Archive
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: Matsos and the Interior
By Ric Royer
File photo
I left early the next morning. For a long ways, there was nothing but rocks, old scattered railroad ties, dessicated lumber and trash. Then the landscape became more barren. Then, there was a sun-baked low brick building of the latter part of the last century and beyond that a seemingly endless six-foot fence of chain-link.
I walked to the fence. Beyond was just more barren brown landscape. I doubled back to the low brick building. The windows were covered in burlap. There was a door on one side with a posted sun-curled notice but it was in a weird language of numbers and symbols. I couldn’t make any of it out.
Knocking– then a little man, about fifty, wearing a bloody sleeveless shirt answered. There was hill music from somewhere within. The little man made an obvious effort to occupy all the open space in the splintered doorway.
“Can I go out there? You know, beyond the fence?”
The little man held up a finger to say “hold on a moment” and then closed the door. He reappeared a moment later with several sheets of paper, all in different colors. He chose the yellow sheet.
“English? Yes?”
“Yes.”
The little man closed the door. At the last moment, just before the splintered edges of the door met the frame, I heard the voice of a fat woman say something unintelligible.
It was a paper from the Lankville government. It stated that although entrance into the interior was not expressly forbidden, it was strongly discouraged. It stated that one hundred miles in one could visit a safe house operated by a man called Lavender, but beyond that there were no further havens. It also asked the bearer to sign the paper, relieving the government of any responsibility and to return it to a man named Matsos. Matsos patrolled the area along the fence, it said. One could wait and he would come along.
For a moment I considered going back to the little man but decided against it. I had no pen.
I ambled out to the fence. Looking to the east, then to the west, one could see nothing. The heat had cast a haze over the brown landscape. There was nothing to do but sit in the dust. Then, I decided to move east. Perhaps I would come upon this Matsos.
I walked a mile and came upon two inflatable chairs, a fine-looking orange specimen and a blue chair that was semi-deflated. I sat in the orange chair.
Before long there was a figure lumbering towards me from the east. The figure moved with surprising speed and before long, I could make out an overweight freckled red-haired kid of about fourteen. He was wearing a t-shirt that read, “I LIKE TO EAT ANIMALS”.
The kid was yelling something but I couldn’t make it out. Then the kid reached me. He bent over, exhausted. When he finally caught his breath he stood up again. Then:
“Yeah, I wanted the orange one”.
It took me a moment to realize what the kid wanted. Then, I vacated the chair and made an attempt to sit in the semi-deflated blue chair, which promptly toppled over.
“Yeah, the blue one has a depression in the arm. For soft drinks,” said the kid. I looked up at him from the ground but said nothing. The sun was now directly overhead.
Fifteen minutes passed. My temples had begun to throb and I put my head in my hands while still clutching the yellow government form. When I finally looked up again the kid was standing directly before me.
“Are you waiting for Matsos?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I can take the form if you want. I’m his grandson.”
“Alright”.
“Did you sign it?”
“I don’t have a pen.”
“Well, I have to witness you signing it anyway. Here.”
The kid produced a bulbous pen that wrote in ten different inks. I held the instrument in front of me, confused.
“Well, what kind of ink….never mind. I’ll just make it blue.”
“Like the chair,” I offered senselessly. The kid stared, then pressed down on the blue ink cartridge. He handed the pen back.
I signed the paper.
“OK, now I have to initial it, you know, as a witness.”
I handed the pen back. The kid switched the cartridge from blue to black. Then he somehow produced an official-looking stamp and a pad from the pocket of his tight basketball shorts.
The kid stamped the paper and filed it away with the stamp set into the shorts. Then he leaned over and asked furtively, “You need a tent?”
“I hadn’t thought of it.”
“I’d take a tent. We’ve got green, blue and one that has a window.”
“What? What was that?”
“We’ve got green, a sort of blue and one that has a very small window that you can zip shut. But the zipper isn’t working. I can give you a diagram…”
I interrupted. “What’s the cost? I don’t have much of anything.”
“I can take your shoes. They’re not too bad. And I can give you a cheap pair of wooden shoes that my granddad made. I won’t lie to you…some guy died in them.”
“Will I be able to walk?”
“More, you kind of slide. Like skiing. They’re too heavy to really do any serious walking in. They are painted in the Dutch style.”
