On a purely sensory level, it does not get better than bacon.

Only yesterday I was talking about bacon to one of my under-published clients, Jack Merde.

“Jack, I need to ask you a question,” I said. “Does it get any better than bacon?”

Merde: Perhaps I’ll stop cleaning the UZI and head out for martinis. I can come back at 2 am, put on the camo and the eye black grease, and resume patrols. Then again, the last time I did that, I wounded the chauffeur. He’s a chronic insomniac and was just getting some air. I mistook him for one of those overzealous Jack Merde fans who occasionally vault over the wall. It was a bad scene. I had to drive myself around for a whole month…
Berry: Are you nuts? Do you have any idea what it cost me to pay off those cops last time?
Merde: There’s nothing like the smell of burnt gunpowder and the metallic ringing of spent cartridges spitting onto the concrete.
Berry: That’s great stuff, Jack. Why don’t you just stay in tonight and channel some of that energy into the novel. How are you coming along with that anyway? The publisher is crawling up my ass. You didn’t spend the entire advance, did you?
Merde: …the vivid deep maroon of arterial blood… the jaundiced egg-white of shattered bone ends… the mournful wail of the distant sirens…
Berry: I’m warning you, Merde. If you get into trouble again, I’m not bailing you out this time.
Merde: You jackass agents are all alike. Don’t forget who paid for that fucking mansion of yours and the new tits on your teenage nympho girlfriend. I only allow you to rob me blind because you amuse me, you rat bastard. But don’t push it, Berry, or I’ll cut you off at the knees, old friend, and that bitch will dump you faster than you can say Marvin Mitchelson.

 ”I met Jack Merde on a Ferris Wheel in Vilnius, Lithuania. We spent a few hours discussing bench press techniques, solar energy, the Ming Dynasty, and a number of other most interesting topics.

Before we parted he said to me: “Remember – when it comes to women there are no flaws, only God’s artistic choices.” As I stood there speechless, a Chinook helicopter arrived and he boarded it.

Barack Obama visited the Merde Compound to solicit an endorsement from Jack Merde, the notorious Hoosier gonzo journalist now residing in Tranquility, New Jersey.

Both candidates made appearances at the Green Township municipal offices and the Green Hills School where they greeted future voters during the students’ annual Halloween parade.

Campaign officials confirmed that both Senators were later admitted to the highly secure Merde Compound. Both McCain and Obama were believed to be courting reclusive gonzo journalist, Jack Merde, for an endorsement.   Merde was an extremely political activist in the 70s and 80s who disappeared from the scene in the 90s and has only recently resurfaced.   Nonetheless, Merde still commands respect from a loyal fan base of cultlike followers.

McCain was also seen leaving the Merde Compound where it is believed he was also seeking an endorsement.

“I wouldn’t vote for either one of them with your (expletive deleted),” Merde said in telephone interview. “What we need is a guy like Leon Varjian to get into national politics.” 

Varjian was the founder, publisher and editor of Fun City! who had a brief career in politics when he challenged Bloomington’s incumbent mayor, Frank McCloskey, for the city’s Democratic mayoral nomination in 1975.  Varjian is also a resident of New Jersey. 

It is unknown whether Obama and McCain have sought Varjian’s endorsement. It is rumored he was briefly considered for the VP slot on the ticket by both candidates.

According to unconfirmed reports, fans of Jack Merde, the notorious Hoosier gonzo journalist of the 70s and 80s believe they have discovered his principal residence. Merde dropped out of sight in the late 80s and has not surfaced in two decades.

The Merde Compound is described as an impenetrable fortress, heavily mortgaged, at an unspecified location in Tranquility, New Jersey. Aerial photographs show expansive grounds including a large pool complex believed to have been used primarily for entertaining during Merde’s disastrous second marriage to a trophy wife, but the photos reveal it in severe disrepair.

Neighbors report only rare sightings of the reclusive Merde as he rarely leaves the confines of the compound. Merde is described by locals as a hermit who fiercely guards his privacy and has been glimpsed patrolling the grounds late at night carrying what appeared to be an M-16 semi-automatic rifle. 

Reports of a late model European sports car speeding away from the estate in the hours shortly after midnight are unverified.

Few people are known to have actually entered the residence within the compound. There are verified accounts of a basement theater with a stage and Broadway-style curtains where Merde performs an unusual magic act assuming the alter ego, Doctor Mentallo.

The basement is also known to house the “Wall of Celluloid,” a massive collection of movies on Blu-Ray, DVD and VHS. Little else can be confirmed.

Rumors that Merde had recently installed a stripper pole in his basement theater were traced back to a local contractor who refused to comment on the record for this reporter.

During the high-flying 70s and 80s, Indiana’s infamous gonzo-style reporter took the drugs and covered the story, penning outrageous adventures like “The Policeman’s Ball,” “Credit Card Karma,” and “Jack Merde’s 19th Nervous Breakdown.”

Jack Merde’s exploits were first chronicled in Bloomington alternative street magazines, Fun City! , Primo Times and Poor Jack’s Paper. Later installments appeared in Indianapolis-based Taboo magazine before national exposure via the Alternative Press Syndicate network. From “The Milwaukee Journal American” to “The Santa Barbara News & Review,” Jack Merde chronicled his elusive search for The Great American Dream.

In the 90s, Merde dropped out of sight.

After long negotiations, WordPress finally convinced Merde to re-publish his early works. “It doesn’t have anything to do with a desire to achieve a certain type of immortality,” Merde said. “I don’t give a shit if my work lives on or not. I did it for the lousy money.”

WordPress is delighted to re-publish the author’s original stories — er, sometime in the near future. Our arrangement calls for Mr. Merde to spend an hour a month sifting through the mountain of tabloids in his personal achive.  But, hey, that was two weeks ago!  The bastard cashed our friggin’ check and we haven’t seen squat… (to be continued)