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
REPORT: Hundreds Have Disappeared Into Local Snowbank
Elliott Cumber-Lanny
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
It was just after dusk when Lankville Partial-Ice Regions resident Karl Chappas went out for a quick trip to the store. He never returned.
“He said he was going out for some cheese,” said Chappas’ wife Louise-Janet. “What kind of an asshole walks out at night for some cheese?”
In another section of the Partial-Ice Regions, barrel-maker Glenn Grapes left work early. “He wanted to get an early start on some barrels,” noted his son Glenn, Jr. “He was generally kind of a cocksucker that way.”
What happened to Chappas, Grapes and hundreds of other Lankvillians?
They are believed to have fallen victim to a local snowbank. A snowbank that takes everything and gives nothing in return. A snowbank that, despite the fact that it’s really cold and not at all like hell, IS HELL.
[The] snowbank that, despite the fact that it’s really cold and not at all like hell, IS HELL.
“I doubt we’ll be getting all these awful, stupid people out until Spring,” Gee-Temple added.
For now, the families will have to wait.
“I’d like some closure, sure,” noted Louise-Janet Chappas, who we interviewed while she crouched luridly on a pool table in a nearby bar. “Still, I’ve moved on. As I said before, Karl was always going out for cheese. Who the hell needs that in a partner?”
Does Chappas not feel sorry for the families of the other victims of this frigid tomb?
“There’s got to be a reason why somebody gets trapped in a fucking snowbank. Whether it’s pointless, idiotic cheese errands or getting a start on a barrel like that other asshole. I don’t even understand that- “getting an early start on a barrel”. I mean, what the Christ?”
“Pretty certain that’s going to be the m.o. on all these people,” Chappas added.
For now though, there are no answers. There are only questions. Questions that cannot penetrate the forbidding, bitter cold of the unspeakable snowbank.
Et tu snowbank?
Nothing.
Elliott Cumber-Lanny won a trophy for this report.
Gump Penetrates
By Gump Tibbs
It’s time for another penetrating interview with Gump Tibbs. Today, Gump interviews contributing female Sarah Samways.
GT: So, you have that little area in the paper where you are a female who contributes?
SS: Yes, I started out covering the economics/business section but it quickly grew into other things like interviewing old ladies in the middle of nowhere who would push me into empty pickle barrels. It’s been quite the rush!
GT: Absolutely fascinating! Do you often contribute?
Samways in the Snow. It’s been snowing a lot.
SS: I contribute as much as possible. If I’m not eating, sleeping, or wrestling with condiments, I’m contributing. Lankville is an interesting place with lots of people begging for their stories to be told. It’s a journalistic endeavor that I’m proud to be a part of.
GT: Wait, they beg?
SS: Actually, they kind of demand it. People often see my press badge and will come up to me on the street and they won’t stop talking until I promise to write something about them. Lankville’s citizens aren’t shy in the least.
GT: (laughs) They really aren’t! What other things do you contribute to?
SS: Right now I maintain a digital workstation at SARAHSAMWAYS.COM where I take a break from the hard-hitting news that Lankville provides, and focus on sad-girl-poetry. Ya know, it’s something to do.
GT: Really terrific! You won a trophy a few months back. How did that feel?
SS: Amazing! I really wasn’t expecting it. I mean, now I always have a speech prepared wherever I go just in case hell freezes over again. But really, it was super fantastic!
GT: Just fabulous! You have a lot of wonderful adventures. Do you want to go fire guns into some old cars at the dump?
SS: It would be an honor!
Tibbs and Samways ran off and the interview was ended prematurely.
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.
I’m Gonna Beat the Piss Out of that Guy at the Men’s Shop
Fingers Rolly
REMONSTRATIONS OF FINGERS ROLLY
I like a normal white button-up shirt. You can maybe sell me on a restrained checked pattern but that’s about fucking it. Don’t even come near me with one of those wild god damn jungle-themed horseshit shirts with the tigers all over it. You do and I’ll kick your dick in, I will that.
So, the other day, I’m just standing around at the stack of dress shirts that sit in the middle of the men’s store like some sort of beckoning pyramid. I’ve got a low wail going because I’m thinking about that absolute whore of a desert, that brown sweeping slut of tumbleweeds and I’m also tearing the plastic wrapper off shirts indiscriminately. I escalated to a medium-level scream after a few minutes.