I hesitated.
“I’ll let you keep your socks,” the kid offered. “See, I was going to ask for the socks before.”
I reluctantly made the deal and received a tiny green pup tent made of faded green canvas and open on both ends.
“What about the one with the window?”
“I don’t know anything about that mister. Here’s your wood shoes.” The kid dropped two clumsy-looking clogs, the size of tennis rackets at my bare feet.
“Good luck. Head due North and you’ll come to the outpost run by that Lavender fellow. He’s probably going to ask for your wood shoes. I’ll tell you that right now.”
Then: “What the hell happened to your pants mister?”
I looked down at the dried mud, blood and sauce stains on my white trousers.
“Oh. I don’t know. Hell.”
“Alright then,” said the kid. He sauntered off to the inflatable chair.
“You’ll give that form to Matsos?” I called after him, in a voice louder than I had used in months.
The kid waved the paper, annoyed.
I approached the fence. I stared across for a moment, trying to imagine being able to arrive successfully at the northern outpost. Then I dropped the wooden shoes over the fence.
My foot got caught in the chain link and as I went over, I heard a loud snap in my ankle. I fell to the dust on the other side. A current of pain shot up to my knee and, for reasons unclear, I became suddenly horny.
I lay in the dust for some time before I stood up again with the aid of the fence. I began limping towards the interior. I looked back once to see if the kid was watching but saw only the demented aggregation of chairs.
Return to Hoover Island: Part IV
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Tucker has sent a plane ticket and a palace press pass. “I will be rejoining the Pondischerries [sic] Association,” he has written hastily on a scrap of paper. I huff it out to the airport.
I am seated in a cramped private plane (indeed, few visitors are permitted access to Hoover Island). There is a short, silent man seated next to me who, for reasons unclear, is wearing a red toupee held in place by an elastic band beneath his chin. For forty-five minutes, no words are said in the cabin. We make a stopover in the Teets Island Chain and again, for reasons unclear, several bags of garbage are loaded aboard.
As we take off, red toupee leans towards me.
“Wondering if you might be interested in a lift-off mold ring?”
I stare at him over my crossword.
“It’s the 8-inch or 12-inch,” he adds, senselessly.
When I say nothing in response, red toupee becomes aggressive.
“You’ve done this before? Have any idea at all what you’re doing?”
More garbage bags are suddenly thrown in from the cockpit. Red toupee goes silent.
The flight finally over, I leg it out to the palace and am admitted straightaway. Tucker is in the middle of a strange photo session. He is wearing a top-hat and leaning against a mirror. Everyone seems instantly pleased with the effect. During breaks in the shooting, Tucker produces a handheld plastic game of the type where one attempts to navigate a ball-bearing through a maze. He is not faring well and is starting to show it.
“FUCK! Damn these whorish games!” he yells and then instantly apologizes. The photographers pay no attention.
A man is ushered in and a chair and a hassock produced. The man places his briefcase on the hassock and opens it slowly. Tucker stares inside and a look of pure wonder crosses his face.
“What is in there? What is that?”
“These, Mr. Tucker, will bring you great, great luck,” says the man. And he presents a series of masks, each more beautiful than the last.
“You wear one of these, you don’t even have to worry about throwing up,” the man notes.
“I see. I see,” says Tucker, taking the mask of a bronzed, athletic blonde man into his hands.
“They’ve got tubes in there, see.”
“Astonishing,” says Tucker. He places the blonde on his face and his voice becomes slightly muted. “It feels so natural.”
“Absolutely.”
Tucker and the man step into the next room as the photographers continue to fiddle with their equipment. I wait another hour.
Finally, Tucker’s man-servant appears.
“Mr. Tucker is involved with masks, Sir. You will need to come tomorrow.”
I am presented with a hotel key. They give me a ride back to town.
An Interview with Ric Royer
Brock Belvedere had a chance to sit down with Ric Royer at the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness.
BB: Now that the hockey season will be underway, do you think you will leave the Home?
RR: It’s been a rigid, terrific hiatus. God Bless Us.
BB: You’ve always attended the draft. Will you do so this year?
RR: There are a number of unbelievable behemothic monstrosities. We will need quelling.
BB(noticing that Royer’s cell was crammed with illuminated porcelain Christmas villages): I see you’ve got quite a setup here.
