Archive
First Annual Vitiello Decorative Ham Plate Contest: ENTER NOW!
Vitiello Decorative Hams, Inc. is sponsoring their First Annual Ham Plate Contest. The winner will receive the plate pictured (food entirely decorative) and two tickets to the CAPADES. “This is an excellent opportunity for the no-purpose little people to win something that will look presentable on their gouged and unpolished non-wood tables,” noted founder and CEO Chris Vitiello. “It’s a new product we’ve been working on, a $250 value. And then there is also this capade business which I’m sure will entertain the sort of unsophisticated mind that enters contests in the first place,” Vitiello added.
To enter, use the form below and include two letters of recommendation, a personal statement, a statement of intent and a photographic ID to:
Vitello Hams
Box 14
Lankville, Capitol 0412
_______________________________FORM_____________________________
Name___________________________
Address________________________
# of Hams in Home______________ (if answer is none, you will be visited by Mr. Vitiello)
Real Life Cases of the Lankville Police Department
By Hugh G. Pickens
Crime Beat Reporter
File photo
Young Socquettes worked four months at the Island Maid Bakery before Emms left him alone. And it was no more than mere moments after Emms’ big Neptune turned the corner and exited the square, that Young Socquettes immediately dropped his trousers and wagged his tiny, flaccid member in the direction of the line of aged housewives waiting their turn for service.
It was Duke Jipps who made the call to Detective Gee-Temple after one of the ladies, flushed and shaking, entered the soda fountain to tell her terrible tale of what had happened next door.
“By the time we arrived, this Socquettes had already locked the door and run off with the days receipts,” noted the intrepid Detective, over a plate of breakfast loaf covered in eggs. “I called on Deputy Vechenoyer who just got out of the army you may recall. We went immediately over to this Socquettes’ sponsor, a fellow named Craft.
When the knock came, Craft, a widower, was nearly blinded by migraine.
Detective Gee-Temple in evening dress.
He had been sitting at a table in his spartan room, forcing his attention on a Dean T. Pibbs terrorist attack novel. He had been staring at the same sentence for over ten minutes as though it were some sort of complex cipher, his eyes blurry with ache. It was at the precise moment of the knock that the meaning of the sentence came to him: “The terrorists are coming– they are coming in PODS!
“Well, when this Craft fellow answered the door, Deputy Vechenoyer got all over his case,” stated Detective Gee-Temple, who was attempting to cut into the giant loaf with a wobbly plastic fork. “Craft cooperated fully, he told us that Young Socquettes should be at the bakery. We told him what Young Socquettes had done and this Craft urinated a little– you could see a sudden wet spot appear at the crotch of his yellow shorts and then he told us that this Young Socquettes liked to spend time in the weedy area behind Pineapple City. Pineapple City, as you know, is a cult. We’ve always been suspicious of them.”
“I knew the path that Creft [sic] was talking about,” noted Deputy Vechenoyer, who was interviewed coming out of a motel room despite the fact that he was known to own a home only a few miles away. “Back when I was in The Camp Fire Chums, we had a Den Father who liked to lead us on hikes to that same weedy area in back of Pineapple City. I knew I could find it again.” A nearby phone booth was suddenly swallowed by the earth and an enormous smiling stuffed bear appeared in its place. “Huh. Would you look at that?” noted Deputy Vechenoyer.
Just before dusk, Gee-Temple and Vechenoyer entered the woods at the edge of town near a stretch of deserted country highway. The path led out into a series of progressively larger clearings and the evening express could be heard distantly. In one clearing, the officers found a recently-extinguished fire and there was a tiny green pup tent which was found to contain a box of colorless condiments, a wig, and a pair of wet plastic tongs. The officers decided to keep going.
It was another fifteen minutes, through thick underbrush, when the officers finally crossed the tracks and found themselves in back of Pineapple City. There was a large fence, ringed with razor wire, all around the mysterious compound.
