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OPINION: I’ve Been Hit With a Chair Before, I’ll Be Hit With a Chair Again

August 4, 2016 Leave a comment
Dick La Hoyt

By Dick La Hoyt

Hey, this here’s a message for that assclown that hit me with a chair down at The Appliance Tyrant on Route 71. Guess what, shit for brains? I been hit with a chair before and I’ll be hit with a chair again.

Let me tell you what happened. So, I’m parked on the couch with a couple of cold beverages and a take-out container of wings, ready to watch Truckers Driving Over Hills, this reality show I enjoy, when all of a sudden I hear Tammy screaming in the basement. “OH MY GOD, DICK! OH MY GOD, DICK!” over and over again. So, I figure I better check it out. After all, Dick likes to keep the little lady happy.

So, I go downstairs and you know what I see? Whole god damn utility sink is clogged to hell and water is running all over my newly-painted and recently-refinished concrete floor.

“GOD DAMMIT, DICK LA HOYT, THE WASHER’S BROKE!” Tam yells. She’s wet as a dog in the rain and plus, she’s got on a white t-shirt, so that was some bonus points for old Dick. Hey, you gotta’ see the good in every situation, know what I mean?

Anyway, I get the sink unclogged and then go to work on the washer. And don’t you know it– the god damn agitator comes right off. Broke at the base.

“This baby is toast,” I tell Tam, who’s drying off (unfortunately). “I’m gonna’ have to get a new one.”

“I saw that the Washing Machine Realm is having a sale,” Tam offers.

I smiled. Sure, Tam was just trying to help but let me tell you– ol’ Dick knows where to go. And that’s how I ended up at The Appliance Tyrant.

So anyways, I’m taking a look at some of the machines– thinking about maybe going with a front loader this time, maybe something in platinum or onyx, when all of a sudden this horse’s ass butts in front of me and checks out the tag on the VERY washer that I was eyeing up. I couldn’t believe it.

“Hey buddy,” I inform him. “That washer is SPOKEN FOR.”

“Oh yeah? You buy this one?” he asks. “It’s a good one,” he says, and pats the washer a couple of times on the side.

I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT.

“Listen, man. I went and told you the washer was spoken for. Now, you’re patting it on the side like you own it? What gives you the god damn RIGHT?”

He takes a step back for a second but then he comes forward and pats it again. I nearly lost it.

“I’ll pat this machine if I want to, man,” he says.

“Alright, we’re taking this shit OUTSIDE,” I say.

“GLADLY,” he says.

So, anyways, we head out into the parking lot. It’s pretty cracked and weedy and there’s some old furniture out there that I guess they never got around to throwing away. And as I’m staring at an old stool, wondering if maybe I could refinish it and use it at my workbench, the guy brains me with a god damn chair. I never saw it coming.

I wake up in the back room of the Tyrant. A couple of salesman are standing around trying to pitch plastic forks into an empty coffee can. I got a headache the size of the Outlands.

“Your wife’s coming to pick you up,” one of the salesman says.

“She sounded plenty mad,” the other one says.

I’d figure it out. Dick La Hoyt always figures it out.

But I just want that prick to know one thing– I been hit with a chair before and I’ll sure as SHIT be hit with a chair again.

The opinions of Dick La Hoyt are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

OPINION: Curing Rectal Cancer Naturally with Brian Schropp

July 5, 2016 Leave a comment

unnamed

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.

OPINION: I’ve Been Smashed in the Neck by a 2 x 4 Before, I’ll Be Smashed in the Neck by a 2 x 4 Again

June 5, 2016 Leave a comment
Dick La Hoyt

By Dick La Hoyt

TIMELY OPINIONS

Yeah, this here’s a message for that little dipshit that smashed me in the neck with a 2 x 4 yesterday at The Lumber Brouhaha. Guess what, shit for brains? I been crushed in the neck with a 2 x 4 before and I’ll sure as hell be crushed in the neck with a 2 x 4 again.

So, here’s what happened. You remember that sweet deck Dick La Hoyt built last Fall, right? Well, look– Tam thinks it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. Just the other day, she was all like– “Oh, Dick, lounging around outside takes on a whole new meaning ever since you put up this motherfucker.” I’m flattered by the compliment, I really am, but I gotta’ tell you– to the seasoned eye, I’m starting to see some problems. There’s a little wobble in a couple of the boards and a bit of greying underneath over near one section. Dick La Hoyt don’t like it– not at all and I’ve been sizing up ripping the whole thing out and starting over. Tam’s all like, “OH MY GOD, DICK LA HOYT, there ain’t no reason for that” but I can’t live with it anymore. It’s gotta’ be fixed my way and so with that in mind, I head on down to see my buddy Chris at The Lumber Brouhaha.

