Archive for the ‘Lankville Daily News’ Category

Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

July 20, 2016 Leave a comment
By Dick Oakes, Jr.

By Dick Oakes, Jr.

It was right before I crossed over that I began to get skull cracking headaches and a general feeling of depression.

“I can see that Mr. Oates,” Dr. Yothers said. A child’s toy oven had been moved into the dim office and was humming lightly. Who could figure on any of it?

“It has a syrupy look, this malaise you speak of. It’s like syrup. Visible syrup. Or non-visible syrup intended to convey a metaphor.”

“I got it Doc. Can you give me something for it?”

“Well CERTAINLY!” he announced loudly. It was then that a light went off on the oven and a ding was heard.

“That will be my little cakes,” he said excitedly. “Why, you came at the perfect time Mr. Oakes.”

“Skip it. Let’s have a look at them pills.”

He yanked the old drawer out of the desk. “Oh yes, there are several. These were prescribed for an old patient of mine, a Mr. Fosdick. My Lord, he was crazy. I believe he committed suicide.”

“Yes, it’s sad,” Yothers added. He bowed his head but tilted it in such a way that he could observe the little oven.

“Anyway, Mr. Fosdicks never picked these up so his tragic death is a boon to you, Mr. Oates!”

I took the little orange bottles in my hands. There were four of them– all different sizes and names.

“Which should I take, doc?”

“Why, all of them, of course! Four are better than one!”

He suddenly darted over to the oven and greedily removed the cakes.

“Stay where you are, Mr. Oakes.”

It was the last time I had seen him.

And now I was lying in bed at the Murray, my head afflicted with hundreds of little bolts of pain. The pill bottles lay empty on the unmade bed. Somehow, I managed to reach the service phone. As usual, Tibbs snapped it up with uncanny speed.


“Listen, Tibbs. You know a good doctor? Somebody who doesn’t nose around with a lot of questions?”

Tibbs quieted. “I believe I do, Mr. Oakes. I believe I know exactly the type of man you are looking for.”

He hung up. I started to call back but collapsed back into the pillows. I thought about Yothers and them little cakes. There was no merit to any of it.

About fifteen minutes passed before I heard a little knock at the door. I staggered over to it and threw the chain.

He was a little balding man in a lab coat carrying some sort of strange oversized suitcase with a mysterious apparatus that extended out of the side. He seemed to have a habit of staring directly at the floor.

“I’m Dr. Cannons,” he said in a barely audible voice. “My fee for this is $100.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” I said. “If you can cure this then I guess I got no choice.”

“Go over to the bed.”

Dr. Cannons

Dr. Cannons

I did as I was told. He put the weird suitcase on the end table. There was a knob there and he turned it. A whooshing sound filled the room.

He started fooling with the apparatus. It had some kind of a mask at the end made of clear plastic. He still had never looked up.

“You have the $100?”

I drew out a couple of fifties and threw them on the end table.

“Good. Now, I will place this mask on your face and within about ten minutes, you will be dead.”

I sat up.

“I don’t know what the hell Tibbs told you but that ain’t what I’m looking for.”

He still didn’t look up.

“I’m just looking for something to cure these headaches and these blues, Doc. I’ve felt like hell for months now.”

“I…I’m not that kind of doctor,” he said. “I can recommend someone else…”

“Nah, let’s go ahead and skip that.”

He turned off the suitcase and was gone in less than a minute.

About twenty minutes later, Tibbs let himself into the room. He was pushing a cart full of sheets and towels and had a huge black canvas bag draped across one shoulder.


“What the hell kind of thing was that, Tibbs?”

Tibbs looked befuddled. “MR. OAKES, YOU MUSTN’T THINK! WELL…I…”

“Skip it. Bring me up a sixer of FUN BEER would you? Tallboys?”

I figured on drinking it away.


He pushed the cart back out.

Just a little off the head, it’ll help just a little.

The day passed that way.

OPINION: Curing Rectal Cancer Naturally with Brian Schropp

July 5, 2016 Leave a comment


Brian Schropp is not to be confused with Lankville Daily News columnist Brian Schropp or UFOlogist Brian Schropp or ‘The Power of Tolerable’ Brian Schropp.

Some might say that I’m no doctor, that I have no reason to even broach the subject of this sensitive issue.  Little do most know of my Schropp bloodline’s battle and struggle with this particular deadly cancer which strikes the male members young.  There has been many a family gathering where I would see an uncle or distant cousin- bright, healthy, pooping away with all the vigor of life, only to hear of their swift tragic death shortly thereafter.  Our bloodline is even known to marry and breed like ‘horny jackrabbits’ at an early age (usually around fourteen) NOT because we are weird perverted scum but because of this exact reason!!