That’s when this horse’s ass comes over.
“Sir, sir, these shirts must stay sealed. They are direct from the factory.”
He bent over the big pile of shirts and plastic wrap like he was picking up a god damn fancypants tea set.
The Fashion Elephant
“I’ll take my belt off,” I threatened. He looked at me– he had some little tight suit on, clearly he was a twilighter.
“These shirts will stay sealed. And you sir, can GET OUT!”
He escorted me out of the store and into the mall corridor. Some fucker was there in a clown suit with balloons. I looked down at the little silver strip on the floor– the strip that separates individual stores from the communal corridor.
“The Fashion Elephant no longer wants your business,” the guy added by means of a finale.
But by then it no longer mattered. By then, I was full thrust in thinking of that mongrel bitch of a desert.
I screamed into the clown’s face and don’t remember anything after that.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: I Will Box You
By Ric Royer
One day, I walked into a gym in a lower-class Island neighborhood. I walked right up to the ring and smashed a bottle of orange soda into the canvas. The boxers looked up.
“I will box you,” I said. The orange soda seeped towards their shoes.
“Get in here, you fuckin’ frog,” said the boxer. His manager, clad in protective gear, backed away.
I was wearing a bathrobe, some camoflauge short pants and a pair of penny loafers into which I had shoved quarters for effect.
“Hey, better get the frog some trunks, maybe some shoes,” called the manager, now outside the ring, relieving himself of his protective burden.
They brought me some proper gear and a small group of Islanders gathered around the ring. The manager rang the bell. Within three seconds I was hit by an uppercut and collapsed into the ropes. I recall a short burst of cheering and then nothing.
Hours later, I was in an outdoor chaise-lounge by a pond. I had a terrific headache.
“That’s what you get for egging on that Island boxer,” said a little man, who sat off among the reeds. He was clad in ancient, unfashionable clothes and wore small grandma glasses. Clouds approached from the east.
“After the fight, well, I don’t know if I can call it that– after your destruction, the Islanders strapped you to a chair and marched you around the pizza block. That’s where they have all those pizza restaurants. They took you in and out of some of the restaurants. They bought a pizza and shoved a lot of it in your hair. I tried my best to get the sauce out but you really should have a shower.”
The little man handed me a glass of iced tea. I took a sip. It was awful.
“Yes, that is awful iced tea,” he agreed. “It’s pond iced tea. This pond is all iced tea.”
“I’ve never…”
“No, it’s completely unique in the world. You would not have.”
We watched the sun go down together.
UPDATE- My Talk with a Bumpkin Specialist
By Brian Schropp
BRIAN SCHROPP ON CUISINE
Dr. Carl Woodard is the leading specialist in all things bumpkin. Following the shocking revelation of my last article, my folks wasted no time in setting up an appointment. Blood work and all sorts of crazy “pre-testing” needed to be done (I had to run on a treadmill hooked up to a bunch of machines and sleep upside down in a deperivation tank the other night) but it all should shed light on this matter. A few days later we sat down with Dr. Woodard in his office.
“Amazing!!” He exclaimed looking through the results. “Simply stunning!”
“Just give it to me straight Doctor, does my son have Bumpkin DNA?” My father gripped my mom’s hand tightly.
Dr. Carl Woodard, Bumpkin Specialist
“Yes—–and no.” Dr. Woodard could see the confusion in our eyes. “But first a little background before I explain the results.”
I groaned. I figured on this being a long history and I was getting kind of hungry.
“It was long believed that humans and bumpkins couldn’t mate. Sure there were times, much like you stated Mr, Schropp, that maybe distant family relations have had “pleasure” or as your son might better understand it, “doing the nasty” with them. You see, being two different species, mating is almost an impossibility, we have never found that genetic link between humans and bumpkins. But these findings show we have something wrong.”
“So my family bloodline is somehow tainted with bumpkin?” My Dad put his face in his hand and sobbed.
“That’s the funny thing Mr. Schropp, the blood work from all your other immediate family and relatives show no signs of any Bumpkin DNA. Even the Schropp Hill People that we captured in traps to test show no signs either.”
My Mom chimed in. “So it’s only my son then? I always knew something wasn’t right.”
