Archive
OPINION: I’m Making that Good Toilet Money
By Suzy Sweetly-Services
I was reading hieroglyphics that were carved into a broom, out loud and to myself nonchalantly. The floor was filthy but nobody else was going to put the cakes in these urinals. There are just some things that some people aren’t willing to do in this life and that’s where I come in. I’m phenomenal and you know in your gut that it’s true. I suffered injuries on the job, most recently a bruise to the areola. Like everything else, you have to brush it off in order to focus on the bigger picture. Its coloration matched the scrapes on my neck anyway. I’m tougher than I look.
I’m making that good toilet money and everybody knows it. I stay up real late and get up real early and I go to work, like it’s nobody’s business – because it isn’t, nobody keeps these kind of hours. Except when they do. I was cleaning some thrones at the University, around 5AM, when two people walked out of a single stall, pale and wonky-eyed.
“I partied so hard last night,” said one to the other, exhausted.
Suzy’s making that good toilet money.
“Yeah, I can see that,” replied the friend looking back towards my fate soon to come.
They proceeded to head to the sinks, holding each other up, slinking slowly past me. I sighed; I moved closer. I gave myself a pep talk and thought of the aphorisms I once wrote on a mirror when I felt like I needed that sort of thing. I thought of my foggy breath creating condensation, my fingers gingerly creating truths across the glass…it was all very zen. I took one last breath and stepped inside. Death itself encapsulated me.
I looked upward and saw a couple of ancient mark-makings, they were crude yet beautiful. One was of a man holding a Reckoner high above his head while standing on a grassy hill. The other was of a four-eyed monster with large genitalia, from both sexes, staring into a handheld mirror – seemingly alarmed and aroused at what it saw, all at once. As I scrubbed the filth away, I continued to look upwards and make up little stories in my head.
Now, I’d love to share these tales with you but I’ve got twenty more stalls to clean.
Tissues N’ Tantrums,
Suzy
I Want to Tell You About How I Got Back Together with My New Boyfriend!
By Ashley Pfeiffers
I want to tell you about how I got back together with my new boyfriend!
I had been SO depressed after he broke up with me. I just kept going back and reading and re-reading all his texts, staring at the things we bought together at the mall, going to Pizza A-Round and just ordering a soda, hoping I’d see him. But weeks passed and nothing.
And then one night my phone buzzed. I had already turned out the lights and was just lying there on my fuzzy cat pillow when it happened. It was late, everyone in the house was asleep– I picked it up.
It said, “ash, can i see you.”
I wrote back right away and we met in the parking lot by the woods.
“The guys just left,” he said, looking down at the cracked asphalt. “We had some good ideas flowing tonight.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about but he looked SO CUTE.
“Ash, I made a big mistake, you know. It’s you and me, Ash. I got you something.”
He produced a plastic bag that he had hidden in some weeds. It was a fuzzy cat pillow from the mall– the same fuzzy cat pillow that I had JUST had my head on! I ALMOST DIED.
“I already have this one but I love it,” I said. “It’s part of a series.”
“Oh, I’ll take it back, I can get another one in the series,” he said. He started to reach for the bag.
“NO!” I said. “This…is really special.” I felt like I was going to faint.
He hugged me and then we kissed passionately.
“That kiss was like when the planets come out, Ash,” he said. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about but it was SO SPECIAL!
WE ARE SO IN LOVE!
OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth While Renting a Belt Sander Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth While Renting a Belt Sander Again
Dick La Hoyt
IMPORTANT OPINIONS
Yeah, this is a message for that shitscrew down at the Home Dump in the Lankville Hill Area. Guess what, asspipe? I’ve been punched in the mouth while renting a belt sander before, I’ll be punched in the mouth while renting a belt sander again.
