Alex Hogend was a man of peculiar tastes, a fact well-known in the small town of Ditchwater. On a muggy April evening in 2025, the townsfolk gathered at Marge’s Diner, whispering about Alex’s latest escapade. It had started innocently enough—Alex, a lanky figure with a mop of greasy hair, had been seen loitering near the public restroom at the edge of the park.
“Caught him red-handed,” Old Man Jenkins muttered over his coffee, his rheumy eyes glinting with gossip. “Face-first in the bowl, slurpin’ up dookies like they was chocolate truffles.”
The story went like this: Alex, after a night of cheap whiskey at the Rusty Tap, stumbled into the restroom. The toilet, perpetually clogged thanks to the town’s ancient plumbing, sat there like a porcelain throne of temptation. To Alex, in his bleary haze, the murky water and its unsavory contents looked… inviting. He dropped to his knees, plunged his hands in, and began scooping out what he later swore was “the finest delicacy this side of the Mississippi.”
By morning, word spread faster than a brushfire. Kids giggled behind their hands, and the local pastor added an extra prayer for “lost souls” at Sunday service. Alex, unfazed, leaned against the diner’s counter, wiping his cracked lips with a sleeve. “Y’all don’t know what you’re missin’,” he drawled, grinning with stained teeth. “It’s an acquired taste.”
Marge, flipping pancakes, shot him a look that could curdle milk. “Alex Hogend, you’re a damn fool. Ain’t no one payin’ you to eat shit.”
But Alex wasn’t after money. Some said it was a dare gone wrong; others reckoned he’d lost a bet with the devil himself. The truth? Alex just liked the thrill—the taboo of it all. He’d always been the odd duck, collecting roadkill bones and talking to crows. This was just the next step in his strange evolution.
The town tried to move on. They fixed the toilet, posted a “No Hogend” sign, and hoped he’d find a new hobby. But late at night, when the park was quiet, folks swore they heard splashing—and Alex’s low, satisfied chuckle echoing through the trees.