“Well that’s another funny thing, your son has neither Bumpkin or Human DNA. He has the perfect blend of both DNA almost like an entirely new species in itself.” He let that sink in for a moment.
“So, what is my son?”
“You could say that either your son is a highly advanced bumpkin or a slightly lower-evolved human.” He turned and looked directly at me. “You know how to read and write at some basic level, correct?”
I nodded.
“Amazing.”
A stunned Dr. Woodard ponders this development.
My mom at this point kept muttering under her breath, “I knew there was something wrong. I knew there was something wrong.”
“I really wish I could explain how something like this could happen. My only working theory is that the genetic makeup of a bumpkin is so alien to us that it somehow evolves with humans at a slower rate and in ways we don’t understand. Maybe your son is just a result of that.”
My dad voiced concern over how I might be treated when the public finds out.
“I have spoken with President Pondicherry personally and we have both agreed to put your son on the “Lankville Endangered Species” list so none harm can come. And since technically he does have part Human DNA he will retain Lankville citizenship and full rights.”
It was now my turn for a few questions. “Could this explain my “advance taste profile” and also my “sweet and tender” nature?”
“Well, it’s a fact that bumpkins are less-evolved than us and by our standards not very bright. But we have found them to be very empathic and caring much like the way a common house dog will respond to human affection. The story you told me over the phone about the bumpkin in the alleyway at Christmas time, maybe that one could “sense” that you were somehow at least part bumpkin and that’s why it came up to you. Bumpkins also seem to possess a different sense of taste than us. They have a particular fondness for tree bark and car coolant for example. We have always thought of this as being somehow inferior to our own but I suppose it could seen as an “advanced taste pallet”, as you suggest.”
I also asked if Hank Cameron, Manager of Foodville, could be arrested for trying to harm me since I was now an endangered species. Dr. Woodard is not a lawyer but said Hank Cameron would probably have to do something now since I was just being put on the list. My mom then told be to be quiet and not ask foolish questions.
Much more talking was done between my folks and Dr. Woodard but I tuned them out. I started to think about where we might go for lunch since it was quickly becoming that time. I was hoping to get my folks to take me somewhere they would usually say no to like “Wally’s Chilli Cheese Fries On Waffles” (a pretty straightforward name for a delicious place). Then I started to think about the news I was told and how it might impact me. No matter what I am- bumpkin or human or both, my love for breakfast sandwiches and writing about cuisine is what matters, so dear readers I will carry on with these goals. Until next time please keep your mind and mouth open to new ideas!!
Happy eating!!!
BRI
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
This Woman Came to Renew Her License– She Didn’t Notice that We Had Balloons Though!
By Dennis Updatables, Lankville Motor Vehicle House
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
I saw her when she walked through the door. Pretty little thing– she looked lost, confused, maybe she’d never had a license before, maybe she didn’t know how to renew her current license, who knew? I was about to find out.
First though, I figured she would check out our balloon selection.
That’s right. We’ve got balloons now. The Lankville Motor Vehicle House has balloons!
Boy, was I all wrong though. She walked straight by ’em, straight up to my little service counter where I have the nice plaque that says “Dennis Updatables”. That’s the handle my parents gave me, God love ’em.
“I’m here to…renew my license,” she said. She looked down at the floor. Shy little thing, that’s alright. I just tried to make her feel comfortable.
Mrs. Lawrence W. Bundles
“Have a seat, Miss…?”
“Mrs,” she corrected. “Mrs. Lawrence W. Bundles.”
“Well, Mrs. Bundles, what can we do for you here at the Lankville Motor Vehicle House?” I sort of nodded towards the balloons. They were right behind her.
“I need to renew my license. I…I don’t drive much, Mr. Updatables. I…well…there was an accident some time ago and…”. She trailed off.
“Accidents can happen to anybody,” I said, smiling. I nodded towards the balloons again. She sure wasn’t biting though.
“It was a terrible…terrible accident Mr. Updatables. My husband…Mr. Bundles…hasn’t been the same since.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bundles.” Why wasn’t she noticing the balloons? Balloons make everyone feel better. They were right behind her– right over her shoulder practically.
“But, I need to be able to drive him to the clinic. You see, his cousin, who is also named Lawrence W. Bundles– well, he tripped on carpet that hadn’t been nailed down properly and fell into a mine shaft. Oh, it’s terrible, Mr. Updatables.”