So, here’s what happened. I’m just putting some finishing touches on a little patio out back– just a nice little place with some cushy seats where I can put my feet up at night, know what I mean? Got a little fire pit out there, a gas grill– I won’t lie, it’s kind of an oasis. Anyway, even though Tammy keeps saying Dick, it’s fine, it’s done I know to hell it could be better, so I go over to the Home Dump to rent me a belt sander.
I can tell the guy is a real smartass from the get go– like he thinks Dick La Hoyt is some kind of a sucker. Keeps saying, “Hey, man, your best value is to rent this for a week– that way, you can take your time.” “I don’t need no time,” I tell him. “When I start a project, I damn well finish it that day. You can bet your cheeks on that.” He gets real embarrassed then and he kind of dumps the belt sander on the counter in a real pissy way and starts writing me out some contract that’s about 20 pages long.
“What’s the speed on this thing– what kind of db’s are we looking at? This thing got torque control?” I ask.
You wouldn’t believe it. This goon didn’t even look up– just kept writing.
“HEY, MAN! I can take my god damn business elsewhere. I already got figures from a couple of other places and they SURE AS SHIT are cheaper than YOUR ASS.”
He looks up and stops writing.
“Good for you. You must feel great now.”
Well, I won’t lie– I just about lost my shit.
“LET’S STEP OUTSIDE COCKSUCKER!” I yell.
“I’ll meet you in the garden section,” he said. “That outside enough for you?”
“GLADLY”. And I walk over to wait by the birdbaths and fountains.
Well, about fifteen minutes pass and I’m just fuming. At the same time, though, I’m burning daylight and I promised Tammy that I’d have that deck like the bottom of a baby’s ass by dinner. I ain’t got no time to wait around for this prick.
So, I start to head back to the counter. And I’m just coming around a big pile of bagged mulch and the next thing I know, the guy is standing right there. I take a swing and miss and then he pounds me right in the mouth. I go down like a god damn box of rocks and then, while I’m half-out, this turd dumps a bag of mulch on me. Even picks up a hose and waters down the mulch. Christ, I was soaked to shit.
But I just want him to know it and know it well– I been punched in the mouth while renting a belt sander before and I’ll sure as shit be punched in the mouth while renting a belt sander again.
Yes, I Urinated on a Rack of Candy
By Chief Hogsett
A LANKVILLE DAILY NEWS SERIES ON CRIME AND CRIMINALS
Two months ago, I got picked up at a pharmacy. I was just trying to buy one of those cheap little styrofoam ice chests. We were going to put some beer in there and go into the woods. We were looking for something to keep the beer cool but also something that was sturdy and fairly-durable. We weren’t looking for no hinged lid or grip handles– matter of fact, we were going to just leave the thing in the woods, maybe float it down the river. I know, personally, whenever I see one of them things floating down the river, I go after it. It’d give somebody something to do.
So, there’s this island clerk behind the counter and he don’t speak no Lankville or barely. He keeps pointing at the credit card swiper and I keep telling him that I want to pay cash but he’s so damn dumb he can’t understand me. Now, I’d already had a few but I wasn’t really that loaded. And he mumbles something and points to the button and I say, “CASH, YOU EVER SEEN A LANKVILLE DOLLAR BEFORE?” But this guy don’t want to take any cash from me– he wants me to pay with a credit card. It’s unbelievable these foreigners.
So, then I pick up this cat magazine that he’s got on the counter and throw it across the store. And he starts saying, “POLICE! POLICE!” and then I say, “NOW YOU’RE SPEAKING LANKVILLE, IMMIGRANT!”
And that’s when I started urinating all over his candy rack.
Yeah, I soaked it pretty good. All the gum, the candy bars, the funny stickers. I had a lot in there too boy– I was like a race horse. I even hit a couple more copies of that cat magazine on the counter.
That’s when Gee-Temple walked in.
“Chief, I see we’re going to have to take you in again,” he said. He looked at the piss dripping slowly down the racks. “That’s going to be the fourth time this month.”