RR: Take notice of the Alpine Village series. These are displayed at higher elevations, especially constructed by master craftsmen. The “Snowdrop Cottage” stands out clearly.
BB: I see that one of the bulbs is out.
(Royer began screaming in a terrified manner and the interview was ended prematurely).
Condiments Brox Shows Off Culinary Skills
By Lida Fjord
Women’s Interest Columnist
File photo
Condiments GM Robin Brox today showed off her culinary skills on the popular Lankville morning show Bring Us Your Sibilance hosted by Jenny Geans.
Brox prepared a series of small flour discs with an admixture (sauce) of tomatoes and an abundance of spices, topped with a sort-of curd that delighted the small audience.
“I’ve been making the discs for a number of years,” the executive later noted in a backstage interview. “You have to learn to wrangle and then settle the curd so that it can be passed easily. Once accomplished, you are more or less ready to write yourself a ticket to the moon”.
The small flour discs were passed around to selected observers.
“I thought they were just great,” said overweight housewife Christie Tees. “I enjoy being the center of attention.”
Shortly thereafter, the set was suddenly demolished and a period of deep confusion ensued.
An Interview with John Barlow
By Enceladus Sheets
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Enceladus Sheets recently had a chance to sit down with Oversions GM John Barlow.
ES: You’ve been pretty quiet on the lockout. What are your thoughts?
JB: The actions and desires of both sides stand boldly forth unshadowed like two giant steeds drawing a single chariot and the moment takes on a sort of fixed, sudden clarity and the tranquil deciduated tree looms above the sere and ludicrous disasters of our days.
ES: That’s interesting. Do you think the season will be saved?
JB: You have to call upon your clients at rare intervals. As if God, by circumstance, looking down upon the grand, if not niggardly roundness of the lives of the small, found not the heart to extricate them from their doomed surroundings tempered so completely to their requirements.
ES(laughing): I’m sure our readers can attest to that. What about some of the expansion owners? Surely, this lockout has them regretting their decision to buy into the Pondicherry Association.
JB: I keep my lunch in a fire-proof cabinet.
ES: Yes, of course, I hadn’t thought of that. Anything else?
JB: The cabinet is an inviolate package of conditions.
ES: Thanks.
JB: No.
The interview was terminated.
Vitiello Discusses 24-Piece Men Coaching Situation
by Tito Presentation
Senior Staff Writer
file photo
For the first time in a thus-far lost season, 24-Piece Men GM Chris Vitiello discussed the vacant head-coaching position for his expansion club.
“I see no point in naming a coach provided that this buffoonery continues,” said the decorative ham magnate from his factory in Northern Lankville. “When I sit at the [negotiating] table, I feel as if I am surrounded by vile truth-rapists and my natural inclination is not only to whip them mercilessly but to place them in fathomless caves and to literally teach the darkness out of them.”
A wall of the factory suddenly blew in on Vitiello. A siren went off somewhere and a series of searchlights strafed the area. Vitiello was able to escape through massive amounts of carnage and commandeered a decorative ham delivery truck to parts unknown.
As he pulled off, he looked down on me as the unidentified beasts circled the destroyed room.”Where are the hams which came in to thee this night? Bring them out unto us, that we may KNOW THEM”.
Then, he was gone.
Reporter Emmurian Found Smothered
By Bernie Keebler
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Freelance reporter Commodore Evans Emmurian was found smothered today. He was 59.
Emmurian’s last column, an insensate rant on a non-existent blood pact between Terrifying Bat GM Ric Royer and head coach Fingers Rolly, appeared yesterday.
“We found him in a shallow ditch by a Horn of Comfy* hotel,” commented Detective Gee Temple, who was the first to respond to the scene. “He had been smothered by what appeared to be a series of large daytime pillows, a couch cushion and a further couch cushion which subsequently was taken from the crime scene.”
“Evans had been going through some hard times,” said longtime friend Substitute Jimmy. “He lost a lot of little yachting races– ended up abandoning his houseboat at one point, something that a commodore NEVER does. Then, he tried to cut off his own head yesterday. We saw it coming.”
The reporter will be wrapped in interior shrink film plastic and deposited into a small ground depression.
He is survived by a large decorative yachting cap.
*Popular Lankville hotel chain.