Chris and me go way back to the old neighborhood. We used to chase tail back in the day, go on fishing trips and hang out at the old Lingus Nets arena. One time, we both got pretty damn lit and ended up pissing in some guy’s vegetable garden. Needless to say, we both got punched in the mouth. Not the first time and not the last, let me tell you what.

Anyway, Chris showed me some of the new stock they got down at the Brouhaha. Beautiful red oak they just got in and I started thinking maybe that was the way to go.

Well, the next thing you know this little guy comes out of nowhere and pinches my cart. It was a good one too– one of those nice orange ones with the double handles. Sure, I didn’t have nothing on it but it was only a couple of feet from me. This candy ass didn’t even ask or nothing.

“Hey man,” I called out. “That cart is SPOKEN FOR!”

“It don’t got your name on it anywhere,” the guy responded.

That did it. Dick La Hoyt don’t take no shit from anybody at The Lumber Brouhaha. You might as well be coming into my god damn living room and swiping my favorite recliner.

“YOU AND ME, WE’RE TAKING THIS OUTSIDE,” I hollered.

“GLADLY,” he said.

I led him to a little spot I knew of between the Brouhaha and that elegant reception hall or whatever that everybody’s always going on about.

I turned to face him and the next thing I know– BAM! I take a 2 x 4 right in the neck.

Chris was the one that found me.

“Jesus Christ, Dick,” he said. “You got a big ol’ red mark on your neck.”

“WHERE’S THAT HORSES’ ASS?” I called out.

“He put a bunch of lumber on that cart of yours. Paid and walked right out with it. That’s how come I knew to look for you– I knew that was your cart. That’s the one with them double handles.”

“GOD DAMN, RIGHT,” I said. I was having a hell of a time catching my breath.

“Want me to call Tam?” he said.

“Nah, I’ll be alright. Let me just lay here a minute.”

Chris sat with me. Me and him go way back.

Anyway, I just want to make sure that asshead knows that didn’t get one over on ol’ Dick La Hoyt. I been smashed in the neck with a 2 x 4 before and I’ll sure as the sun rises get smashed in the neck again.

The opinions of Dick La Hoyt are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

OPINION: TURN AROUND IN TONY PEPPERONY’S DRIVEWAY AND YOU MIGHT FIND YOURSELF WITH A TIRE UP YOUR ASS

April 8, 2016 1 comment
By Tony Pepperony

By Tony Pepperony

TONY PEPPERONY LIVES ON A NICE, QUIET DEAD END STREET.

PEOPLE, SEE, SOMETIMES THEY DON’T PAY NO ATTENTION AND THEY DON’T REALIZE IT’S A DEAD END STREET. SO, THEY GOTTA’ TURN AROUND, SEE? SO, THEY PICK SOMEBODY’S DRIVEWAY TO TURN AROUND IN.

WELL, LET ME TELL YOU RIGHT NOW: YOU PICK TONY PEPPERONY’S DRIVEWAY TO TURN AROUND IN AND YOU MIGHT FIND YOURSELF WITH A TIRE UP YOUR ASS.

MADGE AND I SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THE PEBBLE LINER THAT RUNS UP EITHER SIDE OF THE DRIVEWAY TO THE GARAGE. CHRIST, TONY PEPPERONY HAS BEEN KNOWN TO BRING A GOD DAMN BIG DIGITAL LEVEL OUT TO MAKE SURE IT’S EVEN. HELL, TONY PEPPERONY’S EVEN BEEN KNOWN TO TAKE AN ARIEL SHOT FROM THE ROOF JUST SO’S HE CAN BE A HUNDRED PER CENT CERTAIN. AND IF YOU THINK IT’S EASY TO CLIMB UP ON THE ROOF AT MY AGE, WELL, ASSHOLE, THINK AGAIN. GO TO HELL.