That’s why I have made it my life’s work to find a cure for this horrid misery known as rectal cancer.  Now, after many years of in-depth research I am proud to say I have stumbled upon a possible cure. While down in the Lankville Islands I ironically found another ‘Brian Schropp’ who was born and bred (but not a native) on one of the smaller islands called ‘Pineapple Town’. (I also found another Brian Schropp who seemed a bit of an imbecile muttering about pizza sauce but that is neither here nor there to this subject). The island-born Brian Schropp told me of this of this ‘miracle berry’ which was used as a ‘cure all’ for most medical related problems on this isle. Excited by the potential promise of this berry, we went out into the jungle to pick a few. Luckily I brought a microscope with me, so I was able to examine these berries right away. And let me tell you the DNA structure and make-up of these are like nothing I have ever seen before!!

I knew right then and there (sorry readers for the graphic description to come) that anyone suffering from any stage of rectal cancer could rub these berries in and around their rectum, including inside the ‘poop chute’, would be cured. After picking as many berries as the natives would allow I am back here to give hope and light to the suffering.

The mysterious berry from 'Pineapple Town' island

The mysterious berry from ‘Pineapple Town’ island

I wish my all my heart I could just give you these berries for free. Unfortunately, I need to pay for my expenses plus the years and years of other research I have done. I have concluded that a small glass container (approximately fifteen berries) will get you started on the road to recovery. Each container I will be selling for $900 (before tax). Now some of you might say, that’s a pretty steep price. But really is there too high a price for not suffering, for having the gift of LIFE? This will also include ONE plastic syringe to help with the ‘poop chute’ area.

I hope to go next year during the ‘berry season’ to get a new batch. For fear of money hungry dirt bags finding exactly where these berries are on the island I have the word of Brian Schropp (not the imbecile one) and the natives that they will kill anyone else trying to get to this precious resource. In fact just writing that last sentence I will have to put the price up to $1100 to help pay for this protection.
Interested parties please contact me at PO BOX 478 Deep Deep Southeastern Suburban Lankville.

Royer’s Madcap Experiences: I, River Dick

June 2, 2016 Leave a comment

royerIt was a muddy, debris-choked tributary of a much greater but unseen river. Several greying, dilapidated highway overpasses blotted out the sun. The trees along the banks were dead and gangly. But someone wanted it protected. They decided I was the man.

I, River Dick.

My interview took place in a forlorn trailer, littered with trash. The foreman was decidedly obese– his fat rolls could not be contained by his undersized, cheese-stained sweatshirt. He sat behind an overflowing clothes hamper. I sat on a stool. I suspected he lived here.

“You ever do any river dicking before?”


“You ever done any carnival work?”


“OK. It’s like that.”

I was hired on the spot and issued a bright yellow pantsuit and a revolver. The first day passed without incident.

On the second day, some droids attempted to fill their pails under the overpass. I confronted them.

“You can’t fill those pails here.”

A long series of computational beeps ensued. One of the droids issued a small, printed-out index card. It read, “CHEESE OFF, HUMAN.”

I didn’t think twice about it. I blew them all away and buried them beneath some rocks.

On the third day, the foreman called me in.

“Did you kill some droids?”

“Yep. You know what– I don’t even feel bad about it.”

“Well, some guys at the lab feel bad about it. And they’re making me feel pretty damn bad about it too.”

“They egged me on. They were asking for it,” I added. “You know it, I know it, they know it.”

“That’s fine,” he said, after a long silence. “We’ll cover it up. Just go back along the banks and make sure the parts are pretty well-hidden.”

I did as I was told. But the parts were gone. The rest of the day passed without incident.

On the fourth day, the foreman called me in again. As I was approaching the trailer, I noticed something odd. There were tracks there, made by rolling droids. They led off towards the woods. There was an overhang there, covered by odd brush that didn’t belong. It was a setup. I was being sacrificed.

I hotwired the foreman’s pickup and headed for Lankville Beach.

I, River Dick.

The Complete Brock Belvedere Death Notices

June 1, 2016 2 comments
Brock Belvedere

Brock Belvedere 1943-2016

April 12, 2016

Friends, I’m saddened to report that Brock Belvedere was electrocuted last night. He is currently in Room 065 (basement) at Greater Lankville Plains Less Expensive Hospital. I saw him this morning and he looked as good as could be expected. If you want to send him anything, I remember he once expressed great admiration for balloons, so that might be the best way to go. I’ll keep you posted.

April 13, 2016

An update on our friend Brock Belvedere, who was electrocuted last night.

I went back to see Brock this afternoon but he was not in his room. When I inquired at the darkened nurses’ stand, I was told that Brock had been “misplaced”. “We lost him,” the nurse said. “Sorry.” They hope to find Brock later this evening. Before he was misplaced, the nurse noted that he was feeling slightly better and that he even sat up in bed and drank a big soda.

