Vitiello First Owner to Discuss New Baseball League
By Lance Pepsid
Special Fashion Correspondent
File photo
Chris Vitiello sat down with The Pondicherry Association News to discuss his new baseball club, The Vitiello Decorative Hams.
CV: Your appearance at a sports interview is a continuing grievous enigma, Mr. Pepsid.
LP: Let’s talk about the Pondicherry Baseball Association Division of Leagues.
CV: Lankville has not had professional baseball for quite some time. We saw a need and we filled that need. Nothing more to discuss.
LP: Where will your club play?
CV: Vitiello Decorative Hams Arena was originally designed to house football and baseball in addition to hockey. You should know that.
LP: What will the new logo look like?
CV(long, impatient pause): What is the name of our club, Mr. Pepsid?
LP: I didn’t know if…
CV: If, what, Mr. Pepsid?
LP: Maybe a ham with a bat…or…
CV: If you could stand up Mr. Pepsid and launch your folding chair in the direction of the wall, please…
Mr. Pepsid slowly did as instructed and was then whipped mercilessly.
BREAKING: Pondicherry Baseball Association Founded
By Grady Kitchens
Senior Staff Writer
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It was announced early this morning that the Pondicherry Baseball Association Division of Leagues has been founded. Multiple sources are confirming.
The league, founded secretly last week, has established ownership in twelve areas, including The Depths, Hoover Island and the Eastern Wooded Area.
The league released the following chart of current clubs:
|
EASTERN DIVISION |
WESTERN DIVISION |
| Chunk Island Ruby Legs | The Balloons |
| Eastern Hole District Bulbs | Desert Vermilion Sands |
| Lankville Falls Crisply Moving Bisons | Hoover Island Stamps |
| Mountain Area Redbirds | Outer Depths Wipers |
| Vitiello Decorative Hams | Sun Belt Terrifying Bats |
| Wooded Area Arboreal Dells | Western Area Small Pizzas |
Hockey owners Ric Royer, Chris Vitiello, “Inner Hammer” and island monarch Aaron Hoover are believed to have purchased franchises.
A press conference is expected later this afternoon.
Fuck it, I’ll Rob a Grave
By Fingers Rolly
Man on the Street
File photo
If you think I’m beyond robbing a grave, then you’ve got another god damn thing coming.
I could drive one of those brick shithouse excavators right into the cemetery and have that motherlover up in about ten minutes. If you think I’m shittin’ you then we can go out there right now. I’m no bullshit artist. Never have been.
But then that asshole desert comes around again and I scream and I scream and I scream.
The Pondicherry Association News would like to apologize for Mr. Rolly’s article. He was given an assignment on colorful hockey masks.
Tucker Reflects on Inaugural Season
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Stamps GM and island monarch Aaron Tucker reflected on his inaugural season in the Pondicherry Association today during a brunch meeting with several journalists.
“As you all know, Mr. Oakes is a clothed,” he began by way of introduction, referring to my collared-shirt, pants, shoes and socks. “He has not yet embraced our legacy of nudity. He does not yet understand it.”
The other journalists, all naked, chortled happily.
“When I look at you men and women of the press, I see goodwill,” noted Tucker as a nude waiter produced a cart of pastries and coffee tureens. “I don’t see, as Mr. Oakes undoubtedly does, mere flabby Mamma tits or engorged sacks or a series of voluminous cabooses, squeaking strangely, almost eerily against the poly-vinyl seating with each tiny, nigh-imperceptible bodily movement. No, this is the fundamental difference in our worldviews. This is why the worldview of Lankville is essentially a constructionist ontology that…”
I interrupt. “Can we move off the whole nudity thing?” I ask politely.
There is an awkward silence. Tucker suddenly shoves a pastry into his mouth and several Hoover Island scribes make notes.
Finished, Tucker discusses his expansion club, who finished 5th for the 2012-13 season.
“Many, most of our players are Lankvillians. As you all know, at the end of the campaign, we brought up a Hoover Island native– a man called Tuffet. Tuffet was viciously checked into the boards while nude during a morning skate and his sporting career, at that moment, was terminated. We recognize now that there will never be a nude player. There is a nudity line in the P.A. No one will cross it. We know that now.”
Several of the journalists look down at their laps. There is a moment of silence.
“Brave Tuffet,” Tucker comments. “He visited me at the palace recently. I gave him a lovely quartz medal. It was small and I think later he dropped it somewhere. It’s a shame.”
The journalists lower their heads again. I need a beer and a shot.
“What will you look to do during the summer?” I ask.
“To do?” Tucker asks incredulously. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Player transactions? Free-agent pickups, etc. Who are you looking at?”
Tucker turns to his seconds. “What is he? I don’t…I can’t…”
The seconds pat him on the back and take him gently away.
