April 24, 2017 Leave a comment

Tammy La Hoyt

LDN: What is your name and where do your work?

TLH: My name is Tammy La Hoyt and I work at Tammy Nails.

LDN: Funny that it’s called Tammy Nails and that you work there.

TLH: Well, I own the place.

LDN: What do you do at Tammy Nails?

TLH: Nails.

LDN: What if somebody doesn’t have any nails?

TLH: Who the hell doesn’t have no nails?

LDN: Amputees?

TLH: Christ. Can you move on to something else, shit-for-brains?

LDN: Married? Children?

TLH: My husband Dick and I have been married for 16 years. We don’t have no children. Dick’s got a low-sperm count. But I still love him.

LDN: What do you like to do for fun?

TLH: Dick and me got a gravel lot in front of the garage.

The interview suddenly collapsed.

The Diary of Tibbs Senior

April 24, 2017 Leave a comment

Tibbs Senior, shortly before his disappearance.

Recently, a Lankvillian, who refused to be identified, discovered the tattered diary of noted hotel keeper and mass-murderer Tibbs, Senior at the bottom of a box of Christmas ornaments at a yard sale. Tibbs, Senior was on the lam for many years and was never captured. His whereabouts are currently unknown.

The Lankville Daily News is proud to present passages from this diary.


An absolutely DELIGHTFUL afternoon.

After serving breakfast to a full house of patrons, I left the Murray and drove carelessly down to the beautiful Ellinor Village Shopping Center. Why, you should see this majestic shrine to the best that Craughing commerce has to offer! There is a well-tended service station, a pharmacy, a glittering new grocery complex, a greeting card centre, and SO MUCH MORE!

I set a car on fire in the parking lot. During the commotion (four pump engines and several police cars were on the scene), I crept behind the counter of the pharmacy and was able to come away with an entire DELIGHTFUL assortment of Librium, Freenopam, Lankvillopam, and Amino Acids. I stopped at the liquor store (also now bereft of both attendants and customers– yes, they were still watching the conflagration) and walked out with two quarts of Old Lankville.

I sat in the car as the blaze died down. The radio was playing a nice little trumpet ditty and there was a temperate breeze whistling through the open windows. The palliatives washed down the ten pills with DELIGHTFUL efficacy and I leaned back in my cushy seat and permitted the verdancy of spring to waft over me.

Yes, spring. Such a time of harmony. As the poet said, “OH SPRING, THOU WITH DEWEY LOCKS…”


The half-breeds that work in the kitchen at the Murray are most useless. I have sent them away. Gump, that moody enfant terrible has been assigned kitchen duty. The urchin washes dishes with the competency of a spattered burro. No surprise, I must suppose, his mother being little better than a common harlot. And, yet, I must look back fondly on her most ample bosom. She measured at a most DELIGHTFUL 73 inches– no cup could contain her. I recall when I first saw her bewitching floor show at Cactus Andy’s Casino. Yes, I returned each night with a different flower plucked from the gardens of several conveniently-located neighbors. We feel deeply in love.

Once, she said, “I must get my bosom reduced now that I am an honest woman.” My response was most childish. I heaved a heavy chair through a window. Oh, that I was blessed with more restraint. A pity.

The Ellinor Village Shopping Center (file photo).


Near sunset, I took two shotguns, a box of pills and some Old Lankville out into the woods. What a DELIGHTFUL stroll it was– the crisp crack of twigs beneath my feet as I ambled along the well-worn native trails. I must have walked for nearly an hour, allowing the varied tonics to soothe the recesses of my heart.

I came upon a green folding trailer tent in a clearing. Two young gentlemen were cooking weiners by a fire. They failed to notice my approach and this– it was their undoing. As the poet said, ’twas with this failing, still the roses bloom. 

I hope they rest peacefully.


Lot of to-do over the recent murders in the woods. A shameful act– I hope they catch the louse. As the ancients say, the cup of abominations is nigh-full.


Gee-Temple asked to see our register this morning. At first I refused– after all, the Murray prides itself on shielding the privacy of our benefactors.

And Gee-Temple said, “But Mr. Tibbs– it is likely that this murderer is an outlander. We know that no one in our town would commit such an act.”

