Nick Spacek

I'm Nick Spacek, Nicko to friends. I'm a baker for Great Harvest Bread Co., located in the lovely city of Lawrence, as well as an underpaid freelance writer. I'm 26 years of age, married, and write for other sites in my free time, to say nothing of raising two kids and making the sex with the wife. Hence the lack of regular updates to this place.

I'd been dividing my time between work and the bars. My wife was slightly annoyed about that, but since I drink, I forget most of what she says (aside from referring to it as "my drinking"), so I suppose it's no longer an issue, now is it? Remember, I'm only a drunk. Alcoholics go to meetings. Anyhow, I'm the one who started the Nuthouse, and who does all the work on the damn thing that's not creative or enjoyable.

I really like guns and knives and fire and all other implements of destruction. Please do not cross me or I will be forced to hunt you down and kill you. I have killed before and will not hesitate to do it again. Trust me, I am not one to be fucked with, as I tend to go into this berserker rage when annoyed.
See, it's because of the voices in my head. Sometimes they just get really loud and tell me to do things like kill my father's first-born son. It's bad, because that's me. I don't want to die. I want to kill and rid the world of all the evil people, i.e. those who aren't me or my friends.

Shit... did I write all that down? Please forget that you read that. Do it, please. Now. Else, I will be forced to hurt you very badly. I can't go to jail. I've barely avoided it a couple of time, and it makes me nervous to think that a guy like me might end up in amongst big guys who want me to be their girlfriend. I don't like burly fellas. Or guys at all. I'm not gay. Robb, Paul, and Craig just say that to get at my girlfriend. Thank you.
Sleep now.

Really, I'm actually a nice guy. I swear. I used to tend to get dumped a lot. All the girls I asked out thought I was kidding or they had boyfriends already. This made me go pound my head against the wall, thus causing a concussion. Then I had to go to the hospital, making me miss classes and fail them all. Then I had to drop out of college, and take a job flipping burgers until one day I snapped and went on a mindless rampage, thinning out the weaker part of the population with a deer rifle. This all resulted in me being brought down by no fewer than 75 U.S. Marshals.

Nah, what really happened was that I met this fantastically cool girl (the one who refers to it as "my drinking") who does cool stuff like knit me scarves and make me dinner when I'm broke from spending all my money on cds and alcohol and cigarettes and dvds. She's also phenomenal in bed and pretty and smart and funny. Really, the only problem with her is that she's married me.

I grew up in Lansing, KS. It's a podunk town filled with inbred rednecks, much like those Jeff Foxworthy jokes. Ever see that Blue Collar Comedy Tour movie? I worked with and went to school with all those guys for 17 years... actually, I think one of them is Sean's dad.
However, now I live in Lawrence, KS, happily ensconced in our apartment that is far nicer than anywhere I've ever lived. My old apartment had a kitchen that looks more like a record store. It's a cozy place, so I spend a lot of time in here, mostly at the computer typing away writing reviews for BadAssMofo and Dandercroft and the Lawrencian and slaving thanklessly on this website that nobody ever seems to read.

I smoke a lot- if you want to be my friend forever, you'll buy me a pack of Lucky Strikes (the brand of choice of those here in the Nuthouse). It tends to annoy a lot of my friends, as well as my parents. Fuck 'em. I've had it up to here with all this anti-smoking crapola. The truth is, smoking is cool and everyone knows it.

Well, that's me. Hope you aren't too confused. Then again, if you're not, then I totally failed in what I wanted to accomplish with this little autobio. Now I'm all confused. Dammit. Back to the drawing board again.

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