“Well, that’s it,” says one of the journalists. He stands up, revealing to the daylight a well-hung package. “He won’t come back now.”
Everyone disperses.
My plane doesn’t leave until tomorrow. I make a beeline for the main stretch. Figure I’ll check out the local talent
Dick Oakes’ examination of the local talent will continue in further issues.
Terrifying Bats Claim Pondicherry Golden Platter
By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
In an exciting race to the finish, the Terrifying Bats have claimed their fourth Pondicherry Golden Platter in the past five years.
A solemn ceremony will be held this afternoon to commemorate the achievement.
“I feel juicy and carnivalesque,” stated club owner and GM Ric Royer, who was interviewed in a small anteroom at the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness. Royer then consented to a short interview.
BB: You were able to hold off the Condiments. Did you watch the results come in?
RR: No. I have never been a great fan of epistemological modalities.
BB: This will be your fourth Golden Platter.
RR: The men have a shelving unit. It will fit there.
BB: I understand you will not be attending the ceremony.
RR: Royer Country.
BB: Excuse me?
RR: Royer Country.
The executive suddenly became quite serious and resolute and began edging Belvedere out of the tight anteroom. The interview was ended prematurely.
Three-Way Race for Pondicherry Golden Platter
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Though the end of the 2012-13 season is mere days away, the championship in the Pondicherry Association is still up in the air.
“It’s a three-way race to the finish,” noted Small Pizzas GM “Inner Hammer”, who was interviewed via device from the Teets Island Chain. “Pretty confident on this end though that I’ll soon be pawing at that beautiful Pondicherry Golden Platter.”
The Uncolored Condiments however sit just a half point behind the Pizzas with the Terrifying Bats 1.5 points back.
Bats GM Ric Royer, who was interviewed inside his illuminated Snow Village-engorged cell, was pleased with his club’s recent surge.
“I’m impressed by Keith Candles [sic],” Royer noted. “Also, we have Mike Greens [sic] and Keith Candles.”
The GM smiled broadly and then suddenly collapsed.
Condiments GM Robin Brox could not be reached for comment. The executive was believed to be attending a condiments trade show.
“Ms. Brox is quite pleased and believes her club will capture the Platter,” noted a club administrator who refused to be identified. “We drafted very carefully and I think we’re seeing the fruits of our labors right now.”
There are three games yet to be played before the Platter will be presented on Monday.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Graveyard Shoot-Out
By Ric Royer
File photo
For weeks, I had been receiving mysterious unsigned letters demanding exorbitant sums of money. I paid no attention to them and continued eating daily at the mall food court. Finally, however, the writer indicated that unless $10,000 were left in a lonely graveyard on a certain night, I would be murdered. That’s when I did it.
I notified the L-Men.
The L-Men instructed me to do as directed, using a fake package (diapers) as a decoy. I was then to conceal myself behind one of the gravestones.
That night, I dressed in an oversized white suit and a pink hat. I made my way slowly to the desolate cemetery, pausing once to purchase an enormous economy pack of paper towels for no reason whatsoever. Upon my arrival, I placed the decoy (diapers) by a stone that rested eerily upon a fog-enshrouded hill. Then, I waited.
Shortly before midnight a car approached and stopped near the gates. A sinister figure emerged from within and disappeared among the shadows of trees and shrubbery. Suddenly the silence was broken by the booming voice of one of the hidden L-Men. “STOP IT! C’MON!” he shouted. It was not commanding. The figure continued its course towards the decoy. Then: “C’MON. JUST…STOP.”
The answer to this limp challenge was a barrage of shots from an automatic pistol followed by the crash of the L-Man’s service Colt. Then silence again.
Considerable time seemed to pass. They had taken the decoy, that was no doubt. I followed the crushed, wet grass until I discovered the L-Men. They were all dead.
“This is just ridiculous,” I said aloud. The sun was coming up over the horizon. I could see that the car was gone.
I made my way home. Another letter was waiting for me.
WIN A MECHANICAL DINOSAUR CONTEST!
It’s time again for the Pondicherry Association News’ semi-annual “Win a Mechanical Dinosaur Contest”. All you have to do is write your name, address, daytime phone number and include 10 sticker packets to: MECHANICAL DINOSAUR CONTEST (caps only), 537 Little Borough Parkway, Western Lankville, 2871. Sticker packets must be peeled. This fabulous mechanical dinosaur is sure to make you the envy of everyone on your block and could lead to new friends and possibly even some intercourse (heterosexual only). Think of it! You can have intercourse while watching the dinosaur move his head up and down. It’s been done before. Go for it!
Last year’s winner Dan Beery has this to say about his mechanical dinosaur:
“It gave me a new perspective on the outdoors.”
