Archive
Getting to Know Nick Del Rio, “Astronaut”
By Brock Belvedere
Brock Belvedere had a chance to sit down with alleged “astronaut” Nick Del Rio via an apparent “robotic space transmission”.
BB: I’d like to begin this interview by telling you how vastly disappointed we are in you.
NDR: I don’t know if I agree. I think a lot of people are very excited by the evidence we have uncovered…
BB: You’re a veritable pariah in Lankville and you’re wasting everyone’s time.
NDR: Let’s move on.
Nick Del Rio, Space Asshole Correspondent
BB: Tell me about this stupid planet you discovered.
NDR: Well, I have been a little disappointed with some technological issues…
BB: Not as disappointed as we are with you.
NDR: I thought we were moving on.
BB: Stupid asshole up in space. (Mockingly): I’m just a big dumb asshole up in space.
NDR: Do you want to talk about this or not?
BB: Look at me! I’m just a huge horse’s ass parading around in space.
NDR: We’re done here.
(Transmission was aborted).
Ordeal of a Cosmonaut
By Nick Del Rio, Space Asshole Correspondent
An ongoing series by a lying asshole piece of shit.
Slumber is troubled in deep space. I have a long dream in which I am standing before a gigantic vending machine. There are some processed tarts inside– two for a quarter and I have never before experienced such desire. I put quarter after quarter into the slot but nothing happens. Then a blimp crashes into a nearby building.
When I awake, I find that the pod is far off course. Momentarily, I do not even recognize my orange planet but my instruments indicate that I am well within its orbit. My instruments tell me something else– a test pod with some big robots that I sent out last night has come back and has indicated that there is water on my orange planet.
I am astounded by this discovery. I try once more to radio earth but the transmission is now permanently dead. I consult several space manuals for protocol. “When approaching a strange, unknown planet, you must be careful of THE BEINGS”, I read. “THE BEINGS are recognized as the cause of the disappearance of Dr. Ernwhitts, our greatest cosmonaut.” Unfazed, I make the decision. I will attempt a landing.
It is well-known that Dr. Ernwhitts attempted to launch a colony somewhere in the outer orbits. I fantasize that this could indeed be the planet where his lost ship touched down. Perhaps I would find him living among the grasses and THE BEINGS, taming them, civilizing them– I would be able to pick his brilliant mind. As I am lost in thought, the gravity-jenny suddenly sputters and stops working completely and I am hit in the face by a giant meatball mouth hoagie.
I restore the gravity-jenny and its faithful hum returns. Using the ropelletron-vision screen, I find a suitable spot for touchdown. I decide on a sandy butte overlooking a series of green puddles. I immediately memorize the topography, shifting the ropelletron-vision screen to show different angles. Suddenly, my picture disappears and a crudely-made card reading BUCK UP, SPACE ASSHOLE! flashes across the screen. I suppose wryly that transmission with earth has not totally failed.
The landing is rough and I miss my preferred spot– alighting instead on a savannah-like terrain characterized by long, flowing grasses, sparse vegetation and a strange field of intermittent purple flowers. The pneumatic hiss that follows the opening of the pod door is also a release for me, after nearly five weeks trapped inside.
I am aware of an overwhelming silence. Not even the long, flowing grasses make a sound, though they move briskly in the wind. I am in a sort of valley, surrounded by high hills and then suddenly I spot a donkey and a lion fighting soundlessly before me, a mere twenty feet away. My God, it’s just like Lankville, I think. I watch the great battle– the lion eventually proves the victor and decapitates the donkey by utilizing a strange device that looks like a concave pizza tray. He drags the carcass off over the hills.
“Space”
After a short walk, I come to water. All of the singular characteristics of earth are evident here– hills, waters, grass, donkeys, lions. After a drink, I send out a triphibian robot. Then, resting by the water, I set up my satellite econo-beam with regenerating power source. Then, I wait.
The robot comes back after two hours reconnaissance– indeed, I had fallen asleep and he was forced to push gently on my buttocks. It was dimmer now; there was a strange green glow in the sky.
The robot discharges two printed images. The first is a lion, the same lion, resting among the grasses. The second is the mutilated donkey carcass.
“Anything else?”
Some calculations are made and the robot attempts to spit out another image. This time, however, the paper becomes jammed and the robot begins to wobble in an insensate manner as the obstruction becomes worse. I attempt to intervene but find that the robot is far too hot to touch– his steel casing melts away in moments. I am left with only a corner of the intended image.
I kick the robot remains in a hole and sit down to examine the photo.
It appears to be a cleared area beneath a thin canopy of tree-like entities. I can see faintly what appears to be a crude cook-stove fashioned out of dirt and clay. I see what may be the arm of an unfashionable shirt.
I start.