“We found a sewer entrance and on top of this, we believe Young Socquettes had laid a few personal items,” noted Gee-Temple. “We found a wallet that contained some foreign money and a little orange tiger that you could open up and put things in. But there was nothing inside the tiger. The tiger actually broke into two because the hinges were rather, shall we say cheap. So, we laid part of the tiger…
We asked Gee-Temple to stop talking about the tiger.
“Well, it was then that we heard it. It came from Pineapple City. There was a watchtower lined with windows, they were all dark but the noise was coming from there. I haven’t a doubt in my mind. It was a lurking, building scream. It was damn near the most demented thing I ever heard.”
Gee-Temple paused to cry. We kicked him in the shin and he continued.
“Well, there was this eldritch wind that came up. It started to take away Deputy Vechenoyer but I grabbed him and held him down. Somehow, I knew we had to face the watchtower, that we could not look away from it and I told the Deputy so. A searchlight came on and swept over our faces. We stared it down. We endured the rain, the fog and that sound, that sound from hell. And just like that it ceased.”
The officers made it back to their prowler just as the last patch of light could be seen in the west. Young Socquettes was never found.
SPECIAL TV UPDATE…..Inflamed by Stars and Blood
By Caramel Jameson
ISB Correspondent
The Lankville Broadcasting Corporation (LBC) will premier a fantastic new science fiction program on Sunday, March 4 that has been much anticipated. Penned by veteran space disaster novelist Brisk Frames, Asteroid Galaxy 3000 stars Lorne Concordance as Commander Bobby Shacks and the lovely Barbara Gotay as Lostatos the Venusian.
Concordance, who is lost in space, lands on a star of Venus in an attempt not only to refuel but also to straighten out his foam ball model of the universe (which has been bounced around a bit by the ride). He meets Lostatos who agrees to accompany him on a journey into the far unknowns. The sexual tension between Concordance and Lostatos is instantly palpable– thankfully, Lostatos has brought a furry little friend along– “Muffitts Four”, played by Little Jerry in his debut role.
Little Jerry as Muffitts Four.
It’s not all fun and games, however. In the first episode, the two space travelers come under attack by some deprogrammed aliens who have commandeered a fleet of space junk and are hell-bent on destroying anything in their path. Indeed, this they do– oddly, Concordance, Lostatos and Muffitts Four are destroyed in the first 20 minutes of the show by a series of heat-seeking space projectiles. “There seems to be little chance of them surviving,” notes TV critic George Forbidden. “They really get blown to hell and then the last 40 minutes of the show are just stills of different planets, asteroids, comets. There’s no narration or anything. Just the stills. Nobody is too sure what to make of it.”
Nevertheless, it should make for compelling television. Asteroid Galaxy 3000 will premier at 8 P.M., 9 P.M. mountains, 10 P.M. deserts. There is a non-color option broadcast for Hill People.
BALLOON PLANET: A Film Review
BALLOON PLANET
Directed by Ted Wilks Starring- Lesley Bagwell, Gene T. Rose, Robin Yount, Sixto Morrison, Little Jimmy Hurling
Released by Sterling Studios Rated- R
Reviewed by Reggie Quintz
Top astronaut-robot Shiana 13 (Lesley Bagwell) arrives alone on a mysterious planet in which everyone must be physically attached to a balloon. She meets Kenny (Gene T. Rose) and Gerard (Robin Yount) who are planning a vague revolution against the decree, handed down by the cruel planet dictator Hildepanns (Sixto Morrison). They enlist the help of cute schoolboy Kent (Little Jimmy Hurling in his debut role) but the revolution ultimately goes awry when Shiana 13 and Gerard fall in love and decide to adopt Kent. In the end, Shiana allows herself to be attached to a balloon so she might stay on the planet and purchase a suburban home.
POSTERS AVAILABLE AT “THE SUMMONING COMIC SHOPPE”. Super rare. $19.99, limit one. Maybe two, but send photo first. Call: LANKVILLE 2391
Lesley Bagwell is probably the best thing about this cinematic turd which stumbles along at a crawling pace before finally ending in a long scene in which the new couple sit down at the closing on their suburban home (this closing is filmed with complete realism and takes a rather tedious 50 minutes). You get to see a bit of bare ass here (in the movie, not during the house closing) which inserts some color into the otherwise lifeless story. Robin Yount is terrible in his film debut as Gerard.
