Recently I walked into my office to find that someone had placed a prank “fake poop” (pictured below) on my chair. I immediately sent out the following all-staff memo:

Dear Mercury employees: One of you left a ‘fake doo-doo’ on my chair. What a jolly joke! You’ll be happy to know that—for now, at least—I’m not going to go insane and wipe you all off the face of the earth. After all, I enjoy a good jape as much as the next employer who signs your paycheck.

However, I am curious as to who would commit such an allegedly ‘humorous’ act. I am 95 percent positive the perpetrator is news reporter Blair Stenvick—because who besides the newest member of our organization would EVER try such a potentially risky and calamitous move?

Now before I have a private, closed-door discussion with Blair about how amusing it is to find sham dookie on one’s chair the first thing Monday morning after a very long and stressful weekend, I invite you to anonymously send me your theory about which of your office mates committed such a funny (but frankly foolhardy) act. Note: Turning on each other to save your own skin will not be looked down upon in any way. In fact, I see it as the ultimate form of respect and allegiance.

Your employer for now,
Wm. Steven Humphrey

It’s been 10 days, and I still don’t know who left that prank poo on my chair. Blair continues to deny the charge, dubiously claiming that she was “out” while the crime was taking place, busily “reporting” a “story” about “abortion services” which is “allegedly” on “page 7” of this very “issue.”

As of this writing, the duplicitous deuce still sits there—waiting for someone to burst into my office, tearfully confess, and quickly remove it (along with themselves and the contents of their desk). My eyes drift to it occasionally, and after tamping down a murderous rage that makes me want to incinerate the planet, I thoughtfully consider this mock turd—and how it’s the perfect metaphor for 2018.

“This year was a real piece of shit,” I hear many of you say. And it’s true: Shitty things did happen on almost a daily basis. However, I hope 2019 is the year we can all grow emotionally stronger and smarter, and instead of automatically panicking whenever someone drops a log on our chair, we’ll realize we have the power to pick up that poopie and fling it back in the perpetrator’s face. (Metaphorically I’m talking about Trump, but I’m looking at you, Blair.)

Regardless, here’s hoping your new year is free of shit—fake or otherwise.

yer always pal,
Wm. Steven Humphrey
Editor-in-Chief
Portland Mercury