I hope to have another update for you all in the morning.

April 13, 2016

Friends– an update on dear Brock Belvedere, who was electrocuted two days ago.

First off, Brock has been found!!! He was accidentally thrown away by an over-eager janitor and, fortunately, an intern came upon him, nestled in the bin on top of some discarded food. They cleaned him up and I’m happy to say, placed him in the only available room (which is in the psychiatric bad manners ward on the first floor). I brought Brock some breakfast cake this morning but he was still in a semi-conscious state, so I ended up eating the cake myself. Our dear friend looks better– his skin has a certain sheen that I appreciated but it is still very, very grey. I am hoping that the fluids they are pumping into Brock (strangely, three lines are going into his arms causing some visible swelling) will help him. I will have an update a little later.

April 14, 2016

Brock Belvedere ceremonial collectible keepsake.

Brock Belvedere ceremonial collectible keepsake.

Everyone– it is with deep sorrow that I must inform you that our dear friend Brock Belvedere has died.

Friends are invited to call at the Life Lessons Funeral Home (ceremonial collectible funeral keepsake attached) tomorrow and Friday from 1-3, 5-7, and 11-1.

Brock seemed to be improving this morning but I am told he took a turn for the worse after lunch. “His skin began to take on the color of a dried sponge,” one nurse noted. “He began to sort of fold in on himself,” another added.

He died at 2:16 LST.

Goodnight, friend.

April 14, 2016

Friends– an update on the viewing of dear Brock Belvedere, today and Friday at the Life Lessons Funeral Home.

Brock had a little cash in his wallet so, in accordance to what we think his wishes may have been, we decided to have a box lunch for his friends. We are taking orders now.

Lunch will be provided by the catering division of Vitiello Decorative Hams, Inc. Below are the options:

-Turkey Club on a sliced decorative ham: Turkey, bacon ,swiss-like cheese, lettuce & tomato on a flaky decorative ham with fruit, chips, cookies and a bottled water.

-Honey Mustard Chicken: Marinated/grilled honey mustard filet on a sliced, crisp decorative ham with muenster-like cheese, whole real fruits, chips, cookies and a bottled water.

– The Vitiello Combo: Turkey, Swiss-like cheese, dijon-like mustard on a petite sliced and breaded decorative ham with cheddar-like cheese on the side, a fruit, chips, cake substance and a bottled water.12961637_1194170930604027_8967629342013025933_n

-Vegetables: Just a plate of mildly steamed vegetables, poorly presented (Vitiello Decorative Hams detests vegetarians).

Please RSVP your choice to Devon Fick using the “comment” option. As you can see (attached), I am keeping very careful track of the selections utilizing Excel Spreadsheets with complex summation formulas so that I can instantly tabulate final food totals.

God Bless our Friend.

April 14, 2016

Brock Belvedere Bereavement Frisbees

Brock Belvedere Bereavement Frisbees

Friends– we now have a quantity of Brock Belvedere Bereavement Frisbees available. Remember our departed loved one with these flying discs made of durable environmentally-friendly cross-woven plastic. We only have orange right now. 9 1/4″ diameter (standard).
$12.99, 8 for $59.99.

April 14, 2016
Friends– we also have a small quantity of Brock Belvedere beer cozies. We all remember how much Brock liked to keep his hands warm and dry while his drinks maintained a cold temperature. And now, you can honor his memory by doing the same. Made with the well-known wetsuit material crafted in the Western Lankville Rubber Regions, these can coolers feature 3mm walls, fit up to 12 oz. cans, and are sewn together for a secure hold. They are available in colors that include white, black, blue, neon pink, yellow, camo, turquoise and others.

RIP, dear friend.

April 15, 2016

Friends, the first viewing for Brock Belvedere was an unprecedented success. So many vivid memories, textures and feelings. I know we all had a wonderful time (especially at the 11-1 session).

Remember, if you couldn’t make it yesterday, you can still look at Brock’s lifeless body today from 1-3, 5-7, and 11-1 at the Life Lessons Funeral Home in the Southern Lankville Marshland Area. We have also set up a “Brock Belvedere Bereavement Shop” where you can pick up a number of terrific items including the Brock Belvedere “Thanks Brock” basketballs, the Bereavement Frisbees and the beer cozies. Plus, we’re offering a package deal. Get all three for just $29.99 (limited quantities, one per bereaved).


Scott Answers Your Pizza Questions

June 1, 2016 Leave a comment
Scott, Manager of the Pizza A-Round

By Scott, Manager of the Pizza A-Round

What happens if a person who orders for pizza delivery takes the pizza and refuses to pay?
Lance Speaker
Lankville Pine Basin

Dear Lance,

First off, Lance, nobody has ever “taken” a pizza from me and refused to pay. The pizza remains firmly wedged between my left hand (my delivery hand) and my left flank until the dollars have been counted out to MY satisfaction. Nobody touches a Round pizza until that transaction is complete.

