Archive for the ‘2012-13 Season’ Category

Correspondent: Royer Digs Many Pointless Holes; Collapses on Box of Irregular Jeans

October 26, 2014 Leave a comment
By Don W. Coneman

By Don W. Coneman


From our Pyramid Area Correspondent Don W. Coneman in the Valley of the Small Kings, Outer Lankville:

Lankville business magnate Ric Royer, temporarily released from an area hospital, has been seen in the Valley of the Small Kings this past week, digging many large, pointless holes, sources are confirming. Yesterday, at a local market, the executive was found collapsed on a box of irregular jeans. His current whereabouts are unknown.

Locals have been mystified all week by the strange figure of Royer who is evidently wearing a large fake beard, rouge, eye-shadow and lipstick in an attempt to mask his identity.

Archaeologist Lee “Boom-Boom” Goldblatt has equally been flummoxed by Royer’s strange methods. “Well, all he had all week was a tiny little garden shovel, a lawnmower, and some tomato cages. He generally got tired after an hour or two of fruitless searching and had a handler drive him back to his room at the Magnanimous Boys’ Horn of Comfy Hotel.”

Royer: Pyramid Problems

Royer: Pyramid Problems

Earlier in the week, Royer maintained he was “making great progress.”

“I feel great,” noted Royer, who paused to dump a child’s bucket of sand into a wagon. “It doesn’t matter that there are a surfeit of feckless corncobbers that surround these pyramids– the Creator has seen fit to put them here.” The enigmatic owner looked on disapprovingly as a native family crossed the desert on the back of a camel. “Imagine the moment when I open up the tombs and discover every mystery of civilization,” he added.  “As it says in the ancient texts, the rocks of the earth will fold inward and we will crawl onto an axial plane,” the executive added after a moment’s reflection.

One of Royer’s handlers, who refused to be identified, gave a short statement as to the circumstances of the market incident yesterday.

“[Mr. Royer] disappeared from his room at the Horn of Comfy Hotel early in the morning while some of his wait-staff were asleep or otherwise distracted cleaning up a terrible mess at the foot of his bed.  [Mr. Royer] was sleeping with several large pumpkins which is his custom around this time of the year and they had fallen onto the floor.  At some point, he must have snuck away and wandered into the marketplace where he then collapsed onto the box of irregular jeans.”

“Nearby there was a vendor that had some regular jeans,” the handler noted.  “Unfortunately, [Mr. Royer] was not in a state where he would have been able to shop selectively.”

A press conference is expected later today.

Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Onion Ring Trailer

August 25, 2014 Leave a comment
By Ric Royer

By Ric Royer

The lands of the carnival were brown prairie– cleared to accommodate the various structures. But nearest the gravel parking lot, as the ground began to slope a little, was the Onion Ring Trailer.

The heat was terrible. I passed many people from town, dressed in slacks and shirts, the women in house dresses. So many, not being able to stand the thousand-long line to the one portable toilet, simply urinated where they stood. The children carried cones filled with strange blue ice substances.

I had eaten 19 cotton-candies– my stomach was vastly confused and there was a feeling of great turbulence. I needed something to soak up the cotton-candies and the onion ring trailer instantly beckoned.

A doctor had told me once:

“Eat some fried onion rings. That will settle your stomach.”A016

I never forgot that sage advice.


This was a part of the lot poorly-lighted, bereft– empty picnic tables, empty barrels. Someone had overturned an abandoned old incinerator, the kind that abuts right up to your building, releases the smell of garbages [sic] into the air directly surrounding your home, office, or business. The positionable “clean-out” doors were swung open in a frank way, there was a skull inside.

I was now beneath the lights of the onion ring trailer. The proprietor was a morbid, putrid creature– I wanted to view his death instantly but he was all that stood between me and those rings.

The sign said “FRESH DAILY”.

“Is that true?” I demanded.

He seemed far away. Finally- “Huh? Wuzzit? Fuckin’ onion rings, man.”

