Archive
Creating a Feelings Center by Dr. Kevin Thurston
By Dr. Kevin Thurston
Dr. Kevin Thurston is an expert on men’s feelings.
For the Ancient Lankvillian, any place of peace could be a place of worship.
Dr. Kevin Thurston (expert on men’s feelings) has taken this concept to a higher plane.
A plane of feelings where all feelings are emanated through a series of steadily denser stages, becoming increasingly more material until they become a force that ultimately creates a Feelings Center®.
It sounds difficult. Abstract. Like something the average man with average feelings cannot possibly achieve. Dr. Kevin Thurston is here to tell you that you absolutely can. And you will if you utilize your Thurston Advanced Topics handout (available as a PDF for $5.99), you (the feeler) will be able to frame all things that constitute our Universe into your own personal Feelings Center®.
Your Feelings Center® could be along the brambly shores of Lankville Falls at sunset (my personal preference) or it could be in your club basement or it could even be at your workplace. Many forward-thinking offices are now setting aside a small space for such purposes. Dr. Kevin Thurston is available for consultations — call for rates, they are seasonal.
Every Feelings Center® should and must be a center of comfort. With that aim in mind, I have some pale green beanbag chairs available for $29.99 each. There are a couple of scratch and dent chairs wherein the stuffing has exploded from the side– these are just $11.99 each and come with a repair kit. Quantities limited.
And remember, Dr. Kevin Thurston (expert in men’s feelings) is always here for you. I am only a few phone calls away.
A Message from the Chief Scout
By Tris Bostitch, Chief Scout
LANKVILLIANS:
There was once a boy who lived in a region of rough farms and pits. He was inflamed with the love of the great greenish outdoors–the trees, the wood-herbs, the dark forbidding pits that seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever and the live things that left their nightly tracks in the mud by his well. The boy wished so much to know about them and to learn about them, he would have given almost any price (up to $50,000) to know the name of this or that wonderful bird, or brilliant flower, or pit and he used to tremble with excitement and intensity of interest when some new bird or pit creature was seen, or when some strange lilting song came from the trees to thrill him with its power or vex him with its mystery or a new eldritch roar rose from the mysterious pits. He had a sad sense of lost opportunity when the creature flew away or was devoured by the pit, leaving him as flummoxed as ever. He was alone and helpless (his parents were both hopeless alcoholics) and he had neither book nor friend to guide him, and he grew up with a kind of insatiable hunger for knowledge in his heart that gnawed without ceasing. But the hunger also did this: it inspired him with the hope that some day he might be the means of saving others from this sort of relentless inner brain torment–he would aim to furnish to these poor farm and pit boys what had been denied to himself.
There were other things in the verdant world that had a binding charm for him. He wanted to learn to camp out, to live again the life of his hunter ancestral hill people who knew all the tricks of gaining comfort from the relentless wilderness– the mother bitch of nature who could be so rude to those who fear her, so kind to the stout of heart.
And he had still further hankerings–he loved the yarns of the great Lankvillian romances. When he first found B. Hemsley Cooper’s books, he drank them in as one parched might drink at a lush spring. He reveled in the tales of knightly courage, of heroic deeds, of the conquest of evil. He gloated over records of their scouting, their trailblazing and the long, long descriptive passages of maize cultivation learned from natives which many readers of Cooper are inclined to skip or remove entirely from newer editions. He lived it all in imagination, secretly blaming Cooper, a little, for praising without describing it (except for the maize part) so it could be followed and replicated. “Some day,” he said out loud to nobody in particular, “I shall put it all down for the other boys to learn.”
And as the years went by he found that there were books about most of the things he wished to know– the stars, the birds, the Lankville super reptile, the fish, the insects, the plants, (although their were precious few books on pits) telling their names, their hidden power, their curious ways. There were books about camping life, about the language of signs and even some of the secrets of the trails. But these were very expensive (many were available only in limited editions) and a whole library would be needed to fully cover the knowledge needed. What he wanted–what every boy wants–is a concise handbook giving the broad facts as one sees them in the hike, in the open-air life. He did not want to know the trees as a botanist does, but as a forester; nor the stars as an astronomer, but as a traveler. His interest in the pits was less that of craterologist than of a hunter and camper not wishing to fall into one, and his craving for insight on the insects was one to be met by a popular color picture book on bugs, rather than by a learned treatise on entomology.
So, knowing the desire he made many attempts to gather the simple facts together exactly to meet the need of other boys and finding it an elephantine task he gladly enlisted the help of like-minded men who had had lived and had feelings as he did.
Child Scouts of Lankville– that boy is writing to you now. He thought himself peculiar in those days. People often called him peculiar. “Who gives a shit about bugs?” his alcoholic father once said. He knows now he was simply a normal boy with the interests of all normal boys and that his father was a dim-witted alcoholic and all the things that he loved and wished to learn now have part in the great Lankvillian work we call Child and Small Child Scouting.
