Fick: “I Am Returning to the Heaths from Whence I Came”
By Tommy “The Anvil” Bulova
Small Events Attache
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In a surprise press conference held early this morning in a dreary, dimly-lit Masonic hall, Darkness GM Fick announced his retirement from hockey effective today.
“I am returning to the heaths from whence I came,” said the somnolent executive, who appeared unshaven and with deep, dark circles beneath his eyes and, for some reason, his mouth. “It is time to return to the heaths. I know that now.”
The press conference featured an assortment of waffles and pancakes, all of which were entirely too hot to eat and mysteriously remained so throughout the entire event.
“In the next few days, I will be appointing various figures to resume control of Darkness,” said Fick, who read from a series of small, colored index cards. “From thence forward, you will hear from me via alternative means of communication which will become apparent soon.”
Fick then tore up the index cards into tiny bits and then burned the detritus on the surface of the podium. He then joined press agents and reporters for breakfast.
“These waffles and pancakes do not appear to cool,” he affirmed. “We cannot eat them.”
A period of extreme perturbation ensued followed by violence followed by an unannounced eclipse of the early morning sun that lasted for hours.
OPINION: The Pondicherry Association is Not Helping Us
By Two Pandas
Special Panda Correspondents
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Last year, the Pondicherry Association held two “Save the Panda” events. This year, because of the lockout, they have held none. The Pondicherry Association is not helping us.
We’ve been sitting in a yard eating grass for quite some time now. About three or four times a week, a man comes along with a shovel and pail and cleans up our stool. Each time, we say, “Have you heard from the Pondicherry Association yet?” and each time he just shakes his head sadly and looks down at the stool. We have seen him cry a bit. And we too have cried.
We asked that a cell phone and our address book be brought. And we tried each and every Pondicherry owner (with the exception of Nick, who is a space asshole of the highest water). Each time, at best, we could reach only an embarrassed secretary. With Fick (who organized the events last year), we reached only an extremely loud halfwit. We are at a loss.
So, we will continue sitting in this fenced-in yard. It rains frequently and the stool turns to slop. That is what is happening now.
The Pondicherry Association is not helping us.
Return to Hoover Island Part III: By Dick Oakes, Jr.
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
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I recover from my horrendous beating just in time to meet with Tucker at the palace. Still, he keeps me waiting over an hour.
I am ushered into a gigantic, nigh-empty ballroom. A piano stands in one corner and a tiny child’s chair opposite. I think about the chair, dismiss it and wander across to the piano. The Oakes family has never possessed even the faintest hint of musical talent– my vagabond father once constructed a makeshift violin out of a tree stump and some rubber bands. It is said that the abysmal noise that ushered forth put the entire valley into deep consternation and later, of course, he was murdered– the tree stump violin broken beside him.
I tickle the ivories a bit. Less than a minute later, the butler enters the ballroom, looks at me, looks down at the keyboard and says, “Sir, if you don’t mind, please…” I sigh and move to the windows.
In the side yard, some nudes lay sunning in the grasses, others frolic in the gardens. They run the gamut– some forms that, though of age, appear to be just blossoming into womanhood; others already sporting gorgeously developed bosoms. A hose is suddenly produced and the girls begin squirting each other directly in the chests and laughing innocently. It is just at the moment when I can take no more that the butler fetches me to see Tucker.
I am led into a different part of his vast chambers– here is the famous Hoover Island library, full of texts utterly obscure to the Lankville scholar. “Have a look,” says Tucker, who is wearing a marvelous light green robe and his bejeweled crown. “This shelf in particular are all titles pertaining to our historical embracing of nudity”. I scan the spines. Leaning Over Nude in the Workplace: How to Love the Unseen Places, An Account of the Knackers of Northern Hoover Island: 1728-1931 (3 VOLUMES), Crucible of Combat: The Bushes of Hoover Island. I nod politely.
Tucker leads me over to another exceedingly small chair while he rests on a bejeweled throne. I take out my notes.
He puts up his hand.