She began crying. What can you do for someone though? Someone who can’t see the balm to soothe their pain, the balm that is within reach, so close…so close.
I patted her on the back and some of the ladies took her to an office in the back and gave her a little paper cone of water from the cooler.
It was too bad. Too bad for Mrs. Lawrence W. Bundles.
Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
It was mid-afternoon when I got off the bus. It was getting towards the end, I knew it. It was just a matter of finding a room.
I wandered into town. The sidewalks were in deep oppressive shadow but it was hot as hell. There was a fat lady in a floral-patterned dress standing in front of a pharmacy. She was reading a magazine that had a bunch of igloos on the cover. She looked me up and down as I passed by– I didn’t know what the hell to make of it.
I reached the end of town, then doubled back to the pharmacy. The fat lady was still there. She had tossed the igloo magazine into the street and was now staring at a calendar. Her fat finger slowly passed over each day of the month, then switched to the next month and continued the same. It was all senseless- who knew what to do with it?
I bought a couple of razors and a pack of cheap cigarettes. “You want some shaving cream? We got a new brand in that’s a soothing green color. The gel protects your face from nicks, cuts, and irritation– leaves you feeling refreshed and rejuvenated,” the young guy behind the counter said. He was enthusiastic– really wanted to help me. You had to admire it. But I knew I wouldn’t need it and declined. As I was leaving, I turned around to see the kid fiddling with a shotgun. I moved a little faster.
It was down at the other end– just a mean god damn place done up after a border style twenty years out of fashion and built into a rough, brown hill like someone had shoved it there angrily– like they had said get the hell in there, you abominable little godless motel. Nothing but hate, pigheadedness and perversity, done up in white enamel.
The guy behind the counter looked the part. About seven foot tall, hairless– he never said a word but slammed the coins down on the laminate counter enough to crack it through. He pushed a desk calendar with a saturated photo of the place and an ashtray towards me before stalking off towards the office.
I looked out towards the parking lot– empty, stained and streaked with oil and tire tread and then headed off to the room.
There was a scratchy blue bedspread with a pink blanket over top, made so tight that I could barely get into the damn thing. I pictured that same dark, looming figure, angry as all hell, preparing the rooms with a convulsive fury. I’ll bounce a whole roll of quarters off this god damn bed, this god damn cradle of impiety, of vice. I will bounce a god damn pie plate off it I heard him say. It seemed real– like he was in the room with me. I didn’t know what the hell to make of it.
I lay there for a long time. When I got up, it was dark. The guy hadn’t put any outside lights on at all– I stumbled around for awhile until I found a chintzy desk lamp that put out a sinister little beam of light. I heard the guy suddenly– this time I knew it was him. He was out there in the breezeway, fiddling with an ice machine. Want some god damn ice? HERE’S some god damn ice. I could hear the bucket crash against the access door. 1/4 pound of ice per god damn second– what do you grotesque abominations think of that?
What do you?
That last, directed at me.
I fumbled with the razor. There was a second boom, louder, like the entire ice machine had been tipped over. And then the guy was going at the compressor with his boot– over and over again, plastic and metal being sent into a dangerous ricochet against the concrete walls and the guy just howling now.
I found my sports jacket– removed the tattered bus schedule from an inner pocket.
Damned if I remember how I got out of there.
OPINION: If I Ever Wear a Shirt, I’ll Be Killed
By Peter O’Calendar-Bays
OUTSTANDING, MODERN OPINIONS
If I ever wear a shirt, I’ll be killed.
That’s why you don’t see me in one. Arm prisons. Chest prisons. They’ll kill you. Why would you want that? If I had to wear a shirt everyday like the rest of you rubes, I’d cut my own throat. That’s why I’ve organized it so I don’t have to wear one. Hell, I don’t even own one anymore. Know what’s in my bureau? Just leaves. Piles of leaves. That’s all.
Also, I will actually be killed if I wear one. Somebody will kill me. Rub me out like a pair of old shoes disappearing into a charity bin. That’d be the end of it. I know that now.
That’s why I stand in front of my house. I don’t stand there all the time but I do stand there a lot. With no shirt on, of course. Just a pair of khaki shorts. I do have a bureau drawer dedicated to khaki shorts.
Who wouldn’t?