I’ve heard it said that some pizzerias will simply take the pizza back to the restaurant. At worst, they might make a notation in their computer system– mark the deadbeat as a “non-payer”, something like that.

But that ain’t not how we do it at the Round.

Secondly, you pull that shit with us, and that’ll be the last pizza you ever order in the Northern Suburbs. And I don’t just mean from the Round. I mean from anybody. I’ll personally see to that. Go ahead, Lance. Try me.



Is it ethical to order a delivery pizza when it’s raining?
Buck Igloos
Snowy Lake AreaBiKpwGoCcAAR-hz

Dear Buck,

You ever hear about that little creed that the Lankville post offices have got?  The one about delivering in the rain, sleet and snow?

Well, the Round goes one better.  We’ve delivered in rain, sleet and snow, sure.  But we’ve also delivered in tornadoes, dust storms, super squirrel infestations, trash blows and even hurricanes.

Frankly, I don’t know where the hell these questions are even coming from.



Why don’t more pizza places offer stuffed crust pizza?
Billy Choppy
Lankville Outlands

Dear Billy,

Now here’s something that I got an opinion on after 20 years in the business.

Look, stuffed crust seems like a breathtaking advancement, I know. But the thing is- it ruins the crust.  I view the crust as the oasis of a pizza, if you will.  It’s a little break after all that cheese and sauce.  It mixes it up.  Now, you put sauce and cheese inside the crust and what do you have? You got overkill, that’s what.

Plus, it’s a grade-A pain in the ass to make.  My guys at the Round ain’t no good at it– they don’t have the spatial thinking skills that are required.  Very few do.  I do but that’s rare, man.  As rare as a shimmering diamond popping out of the ass of some deep cave.  Stuffed crust don’t pay the bills, man.



Scott will continue to answer your pizza questions in further issues.

Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

June 1, 2016 Leave a comment
Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

It had been a couple of weeks sleeping on a cot in the office of the towels by the pound joint when the crazy old broad that owned the place came in one morning.

“My husband died on that cot,” she said.

“Yeah? Somebody died just about near everywhere. What’s the difference?”

“I’ve got a room for you at the Murray. We’ll take it off your pay.”

I didn’t argue none.

I drove myself downtown in the ancient old car with the big rusted fins off the back. It was a five-story brick structure of another era but they had fashioned one of them angular neon signs out front and had fixed up a little cafe next to the office.

The owner was a friendly-looking older guy with a beard and a booming laugh who was already a little bit drunk.

“You Murray?”


“You got a place on an end? Overlooking something? Maybe a little cross breeze?”

“WHY, ABSOLUTELY! WE HAVE A DELIGHTFUL ROOM FOR YOU MR. OATES. THE VERY TOP FLOOR!” He gave out a thunderous laugh that I couldn’t figure on none and took a sip from a gold flask that was shaped like a bowling pin.

Then he handed me a key on a plastic fob.s-l1600

We took an elevator up. There was a sullen teenage kid dressed in a bellhop’s getup. He threw the gate and pushed one of the numbers.


The kid didn’t say anything and the elevator lurched and started going up slowly.

“You like them towels by the pound, huh, Tibbs?”


The elevator spilled out onto a depressing hallway decorated in dark greens and browns. There was a shit-colored carpet on the floor and strange paintings depicting women dressed in aprons and holding up kitchen appliances. There was no merit to any of it.


The door swung wide revealing an ordinary bed, nightstand, brown wagon wheel rug and peeling green wallpaper.

Tibbs took a hefty swig from the flask.

“Mr. Otts,” he said in a low voice. “Have you ever spun a wheel of fortune?”


“NEVER MIND, MR. OTTS!” Suddenly, Tibbs bent over at the waist and started laughing in his weird, booming way.

When he finally stopped, he stood up and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.


“What the hell’s so delightful, Tibbs?” I put down my battered paper shitcase of tattered clothes.


He pulled me over to a muslin-curtained window and threw up a yellowed roller shade. There was nothing but a cracked parking lot and a fire escape out there.


I thought about letting him know that there wasn’t anything out there but I ditched the idea.

“Yep, look at that Tibbs. Hell of a thing.”

“OH YESSSSSSSS!  IT IS AN ABSOLUTE DELIGHT.”  He emptied the flask in one final paroxysmal swill.

He pitched the flask into a dark corner. “I WILL FIGHT ANYBODY AT ANY TIME!”

“Alright, Tibbs. Alright. Let me get some rest, wouldja?”


“It’s a good damn palace, sure.”



I made sure the door was double-locked after he left.