And I know then that I have found the long, lost Dr. Ernwhitts.
This fucking crap will continue in future installments.
President Pondicherry on the State of Lankville
President Pondicherry
I shall speak to you today about challenge and opportunity–and about the commitments that all of us have made together that will, if we carry them out, give Lankville our best chance to achieve the kind of luscious society that we all want. Every President lives, not only with what is, but with what has been and what could be and what could be on other planets.
Most of the great events in his Presidency are part of a larger sequence extending back through several years and extending back through several other administrations. There is no enclosure. We are all in fields of waving people, all of us waving backwards to Lankville.
Challenges, riots, poverty, no trash pickup, lack of mall parking, an increased number of entrances to hell, giant pests, basically only one law enforcement officer, no contingency plans, all have this much in common: They and their causes–the causes that gave rise to them–all of these have existed with us for many years. Several Presidents have already sought to try to deal with them. One or more Presidents will try to resolve them or try to contain them in the years that are ahead of us. I might be your President. I might not. But soon we will know.
If the Nation’s problems are continuing, so are this great Nation’s assets:
–our malls.
–our wooded camping areas
–candy
–the good commonsense and sound judgment of the Lankvillian people.
We must not ignore our problems. But neither should we ignore our strengths. Those strengths are available to sustain a President (whoever he or she may be) to support his progressive efforts both at home and overseas.
Vote for me. Tell me about how you will vote for me. Tell me what you will do when you pull that curtain and are left alone and unsupervised in that voting booth. I want to know so bad. Email me. Send me a letter. They have cards at the mall.
I wish it were possible to say that everything that this administration has achieved had already completed a cycle of luscious progress. But believe that at least it will be said that we tried. I tried hard, especially after lunch.
Vote for me.
God Bless You and God Bless Lankville,
President Pondicherry
Latest News About Hell: By Zach Keebaugh
The Lankville Daily News is lusciously delighted beyond measure to present investigative reporter Zach Keebaugh’s column “The Latest News About Hell”.
By Zach Keebaugh
So, yo, the up-to-the-minute count of places in Lankville that are believed to be possible entrances to Hell now sits at 3. Yeah, I didn’t believe that shit either. But some guys and some nice-looking college students convinced me. They showed me some websites, some stuff on Scanit.com and a couple of books that were lying around. The question, of course, is do you believe in any of this fucking crap? Well, I aimed to find out. I aimed to find out the latest news about Hell. I am Zach Keebaugh, Hell Investigator.
So, the first place was a fenced-in copse off Route 71. We all know about Route 71.
I met Sheriff Bill Tetts. He handed me a coffee. “You’re gonna’ need this Zach,” he said. So, I was like, “C’mon Tetts. What the fuck is this about? You got the entrance to hell over here?”
“Zach,” he said, in his inimitable Route 71 drawl. “If there be a hell, then here it is.”
“If there be a hell?” I queried. “You gettin’ all eloquent on me Tetts? Let’s see this hell entrance.”
He led me into the copse. I’ll admit, things got a little weird. It got dark fast. The sky above (where it could even be glimpsed) was a flamboyant orange. I suddenly began speaking like Tetts. “That be a weird sky,” I commented. “This be a supernal copse.” I couldn’t control myself. I don’t know what the hell was up.
Tetts led me over to a steaming crater. “The mouth of this infernal caldera is an abomination to all humankind,” said Tetts. His sipped his coffee and looked at his cell phone.
The Hell-Mouth of Route 71.
I steadied myself and stared into the abyss. It was then that I realized what a mound of horseshit the whole thing was.
“Hey, Tetts,” I said. “Souls are incorporeal, man. Hell has no need of physical mouths. Get out of here with this mind fuck, man.”
He didn’t have anything to say to that and I struck place number one off the list.
So, I took a bus down to the Warm Peninsula Regions. There, I met local historian Wilma Sheets. Wilma was a little older than me but, good Christ, she was rocking her jeans pantsuit.
Course, we were standing around a pile of god damn rocks and a weedy area. I guess there’s some guys that can make a little romance out of a pile of rocks and a weedy area but I sure wasn’t coming up with anything.
“So, Wilma, what’s up with this pile of rocks, girl?”
“Well, Zach, it sure doesn’t look like much but many ancient Lankville historians have indicated that this was once the seven gates of Hell. It was said that if you passed through all seven gates, you would land straight in Hell.”
“I only see one gate,” I said, pointing out an old chain-link fence that was pretty much sans chain-link. “Yo, what’s up?”
“Well, the other six gates are invisible during the day, Zach,” she shot back.
I stared at her for a long time. I smelled bullshit, sure. And I was a little peeved that I had ridden the hump on that shitbus all the way down here. But that pantsuit was really nice, really a good fit. You don’t see that sort of thing too often when you’re standing outside.