Do these things appeal to you? Do you love the woods?
Do you wish to learn the trees as the forester knows them? And the stars? The pits? The snowy lakes?
Do you wish to have a sound body that will not fail you? Would you like to be an expert camper who can always make himself comfortable out of doors, and a swimmer that fears no waters? Do you desire the knowledge to help the wounded or shot quickly, and to make yourself utterly self-reliant in an emergency?
Do you believe in loyalty, courage, kindness and merit badges? Would you like to form habits that will surely (not guaranteed) make your life a success?
Then, whether you be farm boy, utility shed clerk, secondary pizza chef or business tycoon’s son, your place is in our ranks, for these are the thoughts in scouting; it will help you to do better work with your pigs, your utility sheds, your pizzas, or your dollars; it will give you new pleasures in life; it will teach you so much of the outdoor world that you wish to know. And it will teach you about the most important thing of all: yourself.
Join us.
Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
I was minding the Towels by the Pound joint when a couple of sex perverts walked in. You could tell right away.
And the one guy said, “what’s your most absorbent towel?” He was a real fruit, this one.
“Look, they’re all about the same. They’re towels by the pound. There ain’t no varied degrees of quality.”
“But, what about this one?” He picked up a towel at random. “What kinds of fluids will this absorb?”
I looked over in the corner. The other guy was already beating off.
It took me all of two minutes to clear the place.
When I got the doors locked, I lit a cigarette. My hands were trembling.
What’s with you, Oakes? Just a couple of twilighters. Never bothered you before.
I heard a door open and shut in the back.
“I shut it early,” I called out. “I’m going for a drink. Going for a drink.”
She appeared in the doorway.
“Couple of homos was in– one of ’em tried to…well…”
“What, Dick?” The old girl was lit. I felt half-bad about it.
“Skip it.”
I went out and got in the old car and then I drove for several miles until I came to the edge of town. There was a brown mountain range off in the distance. I pulled into a place called the Skyland. Ugly modern design– nothing but glass and cement. There were a couple of late model sedans parked haphazardly in the lot.
It was hot as hell.
The joint was cool– you could hear an air conditioner running somewhere. They had a twangy guitarist playing over in one corner. There were two guys at the bar. After I ordered, one of them came over and sat down next to me.
“Listen, buddy, I’d just rather sit here alone and…”
He cut me off. “I ain’t gonna’ take up too much of your time but I’ve got something you gotta’ see.”
He produced a suitcase from somewhere. There were books inside.
“Tucker Nightstand. Oh, yeah. Serious stuff right here.”
I looked at him. He had a square face and a bushy mustache and he smelled like cologne.
“Tucker Nightstand, 3000 series. Now, these bad boys will cost you $1.95 in some of the classier adult joints but I’m willing to let them go for $1.50 each. Now, you do the math. That saves you forty-five cents a copy. Whattdya’ think?”
I finished off the bourbon and called for another.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. Then he laughed oddly. “You’re thinking, forty-five cents, who gives a shit? Am I right?”
“I’m thinking about this bourbon.”
He ignored it. “Hey, just have a look buddy. Look at what we got here. Campus Tramp, Pound it in Jason, Gas Pump Harlot, Lust Pro. All from the 3000 series.”
“You know about the 3000 series. Tell me you know about the 3000 series?”
I stood up and threw a ten on the bar. I turned to leave but then I thought better of it.
“Alright, let me have one of them.”
“Yessir!” He was god damned happy about it. “Take any you like, any at all.”
I picked out something called Singles Pad and got the hell out of there.
Oral Histories of Some Former Lankville Pugilists
By Proverb Orsino 26W-4L, 22KO
I was born in 1925 in the Great Lankville Southern Basin Area. The first thing I remember was the Great Flood of 1931, you remember that? No, of course not, what year were you born? 1982? What a bullshit year that was. What a bullshit time to be born in. You shoulda’ been born in 1925, really.
Anyway, the river rose 325-feet and everybody drowned. The only people that didn’t drown were the people on the Great Hill above the Great Basin and guess what? (The interviewer could not guess). Whattdya’ mean you don’t know? Why do you think I’m sitting here talking to you, 1982? (The interviewer could still not guess). Because I lived on the god damn Great Hill, that’s why. C’mon, 1982– you asleep or something?
Anyway, the thing I most remember is the legend of the Hard Time Killer. You know about that? Of course you don’t, 1982. All you know about is them calculators, am I right? Am I right? (Orsino was mostly right). The Hard Time Killer was this boogeyman, I guess you could say that afflicted areas that was going through a hard time and the Southern Basin Area was sure as hell going through one. He went around and took people in the night and you never saw them again. Nobody never did find out if he was real or imagined but I think he was real. And since Ma and Pa were too poor to afford any kind of a gun or anything (although we did have an uncle that had a gas chamber), I figured on training up in boxing so’s I could defend the family. And that’s how I became a boxer, 1982.