“I’d like five tureens.”

He paused. “How about if I just put them in a barrel?”

“OK. I would like that.”

He filled the barrel with rings and I paid only $1.75 and five carnival tickets. I smothered them in ketchup and then, when the creature turned his back, I surreptitiously placed all the condiment containers at the top of the barrel. I was going to stick it to this creature. I was going to make him responsible. I desired to know that he would be fired, that others would say Look at this god damn lardass. I’m not hiring this god damn lardass. I desired him to sleep in barns, to make his way quietly across pitch-black countryside and to finally be shot down, for trespassing as he attempted to gingerly cross an electrified fence.

I rolled the barrel over to the picnic table. It was then that a figure emerged from the shadows. I cannot say that he was an official. I just know that he made me leave my barrel where it stood and he walked me to a place in deep darkness near the back of the gravel lot and then he punched me until I fainted.

When I woke up, I was in the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senseless, a notable mental institution.


February 6, 2014 Leave a comment

By Bernie Keebler
Lankville Action News YES! Team

File Photo

File Photo


President Pondicherry is dead sources are now confirming. He was 56.

Pondicherry was eaten by a lion while visiting Lankville Memorial Discount Zoo yesterday with his 13-year old niece Amber.

President Albert C. Pondicherry:  1958-2014

President Albert C. Pondicherry: 1958-2014

“He was standing around saying things like HEY ASSHOLE! to the lion and I think that the lion just had enough,” said Amber who was rushed to the hospital after suffering from severe shock. “Uncle Pondicherry had been doing things like that for years, just going up to lions and saying HEY ASSHOLE! and prancing around. Otherwise, of course, he was a quiet, modest man. But everyone knew it was just a matter of time.

Pondicherry’s specific gripe against the lion in question in unknown.

“I won’t say it’s a terrible loss,” said political commentator Terry Coupons of The Lankville Daily News, “let’s just say it’s a loss of sorts.”

Pondicherry had been President of Lankville since 2004. His son, Albert Pondicherry, Jr. is considered an early candidate for the position.

The nation will mourn in a small restrained service to be held Monday.

In Search of Aaron Tucker: A “Special” Piece

January 16, 2014 Leave a comment

By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
file photo

Business magnate and sports team owner Aaron Tucker has agreed to meet me at Hoovers National Airport on his home island of Hoover. I’ve never heard of it. The plane ride is exceedingly long and tedious and I land slightly irritated and with a large sauce stain on my shirt.

I look around for Tucker but he has not yet arrived (he had promised to carry a gigantic sign with my name on it– “I’ll make it out of large posterboard,” he says excitedly over the phone). I watch the other passengers greet their spouses and girlfriends– many kiss or embrace passionately– several immediately fornicate. I hang around for an hour but Tucker does not show. The waiting area is now empty. An intercom announces, “Pumpkins. Pumpkins arriving.” I have no idea what to do.

I take a taxi to a nearby hotel and place a call to Tucker’s office. There is another long delay and finally a secretary with a hot voice snaps up the line. “I’m sorry sir, Mr. Tucker has gone to the airport to pick out a pumpkin.” I curse. “I was just at the airport.” “Well, I am sorry, sir.”

I decide to fish a bit.

“What does a pretty-sounding woman like you do in Hoover for nightlife?”

I meet the secretary in the hotel bar. She’s wearing a pencil skirt that is so tight that her fine heinie is clearly outlined. Two hours later, I’m rumpling that heinie upstairs. Afterwards, I take a look at some Hoover Island TV. It’s all shows about pumpkins. I can’t figure out what the hell is going on.

The phone rings. It’s Tucker.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says. “Jesus, I got all caught up with this pumpkin thing.” I can clearly hear him pushing a pumpkin in the background. I try to ask him a few questions about his business ventures but he’s clearly distracted by the pumpkins. “How many pumpkins you got there?” I ask, looking for something to put into my story. “Oh, it’s just…there’s a lot…we….” He drops the phone. There is a lot of laughing and then, sudden thunderous cheering.