“I’ll have you know that we’ve given the Pondicherry Association one week to resolve their issues. Otherwise, Hoover Island will withdraw their franchise, ban all incoming flights from Lankville and you will not hear from us again for perhaps another four hundred years.”
I fumble. I have no such press report.
“No, no, you won’t find that in your press,” Tucker laughs. It is though he has read my mind. “The hubris of your Lankville does not permit such a story. After all, the dear bellicose citizens of Lankville would not take kindly to being threatened by such a meaningless place as Hoover Island.” He laughs again, louder.
I attempt to follow up but Tucker will not permit any further talk of hockey. He asks me of my evening and I explain the events in the oceanside bar. He smiles.
“There is a social covenant here that prevents a man from asking another man to move his nutsack out of view, even if it is jiggling side to side in the manner you have described,” he explains. “Whilst on the dancefloor, you need to train yourself to observe the jouncing, animate papayas in a less-carnal manner. Of course, you should leer, but leer with the aim of further understanding. This is how we achieved such peace here.”
I ask him why he is never nude.
Before answering, he reaches beneath his throne and produces a plastic barrel of orange puffs of a cheese variety. He unscrews the cap and eats several in quick succession.
“It is important for the monarch to be clad differently. There are many people on Hoover Island who have seen me nude on special occasions and, of course, I have schtupped many citizens, which requires nudity but whilst in state, I do appear in my costume.”
It seems fruitless to continue down this avenue again and I try to divert the conversation back to hockey but to no avail. Tucker does promise a review of the island’s main hockey arena in the coming days.
“I want you to continue to get used to the nudity. Focus on the asses of Hoover Island. Let me know tomorrow if you notice something peculiar.”
Tucker’s handlers suddenly appear and he is led away. After awhile, a butler escorts me out.
Dick Oakes’ series will continue in future issues.
An Interview with Ric Royer
Larry “God” Peters recently visited with Ric Royer at the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness.
LP: I understand that you wish to be called by a new name.
RR: In the name of goodwill, it is best that I be known as Vapors.
LP: OK.
RR: No.
LP: OK. Tell us your thoughts on the lockout.
RR: Cold weather calls for cozy accessories. Best to use a graphic scarf as a finishing touch.
LP: What has become of your mall house?
RR: I believe they turned it into a Teppo Numminen’s Baby Pantry. I get the circulars. Actually, I get three or four different ones a day– sometimes they shoot through my window as if pushed by someone who has climbed a ladder in order to gain admission to my room.
LP: Anything else?
RR: I saw that you pulled up in a station wagon. Do you have any soda in there?
(The interview ended in deep confusion)
SOCIAL HAPPENINGS: “Inner Hammer” and Aunt Pam Now Engaged
BY IDA RUMPUS The Lankville Society Scoop
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The engagement is announced of professional hockey owner “Inner Hammer” and Aunt Pam. The wedding is to take place in the near future.
The happy couple, who were introduced to each other in a weedy field, are arranging for a honeymoon in the Teets Island Chain.
“Aunt Pam makes me hard. Rock hard,” said the perspicacious bridegroom. “She won’t do anything besides a little necking on her craft-heavy back porch so I gotta get married so I can just go to town on that. It’s gonna’ happen folks. You put that in the society pages, baby.”
“Inner Hammer” then gently touched this reporter’s cheek. “Anyone ever tell you that you have the skin of a bunch of milky white glass beads made to cascade over a series of flat mossy rocks?” he asked.
Aunt Pam, a homemaker, expressed deep contentment at the arrangement.
“I was married before, to Uncle Glenn but he ended up hanging himself in the attic. It was strange too because he put a large panel across the stairwell so we didn’t know about it for months. A fumigator finally discovered the hidden door and was hit by a blast of the odor of death.”
“We didn’t even have to cut him down,” Aunt Pam added. “He’d been hanging there for so long that his body just got ripped from the head. It was just a head hanging there.”
Further details on the proposed upcoming will be forthcoming.