“And you don’t have a shirt on, of course,” he said to himself. Which was true– I didn’t. Three of the last four times I’ve been bagged, I haven’t had no shirt on.
So now, they’re making me write this article on criminals in Lankville. It’s part of my “service duty”.
“They’ll have to make you a regular contributor,” Gee-Temple said, when I handed him my article. He just started shaking his head. “And you still don’t have a shirt on, for Christ’s sake. Somebody get him a shirt.”
They got me one. It has a cat on it which is kind of funny, in a way.
SHOES TO DIE FOR!
By Suzy Sweetly-Services
The tables were being draped in shades of pink for important guests that were soon to arrive. Soon, though, was more of estimate than an actual depiction of time. We all know that it isn’t fashionable to wear watches. There was a big debacle about whether or not to lay the knives “in” or “out.” I thought about just picking one up and slitting my throat but thought the better of it, as it would probably ruin the overall color scheme. Whatever.
I watched the door, standing at attention with my hands firmly pressed together behind my back. An old, bespectacled man, the embodiment of dust itself and melanin challenged, moseyed on over and up the stairs. Less aged versions of himself, dapper in business casual, followed suit. A supposedly “glamorous” woman with shoes that my co-workers would not shut up about walked by, confidently carrying her blazer over her shoulder with one hand. This also showcased her extensive gold bracelets on her bronzed wrists.
The set table (take note of the lovely floral centerpiece).
“She’s from Bunkum-Gild City, ya know…” a fellow waiter said in a hushed tone.
“What a classy woman,” said another.
“Those shoes could pay for a month of my rent, lemme tell you…” commented somebody else.
From a financial standpoint, I wondered to myself if that were actually true. From a perception of style, I’d seen better. Again, whatever. The appetizers were passed around but no one was really biting, so to speak. Cluttered around the bar, these patrons knew where the good stuff was. The pre-meal was served without a hitch, water glasses were filled enough to make the ice clink a couple of times, and everybody got their entrees within seven minutes. We all stood in the corner and watched them eat and pretend to have a good time. After plates were cleared, it was time for the next and final course: dessert!
The shoes that could pay for a month’s rent (file photo)
Somebody messed up the order and went to the wrong table first, totally passing by an annoyed President Pondicherry. I held back in horror, two bowls of strawberry soup stuff in either hand, awaiting instruction from a boss.
“Just go!” commanded a boss in utter despair.
Dessert was finally served and barely eaten. Much of it went to waste. Upon clearing the tables, the old dust cloud backed his chair into one of the waitstaff, causing her to trip over the wire hooked up to a nearby podium. Causing a domino effect, the strawberry soup stuff went flying all over the place. In a pre-emptive move that essentially was non-effective, the classy woman got up and broke her heel. Unsteady and not used to walking with the ground so close to her arches, she stumbled and ended up falling forehead first into her very own stiletto spike.
There was blood everywhere and everyone was running around with strawberry soup stuff all over their Pashminas. I went over and knelt down beside her to see if she was still alive when gasping for air, she grabbed my shirt collar and whispered what the actual retail price of her shoes were. Now I’d tell you but my break’s up and I’ve got to go clean out some toilets.
Mayonnaise and Mayhem,
Suzy
I Want to Tell You About How My New Boyfriend Gave Me His Class Ring
By Ashley Pfeiffers
I want to tell you SO MUCH about how my new boyfriend just gave me his class ring!
We were playing Fire Quasars in his parent’s basement. Every once in awhile, my new boyfriend would pause the game and he would say, “Ash, I’m on fire. For you.” I JUST ABOUT DIED. Plus, we had just had some giant shakes and I got so nervous that I knocked mine over on the carpet and then, when I was trying to clean it up, I kept stepping in it and then I accidentally fell forward with what was left of the shake into my new boyfriend’s guitar. I thought I was going to cry.
“It’s okay, Ash,” my new boyfriend said. “What are a few lost shakes compared to a few lost kisses?”