I trained with L.D. Swans who had been a bare-knuckle fighter– he lived on the Great Hill too. L.D. was able to get me some fights in some of the larger towns in and around the Basin. One time, we was driving somewhere and we heard on the radio about the great Basin fighter Proverb Orsino. I remember the commentator saying something about how I was “moving north, licking opponents as they came”. I always remembered that. Felt good about that, 1982, know what I’m saying. You have any accomplishments like that, 1982? You ever get your name mentioned on your little calculator, there? You’re god damn right you don’t.
Anyway, that’s just what happened, I moved north and took on challengers and I licked them all. And then I got to Lankville City and that’s where I ran into some tough customers. There was the Lynn Dickey fight– you do any homework on that, 1982? (1982 had not). That was in the Round Garden and they had a big lavish puppet show before the fight. There was like a thousand puppets. It was some kind of a war commentary cause the war was on by then. Some of the puppets was dressed in Island uniforms, you know, with the jackboots and all that nonsense. At the end, the good puppets, the Lankvillian puppets shot a bunch of the bad puppets. Christ, they used real bullets and everything. I never did see a puppet get shot, let alone a good couple hundred of ’em. I know that because on my way into the ring I saw all the damn bullet holes in the floor, in some of the chairs– Christ, what a mess.
Anyway, Lynn Dickey wore me out. He let me hit him pretty much at will for the first three or four rounds and I was boxed out by then. Then he just jabbed me in the sternum for the entire fifth round. When I came back to the corner after the fifth, L.D. said– “Jesus, Proverb, he’s hitting you in the sternum.” And I said, “yeah, L.D. I know’s it.” But L.D. didn’t have no advice for me. He just took a big sponge that didn’t have no water on it– I mean, this sponge was dry as a bone, and rubbed it all over my jaw. It weren’t effective, I’ll say that now.
So, I come out for the sixth and it was over after thirty seconds. Just one sternum punch after another– couldn’t get my hands up. At one point, Dickey was like, “hey Proverb. Aren’t you gonna’ protect your sternum none? I feel kind of like an ass about just hitting you there over and over again.” But then he hit me in the face and I went down and that was it.
I had won 26 straight fights before that Dickey fight but then I lost four in a row. And I hated to lose, let me tell you, 1982. Hated it. I lived in a modest apartment over a bakery back in the Basin and every time I’d go back after losing, I’d tear the hell out of the place. Got so where I didn’t have anything left. And one time, the baker, Mr. Mendenhall said to me, “hey Proverb, you better quit that. Or I’ll toss you out on your ass.” And that was a wake up call. I sent a telegram to L.D. and that was that. Then I took up with Mr. Mendenhall, he gave me a nice little job. I handled the breakfast hand cakes for 22 years and then I took over the place after they came and beheaded Mr. Mendenhall. And I run it another 9 years before I sold it to some corporation. Made a nice little profit off it.
You want something else, 1982? (1982 declined and the interview was ended prematurely).
Dick La Hoyt on the New Copy Machine They Got at His Work, Other Miscellany
Dick La Hoyt
Outstanding Opinions
We got a new copy machine down at the Tire Shredding Plant. You oughta’ see this beauty. First off, she’s a Danny Madison Crusader with the HD color touchscreen– must have set the company back a pretty penny, I’ll tell you. This baby’s got a 1600 sheet capacity– seriously, they’re not assing around, man. You got a resolution of 1200 x 1200 dpi, page output of up to 6000 sheets a month, SVGA LCD graphics, the whole bit– one of the guys in the office even told me that the damn thing’ll order you up a pizza from anywhere in Lankville. It’s a serious piece of equipment.
You really can’t go wrong with a Danny Madison product. Tam’s got some kind of a tablet– god damn thing talks to you. And I mean, a serious conversation. Tam’ll be lying in bed with that gigantic-ass t-shirt she wears that’s got the Lankville flag on it and says- TRY AND BURN THIS and she’ll just be lying there and she’ll say, “Tablet, what appointments do I have tomorrow?” and sure as shit this tablet will tell her. And then, Tam’ll say, “What about Ms. Ludwig at 3PM– what did she need again?” and the god damn thing’ll tell her. It’s freaky, I’ll put that on record right now. Chalk up a sense of amazement for Dick, chalk it up right now, go ahead.