I had to agree. And so the diligent constable made a review of our guests and several were called down and two were arrested. Poor Mr. Oates– they very nearly took him as well until I convinced the constable that the wretched fellow had been incapacitated that day with migraine. I understand that one of our tenants has been charged with the murders. And, indeed, he was an alien. The cad!


Woke up early this morning screaming. A most awful nightmare. I recall it clearly. The slaughter of two innocent homosexuals. Could I have done this? The diary says so but I have no memory of the heinous act.

Sleep would not come. I went down to the parlor and watched a program which ended promptly with the Lankville Joyous Anthem followed by static. The hideous colonists! One day Craughing shall be free!

The Diary of Tibbs Senior will continue in future issues.

Field Service Highlights of the Kingdom Witnesses

April 18, 2017 Leave a comment

By McGriff Key, Kingdom Witness

“I’m here to give you this month’s issue of Aroused!

(Hand magazine to the person. Allow them time to respond).

“What’s your opinion?”

(Allow them time to respond. Take two steps backward to avoid violence).

“There is a very nice article here that discusses some Kingdom principles that can help us improve our outlook on life.”

(Point to article).

Total field service credit:  1 hour.



When is it appropriate to discontinue Kingdom study?

If a student’s spiritual progress comes to a halt, you may have to discontinue his Kingdom study tactfully. Consider: Does he keep his appointments to study? Does he present himself in a neat, orderly fashion and generally wear long pants? Does he prepare his lesson in advance? Has he attended 75% of his congregation meetings? Does he share with others what he is learning or does he tend to lurk in the corner eerily? Does he turn his chair backwards and lean against the back in an overtly frank manner? Is he making changes in harmony with Kingdom principles? Of course, make allowance for his age and his abilities, recognizing that each person progresses at a different rate and that the retarded and spastic for example, will be very slow in grasping Kingdom principles and women, hampered by the abominable crimson flow, may also be inconsistent in understanding key concepts. Also, if you discontinue the study, keep the door open for him to resume his study in the future. “You are always welcome back,” you will say, as you show him out into the back parking lot where his battered jalopy is waiting, its faded paint failing to glisten in the sunlight of his recently-abandoned Kingdom.



Use the introductory pages of your Aroused! workbook to stimulate interest and then show the householder where the ancient texts give the answer. For example, you might refer to a recent terrorist attack or challenge spree covered in the news and explain that many have wondered about the answers to the questions on page 17. Or you could say that you are visiting your neighbors to share a wondrous, positive view of the future. Then show the pictures on pages 22-25 and ask, “Which of these promises would you like to see fulfilled?” If the householder does not wish any of the promises fulfilled, suggest an alternative promise. Another possibility is to say that you are making brief visits to help people find answers to very big questions. Then show the householder the questions at the bottom of page 35, and ask which one interests him the most. A third possibility is to point out things on his porch and say, “what about that?” His answers may be the springboard to a positive conversation and an opportunity for prime witnessing.


There have been complaints of Kingdom Witnesses, having been rebuked by householders, pushing over filled trash cans. This should be avoided at all costs.

There is absolutely no tolerance for inebriation while engaged in field service.

For more information, please call the Kingdom Witnesses free hotline at KINGDOM EAST 6-3442.

Rennie Stennett: Bounty Hunter

April 17, 2017 Leave a comment

By Rennie Stennett

Triple homicide, just over the border. Three agents. Craughing is giving us hell, giving us absolute hell. We got the potential for a war here. 

“We can fix that.”

Early this morning, a vigilante group– all blown to pieces. Out at Cactus Pond. Machine gun shells from a high velocity weapon. We’re talking extended magazine on a short-stroke piston gas-system kind of thing here, Rennie. It’s a hell of a mess.

“We can fix that too.”

There was a long pause on the line.

I got nothing else for you. No witnesses. We got a gas station nearby that was boosted out of fifty bucks, some chips and a collectible swinger’s magazine. We have two more dead at a sporting goods shop. But I got no line on the perp. Nothing.

“Hundred a day expenses. I’ll bring him in in three.”