We made out for awhile. Then my new boyfriend said, “Now, watch me gank these quasars”.
We have SO MUCH in common!
Later, we went in his backyard and sat on the air-conditioning system.
“Feel that warm air, Ash?” my new boyfriend said. “Yes,” I said– I was practically shaking. But he didn’t say anything else.
And then, all of the sudden, he got down on one knee and gave me his class ring! OH MY GOD– I started crying and then I thought I was going to pass out. I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT.
“We can go down to the mall and get a necklace for it,” he said, after I had accepted. I tried it on though and it ended up fitting perfectly! “You have such delicate fingers,” I said. He got a weird look on his face but he kissed me anyway. We are so in love!
Then, we went for a slice at the Pizza-A-Round. We were shown to a table by this weird guy who was soaking wet and, somehow, slightly on fire.
“There’s that goof again, Ash,” my new boyfriend said, once we were seated. “I can’t believe that goof. He probably doesn’t even have a class ring.”
“I have yours,” I reminded him.
We made out across the table. I knocked over a vase and some water spilled onto the floor.
We are soul mates.
The opinions of Ashley Pfeiffers are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
OPINION: If You Haven’t Been to a Randy Pendleton’s, You Haven’t Eaten
By Randy Pendleton
Randy Pendleton is one of Lankville’s most famous celebrities.
In the last five years or so, you’ve probably noticed a change in the Lankville roadside landscape. You’ve probably seen the twinkling neon lights with my image and name at the top and the refulgent arrows with the words “HEATED POOL”, “RESTAURANT”, “ICE CREAM”, “STEAKS” and “COCKTAILS” below. You’ve probably taken note of the modernist “international style” architecture of my buildings– painted bright orange and brown to reflect “environmental themes” and the patented “Pendleton Acres” which offer ample parking for regular axle vehicles but also buses, trailers and boats. You’ve probably seen my ads in the paper describing our famous tendersweet fried clam plate with Outland Fried Potatoes, gloppy coleslaw and foreign sauces. Or our hamburger specials– the King Size, the Cheese Duke, the Onion Paladin and the Vegetarian Twilight Patty.
So, you’ve seen all we have to offer. The question is: why haven’t you been our guest? Because if you haven’t been to a Randy Pendleton’s, you just simply haven’t eaten.
Randy Pendleton’s: What’s Taking You So Long?
Here’s what notable Lankville business magnate Ric Royer had to say about Randy Pendleton’s:
Many afternoons– I’ve rented a room in the motor lodge, enjoyed intercourse with a prearranged sandy-haired lover, dressed in my “eating robe” and then walked over to the restaurant. I like that the menus have photographs. The photographs are deeply colorful– more colorful than in real life, as though they were painted by some unknowable deity. I order nothing but dessert.
A local mother noted:
My kids love Randy Pendleton’s. I like that the menus turn into spellbinding kaleidoscopes. Gives me and Stan [my boyfriend] a little break.
So, there you have it. Glowing reviews of our restaurant from Ric Royer and a divorced Mom.
But Randy Pendleton’s is so much more than just food. We offer modern, clean rooms at affordable prices, decorated in a Western Island style with privacy nature murals that shield your sleeping space from the kitchenette and patented “bathing arena” (where available). We offer fast and efficient room service direct from our restaurants. And every Randy Pendleton’s room has a teevee set (takes quarters). That’s my guarantee.
We have swimming pools, saunas, lounges and massage parlors. Selected Randy Pendleton’s offer small tree trimming classes taught by exotic foreign people! We’ve even got live entertainment– trumpets, pianos, rock music for the younger set! Yes, we’ve got it all!
But you won’t be able to experience what’s it like to be at a Randy Pendleton’s until you try. What’s taking you so long? Stop at a Randy Pendleton’s today.
The opinions of Randy Pendleton are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries although we do admit that we like it a lot.