The opinions of Peter O’Calendar Bays are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
A Double Dose of Doomsday
By Brian Schropp
CUISINE BY BRIAN SCHROPP
This past Friday was of course the 13th- also known as “St. Doomsday’s Day”. A day many of us in Deep Northern Suburban Lankville take very seriously. With all the bad luck and disastrous history that happens on our soil we usually keep our heads down and just try to make it through in one piece. I foolishly thought I would get by unharmed this year, you see the day after is my birthday. That’s right- I was born on February 14th or what is known in Lankville as “Sweet Heart Day.” I have always found it fitting to be born on that day seeing how it goes with what my relatives say is my “sweet and tender” nature. So I was lucky enough to get the day off from my part-time job at the “Pizza-A-Round” and was planning on enjoying it to the fullest by trying a new brand of breakfast sandwich and then maybe reviewing the newly reopened “Subs ‘N’ Suds” later in the day. I just had to make it through the 13th and arrogantly thought I could. How wrong I was—
Picture of my manager Scott relaxing at home.
The 13th started with a 9AM shift at the “Pizza-A-Round”. I envisioned another day on dish washing detail (slowly but surely learning each job right) and at very worse a few hours of phone duty (I personally think I’m getting better, my accuracy rate was up to 20%). My manager Scott had other plans for me.
“Nope Bri, none of that usual stuff you crap around doing. Today you will be on the prep station and then PUTTING THE PIZZAS IN THE OVEN.”
Scott shook his head. “What superstitious nonsense. Anyway, two folks are out with the “Lankville Super Flu” so we have little choice. Chet, I’m putting you in charge of the prep line and him so don’t mess up. Remember what can happen.” Scott lifted up his shirt to show one of his handguns tucked in his waistband.
So I joined the “prep line boys”. I could tell by all their faces that they had zero faith in me. Chet tried to say something encouraging but couldn’t find the words. Soon, it was 10 and the first orders were coming in called by the usual fat teenagers. Luckily the first order was just a plain cheese pizza.
“You can do it Schropp,” Chet said with a nervous tone in his voice. So I set out to make the pizza of a lifetime. With sweat dripping from my forehead (sorry if anybody actually got this pizza) I took the dough and pressed it out to its “classic” pie shape, took the shinning ladle and swirled around the sauce, grabbed the cheese (again, sorry if someone received this- I forgot to wash my hands) and sprinkled it on. I then placed it in the oven (you have to time it just right!!). I turned my back, too nervous to watch it go through and waited the 4.5 minutes it took to cook. I was finally hoping to make a big impression, I had put all I had into making this.
I knew this wasn’t going to be the case when I heard Chet mutter “What the hell is that?” and Scott yell “Get up here!!”
The results.
I walked up to the front of the oven and he showed me my results–
”Not sure what this is!!” My manager’s eyes blazed into me “But you better start learning how to make at least a plain pizza fast. The lunch rush is about to start!!”
Chet pleaded with me to get my “A-Game” on because he didn’t want to be shot. I became overwhelmed quickly with the pre-pre-pre lunch rush due to all this pressure of having Chet’s life in my hands. So many pizzas to make and most of them with various forms of pepperoni and I was getting them wrong. But my biggest mistake came in placing them in the oven. They have to be in placed in the oven just right, too many at once and then it will become a “doomsday” situation with the pizzas not cooking right. And that is exactly what happened– the big red lights on top of the oven began to glow and whirl. The oven came to a grinding stop and started to smoke, a few men ran over with fire extinguishers to put it out. The day was totally ruined, just like that.
Scott became enraged like few had ever seen before. Chet didn’t stick around– he just ran out the back door. Scott went on and on (thankfully yelling too much to remember his gun) about how much of a screw-up I was. How he should have fired me on the first day but the owner said he had to keep me on. “I can’t believe how useless you are Schropp even for a—” Then he said it. The second “doomsday” of the day and the greater one. The one which will change my life forever.
There was total silence again, even the telephones stopped their constant ringing– it was almost as if all of Lankville heard. A few seconds later the pizza cutter from before was dropped making the same loud clanging noise.