I opened the closet and found the red metal case buried beneath some fall blankets. These are the kind of blankets that aren’t as thick as the ones I keep for winter. Just enough to keep the chill out. I looked over the weapons inside. I didn’t have nothing that would match up against that kind of firepower but I didn’t figure on needing it. I picked out a couple of shotguns and loaded them with shells. Buckshot lets you take care of business in tight quarters. I knew it’d be tight.

Klacik’s Garage was next up.  Where I keep the bus. Klacik had his kid there– he was out front stacking pebbles.

“How’s she running, babe?”

Klacik was lit, you could see it. He had to lean against a pole to keep himself vertical.

She’s a gem, Rennie. She’s a gorgeous piece of Lankville Iron. God damn sweat and elbow grease. Lankville ingenuity. Stars and streaks, baby. Our birthright…

Klacik suddenly kicked the boy’s pebble stack over. It was a hell of a boot. The boy took it alright. Probably used to it.

I pulled her out and headed West towards Craughing. About ten miles before the crossing, I turned south into the desert. Put the fan on and hit the gas– got her up to 75.  First stop was the service station.

There was a yokel done up in an oil-stained jumpsuit standing around out front– he had a car up on the lift inside that was dripping antifreeze. Light trumpet music was coming from somewhere.

“Hear you had some money and some chips go missing?”

Who wants to know.

“Interested party. Why don’t we leave it at that?”

Stole a car too, right off the lift. I didn’t report that.


He didn’t say anything for awhile. The light shifted. Had to be 95 out. Had to be.

It belonged to a friend of mine’s wife. Ex ball-player. I was…having sexual relations with her. Mostly just mutual oral but…well, I didn’t want him to know. He’d be upset. About the mutual oral, you know? Had a tendency to get a little sloppy– some spraying went on….

“I get it.  Now, did you get a look at this guy?”

Who? The ball-player? Sure, I’ve known him for years…”

“No, the guy that took the car.” Got a real rocket scientist, here, Rennie.

Just the back of his head as he drove off. He was bald, that’s all I can say. But, there’s one other thing…

“Spit it out.”

Well, it was near sunset a couple nights ago. Big guy with a beard came in, filled up his tank. He asked if I had seen a bald guy, a Mr. Oakes or Oates or something. Said that he was this guy’s caretaker or something. He said– “I am his eternal overseer” or something like that, I couldn’t understand him much. His whole suit was white and it had some blood on it. It seemed odd.

You tell the cops?

Yeah, they said it didn’t sound suspicious, it being a white suit and all.

Which way did he go?


The big guy with the beard and the blood-stained suit.

Into the desert. He drove off down 144.

I thanked him and headed West.

PEOPLE OF LANKVILLE: “I Work at the Self-Service Island”

April 17, 2017 Leave a comment

Keith Baby hard at work.

LDN: What is your name and where do you work?
KB: My name is Keith Baby and I work at the self-service island down at the Diadem Station on Highway 71.
LDN: What do you do there?
KB: Oversee the self-service island, make sure people aren’t having any problems servicing themselves. If they are, then I step in.
LDN: When you step in, what happens? Describe a typical scenario.
KB: I explain the pump to them– how it inserts into the opening of the gas tank.
LDN: Do you ever insert it yourself?
KB: Sometimes. If the person is really incapable. Sometimes people are incapable.
LDN: So, then you have to jam it in there and let it fly?
KB: Yep.
LDN: Do you ever pull it out and then go back in?
KB: Nope. I usually fill it up on the first try. That is, if they want it.
LDN: Sometimes they don’t want it?
KB: Sometimes they just need a certain amount, you know.

Keith can make change.

LDN: What if nobody comes into the station?
KB: Well, then I can sweep up, tidy up the place. We get a lot of vomit in the grass. Got to keep an eye out for that stuff.
LDN: When you get home, what do you do?
KB: I got a little place above a bakery. It’s alright. I was dating this lace-curtain paddy for awhile and she fixed it up OK.
LDN: Do you read magazines?
KB: A little.
LDN: How long do you think you’ll live?
KB: I hope to live to a hundred, you know.
LDN: You won’t.
KB: Well nobody knows, right?
LDN: Trust me. You won’t.

People of Lankville will continue in future issues.