Lesley Bagwell ponders her balloon attachment.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Bill
By Ric Royer
File Photo
It came in the mail on a Saturday. I forgot about it and went to the jungle gym.
On Monday, I found it again. I had fallen behind a chair while eating some cereal and there it was, lodged between the molding and a basket of magazines. I opened it out of pure curiosity. It was a bill for $72. I shoved it into the basket and, in the act of doing this, it became torn and crumpled. On Wednesday, I removed the entire basket of magazines and placed them on the porch of a neighbor four doors down.
Several weeks later, I received a phone call while test-driving a golf cart over some hills. The man on the line claimed that I owed him $4,652.
“For what?” I asked. I parked the golf cart in the woods and left it there. I had decided that it was not for me.
He began reading off a series of vendors. There was the model train company, a bookstore, the decorative ham place, several motel rooms. I remembered only about half the purchases.
There was a long pause. “I hate you,” I said. I was just stalling for time.
“The minimum payment is $4,652,” the man said again. “Are you prepared to make your payment today?” He tried to sound cheerful. I suddenly remembered one of the motels. It was a blonde in a green suit. There had been some sexually-charged shoving against some columns.
“Is there a charge for a museum on there?” I asked.
I could hear the tapping of computer keys. “Yes, that’s on the 11th, that was the Lankville…”
“No, don’t tell me,” I interrupted. “Let’s succumb to the mystery.” He said nothing in response. There was nothing but the background cacophony of other voices demanding payment on other accounts.
“I don’t understand you,” I said. And I hung up.
I pushed the phone between two empty accordian folders that I found in a field. They were still factory-sealed.
Then I got in the van and drove.
The Electronics Cranny: LASERS!
By Fritz Tennis
Electronics Expert
File Photo
One day last January, two Lankville scientists and Electronics Cranny contributors, stood on a mound outside a swamp. Beside them, mounted on a tripod, was a cylinder no bigger than a flashlight or one of those funny decorative tubes. At a precise moment, one of the scientists pressed a button on some nearby electronic equipment. Instantly, a brilliant red flash shot from one end of the cylinder. And although the two scientists were killed instantly, people standing on a rooftop 250 miles away, were able to see the flash with their nude eyes.
This accomplishment seems unremarkable enough. Indeed, at the time, the two scientists were heavily-criticized as “dolts” or “clods” or “stupid assholes”. Yet Dr. Caramel Jameson of the Solid Electronics Research Foundation thought otherwise. “When I heard of the experiment, I knew right away that a new era of communication had begun,” said Jameson, who we interviewed while purchasing some tennis balls. “I knew that this new kind of light had never been seen before on earth or in Hell and I felt that a device which could tap this power, just alternately love it and tap it, would allow mankind to possess a light beam of unparalleled intensity, even purity. I made a chart about it.”
Dr. Jameson produced the chart which he had carefully laminated. The points were:
- true amplification of light for the first time in history (including Hell)
- the first truly coherent (single-frequency) beams of light ever produced by man
- a so-called atomic clock 1000 times more accurate than our best current models (including those possessed by Hell)
- a super heater that can pour out billions of watts of energy into an area the size of a pinheads [sic]
- a radio transmission system of such tremendous capabilities that it could carry more than 1,oo0,000 simultaneous television signals using only a single channel.
Here’s what the tube looks like.
“I knew that effectively, mankind had created the laser,” Dr. Jameson added.
What the Laser Is. The laser actually stems from another development several years old. As you may have noticed, there’s a similarity between the words “laser” and “vaser,” and the similarity is more than coincidence. A laser is simply a vaser capable of operating at advanced frequencies within our visible light range.
In spite of its tremendous promise, the laser is an extremely common-looking device. It is nothing more than a cylinder of synthetic rubies and field greens about 1/4″ in diameter and 1-1/2″ long, mounted in the center of a spiral coil of binder clips.