NOW, LAST NIGHT, SOME GUY THAT WRITES FOR THIS VERY PAPER, TURNED AROUND IN MY DRIVEWAY. HE DISTURBED ALL THE PEBBLES. THERE WERE PEBBLES IN THE GRASS. NOW, TONY PEPPERONY CAN’T STAND TO SEE THAT. PEBBLES BELONG IN THE PEBBLE BED, IN THE PEBBLE LINER, NOT IN THE GOD DAMN GRASS.

NOW, THIS GUY THAT WRITES FOR THIS VERY PAPER, HE SAYS HE’S COMING OVER WITH HIS PEBBLE RAKE LATER ON. WHO EVER HEARD OF A PEBBLE RAKE? I THINK THIS GUY IS SHINING ME ON. HE THINKS HE’S GOT TONY PEPPERONY FIGURED OUT BUT HE AIN’T GOT TONY PEPPERONY FIGURED OUT. I GOT HIM FIGURED OUT. THAT’S THE NATURE OF THIS GOD DAMN EQUATION.

NEEDLESS TO SAY, TONY PEPPERONY FIXED HIS OWN PEBBLE BED.

SO, OF ALL OF YOU, I ASK– WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? TONY PEPPERONY?

I THINK NOT.

The opinions of Tony Pepperony are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

OPINION: I’ve Been Kicked in the Face Before, I’ll Be Kicked in the Face Again

March 31, 2016 Leave a comment

hoyt2

Yeah, this here’s a message for that little retard down at Climax Auto Parts on Route 71. Guess what, asshole? I’ve been kicked in the face before and I’ll sure as shit be kicked in the face again.

Let me tell you what went down. So, I’m just in there to pick up a couple of new cabin air filters for my ’09 Neptune Steed– let me tell you something right now–the interior of a Dick La Hoyt truck is so clean you could god damn eat off it. Anyway, I’m just minding my own business, checking out a sale they got going on hot shine tire spray, when all the sudden this little piece of fucking shit just reaches in front of me and grabs the EXACT spray bottle that I was eyeing up. I couldn’t believe my god damn eyes.

So, I’m like, “hey buddy, that there bottle is SPOKEN FOR.” He looks at me a second and then he’s like, “alright, I’ll grab another one.” And the sonuvabitch puts back my spray bottle and grabs the one next to it.

I just about lost it. “HEY MAN, HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL THESE BOTTLES AIN’T SPOKEN FOR? What in the hell gives you THE RIGHT?”

“Listen,” he says. “There’s plenty of tire spray for everyone.”

THAT DID IT.

“WE’RE TAKING THIS SHIT OUTSIDE,” I said. “DICK LA HOYT’S GONNA’ TEACH YOUR STUPID ASS A LESSON.”

“Listen- I’m not a fighter, man,” he says. “Why don’t we just pay for our stuff and go our separate ways?”

“LISTEN HERE, CHICKENSHIT,” I said. “IT EITHER GOES DOWN OUTSIDE OR IT GOES DOWN RIGHT HERE IN THE EXTERIOR CARE PRODUCTS AISLE.”

And then the next thing I know, the guy floors me with a roundhouse kick to the face.

When I woke up, I was on a stool and Bert, my buddy that runs the register, handed me a cup of water.

“WHERE’S THAT HORSE’S ASS?” I said.

“He’s gone. Dick, that guy had some moves. That kick came out of nowhere. You were out before you hit the floor.”

Maybe. But I just want that god damn half-pint to know it and know it good. Dick La Hoyt has been kicked in the face before and as sure as the sun is gonna’ set, he’ll be kicked in the face again.

The opinions of Dick La Hoyt are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

OPINION: I’m Jolly Roger, and I’m Jolly Well Going to Rape and Pillage Along the Coast of Lankville this Spring

March 23, 2016 Leave a comment

2ba96638-8ddb-4936-8da2-1e2cfc746513Did you ever notice that no one ever uses the word “pillage” without appending said word to its cousin, “rape”? The Oxford English Dictionary defines “pillage” as “The action or an act of plundering, sacking, or looting a place, esp. in war; depredation, robbery. In early use also: extortion; unjust taxation or exaction (obs.).” “Rape,” meanwhile, can mean “The act of taking something by force; esp. the seizure of property by violent means; robbery, plundering. Also as a count noun: an instance of this, a robbery, a raid.” More commonly, in our modern usage, of course, it means “the act or crime, committed by a man, of forcing a woman to have sexual intercourse with him against her will, esp. by means of threats or violence. In later use more generally: the act of forced, non-consenting, or illegal sexual intercourse with another person; sexual violation or assault.”