Gump Penetrates

April 17, 2017 Leave a comment

By Gump Tibbs

It’s time for another penetrating interview with Gump Tibbs. Today, Gump interviews police chief and Bureau of Probes Director Houston Gee-Temple.

GT: Did you see that…cake…that they had for the President?
HGT: What?
GT: Let’s move on.
HGT: Alright.

Gump nods off briefly.

HGT: Are we moving on?

Detective Gee-Temple

GT: Of course! What a delight!
HGT: Did you have any other questions?
GT: I didn’t…I didn’t…hit that guy.
HGT: What guy?
GT: Let’s move on.
HGT: Alright.
GT: I don’t know…
HGT: What?

Gump collapsed into a corner and the interview was ended prematurely.

Crop of Death

April 17, 2017 Leave a comment

By Shane Tibbs

“No, my boy! My voracious piglet! My intemperate shoat!” howled Gump, hunched over, his besmudged white suit hanging at his sides. He patted his brow with a kerchief, screwed up his face into the headlights and hastily stuffed the rag back into his pocket.

Behind the wheel of the car: Shane Tibbs, rubbing the pad of his bare foot against the gas to a slow, steady beat. Blank stare.

Brian Schropp sat some yards behind Gump, propping himself against the curb, and, having removed his glasses with one hand, rubbed his eyes with the other.

Through sobs he whinged and spat:

“I’m sorry. I. AM. FUCKING. SORRY!”

His defiance lapsed, he slouched against the curb with a whimper.

Chained to the back of the Lankville Motors Luxe Marquis was a rusty harvester.

Shane purchased the equipment at the Lankville Outland’s Distant Farms Machinery Auction a week earlier.

After producing Gump’s change purse (chatelained black velvet; silver frame at center displaying a rhinoceros’s eye embalmed in amber) and paying with three large uncut diamonds, Shane had been asked about his crop by Lanes Kravitz, sole proprietor, DFMA Ltd.

“My crop?” replied Tibbs junior.


Gump Tibbs

“I plan to attach this device to the back of my Daddy’s car and mow down Brian Schropp in cold blood. I suppose you might say my crop is death. Will it do?”

Kravitz tilted his weather-beaten face skyward and squinted.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “You have to understand: the harvester, or more simply put–combine,” Kravitz paused again. “You see, it’s name comes from it’s capacity for combining the three separate operations comprising harvesting—reaping, threshing, and winnowing—into a single process.”

“Reap. Thresh. Winnow,” Shane now muttered to himself through clenched lips, as he lurched forward in fits and starts. The spikes of the machine, leaping from the pavement at odd intervals, clanged and hissed.

Gump was now fully erect, balancing on his toes, his back arched, the contents of a liter of gin splashing against his face and mouth.

Harvester (file photo)

“Shane, my boy, the balance of your emotion has tilted too far in the service of indiscretion. To be behind the wheel of a motorized instrument is a deadly proposition! But I grant you–you have my word, my word, my boy–you shall endure no punishment by my hand nor furthur discomfiture by my affection. I am not mad at you for filching my auto. Slightly amused, in fact,” Gump added with a nervous laugh.

With max force, Shane jammed one foot on the brake and the other on the accelerator. The Luxe Marquis’s rear tires bucked against the road as the back end of the car waved to and fro. Smoke engulfed the desperate trio.

Through the haze, Shane screeched with the tires in terrible discord:


Brian stood up with false bravura then promptly fell to his knees, clasping his hands together into a fist:

“Never again, never again,” he shuddered, “never again, never again,” now clambering forward on his knees one painful, awkward motion at a time, “never again, never again,” each breath more labored, more insistent than the last, “never again, never again . . . NEVER AGAIN!”

Satisfied, Shane slid the shifter into park and scooted across the bench seat.

“Daddy, drive me home.”

Diary of a Female Bowling Champion by Whitney Balboni

April 11, 2017 Leave a comment

Whitney Balboni (center) with two of her lovely bowling girlfriends.

I’ll never forget the Bowladrome in the Lankville Area Marshlands. That’s where Daddy first took me bowling. I think I was three years old.