To operate the gadget, scientists send a jolt of current through the gassy tube, setting off a brilliant flash of light. Some science is involved– electrons in the rubies and field greens absorb this light and redistribute the energy at another frequency (no graph available). A pure ray is then produced. It is this ray which is capable of performing the feets [sic] mentioned earlier – as well as a number of others – because it is utterly unique in several important ways. Let’s see just what makes the laser’s light so different.
The lasers, as represented by dots and arrows
HOW THE LASER WORKS
Let’s say that, for some reason, you decided to get into a barrel filled with water. As you entered the barrel, some of the water would spill over the sides in a comical manner. Keep this in mind.
Now look at the graph. Note that in “Area B”, the lasers are emitting a longer shaft of light. A shaft of light is being reflected back into the universe simultaneously. That shaft of reflected green light is interacting with the hundreds of stars in space to create a sort of “table tennis” effect.
A chain reaction builds rapidly. Because the ends of our rod are arched and silvered, the emitted light bounces back and forth, stimulating still more atoms to give up their energy. Our rod will soon penetrate these atoms, rocking them slowly back and forth at first but ultimately pretty much bending them over backwards and really having at it. Soon, tremendous quantities of light are rushing back and forth in the rod like water sloshing back and forth in a bathtub (the noise is also similar). Finally, it reaches such a level of intensity that it bursts through one end of the rod (one end has less silver than the other) and shoots forth in a brilliant, coherent ray.
How great an impact is the laser likely to have on the field of communications? Right now, it’s anybody’s guess. But those in the field make no secret about the fact that they are tremendously enthusiastic about this new gadget. “This rod is exceptional,” noted Dr. Jameson. “It never has a problem with busting wads of light all over the place.” With usable frequencies already badly overcrowded in many regions of the present radio spectrum, any system that promises to open up vast new chunks of deep space is something to get excited about.
Perhaps the potential role of the laser in communications is best illustrated with a remark recently made at a laser convention in Eastern Lankville. Said a participant, “We’re not ready to start replacing telephone lines yet.” But he added with a smile, “we’re beginning to think about it.”
Royer to Open Series of Automats
By Grady Kitchens
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Incarcerated executive Ric Royer (who elected to use his given name for this story) announced today that he will be opening a series of automats, many of which will appear at Memorial Yea! Keepsake Auditorium and other sports venues throughout Lankville. The automats are on target to be open by 2014.
Royer, who appeared in front of one of the automats still under construction, was seen laughing and jostling with reporters and fans and engaging in generalized horseplay.
“The mechanism of the automat is of great interest to me,” Royer later explained as a series of ominous storm clouds entered the area, presaging an epoch of great destruction, death, famine and possible cannibalism. “But the tempting array of foods holds an even greater fascination.”
“When you look at the slabs of pie behind the glass,” Royer continued, “you will be instantly deceived. The slab of pie is not as big as it looks. You see a very large piece of pie. You put in your money, open the receptacle and remove an extremely small piece of pie. You will be vastly disappointed. But by then, I will already have your money. I will have already deceived you.”
“Also, the pies are really, really, really terrible,” Royer added.
When asked if the eccentric executive had revealed too much about his scheme, Royer appeared confused and stared towards the sky, lost in thought.
My Name is Mike Squatch
By Mike Squatch
Architectural Correspondent
File photo
My name is Mike Squatch. I am an architect. I designed Vitiello Decorative Hams Arena.
I have a delightful studio paneled in lovely plastic oak which I designed myself. The studio is sunken slightly and my wife Sally has placed large pillows about the steps, creating a plush and luxurious effect. We are married.
Working from home has many advantages. For example, I was able to keep an eye on the foreclosed house next door. Some troublemakers have been placing carryout fliers in the mailbox. I have had to anonymously phone our block watch several times.
After a few months, the house was placed up for sale. Several couples came to a Sunday Open House. I scanned the crowd carefully to be sure there were no interlopers. I asked Sally to do so as well but she was too interested in sitting on the couch to bother. We are married.