Words matter. Their definitions matter, too.

I’m a married man myself. I don’t care for nonconsensual sexual intercourse; most of the year I live quietly with my wife and children, along with our two dogs, in a secluded cove in the Southern Exotic Islands. Occasionally I take the boys out and we throw the odd stone at a Caramel Dragon. That’s about the most exciting, and, from an ethical standpoint, questionable thing that we ever get up to at home.

But I’m a pirate. So when spring comes I don’t stand on ceremony, or engage in sophistry or euphemism. No pirate has ever gotten anywhere by shouting, as he jumps from the poop deck to the gangway and from the gangway to the gangplank, boarding his victims’ ship, “Avast ye! I’m here to extort you by unjust taxation!” So I rape. And I pillage. In that order.

You see, when I board that ship and set sail over the Lankville Straits to the Partial Icy Regions, and I catch sight of you through the “spyglass,” to me you are not a fellow citizen or sailing enthusiast enjoying the fine spring weather we enjoy in these parts, taking your ease on a boat or at the beach; you are a “landlubber,” a “scalawag,” a “picaroon”; depending on age and gender, you may also be a “strumpet” or a “wench.”

And you had better believe I will treat you as such.

Indeed, I’ll not be “hornswaggled” out of what’s rightfully mine. So you can expect lots of raping, and lots of pillaging. When that’s done, you can expect to “dance the hempen jig” and sleep in “Davy Jones’ locker.” That’s just the way it is. I didn’t invent these terms, and I didn’t make up the rules. When you’re at home, you don’t “pillage” the icebox (I hope!); you open it, select what you want, your cheese and bread and beverage, and then you close it again. I do, too.

But in spring, when the days get longer and my sails grow full with a nice warm breeze, well, then it’s a different story altogether: I’m jolly well going to rape and pillage. I’ll do it cheerfully, indiscriminately, and not without (I hope!) some kindness and humility. And if there’s time, I might even get in some plundering, too.

I Want to Tell You SO MUCH About How My New Boyfriend Tried to Take Me on a Hot Air Balloon Ride

March 8, 2016 Leave a comment

opinions

By Ashley Pfeiffers

By Ashley Pfeiffers

Oh my God, I just have to tell you about how my new boyfriend tried to take me on a hot air balloon ride!

So, I was just sitting there in sixth period Media and Communications, drawing some unicorns in my notebook margins, listening to Mr. Etchebarren drone on about social media when all of the sudden a big shadow passed over the windows. Everybody looked over.

The shadow went away. Mr. Etchebarren continued.

And then, all of the sudden, the shadow came back! And then a big giant basket slammed against the window! There was some cursing and the basket blew over weirdly into one of the classroom trailers! I WAS SO SCARED!

“It’s a hot air balloon,” somebody said. Everybody got up and Mr. Etchebarren dropped his book and told everybody to get into our desks (for some reason, he thinks we can get into our desks). “People!” he yelled. “This is a terrorist attack!”

Everybody started screaming and then the balloon suddenly took off again and disappeared over the woods. We were all SCARED OUT OF OUR MINDS!

They let us out early.

So, I started walking home with some of my girlfriends. I was just telling them about my new boyfriend and how romantic he is and how he took me to see a pony and then we started down a small hill and into a clearing and there was the hot air balloon again! And YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHO WAS INSIDE THE BASKET!!!

It was my new boyfriend. I ALMOST DIED.

“The police are coming,” McKinley said. But I didn’t hear her. My ears were clogged with LOVE.

“Sorry about that, Ash,” my new boyfriend yelled. I ran over and gave him a HUGE HUG.

“My uncle loaned me this– I can’t quite control it yet. I didn’t mean to slam into your classroom.”

“You can slam into my classroom windows with a hot air balloon ANY TIME,” I said. We looked into each other’s eyes and then we kissed passionately.

“Get in,” he said. “Ash, you like, can’t even imagine what happens as the dew covered meadows shrink quietly away and the vast panorama of the earth becomes a breathtaking view of beauty and life.” I WAS SHAKING. I saw that he was reading off a card but it didn’t matter. WE ARE SO IN LOVE!

But then the police came.

Still, it was SO SPECIAL.

I LOVE HIM SO!

