Fecal Matters
By Stockton Davies

Boys and girls, let us chat. Of course, keep in mind that this chat will be completely one-sided, as you are simply readers, and I, a lowly writer. One day, of course, we may meet, maybe at Frayer’s down off of Central, where they have cheap beer and the owner told me I would get twenty bucks on my tab for every reference to his lovely establishment. Frayer’s has great fried pickles, if that’s your cup of tea. Frayer’s also has tea. $60 right there, and I’m a paragraph in.

You know, I’m a transplant to this city. I came down here from Chicago follow a handful of incidents that might collectively be known as a controversy. First, the assault charge. Yes, I did beat that pimp with a broom, however the insertion of said broom into a certain orifice is completely bogus. He fell on it. Second, the questions as to the veracity of a few of my articles, some of which have been reprinted in this very paper. I might be a liar in my day to day life, but when I hold pen to paper or fingers to keyboards, the truth is the only thing I have ever strove for. That and free drinks at Frayer’s ($80). I’ve worked with journalistic phonies before, detestable toilet scum that they are, and though morally, yes, I’ve made a few questionable decisions in my time (I thought the gun was empty), truth is something I have never wavered in.

Truth is a shaky term, lets go ahead and say that, get it out of the way. What one man sees as the truth of a situation could simply be the remembrances of a drunkard. Any incident can be twisted in such a way to make a simple spectator the center of the action.

And let’s just avoid any of those pesky philosophical or religious questions as to the nature of truth, because I’m too hung over for that right now and even at the pinnacle of clear and rational thought such ideas only serve to make me get all bludgeony (hence, the pimp and the broom).

There is a real and honest truth in the world, even a dirty beast such as me can see that. Crimes occur everyday. Monsters use their words and their images to commit heinous blasphemies to serve their bank account as though it is the most Holy of Holies. That, my friends, is the point of all this here. The world is changing faster than anyone could have anticipated and the modern world is being shifted and mutated into a grotesque anathema of Lovecraftian dimensions.

You are being lied to and you (expletive deleted)’s don’t even care to see.

A war criminal was just elected Mayor. A man unrepentant of the lives he’s crushed in the goal of molding this city into his image. A man who leaves broken lives behind him like a trail of (expletive deleted). There was evidence for this, of course, evidence for every sin he committed to pay homage to his ego and you fools refused to see it.

Hyperbole? Not an ounce.

I see the truth being ignored in hopes of a world built on uniformity. The blights on the gleaming idol of perfection are being murdered on the streets right now, and you turn your already blind eyes away in hopes that you will reap the benefits of bowing down before an abomination.

You fools can keep at it. Me, I’m thinking of leaving this corrupt town (and I spent twenty years in Chicago) to the rats. Me, I’m stopping of at Frayer’s ($100) to collect what’s owed me, and then I’m gone.

Maybe one day you people will realize how great this place was.

Editor’s Note: This column represents the end of Stockton Davies career at the Times. We wish him well in his future endeavors.