The Seven Gates of Hell.
“Are the invisible gates over in that weedy field?” I asked.
“I think so, Zach. These giant stone blocks, these were part of an insane asylum. Hell’s insane asylum, the legend goes. Can you imagine the sort of patients that would be in hell’s insane asylum?”
She shuddered. I was quick to give her a comforting hug. The jeans pantsuit was nice, man, I was digging it. But I knew I could check this Seven Gates of Hell nonsense off my list too.
A few days later, I took the bus out of the Warm Peninsula Regions and up to the Snowy Lake Area. That’s where the alleged third entrance to hell is located– at the infamous “Cave of Sibyl”.
Glenn O. Cox is the curator of the cave, which is just a little stone mound that you enter through a ragged doorway and which, after a couple of stairs, drops down several hundred feet into fire. They have a little sign there (in a couple different languages) warning visitors but still, thousands of dumb shits fall to their deaths every year.
“So, Glenn O. baby, you think this is the true entrance to hell, huh?” I was a little worn out– hadn’t slept in days. And I wasn’t buying the claims of this sad little stone asscave.
“Yes, Zach. According to legend, the sibyl emerges at the surface each night and leads the damned to the underworld.”
I just looked at him.
The Cave of Sibyl.
“Yes, Zach, also we have evidence that birds flying over the lake have died due to the toxic fumes the cave emits. It is, indeed, a deadly portal.”
I still had nothing to say. Glenn O. was getting a little antsy.
“And also Zach, there have been many ancient Lankvillian kings who have offered condemned prisoners the chance for freedom if they would allow themselves to be lowered into the Cave of Sibyl and report what they saw below. And in every case, the prisoner chose death over the cave!”
“Yeah? Fuck this cave, man.” I was irritable, I admit it. It was uncalled for. Let’s just say I got worn pretty ragged down in the Warm Peninsula Regions.
Glenn O. was shocked. “Oh, Zach, that…don’t say that…” He began praying, making some kind of weird sign with his stubby little hands.
“I’m packing it in, Glenn O. baby,” I said. Later, I wrote him a letter of apology.
So, man, do what you want with these three claims. That’s the takeaway here. This reporter? This reporter isn’t buying any of it. And that’s the investigation– the latest news about hell.
Zach Keebaugh won a trophy for this report.
Ordeal of a Cosmonaut
“Astronaut” Nick Del Rio
The Lankville Daily News is annoyed beyond measure to present a new series by noted “astronaut” Nick Del Rio.
My fascination with space began at a young age. Dad would drop me off at the library. He’d say, “You’ll be spending nine hours here while I go to the offtrack betting place that we don’t tell Mom about. Use it wisely.” I would head right to the science section and devour the great tales of the pioneering astronauts– all of them, Armstrong, Aldrinson, Colbys, Ricer, Hossdoggs, Rance Mullinks, I just couldn’t get enough. To this day, I return to their stories for inspiration.
I have a picture of Rance Mulliniks and Dr. Ernwhitts (who never returned from space) cotside as I orbit a new, unknown orange planet. I am nearly out of reach of man’s primitive signals which is a mixed blessing as someone has given out my cell phone number and I keep getting messages telling me what a liar I am. But I am not deterred. For, out of the portal is my planet.
I don’t yet know what it will be called. I reflect upon this. An email comes in announcing that Dick La Hoyt has been punched in the face again. I am saddened by this news from earth despite the fact that Dick constantly leaves rude messages on my Lankbook page (along with tens of thousands of others). I suppose I should not be so hard on him.
The darkness here is ethereal. It is so delicately refined. The stars are delicate– like a lamb or one of those complicated Easter treats. I am in awe.
As I move closer to the dark side of this strange planet, my measurements confirm that I have only a few minutes longer before transmission with earth is completely aborted. I radio Control. For a long time, I hear only faint murmurings, then something mysterious comes in clearer. It sounds almost like the ambient noise of a party– the ebb and flow of conversation, the sound of cake being passed out, the squeak of balloons skirting the ceiling as if blown by a sudden, fervent wind. Finally, Lowenstein confirms my report.
“Go ahead, Nick,” he says, “Go ahead to the distant side of the planet.” He seems almost as if he is attempting to stifle laughter and the room behind him has grown suddenly quiet.
“Confirm functions,” I state, clearly.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, functions are great,” he says. I begin to wonder what is so funny.
“Confirm fuel intake.”
“Yep. Just great. Keep going there, Nick,” he says. I hear an eruption of laughter from a woman somewhere.
“Confirm atmospheric pressure.”
There is a sudden loud jolt and a series of quiet whisperings.
“Yep. Really, just perfect. Keep going, Nick. Keep going. No need to call back.” Transmission is abruptly ended.