This Lamp, this World

February 1, 2016 Leave a comment
Sultry Stories by Cindy Cones

Sultry Stories by Cindy Cones

The stories of Cindy Cones are recommended for individuals over 18 years of age.

This lamp, this world.

You remember when we bought this lamp, baby? You and me- it was supposed to last forever, right? “This is a good sturdy lamp,” the salesman said. I looked past him– right at you, remember? You pursed your lips, ran your hand through your hair. “We’ll take it,” you said. “I’ll wrap it for you,” the salesman said.

“There’s no need.”

The salesman was surprised but neither one of us was looking at him, right? You were blinking quickly but your gaze was black and direct and boring into me.

“I need some men’s products. You got any men’s products around here?” you asked.

“Sure,” the salesman said. He pointed down the street. “Go down a block or so. Must be four or five places. You can’t miss ’em.” He handed you the lamp then. You took it.

We spent awhile in the store. You got what we needed and more besides. Couple of auto-jiggers, a bullfight poster, three handguns, a lighter with your name engraved on it. And some hardware. Hardware to hang our lamp.

We got home. You found a step stool, remember that? A hammer, some of that hardware. And then you found something else.

My lips.

We kissed passionately. It seemed to me that all the loneliness and craving of my whole life was satisfied in that instant. And yet, I was almost frightened by the web of coincidences that had woven our lives together. What if even a single strand had broken? What if I had not been sent from the High Hills Area to the Snowy Lake Area? What if you had not been working in the hard toy department of that store I had wandered into? What if…what if…

You shoved me erotically onto a sofa. “When I kiss you, I see a flare of saffron in the sky,” you said. Remember that? “The white-hot heat,” I said.

Then, it was just you and me.

And then it wasn’t. It was just the lamp. The room was empty and forlorn. The walls were peeling. And I found your letter.

“Had to go out for more guns. Be back,” you wrote.

That was five months ago.

And now…it’s just this lamp…and me…and this world.

Collector’s Corner with Bobby Pinewood

February 1, 2016 Leave a comment
Bobby Pinewood

Bobby Pinewood

For many years, the old-fashioned “record album” had been passed over on the Lankville music market by such technical innovations as the “compact disc”, “the cassette tape” and the “spinning tune globe”. But now, vinyl is enjoying a sort of renaissance, thanks to a series of new mall stores popping up around Lankville and the tenacity of a few dedicated purists. Today, on “Collector’s Corner with Bobby Pinewood”, we’re going to have a look at one of Lankville’s most prized records.

The famous picture sleeve of the Sta-cee 45.

The famous picture sleeve of the Sta-cee 45.

Any discussion of rare records, of course, must begin with Sta-cee’s exceedingly scarce 1973 “45 RPM” single– “Dollar Bill Ring” b/w “Gotta Tree”. Released by the small Hitsville label out of the Central Lankville Showy Suburban Area, the record was directly responsible for a series of riots and counter-revolutionary tank salvos and was recalled almost immediately. “Only about 40 or 50 copies leaked out,” said noted “record” collector Bill Stynes, who has also written a manuscript on the incident which was later used to prop up the short leg of a chair. “Sta-cee was so mortified by the destructive effect of her music that she lapsed into a state of complete seclusion, emerging only occasionally for pens or snacks.”

Of the 47 known copies, only 21 are rated “Near Mint”. And of these, only 12 include the original picture sleeve with the now-famous suggestive photo of the lovely Sta-cee. “My Lord, it’s a great picture sleeve,” said “record” collector and Lankville Daily News correspondent Brock Belvedere, Jr. “Such nice lighting. Nice framing. I…I really like it a lot.”

“The ol’ jogging partners are really emphasized,” agreed Stynes, who suddenly placed a blanket over his lap.

What of the Hitsville label? We caught up with founder and former producer Mickey Olive at a recent “record” show.

A look at the label.

A look at the label.

“We were mortified by the public’s reaction of course,” Oliver, now 72, averred. “It was just a bouncy little tune with a lot of little funny trumpet sounds and inane lyrics. There was nothing to indicate it would set off a riot and then provoke the kind of reaction from the Lankville government at the time. They completely leveled a bunch of buildings and record stores and even drove their tanks into the woods and just started firing senselessly in there. To this day, I really have no idea what it was all about.”

“Music can be a sort of revolutionary expression,” said Northern Lankville Easier University professor John Patreenus-Binders. “The Sta-cee Incident, as it’s now known, was one of those moments.”

Whatever the reason, the 45 remains relevant. Just last year, a Mint copy in picture sleeve was auctioned. The price? A whopping $550 million (and a deed to a mall).

“No question, the price will continue to go up,” said Stynes. “There’s no reason it won’t.”

What Happens When Nobody Picks Up a Pizza?