Deadline April 30. No hand-deliveries. Mechanical dinosaur partially soaked in flame retardant materials.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Mysterious Visitor
By Ric Royer
File photo
The vast auditorium was gloomy and tenebrous with the exception of a faint bluish light aimed at the stage. The mysterious visitor walked into it.
I was the only one in the audience. He looked right at me.
“Do you like puppets?” he asked.
“Yes,” I responded, quietly.
“Do you like magic?” he followed up quickly.
“Yes,” I said, even fainter this time.
There was a pause. Then:
“Do you like balloons?”
“Yes.” I knew he could hear my response but it was practically soundless. He walked offstage. The lights went up slightly. The pageant was clearly over.
Small Pizzas Yearbook Just Pictures of Tits
By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
The new Small Pizzas yearbook, released today, is just pictures of tits according to buyers.
“We expected tidbits on our favorite players, biographies, at most maybe a word jumble but not this,” said fan and yearbook purchaser Randy Partners. “It’s 132 pages of close-up tits. It has nothing at all to do with hockey.”
Partners was later lured into a room by the promise of a real yearbook and slaughtered.
“Not sure what the problem is, boys,” said owner and GM “Inner Hammer”, who was reached by phone in the Teets Island Chain. “Just giving the people what they want. Nobody can tell me they’d rather see pics of Marian Hossa or Claude Giroux over close-up tits.”
“Inner Hammer” suddenly slammed the phone down and the interview was ended prematurely.
The Small Pizzas are expected to release a statement later today.
Musings of a Decorative Ham Man
By Chris Vitiello
File photo
A group of men in yellow jumpsuits came to install the pneumatic ham tubes.
“We require an efficient way to be able to transport hams to the basement quickly,” I had said. The salesman eyed me suspiciously. “I don’t think the air current could be generated…for something of that weight…the engineering is not available…” He paused when I produced the whip. “Make it happen, Mr. Woppy (for that was the man’s idiotic name). Make it happen.”
He left the room quickly with his sad little tweed case.
They found a manufacturer in the islands; someone unfettered by the taint of regulation. The tubes were delivered via a fleet of tractor trailers. I got Woppy out of bed at 3 A.M.
“The tubes have arrived,” I commented sternly. “When will you?”
“Jesus Christ. In the morning. We’ll be there in the morning.”
“I’ll be closely monitoring your arrival.” I hung up and returned to a long film that featured some spacemen firing lasers at dinosaurs. It was mere background.
I stayed close by during the installation. Woppy was clearly hungover; for that, he deserved a whipping but I abstained throughout the morning. Around noon, he made an inappropriate comment as a female secretary passed by.
“Jeezus, wouldn’t mind gettin’ my noodle wet in that sauce.”
I asked him to come outside. He followed me to a small yard with a high fence and it was here that I whipped him mercilessly. I sent him home in a cab.
Near dusk, I dropped the first ham into the tube. I could feel the air suck it briskly downwards through the floor. Then, I called downstairs.
“Never arrived boss,” they said.
“Are you lying?” Are you a liar? Are you creating illusions?” I asked.
“No sir,” they said, seemingly perplexed. “We heard a loud bumping noise and then nothing arrived.”
I quietly hung up. It had not worked. It was inefficient. I tore the tube out myself. It took all night.
It is 3 A.M. I am staring up at the darkened second-floor windows of Woppy’s house. Light tuba music is playing on the radio.
I know not yet what I will do.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: Beyond Human Ken
By Ric Royer
File photo
“I’m contemplating an expedition to the South Lankville Pole,” I said. “I need a man like you along.”
I stared across the desk at Turps. He blew a gigantic cloud of cigarette smoke at me. The late afternoon sun made its way in thin shafts through the blinds. I could hear the sounds of a beheading faintly in the distance and the murmur of automobile traffic. There was a quality of lethargy in the air.
“You may have the Pole in your loins,” Turps finally commented, “but your loins are not in the Pole.” He blew another gigantic smoke cloud my way.
“I aim to undertake this, with or without you. You are well aware that I have mastered technique forty-four just as the Handbook says.” I slammed a piece of paper down on the desk and turned away. He stood up.
“Let’s go get the physicals.” I knew I had him then.
Two hours later, a small man in a white lab coat was delicately fingering my testicles. “Your gonads will need to be taped,” he kept saying. I had no idea what he meant. He stood up and began making notes on a clipboard as I hoisted my trousers. “No, no,” he admonished. “I need to paw at your testicles a little more.” The process lasted hours. When I emerged from the examining room, Turps was waiting for me. He looked annoyed.
“What the hell took so long? My physical lasted fifteen minutes”.
We walked outside. A gray jeep whipped around a corner, slammed on its brakes and skidded to a stop before us. “This is Carthill,” noted Turps. “He’ll drive us to get hot dogs and then to the boats.”
We stopped at a nearby stand.
“Going to the Pole, huh?” said Carthill. He was a good-looking blonde kid with a square jaw.