We get most of our Danny Madison products down at the Electronics Grandee on Highway 52. It’s a couple of Kurt’s that own the place– funny that way, a couple of guys named Kurt both went into business together. I commented on that to Tam once and she started hollering at me something about, “WELL GOD DAMN RIGHT THEY SHOULD GO INTO GOD DAMN BUSINESS TOGETHER, THEY BOTH GOT THE SAME GOD DAMN NAME. IT’S A NATURAL WINNER” and then she started crying. I think it was on account of the old crimson wave, as the poet said.
Not much else going on in ol’ Dick La Hoyt’s world. I did get punched in the mouth recently.
Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
It had been months of driving back and forth from the Murray to the Towels by the Pound joint. Months of collapsing into bed with a skull-cracking headache, months of nausea, months of thinking about that straight razor on the sink edge.
Then, suddenly, I felt pretty good. Felt like eating, maybe taking a walk in the sun.
I went downstairs.
Tibbs was there. He was in the process of dumping an entire container of bleach on the front counter. There was strange electronic music issuing from the speakers in the ceiling.
“MR. OAKES, WHY, WHY, IT’S A FINE DAY, ISN’T IT? HAHAHAHAHAHA. ARE YOU HAVING BREAKFAST WITH US TODAY?”
The bleach was dripping off the counter and onto the carpet. Who knew what the hell to make of it?
“Listen Tibbs, I was thinking of maybe taking a little walk somewheres. Maybe getting something rich and sweet to eat. I’m sick to Christ of those saltines you’ve been leaving by the door.”
“INDEED, MR. OAKES! HAHAHAHAHA”. Tibbs started trying to collect the bleach in a bucket with a large squeegee. There was no merit to it.
“DO YOU KNOW OF THE KRAZY KOLOR KANDY KORN HOUSE, MR. OAKES? WHY IT IS A DELIGHT! JUST A MAGNIFICIENT WHIMSICAL DELIGHT FOR ALL THE SENSES, MR. OAKES!”
“Sounds alright. I mean, the kandy korn. I could skip the whimsical delight for all the senses,” I said.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”
The laugh got crazier as it progressed. I figured on trying to cut it off.
“Say, Tibbs, where’s this Krazy Kolor Kandy Korn house at?”
He was trying to wind it down– it was almost as if he couldn’t. The bleach was running down the counter in long, thin lines. A phone was ringing somewhere.
“OH, MR. OAKES, MR. OAKES. YOU ARE SUCH A DELIGHT. MY FAVORITE GUEST IF I MAY SO, NOW THAT MRS. STOCKSDALE HAS DIED.”
Don’t ask about that Oakes. Don’t touch that one with a ten-foot pole.
“ANYWAY, MR. OAKES, YES– THE KRAZY KOLOR KANDY KORN HOUSE IS ON HALSTEAD STREET. WHY, IT’S JUST A QUICK FIVE-MINUTE STROLL. WHAT AN UNSURPASSED DELIGHT!”
I got the hell out of there.
The day was warm but comfortable. I passed a couple of gun shops, a hardware store with a guy standing outside wearing a sandwich board sign, a couple of half-empty pool halls. I came to Halstead but didn’t know which way to turn. At first I went left and it was just a bunch of sprawling houses ending at some kind of strip mall. I doubled back and came to a public park.
There was no missing it– the place was decorated in jagged colored shapes and sat off in a dirt lot under a tree. Strange streams of smoke, accompanied by occasional bursts of fire, emerged from the chimney on top. The whole place reeked of candy corn.
I walked over. A girl came to the window. A brunette with huge eyes and a sweet face.
“What’s the options?” I asked. I didn’t see a sign anywhere.
“We have Krazy Kolor Kandy Korn in three sizes. We also have sno-cones.”
“Is the Krazy Kolor Kandy Korn pretty sweet? Melt in your mouth?” Cool it down Oakes, careful here.
“It does melt in your mouth,” she shot back. “Every time. That’s Sammy’s guarantee.”
“Who’s Sammy? Husband?”
She laughed. “No, my God no. He’s…well…I just work here.”
“Well, gimme’ the large size.” I started fishing around in my wallet.
She disappeared and there was a weird sound from the back. Then the window opened again and she pushed a bucket the size of a car tire towards me.
“Jesus Christ. I’ll need a god damn dolly to cart this thing around.”
“I could help you with it. I’m on my break.” She smiled. God damn Oakes. God damn.
A kid with acne and a paper hat appeared at the window. “This guy bothering you?” he asked.
“Shut up, Skip,” she said.
I found a bench nearby and started watching some guys out in a field throw a ball around. The ball was some lightweight plastic affair and eventually it got stuck in a bush. They gave up on it and walked away. I couldn’t figure on any of it.
The girl came over with a smaller bucket. We both tried to dump some of the candy corn in there but a lot of it didn’t take. Ended up in her lap.
She stood up and shook it off.
God damn Oakes. God damn.
“I think I’m pretty glad that I came to get this candy corn,” I said.
