Posts Tagged ‘MIA’

HGW Author MIA

June 9, 2009

We’ve been posting infrequently here at HGW. One of the reasons is due to us not caring one whit of a Detroit-Pittsburgh Finals. Yawn. Snore. Mostly, though, it’s because both Ken’s (Boston) and my (Columbus & Boston) teams were ousted from the playoffs earlier than we had hope. Myself, I’d come to expect that the Jackets probably wouldn’t go far but I didn’t fathom a sweep. I mean, c’mon, boys. You handled the Wings well during the season. Why play like it’s 2002 again?

But for Ken, the defeat of the Bruins at the hands of the Carolina Hurricanes was too much. The man breathes, eats, bleeds, and shits black, gold, & white (we’ve suggested Ken see a doctor about that last one). He was really banking on the Bruins playing deep into the post season, so much so that he’d already invited the entire organization to a week-long Stanley Cup Championship celebration at his Northeast Compound in New Hampshire.

Well reported was the news that Ken had secured himself in his Compound to work on his still untitled 13th novel. What isn’t known was the string of erratic behavior prior to and since his sabbatical. Some posts on his home blog exhibits what some consider details of a mind in fracture while KSWNO editor Gorman Moloko details some of Ken’s more public oddball episodes.

The camel’s back long broken, the Bruins’ post-season exit was just extraneous straw on a quadriplegic dromedary.

In an effort to get Ken’s spirit out of the wasteland, I’d secured him to travel abroad to drum up funding for a secret project. So top secret is this project that I cannot legally discuss it. Unfortunately, one of the targets we’d chosen for funds was a, shall we say, ruling leader of a rather unstable yet financially abundant country. Ken’s state of mind, also, meant that he wasn’t being a good guest. That’s when trouble happened.

A few days ago, I got a cryptic voicemail on my cell phone from him. I couldn’t make out much of what he was screaming but it sounded pretty dire. The only words I could make out were “Get of my fucking hat!” and “gooseberries”. In the background, I could hear crashing, glass breaking, and, for some strange reason, an organ grinder. Then the call cut off.

I tried calling the hotel where he was staying but the only answers I could get were vows of reprisals for what he’d done to the writing desk and money to settle the large drink tab he left behind. The local police were no help either beyond saying that there were signs of a struggle. He isn’t answering his phones and any texts I send are going unanswered.

Ken is missing.

As news breaks, we will continue to update you here at HGW as well as on my own blog, The Bouron Asylum.

Ken is not a praying man but I’m sure wherever he is, he could use a bit of divine assistance.

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