The Lankville Daily News

By Larry “God” Peters
Far-Flung Areas Correspondent

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The expansion “Foodstamps” became the third new club to join the Association, it was announced early this morning.

“It pleases us to welcome the Foodstamps,” said commissioner Dr. Albert C. Pondicherry, Jr. who was forcibly removed from his bed to attend the early-morning press conference. “We exhibit twinkles at the idea.”

Little is known about Foodstamp ownership. Both Rhinos GM Ric Royer and Dead Puck Era Club GM Chris Vitiello admitted to knowledge of only the most basic facts.

“The owner is Aaron Tucker and he is from far away. Very, very far away,” said Royer, who was standing by as a hired team of workers were attempting to remove the padlocks from twin utility sheds. “For a time, I thought he was from The Islands but he is clearly of a greater race and not of the filthy, degenerate backward type. He must be from an entirely new continent that is terra incognita.”

Dead Puck Era GM Chris Vitiello agreed with Royer’s assessment, suddenly began weeping hysterically, and then produced a large whip and thrashed this reporter near to death.

The Foodstamps are expected to release a statement later today.

By Buffon Miravaux
Special Hills Reporter

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The Terrifying Bats have changed their club name to “The Smooth Rhinos” it was announced earlier today.

GM Ric Royer, who held a press conference at 4AM this morning between twin utility sheds, offered little reason behind the moniker alteration.

“I don’t really have any idea,” said the eccentric GM, who paused to occasionally wander to one of the utility shed doors and loudly jostle the padlocks. The executive seemed distracted and distressed over the padlocks and missed several reporter questions.

After nearly half and hour of such activity, many of the reporters sauntered off to bed. Towards the end of the conference, Royer sidled up to this reporter and in a wispy, faraway voice asked, “Do you think there’s soda in these sheds?”

Royer did not wait for an answer and shuffled away wraith-like in the direction of the dark hills.

By Nient Boffo
Senior Staff Writer

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A second expansion team has joined the Pondicherry Association, it was announced yesterday.

“It is with intermittent glee that I welcome the 911’s to the league,” said commissioner Dr. Albert C. Pondicherry, Jr. during a small press conference held near a large series of doors that led to some sort of loud, complex machinery. “We are sparkling with varied sensations at the thought of adding another expansion presence,” added the commissioner.

Dr. Pondicherry noted that GM and owner “Tiny Leone” was not yet available for comment.

“Our understanding is that Mr. Leone is a member of what is known as the “white collar underworld” here in Lankville. He is engaged in varied business activities which, although they will and have made him endless wealth have been to the grave detriment of the general population.”

Terrifying Bats GM Ric Royer, who was interviewed while stuck in a gigantic tube outside his Eastern Lankville home was skeptical.

“I know this Leone, he and I have stolen money from some people. He is dexterous but I question his preparedness for the upcoming draft.”

Royer continued, as a rescue squad attempted to remove him from the mysterious tube.

“When one walks into that [draft room] one faces an onslaught. There are papers, yes. Computer screens. But there are also fires. Missiles, fashioned out of everyday objects, rain down on you. There is the constant danger of having your throat cut. It is a sort of living hell and one has to work around this hell, to draft wisely. The question is, can this Leone handle such an abyss of menace?”

Ad Hominems owner “Inner Hammer”, who helped to broker the deal, dismissed Royer’s comments.

“Just another fat parcel of horseshit,” said “Inner Hammer”, when apprised of Royer’s statement. “We are delighted to welcome Leone to the league.”

The 911’s are expected to release a statement today.

Salty Cubbes had an opportunity to sit down with new expansion GM Chris Vitiello of the “Dead Puck Era” club.

SC: What background do you have in hockey?
CV: This is none of your business.
SC: OK. Can you give us an idea of what you’ll be looking for in the draft?
CV: This, also, is not information to which you are privy.
SC: What about Vitiello Decorative Hams Arena? How are the renovations coming?
CV: You could always go down there and see for yourself. Even the greatest wordsmith would not be able to paint a verbal picture for you. And why would you ask him?
SC: What would you like to talk about?
CV: If you are unprepared, there is nothing that can be done. I should whip you.