“This place used to be a hot dog stand,” she said. My God, she’s cute Oakes. “I came here once with my father. We expected some hot dogs, a few laughs, maybe some buns. But it turned into a nightmare.”
I let her go on.
“I don’t care to talk about it. But I’m here…I’m facing my fear.”
“Good for you. Christ, this is good candy corn.”
“Oh, yes. Sammy makes good candy corn. He really does. He has many business ventures.”
It hit me. “Little fat guy, built like a brick shithouse?”
“Yes, that’s him exactly. Yes.”
“Yeah, hell. I know him.”
She didn’t say nothing on that. I could hear her crunching on that candy corn.
Twenty minutes passed.
“I have to get back to the Krazy Kolor Kandy Korn House. Maybe I’ll see you again?”
“Maybe.”
I watched her walk across the dirt lot.
Gelsinger to Buy Famed “Allure Club”
By Bernie Keebler
LANKVILLE ACTION BUSINESS NEWS YES!
Notable Lankville businessman Eric Gelsinger announced today that he will be purchasing the famed “Allure Club” which caters to “adult entertainments”.
The club, which opened in 1955, was the home for many years of the popular burlesque performers “Lady Linda” and “Jingly Teri”. Several hundred small motel girl wrestling matches were held at the Allure during the Motel Strike of 1975.
“That pushed the value up for me,” noted Gelsinger, who was placing a large protective cone over the shaft of a backyard birdfeeder. “I love adult dancing and small motel girl wrestling. It’s a place of great historical value.”
Gelsinger suddenly dropped and then accidentally tread on the protective cone, crushing it nearly in half. A series of squirrels appeared shortly thereafter and devoured the feeder’s supply of seed.
“Do you see the fucking shit I put up with?” the former stockbroker was heard to ask in consternation.
The Allure Club.
The Allure Club recently found itself in the middle of a long legal battle causing former owner Wilt Cummings to put the business up for sale.
“We had a number of do-gooder types who wanted us out of the neighborhood just cause of the tits and the shootings and all,” noted Cummings, who had owned the Allure since 1969. “I think Mr. Gelsingles [sic] will get a kick out of owning the place. I know I did.”
Cummings began leering at a gaudy pamphlet and the interview was ended prematurely.
“I don’t know who the hell [Wilt Cummings] is,” said Gelsinger, when asked about the sale. “But I looked at a photo of him on the internet and I thought, this is a sincere looking guy. I appreciate sincerity.”
The final sale price of The Allure Club is unknown.
“Once you own four gentlemen’s clubs, you might as well pick up a fifth,” Gelsinger explained. “Four of something is better than five unless, of course, we’re talking about backyard common squirrels.” The magnate gave out a wide-eyed laugh.
The final paperwork on the sale is expected to be completed today.
Scott Answers Your Pizza Questions
By Scott, Manager of the Pizza A-Round
Scott is the manager of the Pizza A’Round.
How can I make a quality pizza at home?
Dr. Nickelbee
Deep Northern Suburbs
Dear Doc,
Listen, as a pizza professional, I sure as shit don’t recommend that. No matter what kind of oven you got at home, it just ain’t going to match the stainless steel motherfucker we got at the Round. Plus, the stuff you buy from the grocery store is garbage, man– second rate. Hell, third rate. I’d get that idea out of your head, Doc.
SCOTT
Where did pizza originate?
Carlton Zupo
Lankville Standard Sand Beach
Dear Carlton,
Good question. The history of pizza is very interesting. The word “pizza” shares its origins with the word “pita” and as we all know, the pita comes from Great Puddly Island. It’s about the only thing that place has produced worth a shit. I had a couple of Puddly Islanders working at the Round back in the day– man, those two wouldn’t have been able to find their own asses if they had sleigh bells tied to them. Anyway, in the late eighteenth century, the word “pizza” was a kind of pie, cooked in olive oil by the Puddly’s in a primitive brick or stone oven. It’s unclear exactly when the pizza migrated over to Lankville but it was probably something around 1900. That’s when you started to see little carts and kiosks pop up and then, ultimately, shops like the Round.
Now, I didn’t know any of this shit– my boy Bri researched your question on his Mom’s computer. You should see this thing man– it’s tan and has this screen that’s one of those huge alien head motherfuckers. Thing weighs like fifty pounds. It’s hysterical.
SCOTT
Is pizza bad for your health?
Leonard Kings
Snowy Lake Region
Dear Leonard,
Let me ask you something. You plan on living to be 100 and shit? You want to be one of those sad motherfuckers sitting in a bed in some nursing home? You want it to take twenty minutes for you to walk ten steps?
Life’s about taking risks, man. And there ain’t no more enjoyable risk than eating pizza. So, get up out of your baby crib, man. Grab life (and pizza) by the balls.
SCOTT
Scott will continue to answer your pizza questions in further issues.