I reflect upon this strange exchange. The light grows dim as I bear witness to a magnificent eclipse. I look back to the earth for the last time.
There is no going back.
OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth Picking Out a Mattress Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth Picking Out a Mattress Again
By Dick La Hoyt
MEANINGFUL OPINIONS
I was just settling in on the couch for a long afternoon of Lingus Nets contests when Tam walks into the room.
And she goes, “Dick, we need a new mattress, baby. My back is killing me from that god damn old shit cushion.”
What could I say? I mean, that’s why I love her.
“Alright baby. Let’s go down to the Mattress Sovereign on Route 21. They got anything you could ask for– coil, spring, waterbeds if you want to go that direction (I was hoping that Tam would), all that orthopedic shit. Let me just polish off this bowl of cheese balls.”
Sure as shit, I polished them off. Then we went out.
I got us down to the Sovereign in about 10 minutes. You avoid Route 21, go the back roads and you’re there. I got the lights timed and everything. Nobody’s gonna’ hold Dick La Hoyt up.
So, we walk in and there’s Buddy Tapes– Buddy and I go way back. He used to run his own mattress place but he blew it trying to sell them futons. I told him so and he punched me in the mouth. Won’t be the last time though– put your spending money on that.
Anyway, Buddy shows us around and I’m trying to horn Tammy over towards the waterbeds but she ain’t having nothing of that shit. “Dickie, c’mon, waterbeds are a god damn hassle,” she’s saying but I flopped on a couple anyway just for effect. It was like lying on a cloud, man, I’m not going to lie. Like lying on one of heaven’s clouds.
Well, the next thing I notice, there’s Buddy Tapes chatting up Tam pretty good. He’s all like, “You need something that’ll support your shoulders and your neck” and he starts trying to shove this little pillow all up in there. And I’m like, “WHOA, BUDDY. YOU BETTER STEP OFF, MAN. THIS GIRL IS SPOKEN FOR.” and Tammy’s like, “Dick, he’s just showing me something, goddammit” and Buddy’s all like, “Yeah, Dick, go back on the waterbeds if you’re gonna’ be a tool, man.” and I’m like I’LL SHOW YOU WHO’S A TOOL, MOTHERFUCKER, LET’S TAKE THIS SHIT OUTSIDE” and Buddy’s all like GLADLY and the manager is coming over and he’s like, “BUDDY, YOU BETTER NOT” and the next thing you know we’re out in the parking lot and BAM, I take one right in the mouth.
When I come to I’m on the waterbeds and I gotta’ tooth loose. Tammy’s sitting there– she’s kind of wobbling, on account of the unsteadiness of the waterbed and all. And I’m like WHERE IS THAT HORSE’S ASS? and Tammy’s all like GOD DAMN YOU, DICK LA HOYT and honestly all I’m thinking about is how comfortable this waterbed is, thinking, how can I get this into our bedroom without Tammy knowing and then I nix that idea. Dick La Hoyt knows enough not to shit where he eats, know what I’m saying?
But I do want that son of a whore Buddy Tapes to know this– I’ve been punched in the mouth picking out a mattress before and I’ll sure as Christ be punched in the mouth picking out a mattress again.
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Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
Dick Oakes, Jr.
It was a garage made of unpainted concrete blocks. The foreman stood there with a clipboard. He was a little, good-looking man– probably chased a lot of tail. Probably caught a lot of it.
He pointed to the dishwasher. “Show me how to hook that up,” he said.
I walked around to the back of the machine. Drain lines and wires hung carelessly out the back. I had never owned a dishwasher, certainly never looked at the back of one.
“You hook up the lines there and then you hook up the wires,” I said feebly.
He thought about that and made a mark on the clipboard.
“Very good, Mr. Oates,” he said. “That was the correct answer!”
I couldn’t figure on any of it.
They gave me a tan jumpsuit and put me on a truck that day. There was a patch on the breast. It said “MR. OATS”. I didn’t correct it none.
Barn was the driver. He was trying to eat an ear of corn, trying to steer and shift at the same time. It was all hell ridiculous.
We stopped at an intersection in a suburban neighborhood. “Here’s where you get out,” Barn said. He spit some corn out the window. “You got these addresses.” He handed me a typed sheet of paper. “I’ll meet you over at Pondicherry Park on about five. There’s an area of the park where the land starts to shift gently upwards and then drops off into a series of hills and dells. I’ll be on in there somewheres.”
I didn’t say anything. Who knew what the hell to say? There was no merit to any of it.
I rang the bell of the first place. Little brick rancher, well-tended. There was a sprinkler on the lawn flying around erratically. Water was spraying all over the place. Some pinwheels in the garden spun in the wind.