I take the next plane out of there.

Our Man in America: Tips for the Lankville Traveler

January 16, 2014 Leave a comment

Glass House Restaurant, Urbana-Champaign, Illinois
glass house

The Lankville Daily News is lusciously thrilled beyond measure to present a new series of travel tips from our correspondent in America.

By Rance Fenanigans
American Correspondent

Rance Fenanigans

Rance Fenanigans

The famous Glass House restaurant in Urbana-Champaign, Illinois (midwestern America) is known for its gigantic lollipop display; the discerning Lankville traveler will certainly want to make a stop here.

“I got the lollipop idea from how they have lollipops at the candy stores,” noted Glass House restaurant owner Jerry Yokely, who purchased the establishment in 1979.  “I went out to the woodshed one night, put on a record of little jokes and built up that tree that you see there.  The trees got them little holes in it and you slide the lollipop shafts in there.  I rounded out the holes pretty good and generally the shafts go right in pretty easy.”

Yokely spat in the dirt.

The Glass House restaurant features an array of tempting American food– pancakes and waffles for breakfast, hamburgers and pepperonis for lunch and a full menu of dinner options.  “We don’t got anything fancy– just food for Americans,” Yokely noted proudly.  “And we’re located just off Interstate 41,” he added mysteriously.

Don Flesh of Urbana is a Glass House regular.  “Oh, I just love it.  The waitresses are kind, friendly, bosomy and motherly and there is carpet.”

Flesh paused and then suddenly screamed and had to be taken away.

“We got good girls here,” added Yokely, who spat in the dirt again.  “We got an ample parking lot.  Look at them phone booths over there.  Plenty of options for the patrons.”

The Glass House is certified by the American Car League and is open 7 days.

Columnist Thurston Makes Miraculous Recovery from Fugue

November 7, 2013 Leave a comment

By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo

Lankville Daily News correspondent Dr. Kevin Thurston (expert on men’s feelings) made a miraculous recovery last night from a rare coma-like condition known as a psychogenic fugue.  The therapist and writer is expected back to work tomorrow.

“He was on death’s door.  We thought he might be dead,” said the presiding doctor, an island person.  “It is very rare for someone to recover from this.”

Thurston was observed sitting up in bed, laughing at some gentle, restrained riddles and eating from a tray of chuck.

“He’s doing real well, just looking forward to getting back, writing about men’s feelings,” said his brother, who then offered this reporter a used portable carpet sweeper for $9.99.  “He loves to be out there, servicing men.”

Thurston has been penning the column Feelings by Dr. Kevin Thurston since 2013.

Categories: 2012-13 Season Tags: ,

Del Rio Reveals “Repelatron Skyway”

September 21, 2013 Leave a comment

By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo

Astronaut and Lankville Daily News special space asshole correspondent Nick Del Rio has revealed his “Repelatron Skyway” to a small gathering of scientists, our Foreign Correspondent in Desertia is reporting.

Del Rio, who was hired by a group of ancient Desertian kings to build a highway link between two jungle-separated provinces of the island nation, explained his amazing invention in a brief statement.

“What we have done here is to create an aerial highway over the jungle at tree-top level which is supported by some invisible Repelatron rays.  This makes travel between provinces easy via the use of my second invention, which is the new “Swift Graphicopter”.  The Graphicopter not only provides transportation for as many as 100 persons but it also allows the driver to trace words on a stylus located on a sensor panel which then allows the driver to skywrite a message.”

“Wow, an advertiser’s dream!” a clever sort of person was heard to exclaim, to much laughter.  The individual was later found suffocated behind an abandoned photo-mat.

Del Rio is expected to complete his invention some time in the Fall.

Categories: 2012-13 Season

The Rise and Fall of Oleg: A Cautionary Tale

September 16, 2013 Leave a comment

65666034Reporter Cookies Puhl won an unwieldy trophy for his 2013 coverage of  “Oleg”, once one of the richest men in Lankville, who was found living in a pay-by-week motel. Cookies was murdered shortly thereafter.


