sell Tiny Tim based on a proposal and two or three sample chapters. But he’s not, so he can’t.

What can he do? Be very fat indeed.

View attachment 3323219

He's just going to quietly drop the project when no one picks it up and just say "No, child, there was no Tiny Tim book, that was a product of your delusions." or perhaps "I'm still writing it, child."

 

[get-tar manajerk]

High school classrooms don't have "young adult" novels. Depends where you grew up but English classes are usually classic novels like brave new world and a Shakespeare play or two.

Elementary school libraries have young adult novels though (for the older kids) and junior high schools have them too (for the younger kids).

Fat pat acts like highschool grades don't matter, while being unable to write anything above a junior high level.

It's like saying your math marks don't matter while trying to advertise your book on basic addition and subtraction to adults on twitter.

 

[John Andrews Stan]

Spoiler: How I Know Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson

I literally screamed laughing at this, holy shit.

I do love how disgust for Pat has spawned so many great creative works. He can only dream of writing as well as most of his detractors do.

 

[AnOminous]

Spoiler: How I Know Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson

Not too long ago, I got a job that required me to move to Wisconsin. I thought Wisconsin would be a quiet, bland state known for its cheese and beer.

Nope.

First night I’m there, someone steals the stereo out of my car. I called the police but all they did was take my report over the phone. They even told me that it was probably one of the numerous *ahem* melanated children in the area and that it was better if I kept my valuables inside. There were so many of these children that I thought I was the only cracker in this box.

Then I met Fat Rick.

He introduced himself to me when I was moving some of my stuff in. I was taken aback by his rather piggish appearance, but I smiled and shook his hand. We got to talking and he mentioned he was an author and an amateur pizza chef. He seemed rather pleasant even if he did come off as a bit stuck up like he was smarter than everyone else. But it was nice knowing I had a friendly face to talk to.

About a week had passed and my living situation hadn’t improved. My car got stolen twice and my boss seemed like he could care less. But I did swing by a used book store and found the books Fat Rick had written. They were in the bargain bin for a dollar a piece and after reading a few pages, I could see why. But they made for a great conversation piece when I bumped into him again and asked him to sign my books.

My life got better after he signed my books but I feel like it came at a terrible cost. It started when I found that nobody had touched my car. It was a pleasant surprise at first but at the same time I noticed missing child posters on the light posts in my neighborhood. When I came back from work, I noticed that the number of missing child posters had grown to two. I drove to work the next morning and I found the number of posters had grown to four. That evening, I saw eight black mothers gathered on the corner of my street holding a candlelight vigil with members of my newfound community gathered around.

I joined the vigil in silent prayer for the missing children. But after a couple of minutes, I smelled something... savory. I looked around and I saw my neighbor Fat Rick carrying several plain white pizza boxes. I thought it was strange someone would bring pizza to a vigil for missing children, but members of my community tearfully thanked him.

"Oh Fat Rick" one of the mothers said as she sniffed away tears. "Your pizza's always so good. I don't know how you do it."

"Hush darling" Fat Rick said in a soft, compassionate tone. "If you need me to bring you food, you just let me know. I'll do anything to help."

Soon, other members of the community began helping themselves to Fat Rick's pizza. I even found myself taking a slice. When I bit into it, I noticed the pepperoni was unlike any pizza topping I had ever eaten before. It had a uniquely bold flavor that seemed to occupy every taste bud on my tongue. I remarked "This is good, Fat Rick. What's your secret?"

"I hand make every ingredient. I make my own dough, I grow my own tomatoes, I use only the freshest Wisconsin cheese, and I even grind my own pepperoni."

I chatted with Fat Rick while I watched the grieving mothers eat the pizza. I noticed a smirk creeping across the corners of Fat Rick's mouth every time one of the mothers took a bite but I didn't think much of it at the time. Sadly nobody ever knew what happened to those children. But there were two things I knew from the day the posters started going up. The first being that nobody seemed to mess with my property any more. The second being that Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson makes a damn good pepperoni pizza.

You sick bastard.