It was a brunette that answered. She was wearing a little sleeveless number. There was a pin over her ample breast. It was a bear playing with some balloons.
“Do you like my pin?” she asked. She was a little coquette– there was no damned doubt on that one.
“I don’t understand it,” I said.
“Oh.” There was a pause. “Well, the dishwashing machine is in the kitchen.” She seemed disappointed.
“It won’t rinse,” she said. “It idles for a long time as though it’s waiting for…something to happen. You know what that’s like, when you’re…just waiting? Waiting all the time?”
I took her right there. Right on the dishwasher. Later, it was the staircase and then back down to the dishwasher and then upstairs in bed.
We were lying there. “You’re not like my husband,” she said. “He has an advanced degree in economics.”
“Yeah? Fuck that shit,” I said. I was getting a little cocky, I admit to it.
“You’re so…coarse,” she said. She leaned towards me and I got another good look at the cans. They were round and full. It was something.
“I guess the only economics we’re gonna’ need to worry about is how much it’s gonna’ cost to dry clean that blouse of yours.”
“I guess,” she said. “Though that isn’t the cleverest comeback I’ve ever heard.”
“Skip it.”
It was getting on towards five. Ol’ Barn would be standing around in those hills and dells, wondering where the hell Oats was. I didn’t even know where the park was– couldn’t even have guessed on the name of the town.
“Did you still want me to fix the dishwasher?” I asked. I started putting the jumpsuit back on. She tore the comforter off the bed and shoved it into a hamper. We had really worked the damn thing over.
“Can you come back?” she asked. She pulled her panties slowly up her legs. It was excruciating.
“I don’t know.” I thought about going back to the concrete garage. Thought about all the angry calls that had probably come in. I pictured the little foreman wandering around in a sedan, looking for Oats.
“I may have to keep going,” I said finally.
“Well, then…” she said. She was getting bent out of shape about it. “You can go out the back door. The kitchen door. Servicemen go out the kitchen door.” She stormed out. I didn’t see her again.
I walked across the yard and through some hedges and into another backyard. A guy was back there cooking a big ham over a grill. There were pinwheels all over his garden too. Who knew what to make of it?
“Hey! This is a private yard!” he whined.
“Work on your big ham, Joe, I’m leaving.”
He had some beers on a picnic table. I nicked one on the way out.
Then, I kept walking.
CREAM- The New Miracle Cure for Impotence!
By Dr. Yothers
At least 98% of Lankville males and at least 97% percent of Lankville females suffer from impotence or frigidity during what should be the best years of their lives. Today, doctors know that in about 9.5 out of 10 cases, the trouble is not due to illness, aging, or droop but rather to psychological barriers. And CREAM is proving amazingly effective in clearing out these roadblocks on the delightful highway to love!
Young Mr. X (fake name) was a total loss as far as the ladies were concerned. He was what you might call a Sad Sack of the Sack (I often called him that) or a “Floppy Fred” or a “Limp Larry”. The funny names are inexhaustible, the point is that Young Mr. X was constantly flaccid.
Mr. X was in love with his high school sweetheart and, indeed, he would have married her but for one impediment. Embarrassed by his tuneless flesh flute, and fearing the worst on his wedding night, he abandoned all thoughts of nuptials, gave up on his belle, and ended up perishing in a tragic challenge explosion outside a distant forlorn strip mall.
If only Mr. X had known about CREAM. Instead of dying (he was also apparently shot at while exploding), Mr. X would now be churning the marriage bed in what can only be described as a jubilant carnival of zesty lust.
IMPOTENCE CREAM: THE BACKSTORY
The miracle of CREAM didn’t just “happen”– miracles never do. They are made.
I specialize in the repair of sexual insufficiencies. My tool is a secret CREAM, a wonder cream that came to me in a strange, hypnotic waking dream. Here’s how it happened.
I was having dinner, alone, at the Giant Tart Cafeteria. I had ordered an open-face turkey sandwich and when my plate arrived, I noticed that the sandwich was sans gravy. Needless to say, I was flummoxed. Of course, an open-face turkey sandwich is not complete without gravy. Everyone knows that– just what sort of shenanigans were these folks trying to pull?
My CREAM. Comes in tubes or mason jars with little gingham fabric tops.
It took forever to get the attention of the waiter. I began to grow angry, then outraged. Then, my outrage turned into a ferociousness and savagery that could not be contained. I cannot go back there, to that night, to the Giant Tart cafeteria (I have worked through that) but needless to say, it was a horrific and monstrous night.
But out of the horror came CREAM. In my cell that night, I drew up the recipe. I obtained various chemicals (calciums, mineral oil bases, alpha hydroxies, rare muds from the Peninsulas, pony parts and mixed them into the miracle concoction that you see before you today (see photo).