LANKVILLE PEOPLE: Bus Colonel Gus Heinz

March 7, 2016 Leave a comment
Colonel Gus Heinz

Colonel Gus Heinz

I hope you’re not one of them smart asses that thinks a man can’t be a bus colonel. I mean, I really hope– for your sake. Cause I’ll tell you right now, there ain’t no tougher bus colonel in all of Lankville than Gus Heinz.

Go ahead.  Try me.

I been a bus colonel since 1981. I started driving in ’72. Number 9 bus at first. The Warm Peninsula Regions mostly. Then in ’75 they give me Route 17 to the Outlands and back.

You wanna’ see what kind of fucking balls a bus driver’s got? Give him 17 to the Outlands.

I ran that route for 6 years, never missed a day. Back in the canteen, after a long day behind the wheel, we’d have a little poker game.

The other guys, they’d say, “How can you do it, Gus? That route ain’t nothing but fucking pillheads, tarts, and bumpkins. How can you fucking stand it?”

“I got an aim in mind, boys,” I’d say. “I got an aim in mind. Gus Heinz has big fucking things in mind.”

Then, in ’81, I come up for review. Old Colonel Waynecastle was on the board. He didn’t say much until the end. I’ll never forget that moment when his steely eyes fixed on me.

“Boy, you’ve been driving Route 17 for six years?

I stood at attention. You bet your ass you stand for attention when a bus colonel addresses you.

“YES SIR.”

He nodded but he didn’t say no more after that. Then, the next morning, when I picked up my copy of The Bus Transaction Summary (that was the trade paper back then), I saw that the colonel had been killed in a challenge.

I got me a little flag that morning, fixed it to my bus, and flew it at half mast in memory. And that– that was against code. You wasn’t allowed to have no flags on your bus. But I had to show my respect.

Well, after a couple of weeks they called me in again. I thought– shit, they found out about that flag that I mentioned earlier. I was sweating bullets. But instead, they started putting all these medals on my standard issue shirt, gave me a hell of a nice hat.

There was a short ceremony. They made me a bus colonel.

“You understand the responsibility that comes with this, Gus?” they asked.

I sure as shit did.

And I still do today.

If you’re under Colonel Gus Heinz, well, you can expect to be rode pretty tough. Tough but fair. Lot of guys can’t handle it. Lot of guys end up ducking out, can’t stand the heat. But if you stick around, you too, can be a bus colonel.

Just like me.

Thanks to Shane Meyer.

OPINION: Our Diet Candy Ain’t No Fuck Around Shit

February 24, 2016 1 comment
Grocer

By Joe Tipps

Here at Tipps Supermarkets, we just started carrying diet candy.

And let me tell you something, our diet candy ain’t no fuck around shit.

You might have tried that diet candy bullshit they got over at Barlow Foods. Comes in those big barrels? You ever see someone scooping candy out of a barrel? Makes you look like a grade A asshole, I’ll go right out on a limb and assert that fucking shit right now.

That Barlow Foods Candy– you know what it says to me? It says, “hey, we’re just assing around here. We don’t give no god damn shit about your dietetic needs.” But that ain’t what you’re gonna’ get here at Tipps. You’re gonna’ get diet candy that pile drives you right in the taste buds. A god damn feast of diet candy.

So, if you’re just some kinda’ shithead, sure– keep going to get your diet candy at Barlow’s. Otherwise, take a step up to the plate and come on over to Tipps, motherfucker.

The opinions of Joe Tipps are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

OPINION: It’s Brian Schropp’s Birthday and Shit

February 14, 2016 Leave a comment
By Scott, Manager of the Pizza A-Round

By Scott, Manager of the Pizza A-Round

There’s a lot of people already calling up, asking for heart-shaped pizzas. I guess it’s Valentine’s Day or some crap.

But I’m here to give you a better reason to pick up a Pizza A-Round pie.

It’s Brian Schropp’s birthday and shit.

That’s right. My main man turns, like 38 or 43 or whatever, today. And to celebrate– the Round is dropping a deal on you, Lankville. You order a Mid-Morning Breakfast Snack Pizza (available all-day, today ONLY), mention Brian’s birthday, and we’ll deliver it FOR FREE. Even though I gave Big Bri the day off today, I kept him here at the Round until about 4AM last night, prepping these bad boys. So, we got a shit-ton of ’em.

Call now.

And Happy Birthday, my man.

OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth at a Candlelit Child’s Christmas Eve Pageant Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth at a Candlelit Child’s Christmas Eve Pageant Again

December 15, 2015 Leave a comment
Dick La Hoyt

By Dick La Hoyt

Seasonal Opinions from the Archives

This is a message for that joker that punched me in the mouth at a candlelit Christmas Eve pageant last night. Guess what, asshole? Been punched at one before, I’ll be punched at one again.

My niece was playing one of the animals from the first Christmas at some auditorium, so I went along. Got a chair right near the front in the middle aisle and I laid my coat over the back and then popped off my knitted sweater and draped that over a couple more chairs, one for my sister and her husband. Then, I ducked out back in the parking lot for a cigarette.

I come back and you wouldn’t believe it. My coat is thrown off to one side and this horse’s ass is sitting in my seat. So, I go up to him and I’m like WHOAAAAA BUDDY! THESE SEATS ARE SPOKEN FOR! This guy, he starts arguing with me about the coat and the sweater not being no “reserved” sign and I say YOU BETTER STEP OFF MAN, BETTER STEP OFF and my sister starts crying and pulling at my arm cause all the kids are starting to come onstage in their donkey outfits or whatever and some dude is walking around lighting these candles that was set up everywhere.

“We better take this one outside,” this clown says. GLADLY I say, and we start out a side exit. I turn around and BAM. I take it right in the mouth. I don’t remember much after that until I woke up in some sand. Must’ve been a playground or something. I could hear singing coming through the windows of the candlelit auditorium. I tasted blood.

So, just so this motherlovin’ asshead knows it– you ain’t the first, pal. I’ve been punched in the mouth at a candlelit child’s Christmas Eve pageant before, I’ll be punched in the mouth at a candelit child’s Christmas Eve pageant again.

OPINION: I Step Aside for No Earthly Being

December 2, 2015 Leave a comment
By Carl Dunn

By Carl Dunn

You’ve seen me. A demon in a kind of nightmare, perhaps?

Out at Twin Removed Pines Mall, over in the corner of Lot B by the frozen meat store. The boarded-up fotomat.

I live there. But maybe not for long. The Lankville government wants me out.

Back in June, when I set up my patio furniture around the fotomat, was when they first noticed. A man from the mall, his face like a pitiless crag and bearing the degenerate name of Kites. He told me I’d have to leave. I issued a hard challenge.

I pointed to a nearby half-demolished grove. “Over there. Shirts off. Five minutes.”

Turns out Kites was as chickenshit as his profligate handle. Never showed up. And time moved forward.

Then, it was October. I was planting some bulbs in the aprons of dirt on either side of the fotomat. I take care of that which I am owed.

The interlopers pulled up in a fancy town car. One of them was the pretender king, Pondicherry himself.

He looked at the fotomat for awhile. Tried the door (I hinged one of the plywood cover-ups for easy access).

“The spirit of Lankville is resiliency,” he said. “From a small seed grows homes. This is nice, what you have here. I admire your frontier spirit.”

The Sanctuary (fotomat)

The Sanctuary (fotomat)

I couldn’t understand anything he was talking about. This was no frontier. It was merely the soil of the Eastern Lankville Suburbs. Born and bred, I am.

Pondicherry spoke again. “I’m afraid there are people, deep within our government, who disapprove of you living in this abandoned fotomat. I am not one of them. However, the people have spoken.” And that’s when he handed me my eviction papers.

“You can hand me these papers,” I said. “But you’ll have a fight on your hands. The Dunn’s are bound to this here earth. And we possess an implacable and bitter reserve of undefeat. I will fit you into a world that is smaller than the one in which you find yourself. It is my intent to summon the effluvium of hell.”

He looked dazed. Then he vomited. It was a grotesque farrago of candy and pancakes. His seconds whisked him away. The paper I buried. The men who wrote it– they shall one day emerge from a holocaust which will take all security from them. Slashes of light shall not penetrate the dull gloom of their wasted lives.

I continued planting bulbs. I acquired the frozen meats and seared them across an open flame.

It was December. I looked across the lot. A wild Outlander on a ladder, hanging glitzy decorations over the lamp poles.

I approached him.

“It is my intent to annex this part of the lot,” I told him. “You witness that homestead?” I pointed to the fotomat.

“What? You mean that old photo booth?” His tongue was of a lower-order. An inscrutable creature.