An Interview with Shane Meyer’s Aunt Pam
By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File Photo
The Lankville Back-Printed Journal of Great Whines had a chance to sit down with Shane Meyer’s only known relative, who asked to be identified as “Aunt Pam”. The meeting took place in a dim basement hallway that smelled vaguely of educational chemicals.
BB: Do you think your nephew really perished in that tire house explosion/fire?
AP: He was a strange child. He had an odd way of staring directly through someone.
BB: Were you surprised when he made a fortune in fried plantains?
AP: Yes. He had no interests outside of semi-professional man wrestling.
BB: It’s well-known in the hockey community that you were quite a dish at one time.
AP: I was compared often to different actresses that appeared in certain specific films.
BB: Tell me about your bosom, as in, your bosom in its prime.
AP: I remember the exact day that I realized it had fallen. We were at a country fair and I was standing by a gigantic, industrial popcorn frier. My late husband commented on the seriousness of the frier and someone mentioned the amount of kelvins. I looked down and it hit me then.
BB: Do you have anything else?
AP: I make yarn Christmas ornaments. I sell them.
The interview sort of just slowly collapsed then. Nothing else was said.
Musings of a Decorative Ham Man by Chris Vitiello
By Chris Vitiello
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During certain times of the year, our concern offers a stunning decorative ham that appears already sliced. I will place this ham for you on your table or near to your sofa, lounge chair or futon, if that is how you choose to live your life. A white plate is placed beneath the flawless slices– I advise on two or perhaps three slices at most. We then will provide a quart of “Vitiello’s Special Lustrous Juices Supplement” (extra charge) to enhance the effect.
And people will say, “my goodness, look at that freshly-sliced ham.”
And you will say, “indeed, yes.” And then it will be your chore to divert their attention away from the ham– it being entirely decorative, of course.
Return to Hoover Island by Dick Oakes, Jr. (Part II)
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
I do not have an audience with Tucker until the following evening. I decide to sample a little of the Hoover Island nightlife.
“Take me some place hoppin,” I tell the taxi driver. He turns around and nods and I notice that he has tiny red eyes. This rattles me slightly. Still, within moments, he pulls up to an oceanside restaurant bedecked in colorful bunting. “You’ll like it,” he says, holding out his hand. I tip him generously while noticing that his eyes have suddenly devolved into the color of rust.
The place is packed– half the patrons in the buff. I order a whiskey and soda from the bar and survey the goods. Lot of gorgeous T&A to be seen but some guy with a hose-like schlong keeps dancing into view. I walk over and explain my outlook on the situation and he quickly recedes into the background.
Moments later, the bartender comes over.
“I saw what you did there. You must be from the mainland.”
“Yep. He was fouling up the scenery.”
The bartender politely smiles. “All of the people here are scenery. Makes no difference if we’re talking about giant gazongas or a set of smooth, milky-white nads. It is all beautiful.”
“Why don’t you stick to serving drinks and I’ll stick to deciding what I want to look at, pal.”
He smiles again in a patient, almost-grandfatherly way. “Whatever you say, my friend.”
After awhile, I get pretty lit and then I suddenly have to urinate terribly. I cross the thumping dance floor, nude bodies rubbing up against me and enter what appears to be an empty restroom. The door closes and in the mirror I suddenly notice the bartender. He has a crowbar in his hand.
“I will teach you now about beauty, son,” he says.
I remember taking the iron across the skull and then nothing after that.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: Near the Barrens
By Ric Royer (c/o the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness)
File Photo
I came upon two picnic tables filled with snacks and beverages. Removing the shockingly bright pink plastic cover, I find a tray of cheeses covered in bees.
“There are no bees,” I say aloud.
A man appears from behind a fence. “There are no bees,” he assures me. “We’ve got Trisbicuits (editors note: a popular cracker) as well. You can find them in that blue container over there”.
I curse lightly under my breath. Why put a container of cheese on one table and the Trisbicuits completely on another? It’s stupid, it’s poor planning, it’s insensate. I decide then to eat my fill and then overturn both the tables, spilling everything onto the moist grasses.