He was so wealthy that he paid cash for an expansion hockey club.  He owned 16 houses, including several at Lankville Beach.  He kept a garage packed with fully-restored vintage cars.

And then he lost it all.  His hockey club folded.  The homes and cars were auctioned off.  The man himself disappeared from public view.  What became of Oleg?

Cookies Puhl did some poking around and then some shoving of people and finally found the former executive holed up in a pay-by-the-week motel, operating a fledgling internet cat-related crafts business. His story:

Oleg limps to a fast-food restaurant every morning where he eats two large pancake meals from styrofoam containers. “Even though I eat in, I always ask for the containers,” he says, slathering the cakes with seven packets of syrup. “The reason for this is that I can use the styrofoam in the cat-related crafts business. You have to think ahead, you know.”

Back to his room by eight, Oleg checks his email for orders. There are none. Now–the waiting game.

“I have my boxes ready to go,” says the former executive, pointing to a dim corner of the carpeted room. “There’s some bubble wrapping there, some labels. Then the crafts themselves are in a storage bin down by the weeds. You know, down there.” Oleg points vaguely to some distant craft arena.

I ask him if he is not upset about losing his sports franchise, his houses, his cars. “We had a good run,” he says, vaguely. “I had a good time sitting up in those skyboxes, having boxes of popcorn brought to me by tanned women. But, that’s all over now.”

He checks his email again. Still no orders.

“We have ceramic cat paper weights,” he says, for no reason. “So, if you find yourself in a situation where you have a lot of papers flying around but you also like cats…” He stops. He looks vaguely past the cheap curtains towards an enormous gravel lot that was once a drive-in movie theatre. There seems to be nothing behind his initial enthusiasm for cat-related crafts. There seems to be nothing behind those large brown eyes except sadness. He is a man bereft.

Another check of the email. Nothing. In fact, other, older messages seem to have suddenly disappeared. He reloads the page and the site crashes altogether. He suddenly throws up some half-masticated pancake into a wastebasket.

“I use this thing called It only costs $0.99 a year. But it’s unreliable. I’ll have to wait two hours now before it reloads.” He wipes the edge of the wastebasket with a damp towelette.

“I think I’ll probably take some hard decongestants and a nap for awhile,” he declares. He flops down on the unmade bed, watching the computer and its laborious machinations. A loud humming suddenly fills the cramped space.

The man that once owned a franchise in the Pondicherry Association suddenly falls asleep. It is only 9AM.

Cookies Puhl will continue the sad story of Oleg in later issues.

Part II  Who is Oleg?

Who is “Oleg”? A complicated question with even more complicated answers.

“Oleg” was born in the Depths Island town of Ludz though he is quick to point out that his parents were 100% Lankvillian. “During the War, my father was permitted to travel between Lankville  and Ludz,” Oleg reveals, after finally waking from his decongestant stupor. “The reasons for this are unclear to me to this day. My father sent the family to Lankville in 1992 and two years later he was viciously murdered before he could join us. The details are murky but it appears that he attempted to purchase a pair of extremely wide shoes, an argument ensued and that he was knifed to death by the clerk. We got a letter in the mail saying that.”

“Saying what exactly?” I ask.

“That he was knifed to death by a shoe clerk. Ever since then, I have had deep resentment for the Islands and when I was wealthy and could afford many globes [at one time Oleg had seventeen], I was always quick to place a blue piece of construction paper over the country so that it appeared to be ocean. I called it the Lankville Ocean.”

Oleg’s email has finally reappeared after many hours of loud humming and strange warning boxes. There are no orders.

“My father taught me about business. He taught me to save large sums of money by hurting smaller people. He also taught me to deprive myself of things until I had a lot of money and then to spend it on ridiculous things, like hockey teams. These were his life lessons.”