“Aye. It can no longer hold me. I intend to build.”

“…This is the mall’s property. The fuck you think you can build there?” Colorful whorish balls ringed in gold appeared from his box. Monstrous.

I spat and went back to the ancestral edifice.

Construction began this morning. Men ringed me as I worked. But I worked consistently through dinner. They know now.

The opinions of Carl Dunn are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

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

December 2, 2015 Leave a comment

opinions

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.”

I WAS SO EXCITED. He is just SO ROMANTIC.

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!

OPINION: I’m a Total Sweetheart, I Love to Laugh and Smile, it’s Just Who I Am. I Love Kickboxing.

November 17, 2015 Leave a comment
Le Nora St. James

By LE NORA ST. JAMES, Jungle Movie Actress

I’m a total sweetheart, I love to laugh and smile, it’s just who I am. And I love kickboxing.

I got into kickboxing as a way to stay in shape while I was making jungle movies, you’ve probably seen my jungle movies a lot of people love them. I love going to the gym. And I love to laugh. Laughter is the best medicine.

I have a genuine care and heart for people and I desire to see the best in others and help people reach their full potential in life and I love kickboxing.

My newest hobbies are running and I like to run and run and run and then tell everybody all about how I just ran. I have bumper stickers on my car letting people know how far I’ve run and my goal is to experience as much as possible and I like to read about science isn’t it just fascinating? All those beautiful stars!

Fitness is really important to me but I also take care of myself inside which is why I sometimes read about science. But mostly, I stay in shape with all the kickboxing and the jungle movies it can be so stressful on the set and sometimes I just need to unwind and kick one of those big heavy bags.

I love to laugh!

Not edited for content

Joygirls: Where to Find Them

November 5, 2015 1 comment
By Pliny W. Howard

By Pliny W. Howard

The opinions of Pliny W. Howard are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

I’m riding along Route 55 through the Southern Outer Areas. It’s that last stretch of road before you hit prairie. They’ve got all kinds of crazy shops along both sides of the road– some of them are in old houses that they’ve added a little storefront onto, some of them are in dilapidated, broken-down shit shacks.

It’s about dusk. And that’s when I spot some joygirls.

They were in front of a closed-up deli. About three of them.

I pulled into the nearest side street and grabbed my suitcase off the back bench seat. I slipped out of my work clothes and into a tan woolen sweater with some stripes on it– my great Aunt Gladys made it for me– and my best leather jacket. I combed my hair up in the mirror and than wiped down my beard. I felt good.

I double-backed to the deli and pulled right up in front.

“Ladies,” I said.

You ARE sharp, Howard I thought to myself. Here you go, just expecting an ordinary night back at the deserted farmhouse, falling asleep drunk in front of a Lingus Nets match per usual and now you’ve found yourself a trio of joygirls. Luck was on my side that night, boys.Pliny

“Ladies, what are you doing out there on the sidewalk?” I asked. “Why, you could be in here,” I added.

Yep, I was pulling the ol’ one-arm bandit that night, fellows. And it was coming up cherries.

So, the joygirls piled on into the Neptune. I cranked on 103.5 “The Hammer” and sped off into the night.

“Where to ladies?” I asked. I was playing it cool, playing it suave. I lit up a bit of the farmhouse stash.

“Let’s go downtown!” one of the joygirls called out. She was a tall brunette in a tight skirt, hell of a set of legs. Hell of a set of a lot of things, now that you mention it.

“Naw, let’s go to the folk dinner for rubes that they’re having over at the Montecristo. Should be a blast!” another one said. A blonde in leather. Banging it out back.

The third didn’t say nothing.

“What about you darling?” I asked, tossing the blunt out the speeding Neptune. “Downtown or the folk dinner for rubes? Break the tie, baby.”

The other two started making their cases with her. Typical joygirls. I laughed.

“What if I want a third thing? A different thing?” she finally said.

I brought the car to a squealing stop in front of a knives and puzzles shop.

“Let’s figure it out, ladies!” I said. I was starting to lose my cool a little, starting to get irritated. It was that farmhouse stash, man. It was making me a little cracked.

Well, the joygirls weren’t happy about that none. They started cussing me out and then they got out of the car and disappeared into some pizza joint. And, well, that was that. Things went from feeling good to feeling bad just like that.

But the point is– joygirls. Man, you can find them anywhere.

Just look around, man.

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