Terrifying Bat Hire Fingers Rolly as Head Coach
By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
file photo
In an utterly surprising move, the Terrifying Bat have hired retired machinist Fingers Rolly as their new head coach. Rolly, unknown to the hockey world until his article appeared in a “Fans Speak Out” column forty-five minutes ago, replaces owner Ric Royer and becomes the club’s third head coach.
Royer, who was briefly helicoptered to Rolly’s rancher in the Lankville Desert region, gave a short press conference.
“I like this man,” said the executive, who was wearing a Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness sweatshirt and cut-off jeans. “He is no-nonsense and even though there is no hockey and no team whatsoever to speak of, I feel certain that he will meld into the background with positive alacrity.”
Rolly grunted briefly and uttered a strange, eldritch howl towards the desert.
The 81-year old Rolly has no previous hockey experience, a fact that Royer dismissed casually.
“There is a long bench in hockey and this is the crux. The man will observe this situation and he will master it. Age makes no difference. I want Fingers Rollies [sic] to be that man. And he will walk into the clubhouse, put on the especially tight, unflattering blazer that we have already had tailored and he will work that bench. I have never been more positive of anything.”
Rolly grunted again, cursed and screamed.
Royer was then taken back to the home and the interview slowly collapsed on its own accord.
Fans Speak Out on Pondicherry Lockout
By Fingers Rolly
Man on the Street
File photo
Let me say right out– I’ve had enough of this fucking shit. God damn clowns running this show– they oughta’ take that simple mother fucker “Inner Hammer” out to one of those large ocean cages and string him up to a fucking derrick. I don’t have any time left for any of this horseshit. Half the fucking time, I’m fucking sitting here in my little shitcan of a kitchen, screaming out at that son of a bitch desert, all cracked and brown. Those fucking cactuses with those needles. God damn this whole degenerate country.
I got this little outhouse of a man that comes in twice a week. I said to the company, “Get me one of them little bitches that I could throw a batch at.” I was only fucking kiddin’ but these pissants got all upset and sent me this guy built like a god damn brick shithouse. You oughta’ see him.
Fucker doesn’t know how to make a pot of decent coffee. I end up with fucking brown pee, is what I get. Four pots of fucking brown pee all day. And that’s what it’s like now. Brown pee and a constant series of screams and howls at that asshole of a desert.
We put out a little driveway of rocks, me and the god damn outhouse. Bought ’em special at House Dump*. I supervised the big sack of shit and it took all day. Next morning, what do you think happened? Bunch of fucking kids came down from the hills, fucked the rocks all up. Kicked ’em out into the yard– that fucking yard just fucking brown baked shit. I got the outhouse to fix ’em up again and the very next morning those degenerates come down from the hills again. Shitballs.
That’s all I know today.
*Popular Lankville hardware chain.
Missing Meyer Spotted Again
By Some Carefully-Wrapped Presents
Seasonal Reporters
file photo
Former Sharks GM Shane Meyer, missing since June, was spotted again last night according to an unconfirmed report.
“It was definitely him,” said East Lankville resident Ike Resin. “He was pushed out of the passenger side of a slow-moving car into the alley behind Tri-Town Appliance. He was wrapped in a long garden hose and after awhile, he got up, freed himself of the hose and deposited it into some trash cans. Then, he walked off.”
Resin noted that he attempted to approach Meyer but that the executive ignored his repeated calls.
“I just screamed. I find that effective. I scream and then I scream louder and from the back of the throat, a sort of death-gurgle but he paid absolutely no attention.”
Police were informed but Detective Gee-Temple, head of the Meyer case, gave little credence to Resin’s account.
“We are well-aware of Ike Resin,” the Detective commented. “He’s poor and therefore his word is insubstantial.”
Nonetheless, this is the third unconfirmed Meyer sighting in the last two months.
“It gives me hope,” said Meyer’s Aunt Pam, who was interviewed while dragging a gigantic sack of unpainted crafts back to her horde-heavy bungalow. “I would like to have Shane back for the holidays.”
Inner Hammer: “The Pandas are Liars”
By Commodore Evans Emmurian
Staff Writer (Occasional)
file photo
Early Peoples GM “Inner Hammer” today issued a scathing response to the recent feature articles penned by the Two Pandas.