January 31, 2016 Leave a comment
Scott, Manager of the Pizza A-Round

By Scott, Manager of the Pizza A-Round

When you order a pizza, you enter into a contract.

99% of the time, that contract is honored by both parties. The pizzeria makes the pizza, the customer picks up the pizza. Pretty elementary. Happens every day, millions and millions of times all across Lankville (and sometimes in the islands).

But every so often, that contract breaks down. That voice on the other end– the one that said they’d be “carrying out” that pizza. Well, let’s just say that they don’t hold up their end of the bargain. That pizza never gets picked up. It sits on a counter waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

What’s to be done?

There are two philosophies on this. The first is that– hey– the employees of the pizzeria get themselves a free meal. Maybe somebody gets to take it home. Maybe it gets thrown out your car window at a homeless person at the end of your shift.

But me– I’ve never taken that philosophy. That ain’t how we do it at the Round– let’s just say that.

First, let’s look at the information available to you about your deadbeat customer. You got a phone number. That’s essential. Maybe you got a name. That’s secondary. You got some idea of where they live. After all, there ain’t nobody that’s gonna’ drive more than 20 minutes for a pie.

Now, you might be thinking– what the hell can I do with such minimal information.

The answer is a lot. If you got the right tools.

At the Round, we subscribe to a database that allows one to access in-depth information on just about anyone, provided that you’ve got a phone number. In the past, I wouldn’t even have told you that we had that database but the thing is, the guy that sold it to us– he’s dead. Killed in a challenge. Matter of fact, he was challenged twice in one evening, the story goes. But that’s neither here nor there.

Back to the database. You got the number, now you just plug it in and BAM- you got yourself an address. Not only that– but you can break down the details on the house itself. We’re talking square footage, number of stories, semi-detached or single family, all that shit.

And now it’s just a matter of making a plan. What will be your approach? Some people go straight for the front door– couple of loud fist knocks and a demand for payment. Me? I go for a side window and a knife in my mouth. I hold up the pizza. “WHAT ABOUT THIS, ASSHOLE?” I usually yell. Oh, it scares the living hell out of them.

Every place may have a slight variation on this technique. You can’t argue with the pie graphs that my boy Bri made up though. We get payment from 9 out of 10 deadbeats.

We ain’t no lightweights.

Summoning Spirits with Carl Dunn

January 8, 2016 2 comments
By Sarah Samways, Contributing Female

By Sarah Samways, Contributing Female

While the majority of Lankvillians spent this past Halloween walking around aimlessly, looking for a “good time,” visual artist and occasional occultist, Carl Dunn, spent his morning a little bit differently. Going to the local slaughterhouse, nearby his beloved Fotomat and down around the corner from the Pizza-A-Round, Dunn brought with him a pocket knife, a rare, leather-bound book of demonic chants, and attempted to contact the very face of evil Itself.

Because it’s the New Year, a time teeming with glee, ghosts and alcoholism, I probed Dunn for any tips he had on summoning spirits. He reluctantly obliged.

SS: Why are you doing this?

CD: I’m very creative.

Dunn, standing in front of a wall.

Dunn, standing in front of a wall.

SS: Fair enough. So what happened out there, were you able to bring forth the face of Evil?

CD: Oh yeah, for sure. It wasn’t really talkative though – I should’ve had a plan B. Maybe some notecards so we could engage in small talk or something. I was all prepared for the beginning, ya know, getting ‘im there – I chanted until my tongue was twisted…

SS (nods): The creepy book in Latin, the pocket knife to draw your own blood as an offering…

CD: Yeah, it was great. But then, It like, showed up in this big cloud of fog…just this floating head, really surreal. It had these bright, glowing red eyes and it let out this deafening shriek. If I were a weaker man, I’d have run for the hills, ya know if they weren’t polluted with toxic sludge…

SS: Right, right.

CD: But anyway, It lets out this shriek for about ten minutes and then it just stops, blinks Its eyes and then looks at me. You could practically see the question mark hovering on Its face.

The Face of Evil (file photo)

The Face of Evil (file photo)

SS: It wanted to know what you wanted, why you had summoned It…?

CD: Yeah, I think so. But I really had no good answer so I just said, ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ Then it disappeared.

SS: Amazing. Do you have any tips for Lankvillians regarding contacting spirits, the other side, ghosts, and any other odd undead land mammals?

CD: Notecards or a prepared speech, anything topical. I have a feeling that Evil is really interested in politics. Yeah, I’m gonna stick with that. You don’t wanna bore Evil when it finally graces you with Its presence.

SS: Thank you, Carl. As always, you’re a special delight.

Carl then nodded, gave me a pat on the shoulder and went out for a smoke. I preceded to put up special New Year’s tinsel and fuzzy garland, just to make the place look a little more festive. Happy New Year, Lankville!