Scott’s anger instantly went away. “Bri, hey listen man, I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to find out this way. I wasn’t supposed to say anything-”
In complete and utter shock I ran out the front door and headed for home. I could hear Scott trying to call me back but it was just a faint buzz, I didn’t stop the whole twenty eight blocks it took me to get there. Cars had to swerve out of my way, women had to push their baby strollers off the sidewalks if I was passing. I really didn’t see any of them I just had to get home and confirm what was said. Maybe I heard it wrong, this couldn’t be real.
When I flung the front door open my folks were waiting for me. The “Pizza-A-Round” must of called.
“Is it true?” I asked, panting for breath.
“Please son let’s just sit down and talk,” my Dad replied, holding out his hand.
“Just tell me!!!”
“Yes, it’s true. Sit down we will discuss this.”
I collapsed at the kitchen table. My mom brought me a glass of chocolate milk.
“How can this be Dad?” I needed answers.
My folks and I discussing the shocking events.
My Dad told of our family history– not of the Schropp’s I knew but of the Schropp’s of the Greater Hills of Deep Northern Suburban Lankville. I thought we might have had hill folk in us but how could I ever have imagined what they did. “It was just a common thing, son. Especially back in the day, sure we who didn’t live in the hills thought it was wrong but there was little we could do.”
“So are you sure? Are you sure that I can somehow, in some little way have bumpkin in me?” I had to pause and put my head down, the chocolate milk wasn’t helping with the shock.
“I mean it’s the only logical way of explaining how you are,” my Mom chimed in. “In some freak way you have bumpkin DNA. In you.”
“Something else I need to know right now. Can I be…you know…if I really am found to be one.”
“You mean put down? No son you also have normal DNA or so we hope. Please don’t worry over that.”
We talked on for a little while longer. Honestly, most of it like the whole day itself is just a blur. My Dad said he found a place where I can be tested to see how much bumpkin DNA I might have. This should be happening very soon and I will of course let you, the readers, know of the results. Until then please keep me in your thoughts (and eat something good for me!!)
BRI
Five White Guys Declare: Open for Business!
By Bernie Keebler
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Embarking on a brand new business venture such as a restaurant, a “start-up,” or an animal disposal company can be daunting. Never more so than in this time of fragile economic recovery for the Greater Lankville area, when prosperity seems to beckon from every vacant lot or storefront, even as bankruptcy looms. Statistics show that most new businesses fail within a year, the erstwhile entrepreneurs becoming the object of ridicule or even challenges in their homes and in local pubs.
None of that has stopped a concern of five bold white men in Lankville.
“We’ve done the research,” said Sylvester Williams, one of the men. “We’ve crunched all the numbers with regards to what leads to success. Amidst all the hullabaloo about things like ‘capitalization ratio’ and ‘intangible assets’ and ‘long-term liabilities,’ one factor really stood out.”
“We’re white,” he said.
The White Men.
“Not only that,” added Mackenzie “Mack” Cornelius, the concern’s founder and treasurer. “We’re five white guys. That’s a combination that simply cannot fail.”
Indeed, Lankville’s illustrious history is replete with an almost unbroken string of successes by its white male citizens. “It’s tradition,” observed Glenn Ogilvie, history professor at the University of Southern Lankville. Prof. Ogilvie noted that it was transplanted foreign nobleman Edmund du Rochfecault who discovered the famous Mud Pits in the late seventeenth century.
As the Industrial Age swept across the country during the following centuries, white men led the charge: Theodore “Ironsides” Knutson founded the Lankville Quarry; Barlow Foods was the brainchild of Weatherford T. Barlow, and the company is still overseen by the scion’s white male heirs; today, of course, Lankville is secure in the resolute leadership of President Pondicherry. Thus, Prof. Ogilvie pointed out, from the stone we build our homes on to the nutrients we consume to the political machinations that make it all possible, we have white guys to thank.
“You’re welcome,” added Mr. Williams.
As of press time, the conglomerate of five white men had not yet decided what their nascent business should be.
“I’d like it to be something that involves heavy machinery and beer,” averred Mr. Cornelius. “Maybe a place that rents out industrial machines and serves beer while you wait. Something like that. If we can figure out a way to involve physical activity as well, like with dumbbells, all the better.”
There are a good deal of permits and licenses and mortgage information to sift through, the men said, but they remain firm and undaunted. They know they have what it takes to succeed, no matter what kind of business they eventually launch.
Lankville eagerly awaits their decision, and looks forward to providing its white men with another well-earned triumph.