Oleg repairs to a small hot plate that he produces from beneath a knot of soiled blankets. There is a styrofoam ice chest as well and from there he brings forth a box of “Steak-Om’s”.

“Steak-Om?” he asks. I want one desperately but I can tell that Oleg is only offering out of obligation. I say no and he seems terribly relieved. He begins warming the frozen steak panel over the hot plate.

The day is half-over.

The sad story of “Oleg” will continue in further issues.

Part III,  Oleg Reflects
By Cookies Puhl- Investigative Reporter

Oleg has fallen asleep again and burned his Steak- Om lunch. He reflects upon the loss as he turns over the now empty container, almost as if he hopes that, magically, more frozen compressed meats will appear. “The last two months have been all about loss,” he says. Then he adds, “I fear I may have catalepsy.”

It is now late afternoon and the sky has turned a slate-hued grey, reflecting the mood inside the spartan motel room. There are still no orders for cat-related crafts and the computer has become an electrical beacon of hopelessness. “The sky over Ludz was similar to this,” Oleg ruminates. “If I had the power, I would crush Ludz and its people,” he says, dramatically. He suddenly collapses into the yellow and brown curtains, snapping the rod straight out of the wall. An errant screw shatters the blinking computer screen. The lights in the room all go out for some reason.

I transfer Oleg’s quaking body to the bed. Strangely, no further light seems to be transmitted through the curtainless window; indeed, it appears to be growing darker by the second. I stare down at the former executive’s aging face and see now that he has vomited. I turn his limp body over and the vomit seeps into the carpet.

I momentarily leave the room and purchase a bucket of chicken and a 48-piece biscuit. When I return, Oleg is standing over the useless computer. He has removed his vomit-stained shirt.

“All of my shirts are now stained with vomit,” he says. “I was waiting for a sale so that I could do laundry,” he explains. “But, I see that you have purchased chicken and biscuits.”

He produces a quart of cheap vodka and I realize now that he intends to take part in the repast, whereas I had intended to eat the meal all on my own. I reluctantly allow him two breasts and two biscuits. He breaks down in tears and then becomes suddenly loquacious. A certain vigor has returned to his cheeks.

“In the Depths, we say that no amount of misfortune can negate a bucket of chicken.” He tears into the flesh. I eat my portion of the bucket voraciously, so that there be no excuse to share any further. Still, Oleg poaches several more biscuits. “In the Depths, we say that the biscuit helps to temper the vodka.” Somehow, I suspect he is lying, that he is making up these proverbs to gain more of my dinner.

The sun has now gone down over the hills.

From the Bench of Judge Socquettes

September 10, 2013 Leave a comment

By Judge Socquettes
South Lankville District Courts (Large)
File Photo

I purchased a large radio that fits over the chest—sort of like a reverse backpack. It’s an ingenious device and it comes in handy at Pondicherry Association games. You can follow the action while listening to the commentary. There is a little microphone and a tape machine and I occasionally record my thoughts. I buy a box of standard-form hamburgers and allow them to defrost in a parcel that looks like clothes, thereby giving the impression that the burgers are wearing an outfit! By the second period, they are done.

The Pondicherry Association began play in 2011 [1] and has grown enormously. Press coverage was initially scant; now it is voluminous. What you have on the tube-computer in front of you is a collection of little elephant babes—the grandest beasts of the journalistic jungle. Savor them as you would savor a sudden shed fire or the epiphany one has when one realizes the answer to a word jumble. You’ve been hunched over the jumble for hours. You are sweating and feverish. And then the word suddenly comes to you. It is “FNORDS”. You fill in the blanks with a pencil and sit back, unconditionally pleased with yourself.

I follow all the teams in the Pondicherry Association. I do not discriminate. I attend as many games as possible. Sometimes, I do not listen to the trials at all and make sudden, uninformed decisions after all the talking. Undoubtedly, I have been wrong many times. But being wrong and gentle is better than not being wrong at all  [2]. That’s what I’ve learned in 70 years of having a judge job.