Back then, everything was blue with red trashcans at the end of each lane. I’ll never forget those trash cans. People used to throw chipped bowling bowls in them. It was impossible for the attendants to remove the bag. The ball would break right through and roll away, littering the blue carpet with other garbage. I remember Cliff, the manager. He was a little blue, himself. He said, “there just ain’t no trash bag strong enough to handle a 12-pound bowling ball. Wish there was.” I bet Cliff could have used one of those big contractor’s bags that they sell at the Home Tyrant now. But this was back before they had places like the Home Tyrant or the Home Dump or Barlow’s.

Anyway, back then I was in the Lankville Young Female Bowling Association (LYFBA) and I was champion by age 5. Daddy showed me how to put a lot of reverse English on the ball and people couldn’t believe it. Cliff said, “look at that wicked little girl. Kee-rist, she’ll be a champion one day” and then he would go back to spraying the shoes.

One time, Cliff said to Daddy, “I’d like to make little Whitney the mascot here at the Bowladrome. We can put her picture up on the god damn sign.” But Daddy was pretty sly. He asked for a hundred thousand dollars. Cliff threw up all over Daddy then, I’ll never forget it. When he recovered, he said, “don’t come back here. Don’t never come back here. And give me back all those damn award patches we doled out like they was god damn candy. I’m revoking all them.”

Daddy quietly said, “Whitney earned them patches” and we walked out into the parking lot. There was a little store at the end of the strip mall and Daddy said, “let’s get a loaf of bread.” So we did.

The Bowladrome

And that was the end of our time at the Bowladrome.

We started going across the Area Marshlands to the Rose Bowl. It was run by an ex-boxer named Mr. Farmer.

“Mr. Farmer will be better for your career,” my Daddy said. “You now need to enter a higher phase of learning. Bowling will be your life now. There is no need for any further education.”

And so Daddy pulled me out of school and we spent everyday– 9 hours a day, at the Rose Bowl.

It paid off. Even though I couldn’t barely read, I was Junior Champion by age 8. By age 10, I was beating 20 year-olds. By age 12, I was beating 30 year-olds. And only one year after that, I beat a guy who was 54. I had a perfect game that day, my first. I was the Marshland Champion.

“It’s time to travel east into the capital,” Daddy said. “It’s time for the Wheat Triangle Lane Tournament. But let’s get a loaf of bread first.”

Daddy left the car running while he went into the little store. I played the radio for awhile but Daddy didn’t come out. Then, a fat man in an apron came out. He looked around for a while and then he saw me. He came over.

“Is that your Dad that came in for the bread?” he asked.


He sighed deeply.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this but I’m afraid that his arm got caught on the sharp corner of the bread shelf. His arm got torn off completely. Before I noticed, he bled to death.”

I was going to cry but I remembered what Daddy said. “There’s no crying in bowling”. So I showed the man my patch celebrating my first 300 game.

He looked at the sky. “Bowling is a sort of scourge here in the Marshlands,” he said. “That’s why your Daddy got his arm ripped off. Nature was balancing the scale.”

He reached into his pocket and gave me $5. I never knew why.

Diary of a Bowling Champion will continue in future issues.

Samways and Fick: Upcoming Training and Events

April 7, 2017 Leave a comment



Dr. Fick

This program is designed for Consulting and coaching professionals to become certified to deliver Fickways Thinking™ processes and apply our most advanced tools including the Fickways Ambrosial Assessment™ (FAA). This course blends our Foundations in FAA™ and Advanced Applications in FAA Courses™, and has absolutely no pre-requisites– anybody from the highest levels of senior management to some sweaty, illiterate, godforsaken, whoremongering buffoon can join! (not recommended– the part about the whoremongering buffoon).

In today’s world of increasing interdependency, complexity and robots, it is vital to utilize problem solving AND thinking to address all of your most strategic challenges and opportunities. Samways and Fick research is clear – leaders, teams and organizations that leverage Fickways outperform those that don’t. Discover how to eliminate paradox, tension, dilemma, and confusion to become more innovative, lithesome, profitable and hard immediately and over time.


3 Day Intensive Workshop with Chairs

Dr. Samways

Two 2-hour Facilitated Webinars (faciliators include Dr. Samways, Dr. Fick and a couple of bangin’ MILFS).