Summer Thunder by Jill Candles
By Jill Candles
A romance series exclusive to the Lankville Daily News.
Ivan was my first love. He had strange, tremendous tufts of blonde hair and a glove compartment filled with napkins. You would have never thought it possible to shove so many napkins into a glove compartment.
We drove down to the paper factory. “It’s burned to the ground,” he said. “There’s nothing to see, really.” He opened the glove compartment, removed a single napkin and tossed it out the window. “Hand me those tapes,” he said. They were neatly arranged in a brown leather case. The music was screechy and atonal– he had terrible taste in music, one of his few faults.
I heard the summer thunder off in the distance.
We walked among the charred remains. A train went by and disappeared into a tunnel. “You know what that means?” he asked. At the time, I didn’t. Later, after that summer, that summer of the summer thunder, I would understand.
He let it go and walked over to the car and took out another napkin before I could respond. He folded it carefully and threw it up in the air. It landed at his feet. “Gravity, that shit!” he exclaimed.
We rented a hotel room that night under the name “Mr. and Mrs. Karl Koupons”. Paid cash. It was a double bed with a yellow comforter and a large painting of a dog above an old television set. “Why don’t you see what’s on?” he said. “I’m going back to the car”. I knew it was to get another damn napkin. It never ended.
When he opened the door, I heard the crash of the summer thunder.
The set sputtered and then flashed on. A series of spaceship rockets were being launched into a bay. You could hear a voice over a radio– “The spaceship rockets just fell into the bay. Mission aborted.” Then, the show ended. There was a long pause and then a commercial came on for soap flakes.
I removed my skirt and unbuttoned my shirt. Ivan came back in with his head down. He looked terribly guilty of something.
“What? What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing. Just, those napkins make me so nervous”.
I kissed him. He ran his tongue along my front teeth. The sensation was odd.
“I…I’m sorry, I’ll be…just a minute.” He left. It was those napkins again.
I slept alone. Listening. Listening to the summer thunder.
I Want to Tell You SO MUCH About How My New Boyfriend and I Formed a Band!
By Ashley Pfeiffers
OH MY GOD, I want to tell you SO MUCH about how my new boyfriend and I formed a band!
I AM SO EXCITED! It was around dusk yesterday and my new boyfriend was putting on his toque (even though it’s 95 degrees out) and getting ready to head down to the edge of the woods. “Do you have a lot of ideas flowing?” I asked.
He sat down on the bed.
“You know, Ash, not really. I mean, the boys are kind of disappointing me and all. We haven’t had any good ideas in, like, an epoch.”
“What do you think the problem is?”
He thought about it awhile. OH MY GOD, he looks SO CUTE when he’s pensive. We are SO in love.
“I think I need to hear some new ideas, Ash, you know, like, from somebody totally different than the guys by the edge of the woods.”
“Well…I have some ideas. I have, like, a keyboard in the basement.” OH MY GOD, I was SO nervous.
He smiled at me. His smile is AMAZING. I started to kind of shake a little and I ended up spilling one of those huge plastic barrels of pretzels all over the bed. I started sweeping it up.
“Leave it, Ash. Mrs. Love will clean it up.” (Mrs. Love is our island maid). “Let’s go down to the basement.”
Anyway, my new boyfriend got out his guitar and I got on the keyboard and RIGHT AWAY we started making really AMAZING music. I almost DIED. Seriously.
“Wow, Ash,” my new boyfriend said. “That last cut was like…I don’t know…like the music our hearts would make when they’re, like, smooshed together.”
“I know!” I said. I almost DIED. Seriously.
Anyway, we played for like two hours until Dad came home from the mortuary and asked us to be quiet.
Later, we were standing out by my new boyfriend’s Mom’s station wagon. And he gave me the most beautiful kiss. I had never wanted his lips more.
“Maybe we should call the band “The Kiss”, Ash,” he suggested.
“AWWW,” I said. “That is so…”
But I never finished. He kissed me again and it COMPLETELY took away my breath.
WE ARE SO IN LOVE.
Summer Thunder by Jill Candles
By Jill Candles
A romance series exclusive to the Lankville Daily News.
I guess it was Bret who first took me to the Wild Life Room.
“You’ll like it,” he said. “It’s red.” We drove down in his Neptune with the top down.
“I’m going to park around back,” he said. “Because I want…well…I want to kiss you.”
I heard the summer thunder. But it was distant, faraway. It didn’t feel part of this.
He kissed me. I didn’t move my mouth at all. He just crushed his lips into mine. I felt as though I could no longer feel.
“Let’s get some steaks,” he said.
It was a gay room, full of dancers. A band played upbeat trumpet music. Waiters dodged between the tables– they were dressed in white tuxedos.
“Pretty upscale, huh?” Bret said.
I heard it again. The summer thunder. It was louder this time.