“What do you know about it?” I threatened.
“I know that there have only been two tries at it,” he responded, his mouth full of half-masticated hog. “The first was in eighteen forty-something. An utter failure.”
“That was the Little Anton Expedition,” Turps noted.
“Right, Little Anton. What, nine-thousand dead, something like that?”
“I believe the count was 39,” Turps corrected.
“Yeah, right. They never did find the ship. Then they tried it again in the twenties with that islander explorer, what was it, Batts?”
“No, his name was Himmelthorn,” said Turps.
“Right,” said the kid. He paused to throw up crisply into a box of little lamps. “Himmelthorn got stuck in the ice about twenty miles offshore. Never did even see land. Not that there’s much land to see. Nothing but fucking ice. Himmelthorn, a-number one fuckhead if you ask me.”
“Yeah, well, no one’s asking you”. Turps had to hold me back. The kid had a smirk that I wanted to smack off his face or perhaps crease with an ax. “Easy boy,” Turps added.
An hour later we were on our way to what I thought would be the South Pole. But really, it was a long, long journey to a place beyond human ken.
To be continued.
Woman in a Man’s Game
By Robin Brox
File photo
He was a little man with round glasses and a piebald head and he emerged awkwardly from beneath the surf, his skin a delicious malachite hue that belied his otherwise grotesque appearance. I watched him towel off and stared hard at the center of his taut short pants where I could sense an ethereal bulge that I knew would whisk any woman away to a place where no eternity existed and where there would be only an endless corkscrew pounding like some ancient, mythical rotary tool lost to mankind.
I followed him up to the hotels. He ducked along a fading side street and the air suddenly became rarefied and then stale with a deep and resolute masculine musk. I collapsed briefly against a pushcart popcorn vendor and then into some small garden fencing that surrounded a weedy, unkempt little lawn. I remained there, up on one hip, staring across at the piebald man as he entered a dilapidated flophouse known as “The Emerald Inn”.
Minutes later, I entered the lobby. It was adorned in unfashionable browns and purples and manned by a frowzy, corpulent islander. I walked up to his little counter kingdom and, by means of cutting off the light with my quaking body, isolated him from all warmth and love.
“Tell me where the piebald man is staying. The room number.” He produced his sad little sign-in tablet from beneath an accumulation of phone books. Freezing now, he pointed to a name. I allowed light, then.
I climbed the carpeted staircase to the second floor. Someone was grunting loudly in short, agonizing rhythmic spurts. I kicked open the offender’s door. He was a bulging, overly-muscled man doing squat thrusts. He failed to notice me. I continued down the hall.
I tapped on 121. Where there had been the light sound of movement within, I now heard nothing but a ghostly sibilance. Then, the sound of a supernal wind. He was gone.
He had left the taut short swim trunks, wet and sandy, on the unmade bed and a greeting card depicting a cartoon turkey. “HAPPY THANKSGIVING” it said inside, though it was July. He had left it unsigned.
I have not been back to the beach since.
Inner Hammer Kills Two in Sword Battle
By Bernie Keebler
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Small Pizzas GM “Inner Hammer” killed two vendors yesterday at the 63rd Annual Teets Island Gun, Swords and Hard Spheres Show held on the island.
“I asked the fat as shit guys if I could see the old pirate-looking cutlass they had behind glass. They took it out for me, handed it to me carefully and I immediately felt empowered. So I just cut both their heads off.”
Police are trying to determine if the actions of the executive were in self-defense.
“The act of proffering a pirate cutlass could be viewed as an offensive action,” noted Detective Gee-Temple, who was flown into the Teets Island Chain to investigate. “Inner Hammer may have been in the right. We’re still looking into it.”
“Yeah, it was kind of awesome, guys,” noted Inner Hammer. “If they hadn’t canceled the event and cleared the auditorium, I would have definitely bought that pirate cutlass even though it was all gnarly and all.”
Inner Hammer has murdered four people over the past two years, all food delivery persons. Detective Gee-Temple says that the murder yesterday does not fit into the GM’s profile.
“We have to look at all the details. This is by no means over. It will probably be OK.”
Catching Up with Inner Hammer
BY IDA RUMPUS The Lankville Society Scoop
File photo
Ida Rumpus recently had the chance to sit down with Small Pizzas GM Inner Hammer outside of his hotel in the Teets Island Chain.
IH: Hiya, angel tits. Good to see you again? What you got for “The Hammer”?
IR: Just a few questions…
IH: Aw, let’s skip the chatter, baby. How ’bout we make a two-backed beast?
IR: I…I wanted to ask about…
IH: You and me, sweet humps. Let’s ratchet us up a little white baby.
IR: I…
IH: I’ll give you a minute to think about it, lover. I gotta’ dump a load.
The interview was ended prematurely.
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
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LETTER SACK