Royer to Purchase Dinner Theatre

December 14, 2015 Leave a comment
A Buck Igloos Health Watch

By Buck Igloos


Noted Lankville business magnate Ric Royer will officially add a dinner theatre to his holdings, sources are confirming.

“We can confirm that Mr. Royer is purchasing the Walter W. Pipette Memorial Dinner Theatre,” a spokesman, who refused to be identified, stated. “I don’t have any concrete figures at this time.”

The Walter

The Walter W. Pipette Memorial Dinner Theatre

Royer, who spends every holiday season in seclusion at the Foontz-Flonnaise Mental Institution, was not interviewed.

“This is Mr. Royer’s peak time with his illuminated porcelain Christmas village layout. We won’t see him until January,” the spokesman noted.

The Walter W. Pipette Memorial Dinner Theatre has provided entertainment and dinner to Southeastern Lankville residents for over 60 years. It was founded by Pipette, a thespian and theatre advocate, who was smothered in 1959. The theatre was later named in his honor.

“All the great Lankville playwrights debuted there,” said longtime actor Manny Outfits, now retired. “And they really did have good dinner. And then eventually they installed TVs, puzzles, games right at the tables. So, the theatre was really secondary. Or not even secondary. It was just background noise. Hell, sometimes they were even late with raising the curtain. But that’s okay because it rubbed off on a few people.”

Outfits was suddenly involved in a challenge and the interview ended prematurely.

No programming changes have been announced.

Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

December 4, 2015 Leave a comment
Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

For about three months, I passed her every day at the corner of Pondicherry and Pendleton.

It was nearing summer when she spoke to me.

“Don’t I see you all the time?”
“What do you do?”
“…I…I do some writing. Freelance.”
“So, you’re a bum? You loaf?”

I had to give it to her. Plus, she had a hell of a set of legs.

She looked between the office buildings where a lonely farmhouse, about to be bulldozed, sat forlornly.

“Because of a lingering pro-rural bias in the scholarship, studies have revealed more about the mid-nineteenth century Lankville farmhouse than about these office towers.”

I nodded senselessly. I had been on my way for some beers. All I had been thinking about were those beers. And now, this.

She stretched and gave me a good look at the cans.

“So, I suppose you’ll write about me, then?”

“Maybe. Mostly, I just cover the Small Motel Wrestling circuit. In the West, at least. They got another clown in the East…” I trailed off.

“I don’t care for Small Motel Wrestling. It’s base.”

“Well, I guess they’ll probably just shut down the whole operation now that that’s out.”

“You’re teasing me.” The sun hit her face. It was god damned glorious.

“Maybe I’ll talk to you again,” she said after a time. The lunch crowd was spilling out of the offices.

“Maybe so.”

I didn’t see her again but I did get those beers.

I Want to Tell You SO Much About How My New Boyfriend Took Me to See a Pony

December 2, 2015 Leave a comment


Ashley Pfeiffers

By Ashley Pfeiffers

OH MY GOD! I just HAVE to tell you about how my new boyfriend took me to see a pony!

So, we were supposed to have our usual date at the Pizza A-Round. My new boyfriend borrowed his Mom’s station wagon and we headed on out to the Deep Eastern Suburbs. My new boyfriend was telling me all about a new riser pad he had just installed on his skateboard. “That wheel bite was a disaster, Ash,” he said. “But with that new riser pad, my God, my life is so much different now.” I wasn’t sure what he was talking about but he is just SO CUTE. We are so in love.

After awhile, we came to the Round but then my new boyfriend drove right by it.

“Got a surprise for you Ash. We’ll get our pizza later.”


We drove a little longer and then we turned off onto a country road lined by split-wood fences. Finally, my new boyfriend edged the car into a little dirt lot crowded with old farm equipment. Some chickens scurried off.

An old man appeared out of nowhere. He was eating some corn straight out of a can. He mumbled something but I couldn’t understand it.

“This is my Uncle,” my new boyfriend said. “This is his spread.”

The old man spit some corn onto some of the chickens. I almost DIED. I felt so SAD for the chickens.

“Oh, they like it, Ash,” my new boyfriend said, noticing my concern. He kissed me suddenly. The old man mumbled something else incoherent.

“Ash, we just need to walk over this hill– I’ve got something to show you.”

I followed my new boyfriend up the hill. It was steep and slick from the recent rain. “I’d climb any number of really big hills for you, Ash,” my new boyfriend said. I pushed his hair out of his face and kissed him again. We stood on top of the hill kissing passionately. WE ARE SO IN LOVE.

My new boyfriend pointed to a little barn off in the distance. “It’s in there, Ash. What I want to show you.” He took me by the hand. The sun suddenly hit us both as we descended the hill. I was SO NERVOUS!