I found an impotent man- let’s call him Mr. Y (fake name). He was wandering about aimlessly in the Barren Lankville Wastelands, bereft and enfeebled. I subjected him to a heavy, regular slathering of the CREAM. Days passed in silence. Mr. Y would wake up from his cot, I would tackle him and bombard him with CREAM. When will it end? When will it happen? he would cry. “IT WILL, SHUT UP,” I would scream. And we would go back and forth, flailing about the room as I battered him with huge handfuls of the CREAM. IT WILL WORK, GOD DAMN YOU I would yell. It was a crazy time.
And then, one morning, Mr. Y was no longer impotent. It was immediately apparent through the thin, dimestore bedsheets. We celebrated with a breakfast of flattened, thin, wheat cakes and bowls of junket. I AM READY, DR. YOTHERS he said, his boyish grin returning. I AM READY TO TAKE A PLEASURABLE RIDE ON THE MAGIC CARPET OF INTERCOURSE. I laughed– tears running down my face. I KNOW YOU ARE, MY BOY. I KNOW YOU ARE.
Mr. Y is now happily married with 10 children.
My CREAM– a Lankville miracle.
The opinions of Dr. Yothers are absolutely not the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
Notes of an Old Man Who Lives Alone
By Luman Cans Harris
Every Friday evening, I go down to the liquor store and buy a good pack of cigarettes.
I pass Mama, the heavy-set landlady on the staircase. She’s always sitting in her doorway crocheting words onto a blanket.
“Buying another pack of cigarettes, Mr. Cans Harris?”
I used to deny it, now I just nod politely.
“Smoking is terrible for your health,” she says.
“Oh? I hadn’t heard that.”
“You’re being irreverent, Mr. Cans Harris,” she says quietly. “My husband, Papa, was irreverent.”
She never offers up the fate of Papa though the inference is that it was not a good one.
“Just open up a window, Mr. Cans Harris. Otherwise, your fabrics will be abhorrent. Women notice that kind of thing, Mr. Cans Harris.”
Mama desperately wants me to find a good woman. Nothing would delight her more. There is something wrong with an old man who lives alone in Mama’s mind. But women have a way of coming into your apartment and changing things around. They have a way of insisting on going out in the evenings. Sometimes they are feminists and they spout some of that barely-disguised reversed sexism cloaked as dimestore philosophy. Who the hell needs it?
“I’ll see to it that a window is open, Mama.” And then I head down into the street.
The entrance to the building is via an ugly windowless side door painted a strange deep red color. There is a giant block of granite step and the drunkards often hang out here– shielded from the main road. I often bump their backs going out.
I have an ancient black Ursa parked by the curb. They don’t make Ursas anymore. Stopped about 1989, I guess. Neptune really took over the market. I don’t drive the Ursa much– just move it around occasionally so the neighbors don’t think it’s broken down.
I buy the cigarettes and walk slowly back to the apartment in the diminishing sunlight. Young people are flocking to the bars. It’s a loud place– a party atmosphere.
I spot “The Shark”. He’s a local lunatic with blonde hair and a deep red face. It’s that same supernal red as the side door. He stalks up and down a two block section– stopping at the corner and starting again, down by the closed fish market.
“HEY MAN,” he says in his deep, breathy, hysterical voice. “YOU KNOW WHERE THE OUTLANDS ARE, MAN?”
“They’re west,” I say. “Maybe about 200 miles from here.” I am patient with “The Shark”– there is no reason not to be– the man is clearly insane.
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE THE OUTLANDS ARE!” he accuses.
“Ok.” I start to walk on.
“NO WAIT, MAN. THEY GOT A PRISON THERE, DON’T THEY?”
“They do,” I say. “It’s a big prison for the Outlands Area.”
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE IT IS!”
“Ok.” We have arrived at a conversational crossroads.
“SHIT. THEY PROBABLY GOT A BUNCH OF ISLANDERS IN THERE WITH BIG DICKS.”
He likes to go on about big dicks and Islanders. That’s when I generally take my leave.
“Ok. I’ll see you later.”
I head slowly up the staircase. Mama is gone but her door is open. If you were twenty years younger Mama I think to myself. It’s nonsense. Why think such things? Perhaps “The Shark” is rubbing off on me.
I pass the night quietly.
OPINION: You Can Spend a Whole Day at Three Pines Double-Tiered Strip Mall
By Tammy La Hoyt
IMPORTANT OPINIONS
Tammy Nails is only one of fifteen stores at the Three Pines Double-Tiered Strip Mall in the Deep Lankville Basin Area.