“They are liars, pure and simple,” said the executive, who was interviewed while resting in a hammock hung between two trees. “You guys in the press don’t even bother to check on this rubbish– you just publish any fuck-all thing that slithers into your fat laps.”
Inner Hammer moved about in the hammock in an agitated manner causing several of the low-hanging gigantic tree balls to drop into the sand.
“Pandas always lie. They lie about everything, it’s part of their whole makeup,” said the executive, who was wearing a loud bathing suit which featured dramatic images of skulls and eagles. “We provided them with tons of bamboo last year. What the fuck did they do with it, that’s what I want to know.”
Inner Hammer then noted, “All they want is a god damn handout.”
The former interim commissioner then allowed himself to be dumped out of the hammock into the sand. He then began running awkwardly away and the interview was ended prematurely.
The two pandas have been critical of Pondicherry Association policy towards pandas for several weeks.
Fans Speak Out on Pondicherry Lockout
By Chief Hogsett
Insulation Technician
file photo
I have an entire ritual on game nights. I set up a TV tray in front of my recliner– it’s the one with the brown and gold floral patterns. Then, I put my pre-frozen meat dinner into the oven. I time it just right so that when I put that dinner in the oven, it’ll be done right when the puck drops. When I first started this, see, I never timed it right. I got so angry one time that I killed a guy, cut off his head, put it on the fake mantle and screamed at it all night. But, anyway, I served my time.
So, this year was going to be the same. I was never convinced they would have this strike, so I went and bought up a whole freezer full of pre-frozen meat dinners. Sure, I still eat the damn things, but there’s no game to watch. I turn on the channel and it’s just a blue screen with some light trumpet music playing. I still can’t believe it.
I’m certainly no Dean T. Pibbs* but I’m glad that the Pondicherry Association News is giving guys like me a chance to write out their thoughts. The Pondicherry Association needs to get this solved so we can go back to our lives.
*Editors note: popular Lankville author of terrorist attack novels.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Man Called Barlow
By Ric Royer
File photo
Today at lunch (rice and hot dogs), I met a man called Barlow. He showed me a fat album of off-center and out of focus photographs of distant limbs of trees. There were hundreds of them.
“At one time,” he said, in what seemed a slightly foreign accent, “I was the principal photographer of exactly this and exactly this only and after many years, they said enough. I recall two exceedingly fast nights spent in the burnt-out shell of a former paper mill, a third night in an ancient train tunnel and then a fourth night on a pedestrian bridge before being picked up by a park ranger. I was evaluated and sent here. They let me keep my portfolio.”
He lifted the fat book up and dropped it intentionally in his rice. The meaning of the gesture was slightly obscure.
“You have a very aquiline nose,” he commented. “We should walk together some time.”
I mentioned that I owned a hockey club. The man called Barlow started.
“My brother owns a hockey club. But he is a sort of monster. He eats pandas.”
“How terrible!” I lied. Because I too have eaten pandas.
Jello was brought. I began eating voraciously while Barlow simply stared. I thought for a moment that he was going to drop the fat book in his desert and I was suddenly gripped by deep despair. But the man called Barlow continued to stare. His gaze was so applied, in fact, that I was able to steal his Jello quite handily.
Finally, he said, “If you walk over the two hills, through the point of rocks and down a third hill that is quite smaller than the first two hills, you will come upon the remnants of an abandoned stone village. I would like to take some photographs there of specific tree limbs.”
Nothing was said for a moment. Finally, I offered, “So what?”
“Ah, well, if that’s the way you feel about it.”
And the man called Barlow left the table and asked an attendant to accompany him back to his room.
I waited awhile. Then, I motioned one of the servers over.
“Yeah, I never got any Jello,” I said.
They brought another one over. I ate happily.
Fick: “I Am Returning to the Heaths from Whence I Came”
By Tommy “The Anvil” Bulova
Small Events Attache
File photo
In a surprise press conference held early this morning in a dreary, dimly-lit Masonic hall, Darkness GM Fick announced his retirement from hockey effective today.
“I am returning to the heaths from whence I came,” said the somnolent executive, who appeared unshaven and with deep, dark circles beneath his eyes and, for some reason, his mouth. “It is time to return to the heaths. I know that now.”
The press conference featured an assortment of waffles and pancakes, all of which were entirely too hot to eat and mysteriously remained so throughout the entire event.