 

[Zbk3VmLfujjzjxBd43tL]

High school classrooms don't have "young adult" novels. Depends where you grew up but English classes are usually classic novels like brave new world and a Shakespeare play or two.

They don't assign Shakespeare and Brave New World in most high schools anymore because those were written by white men. Nowadays high schoolers read YA books like "The Hate U Give" which promotes anti-white hatred or "Gender Queer: A Memoir" which features a teenage "non-binary" looking at graphic illustrations of teenage boys having sex (there are also pictures of this teenage "non-binary" topless). Both of these SFWA-approved books feature heavily in both middle schools and high schools, I'm sure Pat's jealous he went to school before he could have such fine reading material.

 

[get-tar manajerk]

They don't assign Shakespeare and Brave New World in most high schools anymore because those were written by white men. Nowadays high schoolers read YA books like "The Hate U Give" which promotes anti-white hatred or "Gender Queer: A Memoir" which features a teenage "non-binary" looking at graphic illustrations of teenage boys having sex (there are also pictures of this teenage "non-binary" topless). Both of these SFWA-approved books feature heavily in both middle schools and high schools, I'm sure Pat's jealous he went to school before he could have such fine reading material.

Fuck. I should have known that post would powerlevel me.

Spoiler: me

That's also pretty depressing.

edit: unless I'm looking at the wrong book there's also illustrated gay blowjobs. Good thing finding a woman who is willing to homeschool her kids and doesn't see it as some devastating patriarchal punishment that keeps her away from her true calling as a wagie is easy these days.

 

[Associate Rick]

Spoiler: How I Know Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson

Not too long ago, I got a job that required me to move to Wisconsin. I thought Wisconsin would be a quiet, bland state known for its cheese and beer.

Nope.

First night I’m there, someone steals the stereo out of my car. I called the police but all they did was take my report over the phone. They even told me that it was probably one of the numerous *ahem* melanated children in the area and that it was better if I kept my valuables inside. There were so many of these children that I thought I was the only cracker in this box.

Then I met Fat Rick.

He introduced himself to me when I was moving some of my stuff in. I was taken aback by his rather piggish appearance, but I smiled and shook his hand. We got to talking and he mentioned he was an author and an amateur pizza chef. He seemed rather pleasant even if he did come off as a bit stuck up like he was smarter than everyone else. But it was nice knowing I had a friendly face to talk to.

About a week had passed and my living situation hadn’t improved. My car got stolen twice and my boss seemed like he could care less. But I did swing by a used book store and found the books Fat Rick had written. They were in the bargain bin for a dollar a piece and after reading a few pages, I could see why. But they made for a great conversation piece when I bumped into him again and asked him to sign my books.

My life got better after he signed my books but I feel like it came at a terrible cost. It started when I found that nobody had touched my car. It was a pleasant surprise at first but at the same time I noticed missing child posters on the light posts in my neighborhood. When I came back from work, I noticed that the number of missing child posters had grown to two. I drove to work the next morning and I found the number of posters had grown to four. That evening, I saw eight black mothers gathered on the corner of my street holding a candlelight vigil with members of my newfound community gathered around.

I joined the vigil in silent prayer for the missing children. But after a couple of minutes, I smelled something... savory. I looked around and I saw my neighbor Fat Rick carrying several plain white pizza boxes. I thought it was strange someone would bring pizza to a vigil for missing children, but members of my community tearfully thanked him.

"Oh Fat Rick" one of the mothers said as she sniffed away tears. "Your pizza's always so good. I don't know how you do it."

"Hush darling" Fat Rick said in a soft, compassionate tone. "If you need me to bring you food, you just let me know. I'll do anything to help."

Soon, other members of the community began helping themselves to Fat Rick's pizza. I even found myself taking a slice. When I bit into it, I noticed the pepperoni was unlike any pizza topping I had ever eaten before. It had a uniquely bold flavor that seemed to occupy every taste bud on my tongue. I remarked "This is good, Fat Rick. What's your secret?"

"I hand make every ingredient. I make my own dough, I grow my own tomatoes, I use only the freshest Wisconsin cheese, and I even grind my own pepperoni."