We also got a little religious bookstore, a place where they have newspapers and beer and some kind of place that has, I guess, those faucets for sinks. We also got a god damn place that dumps big barrels of shit off the back balcony (the Three Pines Double-Tiered Strip Mall is two stories). We’ve complained and all to the management but nothing’s been done yet. Somebody got no respect for anything.
The guy that has the religious bookstore is a sweet little old man named Mr. Pencils. He’s got all kinds of song books and manuals and all. I brought him some homemade egg salad once. He unwrapped the sandwich and stared at it for like ten minutes and then he said, “I’d like to decline this.” I was pretty hurt, I guess. I called him a son of a bitch and then I started crying. My eye makeup ran and all. We haven’t spoken since but I still wave to him. Sometimes he waves back.
You can spend a whole day at Three Pines Double-Tiered Strip Mall. You can come in and get your nails done at Tammy Nails and then you can walk over and do whatever it is that that guy that dumps shit all over the place does, and then you can buy some nice religious books for a female relative and all. And then you can get a new faucet. I get new faucets about once a year. My Dick always says, “Sure as shit, you can never go wrong with a new faucet.” He’s right.
There’s a cabinet place too, like cabinets for kitchens but they ain’t never opened. And there’s a pizza place but it’s always really cold in there and there ain’t any pizzas in the display cases. There’s a couple of guys that stand around dazed behind the counter. They got these white aprons on that are stained all kinds of strange colors.
As My Dick says, “Takes all god damn kinds, babe.”
Lankville Daily News Readers Speak Out!
By Bill Hogg, Grocery Store Clerk
There’s nothing I like better than to climb into that big ol’ piece of Lankville iron I got parked out front and drive through the streets without stopping. Once, I was able to make it all the way downtown, blowing every red light, without getting caught. People look at that old car and they say, “Why, Bill, that’s a piece of shit.” And I pull my cap down and say, “Nope. There’s power to spare under that big baby’s hood.” And they walk away then.
The Lankville Daily News is the sort of thing you can read while driving. It’s also good for that time before twilight when you’re having six or seven beers in the weedy area behind the convenience store. I even showed it to the little pervert who comes into the store and kneels behind the watermelons. “Hey man, your nuts are as big as these watermelons,” he would say, senselessly. But after I showed him the Lankville Daily News on a company laptop, he quieted down and I found him a little stool and it calmed him for a good hour or two.
Then, there’s that fat lady who fashioned a hook under her skirt and we caught her taking out a couple of hams. The manager wanted to arrest her but I talked him out of it. “Go set her down in the corner and show her this blog,” I said, pressing the laptop into his hand. I believe it did teach her something.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a thing about smoking cigarettes on a toothpick.
Barlow Foods Pharmacy Earns No. 1 National Ranking
By Floyd Miller
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Barlow Foods Pharmacy has the highest overall customer-satisfaction rating in the country, according to Meulens-LaPoint’s latest study of pharmacies nationwide.
The ubiquitous grocer scored 887 points on a 1,000-point scale that measured prescription ordering, cost competitiveness, bag stapling, and non-pharmacist associate staff, as well as pharmacist and store experience. The list was created using surveys from nearly 111,115,000 customers during May and June.
“This study measures the very things we have focused, even insisted upon for many years,” said founder and CEO John Barlow.
Barlow Foods beat out brick-and-mortar and mail-order pharmacies across all categories, including chain drugstores, big-box pharmacies and pharmacies that have toys. It was also the only company on the supermarket pharmacy list to earn Meulens-LaPoint’s highest ranking: five out of five gold Special Power Stars, designating it “among the best.”
Barlow Foods CEO John Barlow.
“Our pharmacy employees have built relationships with our customers that start with things like caring, devotion and maybe, in some cases, love,” Barlow stated at a news conference held within site of a pharmacy. “But they also understand the value of mutual understanding. The mutual understanding that comes from knowing who the customer is, and who the boss is. Who is in charge. Every Barlow Foods customer should know this– if this mutual understanding is found lacking on the customer side, then the customer does not return. And that is our decision.”
“I’m the one. The one in charge,” Barlow elaborated, after a long silence.
Runners-up in the supermarket category were The Outlands Brothers, with a score of 871; Drug Barrels, with 866; and mall-based chain Monkey Pups, with 861. The average supermarket pharmacy satisfaction score was 851.
Barlow was not planning on a celebration.
“Our goal is to remain open during the good years and through the imminent very, very bad years. How would it look for us to stop now for a sad little cake and a pharmacy hung with sagging crepe streamers?”
A trophy commemorating the achievement will be mailed to Barlow’s offices.
Gump Penetrates
Gump Tibbs
It’s time for another penetrating interview with Gump Tibbs. Today, Gump interviews Dick Oakes, Jr., Lankville Daily News columnist and author of the bestselling short-story collection No Merit in It.
GT: So, you have that little area in the paper where you write about some of your exciting adventures?