4 hours 1-1 Intensive Coaching and Mentoring in the Fickways Process™.

FUN cooperative exercise in which participants work together to bury something out of Dr. Samways’ van in the desert.

44 Page Consultant Guidebook (other pages extra)

1 Month Consultant Access to the Fickways Resource Portal™ (offer does not include access to the “mature section”.)

Certification & Licensing in Fickways™ Foundations and Advanced Applications

Step 1: Seeing – Appreciate undefined challenges and mysterious opportunities and see more of the whole reality.

Step 2: Moderation – Seeing the whole reality should not be forced but should be slid into smoothly and wetly.

Step 3: Assessing – Utilize the Fickways Ambrosial Assessment™ to gather quantitative metrics from key stakeholders (if there are no stakeholders, read step 2 again and then consider another, perhaps lesser consulting firm.

Step 4: Learning – Decide upon the meaning to be garnered from Assessment results, gain insight into your current strengths and vulnerabilities. Remember– one does wisely by taking the bear by the ring in his snout. Did you like that?

Step 5: Leveraging – Develop and execute interesting strategies to achieve and sustain desired results.


Samways and Fick: Helping You Reach the Area Near the Top of Your Mountain.

Son of Tibbs

April 7, 2017 1 comment

By Shane Tibbs

Watched Mom die today.

Except for the rush of pleasure when the lights dimmed in her eyes I felt nil.

Gump however was emotional. The pig. The goofy pig.

He said something poingant. Which I realize begs a porcine pun for which I am however too high class.

He said he was sorry he fought her in court so long. That lawyer arguments aren’t necessarily those of decent people. That he was ok with her having had two kids at the age of 16 and 19 and having to leave. He said that it was fine. That he ‘hated the bitch’ but understood ‘completely’.

“Gump, bitch, pass me a gin juice box”

“I got these at Grummy’s, my boy. Where you get your Lucky 7s.”

“I hate that place.”

“Sure, ok.”

Gump’s Reflections

April 5, 2017 Leave a comment

By Shane Tibbs

My father often reflects. I discourage this activity. He can’t handle it. It’s not his fault but the “inevitable reverberation of some childhood trauma echoing through [my] vast body,” which are his words not mine. Nevertheless.

He told me my mother is dying.

I said:

“Ok Papa that’s fine with me. And anyway I hold no grip over the reality of bodily expiration.”

He said:

“My boy, my piglet, my little one.”

And trailed off.

We drank about 14 beers apiece and wondered aloud how it’s only black kids on the bus these days. You’ve probably never heard the ‘n’ word so many times between people. The chicken guy was there. He’ll sign off.

Later they found him in a tree.


April 5, 2017 Leave a comment

By Cathy Tuffley

LDN: What is your name and where do you work?

CT: My name is Cathy Teffley and I work for the Agape Foundation.

LDN: What’s that?

CT: It’s a company that builds refreshment stands.

LDN: Do you build the refreshment stands?

CT(laughing): Of course not! I’m just a woman.

LDN: What do you do there?

CT: Answer the phones, operate the carpet sweeper, put out fruit.

LDN: Are you satisfied?

CT: Do you mean…in that way?

LDN: No, with your job.

CT: Very. I’m very satisfied. Mr. Agape is a sweetheart and he always gives the girls a real bonus during the holidays!

LDN: You mean…in that way?

CT: No, a check.

LDN: Married?

CT: Nah. I mean, sort of. I don’t know where he is. I think he went abroad. He said something about some island revolution.

LDN: Children?

CT: Just Glenn. He’s 6.

LDN: What’s he all about?

CT: He’s gay.

LDN: Is there anything else you would like to add?

CT: Hi Glenn!

Teffley began giggling and the interview was ended prematurely.

Reporter Tibbs Arrested in Tree

April 5, 2017 Leave a comment

By Bernie Keebler


Lankville Daily News penetrating reporter Gump Tibbs was arrested this morning in the Western Outlands, sources are confirming.

Tibbs, who was visibly intoxicated and registered a blood alcohol level of 0.36%, is currently in custody.

Local fire departments participated in the rescue. It is unclear how the reporter became stuck in the tree.