“I’m going to the men’s trough,” Bret said. “I may be awhile.” He went off.
“I want you inside of me,” I whispered. The summer thunder crashed down upon us.
A waiter came to the table. Later, I would know him as Erik. Or maybe I already knew that. Our eyes locked instantly.
“What will you have, miss?” He puckered his lips quickly, sensuously.
“I…I want…something new, something different.”
“We have that new alternative to soda everyone is raving about. Lithium citrate 7. It helps to…stabilize the mood. Or…perhaps you don’t want your mood stabilized, miss. Perhaps you want it to fly freely into the sky.”
The summer thunder was right above our heads this time.
I went away with Erik. The empty beach at midnight. He built a fire and produced a ragged book called Great Rhyming Love Poems of Lankville.
“It is worn,” I said.
“Yes, I’ve read it many times,” he said. “Poetry is just wonderful, don’t you think. It’s intoxicating.”
I heard the summer thunder.
He read me several poems in his deep, sonorous voice.
“I want you inside of me,” I whispered. The summer thunder crashed down upon us.
“Let me just finish reading a couple more poems first,” he said. As he read, he removed his jeans shorts.
And when he was done, the summer thunder crashed its loudest.
The night disappeared around us.
OPINION: I’ve Been Hit With a Chair Before, I’ll Be Hit With a Chair Again
By Dick La Hoyt
Hey, this here’s a message for that assclown that hit me with a chair down at The Appliance Tyrant on Route 71. Guess what, shit for brains? I been hit with a chair before and I’ll be hit with a chair again.
Let me tell you what happened. So, I’m parked on the couch with a couple of cold beverages and a take-out container of wings, ready to watch Truckers Driving Over Hills, this reality show I enjoy, when all of a sudden I hear Tammy screaming in the basement. “OH MY GOD, DICK! OH MY GOD, DICK!” over and over again. So, I figure I better check it out. After all, Dick likes to keep the little lady happy.
So, I go downstairs and you know what I see? Whole god damn utility sink is clogged to hell and water is running all over my newly-painted and recently-refinished concrete floor.
“GOD DAMMIT, DICK LA HOYT, THE WASHER’S BROKE!” Tam yells. She’s wet as a dog in the rain and plus, she’s got on a white t-shirt, so that was some bonus points for old Dick. Hey, you gotta’ see the good in every situation, know what I mean?
Anyway, I get the sink unclogged and then go to work on the washer. And don’t you know it– the god damn agitator comes right off. Broke at the base.
“This baby is toast,” I tell Tam, who’s drying off (unfortunately). “I’m gonna’ have to get a new one.”
“I saw that the Washing Machine Realm is having a sale,” Tam offers.
I smiled. Sure, Tam was just trying to help but let me tell you– ol’ Dick knows where to go. And that’s how I ended up at The Appliance Tyrant.
So anyways, I’m taking a look at some of the machines– thinking about maybe going with a front loader this time, maybe something in platinum or onyx, when all of a sudden this horse’s ass butts in front of me and checks out the tag on the VERY washer that I was eyeing up. I couldn’t believe it.
“Hey buddy,” I inform him. “That washer is SPOKEN FOR.”
“Oh yeah? You buy this one?” he asks. “It’s a good one,” he says, and pats the washer a couple of times on the side.
I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT.
“Listen, man. I went and told you the washer was spoken for. Now, you’re patting it on the side like you own it? What gives you the god damn RIGHT?”
He takes a step back for a second but then he comes forward and pats it again. I nearly lost it.
“I’ll pat this machine if I want to, man,” he says.
“Alright, we’re taking this shit OUTSIDE,” I say.
“GLADLY,” he says.
So, anyways, we head out into the parking lot. It’s pretty cracked and weedy and there’s some old furniture out there that I guess they never got around to throwing away. And as I’m staring at an old stool, wondering if maybe I could refinish it and use it at my workbench, the guy brains me with a god damn chair. I never saw it coming.
I wake up in the back room of the Tyrant. A couple of salesman are standing around trying to pitch plastic forks into an empty coffee can. I got a headache the size of the Outlands.
“Your wife’s coming to pick you up,” one of the salesman says.
“She sounded plenty mad,” the other one says.
I’d figure it out. Dick La Hoyt always figures it out.
But I just want that prick to know one thing– I been hit with a chair before and I’ll sure as SHIT be hit with a chair again.
The opinions of Dick La Hoyt are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
It was two in the morning when I woke with a start.
I didn’t know what it was. The Murray was quieter than hell. Then, suddenly, I heard it. Some kind of low moan coming from the back parking lot followed by a high-pitched slow squeak.
There was a little bit of the gin left on the nightstand and I finished it off.
Go back to bed Oakes.