DO: Yeah. I mean, I don’t know how exciting they are. My life is a sort of hell, Gump.
GT: Marvelous! And you’ve just released a new manual?
DO: It’s a collection of short stories.
GT: What an amazing endeavor! What is the manual about?
DO: I don’t know, Gump. Fer chrissakes.
GT: Such a delight! Will you be releasing any more manuals?
DO: Yeah, I guess. I got a trunk somewhere with a bunch of stories in it. Might be in a locker down at the bus station. Damned if I know where the key is.
Dick Oakes, Jr.
GT: Sounds like a cat’s pajamas!
DO: The cat’s pajama’s?
GT: Really fabulous! Let’s move on to sports. You like wrestling?
DO: Yeah, I mean, it’s fine. Hell, they get a couple of big corn-fed girls in a small motel room and a lot of things can happen. Who can figure on any of it? Does anybody really give a damn? Tell me, Gump, does anybody give a damn?
GT: A remarkable endeavor! I’m going to fire some guns into some small bushes. Want to come along?
DO: Skip it.
Tibbs bounced away and the interview was ended prematurely.
The Electronics Cranny: Operation Telephone 2025
By Fritz Tennis
The time: a day in 2025. You’re planning on spending the afternoon at a friend or lover’s house. But you’re also expecting an important telephone call. You pick up your phone, dial first a special code prefix, then your friend or lover’s number. This done, you leave the house, knowing that all calls to your number will be automatically forwarded. When you return home that evening after a fine day of comraderie or fornication, you dial another code number and incoming calls are once again routed to your own phone.
Figure One
Impossible, you say! A fantasy, a chimera, an impossible dream! Fuck you, Tennis, you dumb soulless electronics shit! And yet, whatever your opinion may be, this special service and dozens of others just as advanced will soon be available to you. Already, a prototype all-electronic telephone central office is in operation in the Eastern Lankville High Wooded Area. And it’s delighting subscribers with services which make present-day systems seem as obsolete as the rotary dial on a telephone nailed to some filthy alcoholic’s kitchen wall like some sort of perverse communication Christ on the cross.
Special Services. Within a few years – as versatile all-electronic equipment replaces the present imperfect relay-switching systems – your phone will perform such tricks as these:
Special Services Control Center- the world’s first all-electronic telephone central office, now serving customers in the Eastern High Lankville Wooded Area was developed by Danny Madison Industries.
THE MANIFOLD PRESENCE
You’re talking to a friend about a new hot/cold cup you’re planning to buy. But you need more information. So without either of you hanging up, you simply dial your electronics dealer’s number. A few seconds later he is connected into the manifold presence circuit, and all three of you can discuss the hot/cold cup at will. You can even continue calling additional numbers (as many as you like up to seven) and all will be connected so that everybody can talk to everyone else about hot-cold cups.
“We decided on a limitation of seven calls at once,” noted Special Services spearhead Danny Madison of Danny Madison Industries. “Our research indicates that when an eighth voice is added to a conversation of seven, all eight participants immediately turn insane.”
“We’d like to avoid such an occurrence,” Madison added.
THE EXCLUSIVE PREFIX RELAY
There are several numbers you call regularly. A word to Special Services, and each of these “regulars” is assigned a special two-number prefix. Then, instead of having to dial the usual seven-digit number (or ten-digit number for the Outlands and Desert Area) you simply dial “12” when you want your local motel, “13” for the corner drugstore, “14” for the wife of your best friend, etc., etc.
THE INCOMING SWITCHER
You run a small business or a kiosk and don’t want to miss any incoming calls. You make the proper arrangements, and if your office line is busy when someone dials it, your home phone rings automatically. If your home phone is busy too, a third number – perhaps an answering service, perhaps some low-skilled individual you’ve assigned to wait for calls in a building with low overhead (like a shed) will ring, and so on for as many alternate numbers as you wish (up to seven).
Boy genius Danny Madison.
“The Incoming Switcher can also alert your Reckoner which will then display a green digital message on its Electronic Brain Reading Square identifying the caller and, if possible, limited personal information,” noted Madison, who paused to attach some electrodes to a pizza. “The Reckoner can also accept short messages utilizing the mini tape disks which insert into the back but which, of course, must be purchased separately. You can then play back the message by utilizing the Danny Madison portable Reckoner Speakers which plug into the side of your Reckoner and which can also be purchased separately.”
These are only a few of the scores of special services you’ll enjoy when electronics takes over completely. Hordes of electrons rushing through transistors, diodes, tubes and funnels will do the job, and they’ll do it within millionths of a second. Thus, the all-electronic system will be able to perform at least a hundred different operations, carrying out extremely complex switching operations impossible with present-day equipment.
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