Gump Tibbs

“Mr. Tobbs [sic] was very hostile during the rescue and subsequent arrest,” noted Detective Houston Gee-Temple, who was the first to arrive at the scene. “He had a bunch of firecrackers and he was lighting them and throwing them down at us while muttering some nonsense about the cup of abominations being nigh full.”

“It was a strange scene,” noted Gee-Temple after an eerie silence.

Police had been on the lookout for Tibbs, who is currently wanted on public drunkenness, crass public urination and destruction of property charges.

“My Papa is innocent of all the charges,” noted Tibbs’ son Shane Meyer Tibbs, who, for reasons unclear, was standing by his father’s side with a carafe of hot water. “He is a beautiful, beautiful man. A delight.”

The Lankville Daily News has not issued a statement and no further information was available at press time.

Rennie Stennett: Bounty Hunter

April 5, 2017 Leave a comment

By Rennie Stennett

I’m a simple man. Got a simple apartment with a couple of couches, a nice leather lounger, curtains. I rest easy at night. Occasionally, I slap a batch around, depending on who I run across down at the boat launch.

And then the call comes– usually from Detective Gee-Temple or the Bureau of Probes.

“What you got for me?” I’ll say.

“We’ve got a maniac on the loose. Escaped from Briles Farms,” they’ll say (or something like that).

And so I’m off. I have a yellow school bus that I bought to throw the perp off. It’s got a little fan up front– nice deal. Anyway, you drive along these Lankville country roads or through the desert and the perp, see, he thinks to himself just a school bus, just a school bus and the next thing he knows, I’m on him. Like a possum in a persimmon tree. Yep, on him hard– I’m not bound by any sort of this police brutality crap. Because I’m not police.

I’m Rennie Stennett, Bounty Hunter.

So, I cuff the perp and I always put him on the hump. You know the hump. Worst place on the bus, right over the back wheel. No leg room. Makes them ancy, uncomfortable, like. The whole bus is empty but I put him on the hump anyway. I watch him in the mirror as I take him back to HQ or over to the BOP offices.

“You got him quick, Rennie,” they’ll say. And they take him and then they hand me a folded check. Usually somewhere in the vicinity of five to ten grand. All that for taking a bus out and shoving some guy’s face in the dust. It’s alright.

I take the check over to the Bank of Lankville branch– the one where Debbie works. Debbie’s my girl– she’s about 6’5 and she sells every bit of that.

“Made some money today, did you?” she’ll say, licking her teeth free of peanut butter.

“Yeah, babe. Easy. Easy as pie.”

“Maybe you’d like to spend a little of that money? Maybe?”

“Sure, babe. Let’s go over to the Casa.” That’s the Casa as in the Casa Montecristo (an elegant reception hall).

“Oooh, fancy,” Debbie says. “Better get my nice pantsuit out of mothballs.”

“You better. You’ll be needing it, at least for a little while.”

She smiles and clears the rest of that peanut butter from around her mouth with her tongue.

Yeah, it’s a good life. You just can’t weaken.

The opinions of Rennie Stennett are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

PEOPLE OF LANKVILLE: “I Work at Tri-State Oil”

April 4, 2017 Leave a comment

By Ted Bandy

An ongoing series where you, the reader, gets to meet a random person from Lankville.

LDN: What is your name and where do you work?

TB: My name’s Ted Bandy and I work at Tri-State Oil.

LDN: What do you do there?

TB: I work at a desk in the front. We got an office there.

LDN: How many drawers does your desk have?

TB: I believe three.

LDN: What’s in them?

TB: Papers, pencils, paper clips, standard stuff.

LDN: What kind of papers?

TB: You know, files. Receipts, bills of sale, that kind of thing.

LDN: Who are they made out to?

TB: Pardon?

Tri-State Oil

LDN: Who are some of the people? Their names?

TB: I’m not at liberty to say.

LDN: Where do they live?

TB: No, that’s confidential.

LDN: Is your company involved in any shady doings?

TB: No, we’re a family company. We’ve been in business since 1933.

LDN: Ever killed anybody?

TB: No. Well, maybe.

LDN: Anything else?

TB: I’d like to say hello to Rhonda.

LDN: Your wife?

TB: ….yes. Yes.

People of Lankville will continue in future issues.