Morgue Drawer Four

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I hope you’ll read this account from top to bottom because it’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and so on—eh, I’m sure you’ve heard the saying. Personally, I couldn’t care less what you’re going to think about the things that have transpired over the past two weeks, but it’s important to my friend Martin that ultimately you’re able to see all the crap people have been saying about him for what it is: a festering pile of allegations and rash pop-psych analyses (or, dumbass psychobabble—honestly, I’d normally have written “psycho shit,” but Martin is a champion of elevated diction, so I’ve been trying to make an effort). He and I are about as different as two people can be. Like fire and water, heaven and earth. You’ll grasp the deeper sense of the latter simile later on, so just keep reading, ¡ándale, ándale!

What I’m trying to do here is restore the reputation of my friend, Martin Gänsewein. He’s the only friend I’ve got, and—because of the special circumstances of my current existence—the only friend I’m ever likely to have.

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