I chatted with Fat Rick while I watched the grieving mothers eat the pizza. I noticed a smirk creeping across the corners of Fat Rick's mouth every time one of the mothers took a bite but I didn't think much of it at the time. Sadly nobody ever knew what happened to those children. But there were two things I knew from the day the posters started going up. The first being that nobody seemed to mess with my property any more. The second being that Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson makes a damn good pepperoni pizza.

I thought he was just an urban legend

 

[instythot]

He's just going to quietly drop the project when no one picks it up and just say "No, child, there was no Tiny Tim book, that was a product of your delusions." or perhaps "I'm still writing it, child."

See, he's mouthed off enough about this stupid book that normies are going to ask about the progress. Either he pretends this is the most time consuming piece of shit to ever be written, or he starts childing normies looking to buy a book about how he said no such thing and they do not but lie, stalker

 

[NotFatChild]

Spoiler: How I Know Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson

Not too long ago, I got a job that required me to move to Wisconsin. I thought Wisconsin would be a quiet, bland state known for its cheese and beer.

Nope.

First night I’m there, someone steals the stereo out of my car. I called the police but all they did was take my report over the phone. They even told me that it was probably one of the numerous *ahem* melanated children in the area and that it was better if I kept my valuables inside. There were so many of these children that I thought I was the only cracker in this box.

Then I met Fat Rick.

He introduced himself to me when I was moving some of my stuff in. I was taken aback by his rather piggish appearance, but I smiled and shook his hand. We got to talking and he mentioned he was an author and an amateur pizza chef. He seemed rather pleasant even if he did come off as a bit stuck up like he was smarter than everyone else. But it was nice knowing I had a friendly face to talk to.

About a week had passed and my living situation hadn’t improved. My car got stolen twice and my boss seemed like he could care less. But I did swing by a used book store and found the books Fat Rick had written. They were in the bargain bin for a dollar a piece and after reading a few pages, I could see why. But they made for a great conversation piece when I bumped into him again and asked him to sign my books.

My life got better after he signed my books but I feel like it came at a terrible cost. It started when I found that nobody had touched my car. It was a pleasant surprise at first but at the same time I noticed missing child posters on the light posts in my neighborhood. When I came back from work, I noticed that the number of missing child posters had grown to two. I drove to work the next morning and I found the number of posters had grown to four. That evening, I saw eight black mothers gathered on the corner of my street holding a candlelight vigil with members of my newfound community gathered around.

I joined the vigil in silent prayer for the missing children. But after a couple of minutes, I smelled something... savory. I looked around and I saw my neighbor Fat Rick carrying several plain white pizza boxes. I thought it was strange someone would bring pizza to a vigil for missing children, but members of my community tearfully thanked him.

"Oh Fat Rick" one of the mothers said as she sniffed away tears. "Your pizza's always so good. I don't know how you do it."

"Hush darling" Fat Rick said in a soft, compassionate tone. "If you need me to bring you food, you just let me know. I'll do anything to help."

Soon, other members of the community began helping themselves to Fat Rick's pizza. I even found myself taking a slice. When I bit into it, I noticed the pepperoni was unlike any pizza topping I had ever eaten before. It had a uniquely bold flavor that seemed to occupy every taste bud on my tongue. I remarked "This is good, Fat Rick. What's your secret?"

"I hand make every ingredient. I make my own dough, I grow my own tomatoes, I use only the freshest Wisconsin cheese, and I even grind my own pepperoni."

I chatted with Fat Rick while I watched the grieving mothers eat the pizza. I noticed a smirk creeping across the corners of Fat Rick's mouth every time one of the mothers took a bite but I didn't think much of it at the time. Sadly nobody ever knew what happened to those children. But there were two things I knew from the day the posters started going up. The first being that nobody seemed to mess with my property any more. The second being that Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson makes a damn good pepperoni pizza.

Now this is good writing.

 

[Uncle Ted]

Now this is good writing.

I like the idea of a collection of horror-themed short stories about Fatrick.

TALES FROM THE PEPPERONI GRINDER

 

[Akashic Retard]

I want Ukraine to lose the war just so I can see how Fat spins it into him still being right.