“In the next few days, I will be appointing various figures to resume control of Darkness,” said Fick, who read from a series of small, colored index cards. “From thence forward, you will hear from me via alternative means of communication which will become apparent soon.”
Fick then tore up the index cards into tiny bits and then burned the detritus on the surface of the podium. He then joined press agents and reporters for breakfast.
“These waffles and pancakes do not appear to cool,” he affirmed. “We cannot eat them.”
A period of extreme perturbation ensued followed by violence followed by an unannounced eclipse of the early morning sun that lasted for hours.
ACCOMMODATIONS
When staying in the Area Beyond the Outlands, pick the Murray. Friendly, creative staff, delightful beds, curtains. Phone Far Outlands 5-6712.
LANKVILLE DAILY NEWS: IN BOOK FORM!
The book is gone. It will never return. We hear stories but they are likely false. We live in the woods now. We make fire with a lighter that we found in the street. It was crushed by a truck but, somehow, perhaps through some intervention that is beyond us, it still works. We are waiting. We are waiting.
Original Pondicherry Association News promotional advertisement (2009)
TONIGHT ON TV! RICHARD AND THE POSTMAN REUNION SPECIAL!
The Hit program from the 1970's returns to Lankville TV tonight on LBC!
ADULT ADVERTISEMENT
Women all over Lankville are just sitting at mammoth computers waiting to hear from men like you! Just insert a floppy disk, write a (non-sexual) message and let the sparks fly! (Computer not included).
ADVERTISEMENT
A Vitiello Decorative Ham makes a great gift. Show that you care today.
BANDED DUFFELS ON PALLETS
Assorted colors. Whatever you want to do, man. Call Lankville Falls, 3247.
BRIAN SCHROPP IN THE LANKVILLE DAILY NEWS
The most important cuisine articles ever written.
CANDY
Jipps Co. Full Service Candy Counter! Our alert girls will push gummy drops into special paper sheaths, engage in restrained pleasantries and explain chocholate-to-nougat ratios. Call Central Lankville 3614.
CAT PHOTO
In compliance with Lankville subsection 11:16-4.
CHAMBERS CO. HAND DRILLS: When Electricity is Not an Option
When electricity is not an option consider the Chambers Company hand crank drills. Perfect for use in tight spaces, on distant islands or for drilling holes in fences to see TITS. Call 4-2309.
EMPLOYMENT
Big Ed's BBQ Shack is looking for a part-time waitress. Someone who doesn't nose around and ask a lot of difficult questions. Call Lankville Rougher Area, 5-2100.
EMPLOYMENT
Nuts, Ah! is looking for an experienced nut-handler. Experience with bagging nuts also important. If you break the nut sack, the nuts will drop onto the floor. Come in person for application to Twin Removed Pines Mall. NO CALLS.
FOX FOR PARTIES
Hire the Poetry Fox for Your Child's Next Party. Reasonable rates. Writes poems, dances, will not stand for any shenanigans. Call South Lankville 2009.
The funny stories of Dick Oakes, Jr. have thrilled millions. Look for them today in The Lankville Daily News!
GELSINGER’S ALLURE CLUB
Topless, bottomless wonderland. Mysterious back rooms. Carpeted entirely in astroturf. NO CALLS.
GREBOV BROTHERS TELESCOPE COMPANY
The Grebov Brothers are Lankville's finest purveyor of telescopes for astronomy enthusiasts. Substantial 4.5" apertures and fast f/4 focal ratios provide bright, detailed views of solar system targets like the Moon and planets, as well as wide-field celestial objects like nebulas and star clusters but also TITS.
GUMP PENETRATES
Only in The Lankville Daily News
HADBAWNIK HAUNTED STAIRCASE COMPANY
The Hadbawnik Company is Lankville's #1 installer of haunted, brush-littered staircases. Friendly non-foreign staff! Call Western (Outer) Lankville, 2154 or 2198 today.
HADBAWNIK HAUNTED BRUSH PILES!
The Hadbawnik Haunted Staircase Company is now offering haunted brush piles for use on your staircase. Create eerie, supernal ambiance. Allow the brush to blow haphazardly in the wind, creates fear, foreboding. Call our friendly staff of white people at Western Lankville, 2154. Brush piles may contain other forms of yard debris.