Someone comes up behind me and touches my shoulder. My mouth is stuffed with cheeses and Trisbicuits and I have always found that this condition makes it hard to turn around. The next thing I know I am being led by this unseen figure into a grassy lowland, across a field covered with giant green tree balls and into a small wooden church of nearly immaculate appearance. I am handed a leaf of corresponding literature.
This church was built for servants but never consecrated. The builder, Ms. H-Jumps, was suddenly beheaded during the First War of the Depths and the building was permanently shut by her grieving staff. It is open now especially for you.
My name was written there but it was horribly misspelled.
I was led to the first pew. I stared at the pulpit. Some large cards and an easel had been placed there. Everything was half-wrapped in flaking brown paper. A small portable radio had been left on the floor– it’s middle had been crushed by something heavy and unforgiving.
I became terribly bored, then horny, then incontinent. Nothing could be done. I waited for a week there but nothing further happened.
I made my way back up the hill and saw the man with the two tables of snacks. I punched him in the face and nicked a tray of bee-covered cheeses. I walked out into the road and eventually accepted a ride with a tiny redhead in a vintage station wagon.
She is driving me back to the barrens.
Royer Committed to Insane Asylum
By Clifford Griffey
Contemporary Junior Chronicler
File Photo
Terrifying Bat GM Ric Royer has been committed to an insane asylum for the second time in less than a year, sources are now reporting.
Royer was removed from his mall house and driven to the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness some time this afternoon. The circumstances leading up to his incarceration are currently unclear.
“I know he issued a big pile of steaming donkey shit today,” said Interim commissioner “Inner Hammer” in reference to a “Royer Experience” published in the Lankville Afternoon Catalog of News and Word Puzzles. “Other than that, he seemed fine the last time I saw him.”
Royer was an inmate at Foontz-Flonnaise for nearly four months at the end of the 2011-12 Pondicherry season.
The Terrifying Bats have not yet issued a statement.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Barrens
By Ric Royer
File photo
It was a rough patch of weedy asphalt where there had once been a restaurant. Beyond, there was nothing. The last man before the barrens told me this:
It was a restaurant with a red roof that was shaped like a sort of blocky hat. They had a little fireplace in the center and they put starlight mints on your plastic check tray at the end of the meal. They sold flat dough discs that sometimes had sauces and meats on top. I don’t remember what they called it. It was a long time ago.
I looked around his filthy ramshackle house on the edge of nowhere, the edge of the barrens. Everything had gone to hell. There were fifteen cats that wandered in and out of the morass. He sat on a stiff wood chair in one corner of the kitchen. There had not been a woman here in fifteen years, maybe twenty.
“Give me something, something to take out there,” I said. He vomited a little. “What’s in them tins?” he then asked, pointing to the filthy, littered counter. I stared hard at the three tins. I looked back at the man.
“You would not have fared well in the olden times,” he noted. Then, he died.
I took all his food and headed for the barrens.
***
The sky was grey though it was warm. A mild breeze blew. I suddenly grew very horny. But it was the barrens. There was nothing that could be done.
Later, I came to the crest of a slight hill. I could look down upon another ten miles of the barrens, ebbing at the distant horizon. I began to grow mad.
***
Flat Dough Disc Hut. Time seemed to be moving very quickly. I knew though that it was the Flat Dough Disc Hut. I had once won a contest for reading. My prize had been a trip to the Flat Dough Disc Hut. The last one before the barrens, now gone.
***
One ribbon, one trophy. The two achievements of youth. Gone. Where does one dispose of trophies? And who disposed of it? It was not me. I would have kept the trophy. Forever.
You keep things in the barrens.
***
I’ve been in the barrens now two years. I cannot find my way back to the old man’s home. Food is brought. It’s a man that walks down a staircase. The staircase ends, I supposed at the time, in heaven. I know that to be wrong now. This man, he brings the food. I recall having a fairly non-existent credit score.
***
Barrens.
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