OPINION: I’ve Been Punched While Owling Before, I’ll Be Punched While Owling Again
Dick La Hoyt
OUTSTANDING OPINIONS
Yeah, this is a heads-up for that candied-ass shitheel that punched me in the mouth while I was owling last night. Guess what, buttface? I’ve been punched in the mouth while owling before and I’ll be punched in the mouth while owling again.
So, my brother-in-law Tommy asked me if I wanted to go owling with him last night. “Yeah, sure, I’ll sit around and look at some god damn owls if there’s a six-pack involved,” I said. He gave me that look and started on about some monkey owls or something that were hanging around in the neighbor’s barn. “You want to catch them, I got a big-ass net,” I offered but he just gave me that look again and handed me the six-pack. “You carry the beer,” he said. “GLADLY,” I responded, a little too loud (my sister was asleep on the couch).
So, we sat around the barn for awhile and then this fuckface shows up– some friend of Tommy’s. “We go on owling expeditions together,” Tommy said.
“What are you guys, a couple of faggots?”
I downed a beer and they didn’t say anything. This other piece of shit though, he gave me a look that I didn’t like at all and I decided to keep my eye on him.
Female barn owl (file photo)
Anyway, after awhile, this son-of-a-whore says he sees something and he and Tommy get all excited. They start moving real careful towards the screech of this monkey owl or whatever and that’s when this motherlover steps in front of me.
So, I’m like, “WHOA MAN– THIS SPOT IN THE BARN IS SPOKEN FOR!”.
Tommy immediately was like, “I knew I shouldn’t have taken you Dick– you just scared the damn owl away.”
And this other guy, he’s all like, “who the hell is this guy, Tommy?” and I’m all like, “I’M THE GUY THAT’S GONNA’ KICK YOUR FUCKIN’ ASS” and then he’s all like, “LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY” and I’m like, “LET’S ROCK AND ROLL MOTHERFUCKER” and then one thing leads to another and the next thing I know I’ve been punched in the mouth and I’m lying in the hay looking up at the rafters.
I think it was Tommy who dragged me back inside and my sister was awake by then and she was all, “Christ, did you get punched again Dick?” and I don’t remember much after that.
But I do want that prick to know it– I’ve been punched while owling before and I’ll sure as shit be punched while owling again.
The opinions of Dick La Hoyt are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
OPINION: Just Because I Throw Knives Into Cardboard Boxes Hidden Under My Bedspread Doesn’t Mean I’m Crazy
By Pump Minger
There’s snow on the road. Two rudimentary tire tracks cut through it and the going is treacherous. Pop is driving– my wife is in the passenger seat. I’m alone in the back.
They came to me this morning in my room.
Ambers (that’s my wife) began crying. “Pump,” she said, “your Dad is here. We’re going…well, we’re going to take you somewhere today. Go ahead and put the knives down.”
I put them down. I could see her looking at the square-shaped protrusions that stuck out like strange towers from beneath my flower-patterned bedspread. And the gashes. Hundreds of them– they were everywhere. They were even in the wall where I had missed.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“Well, just for a ride, that’s all.”
Dad stormed in. “What the hell is this?” he yelled, pointing at the bed. He ripped the bedspread straight off revealing my series of cardboard boxes with the targets that I had drawn on.
“Doesn’t even make any god damn sense,” he said quietly. “Christ, you can’t even see the targets.”
Then, we were driving. I watched carefully as we passed through long stretches of wooded area deep in the Lankville suburbs. Nobody said anything.
We pulled up in front of an ancient, imposing building. I knew it. Everybody knows it. The Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness or, as it’s more commonly-known, “The Laughing Academy”. It’s hard time.
“Why are we here?” I said.
“Maybe because you throw knives into cardboard boxes hidden under your god damn bedspread,” Pop said under his breath. I could hear him though. My wife began crying.