He led me into the barn. And there, in a little wood stall, was a PONY! It had a pink bow tied around its neck.

“OH MY GOD!” I said. “Is this pony for me?”

My new boyfriend was confused. “Oh, you mean, because of the bow? Naw, my Uncle just likes putting pink bows around ponies.”

I looked up at my boyfriend.

“Yeah, I dunno.”

I spent the next hour petting the pony, brushing his mane and giving my new boyfriend all kinds of kisses! It was just the SWEETEST THING EVER!

“Ash, I’m starving, babe. What do you say we go wreck some ‘za?”

“I’ll see you again, pony!” I called. OH MY GOD– I am just so in love with him.

And my new boyfriend.

It was just the greatest day EVER!

Gone are the Thanksgiving Hams Says Local Worker: Weepy Stories of the Holiday

November 25, 2015 Leave a comment
By Brock Belvedere

By Brock Belvedere


Sherman Fenanigans is a thin, wiry man who looks every one of his 58 years. He sports unfashionable aviator glasses, repaired many times with tape and a faded grey uniform that has been brushed so often that the bare fibers are now visible. His paper hat is dented and creased.

Sherman has been in charge of cakes at the Barlow Foods Lankville Heights location for 32 years. “I don’t bake the cakes,” he is quick to clarify. “My authority kicks in once the cakes have been removed from the oven but before they have been placed in the cardboard containers.”

He has a family of eight to support. The holidays are a particularly difficult time. And they have been made more difficult since Barlow Foods, a multi-billion dollar corporation, did away with holiday bonuses.

“It’s been about five years since they did that,” said Fenanigans, who was interviewed while watching carefully over the display case of cakes as the brisk mid-morning crowd passed by. “We used to count on that.”

“Tell us about that?” we probed.

Fenanigans at work. He has just dropped a cake into some vegetables.

Fenanigans at work. He has just dropped a cake into some vegetables.

“Well, for the first 10 years, they gave us a Christmas turkey. Every year. Then, they said they couldn’t do it anymore, so they gave us Thanksgiving hams. That went on for about five years. Then, they said they couldn’t get the hams anymore but that they’d give us $10 and we could buy our own hams. That went on for another two, maybe three years. Then, they stopped giving us the $10.”

Fenanigans paused to let the weight of the sad tale sink in. It didn’t. I was genuinely flummoxed by his statement.

“What happened to the hams?” I asked.

“As I said, they stopped buying them for us.”

I still was vastly confused.

“Well, I mean, what happened to the hams they were supposed to buy for you?” I probed.

He looked at me. “What do you mean, what happened to ’em? They didn’t buy ’em.”

That’s when the picture started to become clear.

“Oh, I see. So, someone else bought them.”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” he said. “I have no idea.”

I wanted to understand further. “So, it freed up hams that just went back into the general pool of available public hams?”

I wanted to understand further. “So, it freed up hams that just went back into the general pool of available public hams?”

“Yeah, basically. And, so now we still have ham for Thanksgiving but it takes away money we could have spent on additional side dishes.”

He broke down then. He had to take a moment to collect himself. He handed his paper hat to me and asked me to mind the cake case. I did the best I could but I became so overwhelmed that I basically gave away all the cakes and made all kinds of additional wild promises. A manager had to be called.

Barlow Foods CEO John Barlow consented to a brief meeting. I explained Fenanigans’ predicament.

“The policies of giving away holiday meats were no longer viable,” he noted, calling attention to several spreadsheets with interior flip-up tables on a computer screen. “The resources were no longer there. It’s a different time now then when Mr. Renanigans [sic] was originally hired.”

But for many Barlow Foods employees, that means a skimpier holiday table.

“We’ve had to cut back on things like cranberry sauce, corn, chocolate loafs,” noted Fenanigans. “You just have to learn to let certain traditions die. But it’s difficult.”

President Pondicherry on the State of Lankville

October 8, 2015 Leave a comment
President Pondicherry

President Pondicherry

There is no greater honor than the Presidency of our luscious country. But it is not just an honor; it is indeed a privilege. We are at the dawning of an age of possibility. The great grains of the farms by the malls shall be harvested.

This shall occur– it is our destiny.

It is also my deepest honor to be crushing ass in our first National Presidential Poll. Although I know very little about polls, I certainly enjoyed hearing about it.

Tonight, we will be crowning some of our great heroes (the men and the one woman that work for the fire department) at a small ceremony at the Casa Montecristo (an elegant reception hall). Each fire person will receive a trophy, a box of new slacks, and a big medal that says, “CHAMPION”. It can be worn about the neck proudly, although the medal part is really, really huge. Like, the size of a pizza serving plate. I’m not sure why it came like that.

God Bless You and God Bless Lankville,
President Pondicherry

%d bloggers like this: