The Lankville Daily News

By Ric Royer

It first appeared in a Pots Barn. I was standing in front of the Christmas tree ornament display. At my side was a shopping bucket. I had already filled the bucket halfway with several German glitter mercury glass teddy bears and Santa Claus heads. There were so many piled in haphazardly, in fact, that many had broken. But I was flush. I could afford it.

I had just placed my hand on a wondrous Red Strobe Onion Glass ornament when the display suddenly disappeared before my eyes. And in its place, was the famous Van Golu Canavari. I was face to face with its evil.

Some people think that the Van Golu Canavari looks like this.

It was as reported by the Torks of the East. Fifteen meters long with spikes on its back, a primordial sort of monster, fresh out of its lake. The Pots Barn floor became puddly but no customers seemed to notice. The tail of the great beast knocked over a lovely stacked crystal floor lamp that I had been planning to buy and its spikes tore into several wool jacquard pillow covers. My body quaked a little.

Then the monster spoke, in Torkish. It was a long, long explanation of some sort.

“I don’t speak that nonsense,” I said cockily. I put some gum in my mouth as is my wont.

The beast reflected. Then, it spoke again, this time in perfect English.

“You must tell the teaching assistants to stop coming to the lake, stop trying to make their films and write their dissertations. They should stop speculating as to why I swim straight in the lake, rather than curving through the water. They should stop asking why I sun myself on that rock.”

There was a long pause.

“I think you should ask if they have another of those lamps in the back,” the creature advised. “It would go well in your parlor. Next to that media stand with the shuttered doors that you’re using as a hat stand.”

“My hat place,” I corrected.

The creature eyed me suspiciously. I stopped chewing the gum. I was no match and he knew it.

And then he disappeared. The display of ornaments was before me.

I ended up spending over seven thousand dollars.

By Gump Tibbs
Senior Staff Writer

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A special contingent of Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness wardens have been assigned to take incarcerated Lankville business magnate Ric Royer shopping and I’ve been invited along.  Even though the trip is scheduled for 7AM, I cannot refuse– Royer’s excursions to the mall are legend.  I must see for myself.

Langston’s Progress Crossing Mall

On the van ride over, I ask Royer about his new nickname– “One Who Uses it Daily”.  He blinks confusedly and then lightly vomits.  “I have no memory of that,” he finally notes.  “I think that’s made up.  Did you make that up?  Or was it the guy that got carried off by the bubble?”  Royer, of course, is referring to Brock Belvedere, Jr., still missing as of this morning.  “No, no,” I assure him.  “You stated it just a few days ago.  Held a press conference and everything.”  Royer takes an enormous bite of a cream-filled donut– the cream oozes down his neck.  “It’s chicanery,” he says, spitting globs of half-masticated donut all over the seats.  He eats four more donuts before finally sitting back in his seat and patting his non-existent belly.  “Ooooh,” he moans, lightly.  “I was hoping to make it to six donuts but clearly with age, my capacity has diminished,” he says.  “Have you ever eaten a donut with your shirt off?” he suddenly asks.  I shake my head– one of the guards seated behind Royer speaks up.  “All the time,” he states quietly.  “REALLY??” Royer asks.  He seems unusually interested and the guard revels in the attention.

We finally arrive at the mall– LANGSTON’S PROGRESS CROSSING.  I have no idea what the name signifies.  Several of the anchor stores have agreed to open quite early for Royer so that he may have the entire showroom to himself.  After buying casually at a few smaller stores (Royer purchases 11 new illuminated snow villages from an establishment called KEITH’S– he places a white glove on his hand and points disinterestedly at the desired objects), we finally enter the famous home goods store BARRELS AND CAGES.  Royer puts on a new pair of white gloves and nods lightly at the perky young clerk who greets our strange aggregation with considerable aplomb.

“Show me some Easter towels,” he states, intentionally looking away from the clerks.  He pushes over a glass media cabinet– the showroom is filled with the sound of shattering glass.  The clerks all apologize and an island janitor is called for.  Several jacquard dish towels are produced on pillows.  Royer laughs.  “Not to my liking,” he says, adding considerable noblesse oblige to the tone of his voice.  “But I guess they will have to do.”

Royer kicks an ottoman and it goes sliding into a large display of wine glasses.  Glass flies everywhere.  Two island janitors are called for.  “That ottoman was improperly placed,” he states, looking away.  “Clearly you are hiring buffoons.”  The manager nods in agreement.  Royer puts on a new pair of white gloves.  “Show me your duvet covers.  Something in a marimekko pippurikera sage.”  The clerk nervously straightens her tie.  “We don’t have that here.  It’s…it’s online only.”  There is a long, excruciating pause.  Then Royer lets out a horrendous scream.  He orders one of his guards to slice open a nearby ottoman with his pocket knife.  The guard obliges.

Royer suddenly runs out of the store and comes to rest against a pillar in the concourse.  Several guards follow, I stay behind with a third who settles the enormous bill.  “As soon as they get those new snow villages open, he’ll be alright,” the guard assures me.  “It’s a shame about them not having that duvet.”  “Why not order it online?” I ask.  “No, he doesn’t order anything online.  He has theories.”

I carry one of the shopping bags– it is full of the broken wine glasses.  I don’t ask why.  The guards corral the limp, exhausted body of Royer and carry him to the van.  “He’ll sleep for 15-16 hours now,” one says mysteriously.  On the ride back to the home though, Royer surprises everyone by suddenly waking.  He looks wordlessly at all of us, then very slowly reaches to the seat and eats several donuts in quick succession before collapsing again.

It has been quite a morning.

By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer

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Incarcerated business magnate Ric Royer pulled up in an old camper today, sources are reporting.

Witnesses stated that the camper was battered, rusted and full of holes but Royer proudly showed it off to passersby.

“He said he would be doing a lot camping in it,” noted witness Ghant Gaetti, who was given a tour of the mutilated vehicle. “I commented that the inside reeked of game and was moldy and wet besides but [Royer] just smiled and said he was going to do a lot of camping in it.”

“He pulled up in a very busy part of Lankville– in a handicapped spot and stood outside the camper for a long time, just grabbing anyone who would listen,” said another witness, who refused to be identified and was later shot by a gigantic, robotic camel. “He said that the camper came out of the barren west and that he was going to do a lot of camping in it.”

After some time, Lankville police ordered Royer to remove the camper and no further incidents were reported.