Spring is in the air tonight. All I can think about is snapping on that big chest radio and tugging on the antenna. You should see this thing. It’s a masterpiece of engineering. I have them for sale for $49.95 [3].

[1] The league initially featured five clubs.

[2]  Also the title of Judge Socquettes’ unpublished autobiography.

[3] Send $49.95 (postpaid) to: Judge Socquettes: Eastern Lankville Courts House, Lankville, 56402.  Delivered in 4-6 weeks but sometimes never.

New Evidence Emerging on Disappearance of Plantains’ Meyer

August 23, 2013 1 comment

By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File Photo

New evidence is slowly emerging on the disappearance of former hockey club owner and fried plantain magnate Shane Meyer, sources are now confirming.  Meyer was presumed killed in a tire-house fire last August.

“We have some new juicy morsels of an interesting nature,” noted Detective Gee-Temple, currently in charge of the case.  “Some family photographs have emerged and we discovered a previously unknown sister who has revealed some luscious tidbits.  So, we feel confident that a conclusion will be forthcoming.”

Gee-Temple would not elaborate, however Meyer’s sister, speaking under condition of anonymity, consented to a brief interview with The Pondicherry Association News.

Meyer family, 1982.  Shane is pictured second from right.

Meyer family, 1982. Shane is pictured second from right.

BB: Tell us a little about yourself.
S:  You Know the apartments?
BB: Oh, yes, of course.
S:  Yeah, I manage them.
BB: So, can you tell us anything about Shane’s disappearance?
S:  Shane and I don’t have a lot of contact.  He disapproves of my lifestyle with the apartments and I disapprove of plantains.  Nevertheless, I got an unsigned letter about a month ago that appeared to be in his handwriting.
BB: What did it say?
S: It just said some nasty things about the apartments.  I knew then that it was Shane.
BB: Do you think he faked his death?
S: Maybe. You’ll have to wait to hear what Geez-Temples [sic] says.
BB: What does Aunt Pam think? Everybody really wants to know what’s going on with Aunt Pam. (Belvedere began gyrating lewdly).
S: Aunt Pam disapproves of the apartments. And I disapprove of her craft-stuffed home. We don’t speak.
BB: You tell Aunt Pam that I have no problem crafting it up. Any time, any place. Hell, I’ll craft it up in a pile of garbage if Aunt Pam’s there.
S: Alright.

The interview suddenly became disorganized and succumbed under a vast, unmentionable pressure.

Brox Squats in Weeds With Some Things

August 16, 2013 Leave a comment

By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo

Condiments owner and Pondicherry Association News columnist Robin Brox recently squatted in weeds with some things sources are confirming.

“It was a very childlike moment,” Brox explained later.  “I saw the things and I squatted and then the things came over and I hugged them.  You know, it was alright.”

The incident occurred as the enigmatic owner and condiment magnate was removing trash from weedy areas at Buntz Mallows Discount Zoo to satisfy a recent court order.

Brox with the things.

Brox with the things.

“It’s been great having her here,” noted Zookeeper Fergie Pounder.  “Gosh, there’s so much trash in the weedy areas.  The other day we had a guy come in and just dump a couple of cans that he brought from home.  Then he walked back out to his car.  So yeah, she’s been a big help.”

Pounder suddenly turned the color of a bright tomato.  He was taken to a hospital and the interview ended prematurely.

Royer Attends Nearby Outdoor Event

August 4, 2013 Leave a comment

By Larry “God” Peters
Far-Flung Areas Correspondent
File photo

Institutionalized Terrifying Bat GM Ric Royer attended a nearby outdoor event yesterday, sources are reporting.

“It was thrilling and I didn’t fall down or scream once,” the executive noted later at the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness.  “They had some side streets cordoned off and some tables and a man made some announcements.  There seemed to be a mass localized understanding of some sort of significant event but I allowed that to elude me as one would allow an errant soft child’s beach squeeze toy to drift slowly past over the lustrous and brilliantined surf.”

Royer suddenly set a trident on fire and had to be restrained.  The interview was ended prematurely.

“We’ll look into his possible attendance at other nearby outdoor events in the future,” noted Warden Jenness of the Home.  “It may be beneficial in reintegrating him into society.”

Categories: 2012-13 Season Tags: ,

Impromptu Inner Hammer Display Confuses Fanfest Patrons

August 2, 2013 Leave a comment

By Tito Presentation
Distinctive Reporter
File photo

An impromptu display on vintage radio repair delivered by Small Pizzas owner “Inner Hammer” confused patrons at a club fanfest, sources are now reporting.

“Yeah, he got up to speak and then he started talking about flat-molded paper capacitors and the importance of obtaining a clear schematic and it just got very confusing,” said Pizzas fan Kevin Fernandez-Tony.  “People started murmuring and then he [Inner Hammer] would demand silence in a loud, commanding voice.  No one was permitted to leave the area.  It went on for hours and then finally it concluded with a long cleaning display.  He just kept saying, “You use a soft toothbrush to get into the crannies” over and over again and he removed his shirt at one point which was just soaked with sweat.”

Fernandez-Tony later bounced out of a meadow and into a bottomless pit where he expired.

“Inner Hammer” left the event quickly after his speech but spoke briefly with the media.

“Communication between the islands will be an important source of information and if you’re communicating, you might as well be doing so on a serviced and clean radio.  My belief, fellows.  Take it and bang it around a little, pull it back up and let me know how it turns out.”

The executive then left in a specially-made sports car that was somehow doorless.

The fanfest ended shortly thereafter.

Doing Puzzles Will Keep Your Brain from Dying

July 25, 2013 Leave a comment

Medical Advice from Dr. Yothers

1950s 1960s Doctor Wearing Diagnostic Head Mirror On Forehead
File Photo

There is no sure way to prevent your brain from suddenly dying but there is one step you can take that may possibly be beneficial.


Dr. Yothers has been a doctor for awhile.  His advice will continue in future columns.

Royer Uses Strange Foreign Machine to Soil Van with Sugar

July 19, 2013 Leave a comment

By Bernie Keebler
Senior Staff Writer
File photo

Terrifying Bat GM Ric Royer has soiled his recently-repaired van with a foreign powdered sugar machine that was delivered this morning to the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness.

“I don’t know why we let him do that,” said Warden Jenness, who was supervising the vast clean-up.  “This crazy gigantic machine arrived this morning in about five separate boxes.  We tried to move them into the hall but [Royer] came out of nowhere and kicked one of our college interns in the face about five times really fast.  Then, he pushed the boxes himself over towards the van and started ripping them apart.  The next thing I know, he’s got this ridiculously huge contraption set up and he moves this big outtake pipe over to the van’s cab and just shoots the damn thing full of powdered sugar.  Then he went back to his room.”

“We’ve got a real mess here,” noted a cleaner, who refused to be identified and was later kicked in the face by Royer.

“Yes, the machine was foreign,” Royer answered when questioned.  “It comes from a land-locked nation whose name I cannot pronounce.  It’s very far from here.  It’s illegal in Lankville.”

When asked why he wanted the machine, Royer quickly explained.

“This machine has a specific crushing hammer and sieve for finer grinding.  I elected to go with the double-head version which produces between 2,600 and 3,300 pounds per hour, unheard of in Lankville.  There is a vibrating passage which leads to the outtake mechanism.  It’s important to have a large canister to catch the product.”

When asked why he did not have such a canister and instead sprayed sugar all over his van’s interior, Royer became confused.

“It’s all a question of where the fried dough is, Bernie,” he said, his voice betraying much consternation.  “No need to engage in any of your tricks at my expense.”

The exterior of the van, damaged in a recent accident, has been repaired.  Cleaners expected the cab to be cleaned by evening.

Categories: 2012-13 Season Tags: ,
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