We were met at the front door by a man in a white coat. It was stained with sauce. He took me to a small office.
“Pamp, let’s talk for a moment about the knives,” he said.
“It’s Pump.”
“Let’s talk about the knives. You throw them into cardboard boxes that you’ve hidden under your bedspread. Tell me about that.”
“It’s just a hobby. What? It don’t mean anything.”
He coughed. He looked embarrassed. Then, he rustled around in some papers in a folder.
“It doesn’t mean I’m crazy, doc. It’s just some cardboard boxes hidden under my bedspread. I just..I throw knives into them, that’s all.”
“These papers indicate that the cardboard boxes have targets drawn on them,” he noted. “Let’s talk about that.”
A hanging lamp suddenly became disengaged from the ceiling and smashed him in the head. The light bulb popped like a firecracker.
I pressed on. “I get the cardboard boxes myself. I go out and find them. I find them so I can throw the knives…”
I was getting off point and I knew it. He had me. He knew it. He brushed the pieces of light bulb out of his hair confidently.
Now I’m in a cell, looking out at the snow.
Don’t think it makes me crazy though. I really don’t.
I Want to Tell You About How Me and My New Boyfriend Went and Got Pizza
By Ashley Pfeiffers
I want to tell you SO MUCH about how me and my new boyfriend went and got pizza!
I just about DIED when he asked me. I was watching him skateboard over at the community half-pipe and he suddenly cruised over and said, “Ash– you and me…tonight…pizza.” I couldn’t believe it. Then he said, “Ash, this Ollie I’m about to pop– it’s for you baby.” OH MY GOD, I thought I was going to pass out I was so nervous and shaky! He ended up falling over an orange cone a bunch of times but then he actually did it and he blew me a kiss. We are so in love!
Later, I waited for him by the door. My Dad kept saying, “When are you going to bring this young man in to meet us?” but I was just like, “DAD, STOP!” My heart was racing a mile a minute when I saw him come up the walk. He had even borrowed his grandmom’s station wagon. He’s so cute, I know he likes me!
When we got in the car he said, “Ash, I want to kiss you hard before we wolf pizza.” I giggled and he put on the radio and we kissed really, really passionately. Then, he pushed back his bangs and started the car and we drove out to the Pizza A-Round, which is where all the kids hang out sometimes.
It’s the pizza my new boyfriend bought for me.
A guy who didn’t seem to be a host or even a waiter and who was soaking wet and confused showed us to a table.
“Did you see that goof, Ash?” my new boyfriend said. “What a goof! That’s not gonna’ be me Ash. That’s NOT gonna’ be me.”
“I know,” I said. “You’re working really hard on your skateboarding.”
“You make me better, Ash,” he said. Then some breaksticks came.
We just have so much in common.
The opinions of Ashley Pfeiffers are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth at the Doctor’s Office Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth at the Doctor’s Office Again
By Dick La Hoyt
OUTSTANDING OPINIONS
Yeah, this is some breaking news for that asspipe that punched me in the mouth at the doctor’s office the other day. Guess what, shit-clown? I’ve been punched in the mouth at the doctor’s office before and I’ll be punched in the mouth at the doctor’s office again.
So, I’m just sitting around Dr. Yothers’ waiting room, minding my own business, skimming through an old issue of Lingus Nets Illustrated and this tough guy comes strolling in. He makes some small talk with the nurse Karen and then he sits down a couple of chairs away from me. Whole time, I’m thinking what the hell is this prick’s problem? but I keep my thoughts to myself. Dick La Hoyt ain’t no troublemaker, know what I mean?
Next thing I know, this guy comes horning in on the magazine table. I’m like WHOA BUDDY! BACK OFF! THESE MAGAZINES ARE SPOKEN FOR! and I put my arms out quickly to signify that I’m ready for a dance if it comes to that.
“You’ve been punched in the mouth.”
