True Detective Stories

Working as a detective in North Philly has severe disadvantages. The area resembles Fallujah (with more shootings), the cockroaches are bigger than your head, and the public hates your guts.

One person in particular despises the police so much that he spends his days screaming at us from the end of the driveway.

The self-proclaimed “King” is an elderly, bearded, heavily-accented black man who spends ten hours every day, rain or shine, bellowing about how awful we all are. If you need a visual, picture a Jamaican Jerry Garcia.

The King’s day begins at 7am with his trademark “HEY!” (He yells “Hey” hundreds of times a day to get our attention, even though we started ignoring him a year ago.) In between screams, he claps his hands, but does so by holding both hands upright and slapping them together. You know, like a mental patient.

The King’s typical rants are as follows:

1. Shameless self-promotion. “HEY! I am the king!”

2. Death to America. “HEY! America is no more anymore! Nothing America!!”

3. F**k the police. “HEY! You cannot stop the king! Nothing police!”

The rants are placed on “shuffle” until 5pm, when he retires for the day. The King has been doing this for over a year. At the start of the King’s reign, one of the officers asked why he hated the police so much. The King replied he was stopped by the police, and during the investigation they found the King did not have a license or insurance. As is policy, the officers impounded his car. Apparently that move set the King off, and he postponed his life to spend every waking moment yelling at us from the sidewalk.

While the King is incredibly annoying, at least he’ll likely contract cancer from all the asbestos in the city’s buildings. You know, like the rest of us.