But I was up now. I threw on a pair of shorts and went down the back staircase. Tibbs hadn’t even bothered to put a light on. I had to feel my way down four floors.
A dim hallway led to the rear door. I passed the kitchen and the laundry– both had a stillness to them that bothered me but I couldn’t make nothing of it. I reached the door and threw it open.
Tibbs was out there in his white suit, drenched in sweat. His back was to me.
“What do you say there, Tibbs?”
He turned. He was terrified, there was no getting around it. There was some kind of an inflatable beach ball between his legs and a bicycle pump in one of his hands.
“Mr. Oakes,” he said in a voice not his own. He was breathing heavily. “I have, tonight, reached the seventh emanation of the divine hierarchy between Earth and the Godhead.”
I watched the sweat pour off his face and spot the white suit.
Tibbs, Sr.
“Each of the twenty-two letters of the ancient Lankvillian alphabet have their own number and are added together in words to make metaphorical sympathy, you understand, Oakes.” He bent over suddenly and squeezed the beach ball between his knees. That was the high-pitched slow squeak, I realized.
“It’s nearly there now, Oakes. Nearly to the…”
He exhaled a series of increasingly urgent breaths.
“Nearly to the eighth emanation.”
He bent over and used the bicycle pump on the beach ball until it was full. Then, he held it up to the pale moonlight. The pump fell to the ground.
“Here. Here. Take it.”
He stretched the ball towards the sky.
“Take it. Please. Please take it.”
He must have stood like that for five minutes.
Finally, he dropped the ball.
“It’s not to happen tonight.”
He bent to one knee and began sobbing. Then, he stood up and angrily threw the pump over into the next yard.
I slipped back to my room.
Oral Histories of Some Former Lankville Pugilists
Rocky “Fancy Boy” Pheft (1949-1962), 52-25, 33 KO
I grew up on a farm in the Outlands and my old man, he wasn’t no good at farming so we were always starving. Just about all of us died of starvation. The old man, he wasn’t real good at fixing things either, so the house kept falling over. Eventually, we were all living under a tarp in the dead cornfield. “This is the fault of Adam and Eve,” the old man would say. “We was meant to live forever.” Nobody had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
Anyways, I was determined you could say to make a better life for myself. So, after a bunch of us died of starvation one winter, I took off in a buddy’s car and headed for the Lankville Central Urban Area. And when I got there, this one guy, he said, “you got big hands, kid” and he sent me down to Staller’s Gym which was a famous place back then.
I trained under the old Desert Area fighter Buck Sundays. He got my first fight in the Lankville Square Arena in 1949 and I won that and then I won about 7 or 8 fights in a row and I started to make some dough. First thing I did was buy a beautiful silk suit and after that they all started to call me fancy boy. I had hats too, you should have seen them hats. Big giant hats– that was the style then, giant hats. I had boxes of ’em.
Everything was going along well until 1955 and that’s when I faced Emile Bread. That was a Friday night fight on TV and a title fight and right before I got into the ring, a couple of wiseguys stopped me on the way out of the dressing room and told me to throw it. “Go down in the 4th, kid,” they said. “If you don’t, we’ll take all your giant hats.” Well, they had me over a barrel. There was nothing I could do. I fell in the 4th and Bread kept his title. And after that, I felt like everybody knew. I couldn’t get no good fights after that. Just carnivals, carpet store openings, just bush league fights. I couldn’t afford the good suits and the giant hats and they stopped calling me Fancy Boy. Well, I kept on for awhile but in 1962, I was fighting for pennies at some place where they didn’t even have no ring. We just fought in a big cardboard box. You’re done Pheft I said to myself.
So, after that, I got married. Her name was Inez. She was a lovely little thing. She was foreign. We was married 32 years. She was blown away by the wind. God, I miss her.
Theatrical Electronic Music Pouring Out of Local Pink Building
By Elliott Cumber-Lanny
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Theatrical electronic music is pouring out of a Lankville Eastern Urban Area pink building sources are confirming.
The pink building
“It’s very dramatic music,” said Al Cobbs, who operates a nearby auto garage. “Lot of very stirring but ominous synthesizer music punctuated by huge cymbal crashes. Got me thinking about the cosmos, I admit.”
It was unclear precisely where the music was coming from. The building houses a liquor store in the front and two apartments on both the first and second floors.
“I don’t know much about the tenants,” admitted Cobbs, who was utilizing a grease gun to lube a chassis as the vehicle’s owner (an attractive woman) stood by. “I think there’s one guy that has a dog. Maybe not, though.”
Calls placed to the liquor store went unanswered. Robotic flying cameras, launched into the open windows of each of the four apartments, came back with little data.
“I guess it’s a mystery,” noted Cobbs, who began examining the torque on a driveshaft as the vehicle’s owner (an attractive woman) stood by. “At least it’s an electrifying, expressive one.”
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