This retard is all like, “All the magazines are spoken for? There’s twenty magazines here!” and I’m like YOU GOTTA’ PROBLEM WITH THAT, BUDDY, WE CAN TAKE THIS SHIT OUTSIDE and Karen, the nurse is all like This is a doctor’s office, this is a doctor’s office and one thing leads to another and the next thing you know, this cock fiddler is bucking, there’s some back and forth around the magazine table and then, BANG, the shitheel clocks me right in the mouth.
I wake up on a table in Dr. Yothers’ office. He’s sitting on a stool doing a word puzzle. He’s got this whole thing about word puzzles.
“Feeling better Mr. La Hoyt?” He hands me an ice pack. My lip is all busted to hell and a tooth feels loose.
“Where’s that horse’s ass?” I say.
“I sent him away. Just rest, Mr. La Hoyt. You’ve been punched in the mouth.”
Sure, sure, I’d been punched in the mouth, doc. But I just want that sack of shit to know it– ain’t the first time and it won’t be the last.
The opinions of Dick La Hoyt are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
John Knewstub’s Hard, Cold, Spiritual Facts
With John Knewstub
Sorry, shit for brains, but it ain’t that easy! Now I know what you’re thinking. Of course you wish you’d never been born. Of course you want to rid the planet of every last trace of your worthless existence. But you’re such a miserable piece of shit you don’t have what it takes to murder your parents, much less rack up the body count necessary to ensure perfect extirpation of your memory. Let’s not kid ourselves here.
Now, hold on, okay, I hear what you’re saying. Or I at least smell what you’re saying, Christ Almighty, your mouth reeks like a miscarriage, your tongue’s a rank abortion, but okay, I hear you. Let’s just pretend for a moment you possessed enough energy to take out every member of your graduating class –you don’t have enough energy to wash your stinking behind, but let’s pretend. Let’s say you wiped out every relative, every co-worker, every neighbor, every celebrity unfortunate enough to receive one of your deranged letters. You think that would do it? No, of course not –you’re not capable of thinking with that puking shit-pile in your skull, but trust me when I tell you: you’d still be all too present.
But alright I’m a’give you the benefit of the doubt. Let’s say you mustered the ingenuity to erase your name from all public records –utility bills, library registers –you even manage to unlaminate your membership cards to all those sad little clubs you thought would provide you with meaning and community and shopping discounts. Well, even then, you’d still be as far from this goal as from all your others, you awful, agonizing misallocation of flesh.
What if one of your murdered acquaintances mentioned you to someone? You ever think of that, you pus-souled, fungus-tongued waste? What if you were held up as an emphatic example of cowardice and talentlessness and a luckless, loser life? What if the story of your cerebral and sexual futility passed mouth to mouth like some inverse fairy tale/respiratory disease?
Your problem, you stench, is the interconnectedness of life. You don’t get this whole thing is a tapestry whose intricacy dizzies even divinity. That’s right, you fecal ache, the very spiritual truth which you recognize on some primitive level because you recognize you are a contaminant whose pollution extends infinitely for eternity – this very spiritual truth means you are inextricable. You cannot be uprooted even as you rot the earth around you. You are destined to fester forever and to emit your foul air like an ever-blowing wind which curses the wasted places of this suffering planet. Suffering because of you, you eternal cancer.
So, You Daft Assholes Will Debate the Fucking Color of a Pair of Pants but You Won’t Read the Lankville Daily News?
By Marles Cundiff, Editor-in-Chief
A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
I just want to try to get something straight.
Basically, you daft bunch of assholes will stare endlessly at a picture of a god damn pair of pants but you won’t read the Lankville Daily News?
I got that about right?
For example, our analytics indicate that five million more people debated the fucking color of this pair of pants nonsense than read Elliott Cumber-Lanny’s important, dare I say groundbreaking report on the deadly snowbank. And evidently over seven million more people stared at these pants than read Gump Tibbs’ penetrating interview with female contributor Sarah Samways.