HEY! WANT A MONKEY?
Hey! Want a live little monkey? They do cute things like climb into pumpkins. Call "The Captain"- Central Lankville Hills, 5264.
HOME DUMP Your Neighborhood Hardware Store 16 Lankville Locations!
Weekly Special: Primitive Forged Hooks. Buy 4, Get a Can of Paint. Or Maybe Not. You'll Just Have to Find Out.
INFLAMED BY STARS AND BLOOD
Lankville's Premier Science Fiction and Horror Magazine Now Appearing in The Lankville Daily News!
JOHNNY PADRES, OPTICIAN
Lankville has been relying on Dr. Johnny Padres for their optical needs since 1973. We offer a full service family eye care center and provide examinations for glasses and contacts and have a large display of designer, traditional and innovative eyewear for both regular prescription eyeglasses and sunglasses all of which will enable you to see TITS better. Call Lankville Business 2618-2.
LIFE LESSONS FUNERAL HOME
Life Lessons Funeral Home has been helping Lankville with dead people since 1932. Contact Eddie or Stummins, Lankville Business, 5-2161.
LOOK AT THESE BEAUTIES!
Really some of our best ever! Have you ever seen anything like it? Call Kelly (male) at Lankville Sound 2615.
MISSING
Missing: adult penguin. Christ, I just let him out in the yard for one minute and now he's gone. Responds to the name "Richard". Call Lankville Eastern Outlands, 5-6213.
NOW PLAYING!
The Unhinged: A New Film by Tom "Vapor" Rayford. Crisp Street Cinema, Eastern Lankville
PINEAPPLE CITY: A New Way of Being
Pineapple City is a new way of being, feeling and having your shirt off. Located in the distant, barren Lankville Pines, Pineapple City is now accepting applications for sheds. Call PINES, 2-5771.
THE PUZZLER
In the pie chart above, what segment represents a certain specific strata of the general population?
REAL ESTATE
Little shed for sale. With door, mailbox, dirt plot. Site of multiple murders but don't worry, they happened around back. To inquire, come to the shed. Go around back.
REAL ESTATE
Four acre lot in Eastern Lankville Cove Area. Price reduced! Site of a fireworks display in which several people fell out of their lawnchairs and died. Locals believe it haunted but that's crap. Call Cove 2751.
THE RECKONER EXACTRA 2.0 : A Danny Madison Product
It's Your Time: CALCULATE
SARAH SAMWAYS: CONTRIBUTING FEMALE
Exclusively in the Lankville Daily News (and some other papers).
SPEAKING ENGAGEMENT
Robin Brox will sit around and get progressively more intoxicated while listening to this other broad natter on about something. LANKVILLE REGIONAL AUDITORIUM, August 4, 11PM.
SPEAKING ENGAGEMENT CANCELED
The Dr. M. Chambers speech and candy-making event has been canceled again following Dr. Chambers' sudden collapse into some baskets. New date TBA
TRAVEL TIPS by Randy Hammers
The Kum Back Inn in the Lankville Desert Area has long been serving road-weary travelers. They feature a restaurant (with cocktails) and two spacious conference rooms. The Kum Back boasts 65 units-- each including window dressing, some chairs and a larger chair (seats two smallish children), a bed with orange comforter, a plastic trash can, clever paintings, and a windowless door. TV also available in 17 (sometimes 19) rooms. Most of the rooms are air-conditioned. Oscillating fans available upon request. Illuminated carports will protect your vehicle from the vicious sudden dust storms that often overtake the Desert Area and the wild thieves that occasionally parade across the landscape like some unmentionable horror. Call now at TU-0780 and ask for Bud or Karen (married).
UTILITY YARD SHEDS
The Lowinger Brothers offer great utility yard sheds at low prices. This one is haunted. Call Lankville Port Area 1072.
VACATION PACKAGES!
Spectacular vacations in campers by little mountains. Your cares will melt away but you will have to be careful of that shack (pictured). A lunatic lives there. Call Mercantile District 2711.
WRESTLING TONIGHT!
8PM, Southern Lankville Man-Arena. Featuring Ric "Wild Boy" Tipps (green trunks).
ZACH KEEBAUGH INVESTIGATIONS
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The Lankville Daily News 
LETTER SACK