Ken Socrates: Missing

By Karl Socrates

Greetings one and all. My name is Karl Socrates and, as many of you already know, I am the uncle of the man who is responsible for the very existence of this disjointed, poorly managed, misguided mess that masquerades as an international news service. Of course, since I raised the damned fool from the age of nine and taught him much of what he knows about the world and, more than that, the traditional Socrates' approach to life, I suppose some of you might hold me partially responsible for all this. Perhaps even for the fact that Ken has suddenly gone missing, as well, suggesting I've been a bad influence on the lad.

That does't concern me. I'm a Socrates. We don't waste time worrying about what other people think of us.

Regardless, by way of introduction to those of you unfamiliar with my body of work, allow me to briefly summarize the history behind what brings me here. I'm an archaeologist by trade, self taught, specializing in pre-christian civilizations. I've supervised major digs on the Yucatan Peninsula, Egypt, Greece, Scotland and Mongolia. Though much of my work has been shunned by the mentally stunted idiots prevalent in mainstream archaeology due to my unconventional methods (the use of dynamite as an excavation tool and the inclusion of feral animals on all dig teams) and some of my controversial philosophies about the ancient world (a supposed "obsession" with "unusual sexual practices" and non-human sentience), I have remained strong and independant, self-publishing my findings when necessary, a revolutionary, bold lone voice in the wilderness of stuffy, unimaginative academia.

My most recent book, Ancient Alien Orgies, details some of my theories about perverse sexual interactions between extra-terrestrial life forms who visited our planet long ago and various ancient civilizations like the Mayans. Public reaction has ranged from apathy to revulsion but I am undaunted, even by the critic who referred to the work as "the hallucinatory ramblings of an ill educated substance abuser run amok" which, I think we can all agree, is a bit over the top.

I'm a Problem Drinker, by the way, not an Alcoholic. Big difference. I say that just for clarification.

And, yes, I raised Ken from the age of nine when both his parents and his younger sister, Kendra, vanished on a sailing excursion somewhere near the southern edge of the Bermuda Triangle. It was I that taught the boy a love of academic pursuits, of the written word, the joy of knowledge and the excitement that lies in the pursuit thereof. And I taught him of the rewards to be found in more Dionysian pursuits, as well, wine and women and song. I admit to no wrong doing and apologize for nothing. As I said, it's the Socrates' family motto. "Work hard, play hard and fuck 'em all."

Anyway, back to the the subject at hand. The apparent disappearance of my nephew, Ken, who has not reported in to anyone since somewhere around the middle of May. He has stopped sending annoying memos to the staff here. He has stopped updating his blog (not that anyone noticed). He has not been seen at any of his usual haunts in either the virtual world (like the DAC) or the real one (Stucky's Soup Bar and Strip Joint). Dave the Bodyguard reports that the tracking device he has secretly implanted inside Ken's hat is no longer transmitting a signal. His great friend Gonz reports that he might have sent Ken on a secret mission that went pear-shaped but even those details remain sketchy at best. The truth is that nobody is quite sure where he might have gone.

So when Gorman Moloko called me up and told me the situation, I knew I had to come down here and lend a hand. The Socrates family may be a bit unconventional, scattered about the entire globe as most of us are, but we are always there for each other when things go south. So I dropped what I was doing in Kythira and jumped on a plane for Boston. I knew damn well the chaos that might ensue with Ken out of the picture and I'll be damned if I let it all go to pot like that. Luckily, Ken had placed a clause in the ownership manifesto of the KSWNO that allows, in the case of his "emergency absence" for a heirarchy of trusted individuals to take command of the Organization here. And since Lou Diamond Phillips is trapped in the Costa Rican jungle with a bunch of idiot pseudo-celebrities, the task fell to me.

So I'm here now and we've been mobilizing the troops. Man-boy Moloko doesn't seem too happy about the change in leadership, I'll tell you. That's fine, I understand he was enjoying his time at the reins and as much as I respect the friendship between him and my nephew, he needs to realize that this is a job for a Socrates right now. One of our own may very well be in extreme danger and there's no time for Hobbits or Vorlons or whatever the fuck else manner of pussyfooting that sort of art school reject might come up with.

No, the time has come for action.

A few days ago we sent Stig Marmoset up to the Northeast Compound and he reported the place empty, as suspected, and in a state of complete disarray. Moreso than usual, apparently. Ken was, of course, gone and it looked like he had left in a hurry, draws open, papers scattered about, animal tracks everywhere. It wasn't apparent if the mess was the result of Ken's state of mind when he left, whether there might have been some sort of struggle there or, possibly, if the place was ransacked by some unknown agent searching for something Ken might have had. We just don't know an, frankly, Stig does not possess the sort of critical mind and eye for detail that those of us in more studious professions require.

So we're calling in the big guns.

That nefarious ne'er do well himself, Gonz, has courageously abandoned his Bourbon Asylum and is on his way to Boston as we speak and, together, we will go to the Compound and scour it with a ferociously forensic intensity. We'll try to piece together what happened and find any clues that might lead to Ken's whereabouts and any trouble he might have wandered into. The first thing we'll check is his liquor cabinet. With any luck, it's still intact and will contain an assortment of evidence we can sample. After that, we can really start cooking with gas.

Now, bear in mind, Ken has disappeared before. We all know that. And he's always returned. However. This time seems different, my gut tells me so. He's not running away from some demented, out of control bride. He doesn't, as far as we can assess and for the first time in his adult life, have a price on his head. And the signs, also, have been ominous for quite some time as people here have been questioning the man's very sanity since he has been locked up inside his Bunker for so many months.

So where has he got to?

Well, I have a few ideas and I've put out some feelers that I'm still waiting for a response to. My gut tells me it won't be that easy, though. That's why I'm here asking you folks, the loyal readers of the KSWNO, to help out. As the investigation moves forward we will be asking all of you to submit to us any clues, any sightings, any rumours or stories you might have heard, anything at all that might help us glean Ken's whereabouts. If we utilize the many tentacles of this global octopus of a news organization to reach out across the earth, we stand a chance of finding the man and, perhaps, saving his miserable life if need be.

Work with us, here, folks. Together we will find him.

Thank you.

Karl Socrates

Boston, Massachusetts

June, 2009