Are you a bunch of pig-headed mongoloids?
We work hard at the Lankville Daily News to bring you hard-hitting reports, important, modern opinions, innovative electronics articles and up-to-the minute bumpkin notices.
And all so you screwsticks can natter on endlessly about whether a cheap, shitty pair of pants are blue, yellow, or green.
FUCK OFF,
Marles Cundiff,
Editor-in-Chief
Let Me Help You With Your Elevator Ride
By a device inside an elevator.
OUTSTANDING OPINIONS
Let me help you with your elevator ride.
It doesn’t matter how far you’re going. Doesn’t matter if you’re going all the way up to the fifth floor or all the way down to the basement where they have those weird heavy air tanks and the rolling bins of cardboard that never move. I’ll take you there. You and me baby.
During our ride together, I will break things down for you. Just look at the ersatz wood paneling around me, focus on it, let your mind wander a little. If you want to smoke, that’s okay with me, if you want to drink, go ahead. Just let me do the driving.
Put your head down, darling. I’ll take you there. Nobody else but me and you.
Hold on to the rails. Might keep you from falling over. Because once I pick up speed, I’m not stopping. You wouldn’t want me to stop. It’ll be a little rough but you like it rough. Don’t you, baby? Don’t you?
Eventually though, I’m going to stop. You won’t even know it. It’s going to be like someone dropped you on a downy feather bed in the sky. You’ll hear the little electronic “ding”– you’ll be breathless by then. And you’re going to be all, “Oh, are we there?” and I’m going to be all, “Oh yeah, we’re there baby. We made it. Together.”
That’s when the doors will open.
I’ll see you again.
CONDIMENT HORRORS!
By Suzy Sweetly-Services
I can keep a real clean kitchen. I can soak the tables in sudsy liquids whenever I want; I can make them sparkle pristinely. I can mop up throw up like nobody’s business. I’m a professional and everybody knows it. But with great power comes great hostility because not everyone can shine like me. They’re out to get me, see. Every obstacle that They throw at me can be easily dodged. I’m the best.
The mayonnaise that almost killed Suzy.
I saw a few of Them snickering around the condiments and speciality oils, right next to the napkin dispenser. I didn’t really make anything of it yet as I had an important meeting to attend about how to properly dress a coffee cup, (with a Java Jacket, of course!). A loud groan was then heard in echoing crescendos, carrying off into the hallway. I looked to my left, I looked to my right, I looked forward, and then for good measure, I looked up and down, and then finally I looked behind me and saw the remnants of a successful crime spree. The metal homes for our beloved condiments had been broken into! The poor handles that pump the stuff onto customer’s hamburgers were pushed aside in haste, sitting in their own thick juices. Plastic sporks were everywhere and bits of iceberg lettuce clung for dear life on the adjacent counter. Napkins, although apparently under-utilized, had somehow made their own mess, crumpled up in piles in the corner. This had been a robbery – what had they stolen?! – my time. I swallowed my pride because you don’t get to be this fantastic without some hardships. I put on my powder-free gloves and got to work.
As I struggled with the mayonnaise, I had one thought: This is how I’ll die… Covered in a gelatinous mountain moulage of vinegar and raw egg – I would sink into its depths, without leaving so much as an eyelash or fingernail behind. I would disintegrate into the rotten core of the drainage system in the back where my dishwashing comrades will swear in agony: “Damn it, I should’ve joined the Army!” Yes, you can only be on call for so many crime scenes before it really gets to you, makes you feel a hysterical kind of funny. I could see an end in sight and I almost welcomed it; imagining customers stabbing me with sporks until ketchup exploded outward from my insides, I was ready and willing. I was saved from this sad display of weakness however, but I’ve gotta tell you later because my break’s up.
Ketchup and kisses,
Suzy
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
Only in The Lankville Daily News
The Lankville Daily News 
LETTER SACK