Royer Knighted in Solemn Wet Hill Ceremony
By Elliott Cumber-Lanny
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Sir Ric
Eccentric Lankville businessman Ric Royer was knighted today in a solemn ceremony that took place on a wet hill.
After a mysterious breakfast of pancakes that suddenly morphed into waffles, Royer was made to lean on a green hassock before President Pondicherry. The President touched each of Royer’s shoulders with a sword and then presented the executive with a series of medals, a framed poster of a turtle emerging from a mossy rock and a small crown.
“Sir Ric represents all that is exceptional about Lankville,” declared the President. “His is an intellectual life marked with scholasticism but also a warrior’s life marked with heroism, bravery, gallantry and only killing people when he really has to.”
“It’s an interesting feeling,” Royer remarked after the ceremony. “I had never before thought of being knighted but now that I am knighted, I can’t imagine not being a knight. People should really celebrate this occasion. It’s a tremendous victory for knights everywhere.”
As part of his knighthood, Royer will have access to many Lankville malls after hours.
“I have experienced the mall after hours before but this will give me wider access to a lot more malls,” Royer noted, with obvious pleasure.
Royer is the first Lankvillian knighted since 2011.
THIS JUST IN!
By Sarah Samways: Reporter Who is a Woman
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
THIS JUST IN!
WOMAN’S RECKONER CALLS IT QUITS
Reckoning of the Reckoner for Local Woman?
Yesterday evening, a local area woman got home from work and attempted to turn on her Reckoner, as per her end-of-shift routine. Unfortunately, it buzzed and whirred and its screen remained black. After several attempts to revive it, the woman picked up a book (covered in cobwebs and dust), and fell asleep.
THIS JUST IN!
BOY PULLS GIRL’S BRAIDS, STITCHES NEEDED ON SITE
Rascal and general hooligan, Johnny Lane, 7, was seen chasing an unidentified foreign girl in the schoolyard. The girl, who doesn’t speak any Lankville languages, sustained severe injuries to the scalp and psyche when Lane pulled her braids until several strands broke and were ripped straight out of her head. The event left many baffled and bits of the girl’s exposed, bleeding scalp could be seen on the concrete. The girl was then seen running to the nurse’s office, howling in pain. Onlookers say they don’t know what provoked Lane, citing his form of terror as usually reserved for teachers, the elderly, athletic boys, and non-foreign girls. “Guess he got bored,” a local nun was rumored to have said.
THIS JUST IN!
MAN STANDS OUTSIDE OF VITIELLO DECORATIVE HAMS ARENA, SOLO
Marty Dennis had a lot to say.
LAST NIGHT – Local Lankvillian, Todd Malo, 45, stood outside of Vitiello Decorative Hams Arena in below freezing temperatures, shivering and apparently waiting for something, anything to happen. An arena employee spotted Malo, as he went to pick up his paycheck.
“So I says, I says to the guy, ya know we’re closed right? There ain’t any events goin’ on tonight. I’m just here to pick up my paycheck,” claims Marty Dennis, 32. This admission was ignored by Malo, who quietly began to calculate the seagull to french fry ratio in the parking lot, aloud. Dennis found Malo “…a lost cause,” and continued inside.
Two random Lankvillian females happened to be traveling through the Arena’s parking lot from opposite directions when they were approached by a now-alert Malo. Witnesses on scene reported seeing Malo foaming at the mouth, speaking in tongues, and waving his arms around. Dennis, paycheck in hand, had just come back outside. “Yeah, all I could make out was: fight! fight! I dunno, he was bein’ real lewd, making comments and whatnot…Them girls looked freaked. The one with the nice cans was just trying to get to the salon across the way to get her nails done or whatever. The younger one just looked bored, ya know Millennials, they’re all the same, texting and (expletive).”
Authorities were called as Malo began pointing at his crotch and giggling. Lankville Police Commissioner Simmons had this to say,”Yeah, on the off season we get fellas trying to incite impromptu sets of Small Motel Girl Wrestling – it rarely works out. This cabin fever during the colder months brought more of it out than usual. Malo is no more or less of a man than anyone else. I mean who can blame him? Those events are well worth their ticket price! But, ahem, this won’t be tolerated! We want the female population in Lankville to feel safe while walking through empty parking lots. Times have changed.”
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