An awkward silence ensued and Mr. Vitiello eventually left the room.

By Sal-Peter Vooks
Junior Club Writer

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Executives “Inner Hammer” and “Fick” have announced name changes for their respective clubs in the Pondicherry Association, sources are now confirming.

The former Small Pizzas will now be known as the “Ad Hominems” while the Moons will now answer to “The Shimmering Rubies”. New uniforms are currently being planned.

The owners explained their name changes at a joint press conference held in a weedy backyard behind a derelict row home.

“I like phalluses,” explained “Inner Hammer, who then was called aside by an aide. “I like fallacies,” he then corrected before awkwardly leaving the podium.

“My new name is a reflection not only of my birthstone but also my belief in the ruby as a source of healing,” explained Fick, who then vomited all over the lectern. Once the bits of sick were removed, Fick attempted to continue but vomited again. He was later led away to the comfort station.

There being no further speeches, the conference was ended prematurely.

By Tommy “The Anvil” Bulova
Small Events Attache

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It was announced this morning that the expansion “Dead Puck Era” club has joined the Pondicherry Association.

“I’m really gladdened by this,” said owner Chris Vitiello, who made his fortune in the production and placement of decorative hams. “It’s something we’ve been working towards all summer and to see it come to fruition, well…”

Vitiello, who was wearing a Viking helmet, a hockey jersey and swim trunks began sobbing uncontrollably.

Once recovered, the owner and GM began outlining a plan for the upcoming draft, scheduled for September 15.

“We’re going to have a lot of graphs and spreadsheets printed up. Then, we’ll place them in giant binders. I want enough binders to fill a tall bookshelf. Then, and only then will be ready.”

A titter was heard among the sportswriters and a look of both extreme anger and purpose crossed Mr. Vitiello’s face. He then alighted from the podium, found the offending sportswriter and began whipping him mercilessly with a nearby belt. A shocked silence came over the room.

Mr. Vitiello then climbed back up to the podium. “Let that serve as notice,” he said.

The press conference was then abruptly ended.

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The quagmire that the Pondicherry Association finds itself in now has me recollecting quieter, simpler pond days.

The pond froze over beginning in late November, allowing us several months of uninterrupted play. We had two benches on either side, one affording a fine view of an abandoned gas station and a cracked, disused road. We had two goals, constructed from spent copper pipes, lobster netting and certain glues. Later, Pappy came down and nailed them into the ice using some sort of mysterious power tool. The task completed, the tool was shoved into his denim coat, never to be seen again.

Pappy bought us three pucks. “Use these wisely,” he said. “None will be forthcoming.” He watched us for awhile, taking a libation from a golden flask and then he made his way slowly across the drifts back to the barn. No one had any idea what he did in there.

I was a fine player, capable of an excellent slapshot and adept at defense as well. I had figured out a clever way to dump an opposing player via use of a long shoehorn that I kept hidden in my jersey. The fallen would glance up at me into the grey gloom– utterly flummoxed. Upon occasion, a penalty was called for but never admitted.

Bjorge was the finest player. He had come over from Sweden to live with three uncles in a cavernous white mansion on the hill. He spoke English poorly and had a puzzling medical condition which prevented him from recognizing faces. But he was the fastest skater and routinely unleashed a series of feints that could not be defended. Nor was it possible for me to utilize the shoehorn– by the time I fumbled for it in my jersey, he was gone.

Bjorge and I were both drafted. He had a short career with the Broad Hill Totems, I with the Dragons of the Barrens. We played against one another once or twice but by then it was clear that his skills had somehow faded. He was crushed viciously into the boards many times and before long he quietly retired.

I became a steel magnate shortly thereafter. The old pond was eventually drained and some kiosks placed there. The pond eventually returned (Mother Nature would not be denied) and the kiosks slowly collapsed and were ultimately submerged.