Later that same week, my oldest son Kirk came into my studio. “Now, Kirk,” I lightly scolded, “I’m putting the finishing touches on plans for a Pizza Barn. This better be important.” “Gee, it sure is Dad,” he responded in his energetic, effusive manner. “Some people are moving into the old Householder place!” I got up immediately and peeped out the living room window.
To my shock, I saw a corpulent, gaudy sort of person laboring under a tremendous cardboard box that seemed to be wet and splitting open at the edges. He was clad in low-quality garments and sported a small mustache. “Gee, Dad,” said Kirk. “What sort of person is that?” “I don’t know, Kirk,” I responded. “I don’t know.”
Later that night, I asked our maid, Miss Grubers, to make some cupcakes. “Gee Mr. Squatch,” she said, “you’re so much better at making cupcakes than me. Particularly with the frilly decorating.” I thought about that. “You’re right, Miss Grubers. I’ll take care of it myself.” Miss Grubers nodded and joined Sally on the couch. Sally is my wife.
The next morning, I took the cupcakes over to the old Householder place. The corpulent man answered the door. He was wearing pajamas and engaged in extensive mastication of some sort of foodstuff. There was an unspeakable magazine in his hand showing some women wearing garters and hanging about shiftlessly on a green couch.
“My name is Mike Squatch,” I said, by way of introduction. “I’m married and live next door. Just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
He looked down at the 24-cup muffin tin, each filled with perfectly-rounded specimens.
“These are for you,” I offered.
“Hey, look at that, would you. Muffins.” He grabbed the tin and broke open a muffin near the corner. “Huh, what’s that, blueberries?”
“Yes, blueberries. My name is Mike Squatch,” I offered again.
“OK, Mike. Thanks a lot. I’ll have these today, get this pan back to you, or whatever.”
He suddenly shut the door.
It’s been a week. The pan has not been returned. He has not mowed his lawn and there are strange moving lights to be seen from his basement windows at odd hours of the night. My work has begun to suffer. I have been short with the children.
I am married.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Bimbi and the Challenge at the Counter
By Ric Royer
File photo
She was a bimbi straight out of the continent. We met in a cafe– I was reading a copy of Behind Enthusiast. Right out in public– I didn’t give a shit.
“Would you like to walk by the old churchyard?” she asked.
“Let’s make it quick,” I said and I showed her the new shorts I had just purchased and their tendency to ride up on the thigh.
“Yes, that must be uncomfortable,” she said. I crushed my lips to hers suddenly. “Forget about the shorts,” I whispered sensuously.
Later, we went for that walk. There was a little wall there but no yard to be seen. I made a comment.
“Yes, there used to be a lovely verdant churchyard here,” she said as the sun glinted off her coiffed auburn hair. “But after a time, the people, they said, no, and then they said , oh fuck this crap, we’ve had enough of this crap and then the yard was plowed over in favor of this cracked asphalt and weed combination that you see today.”
“Must’ve been sad,” I said. Secretly though, I admired the cracked asphalt-weed combination.
“Yes. Yes, it was terribly. I don’t believe that my mother, an immigrant from the Northern Hole Area, ever got over it.”
We walked on and eventually came upon a Pappy’s Chicken. I was suddenly starving.
“Hey, you wanna’ get a 24-piece? Maybe go out into the woods with it?”
She looked at the ground. “No…no…I will wait here.”
It took forever. While in line, I was suddenly challenged by another patron. We fought around back with clubs that had been set on fire at both ends. I came away victorious but with a terrible mark on the forehead. Plus, I had to buy the 24-piece all over again. “I told you to set it aside,” I yelled. But the fucker at the front counter played dumb. I knew he’d have at the bucket as soon as I left.
“I’m sorry,” I said to the bimbi.
“It was a challenge,” she said and shrugged her shoulders. From somewhere, she produced a moistened cloth. “Come back to my room.”
By candlelight, the bimbi nursed me back to health. I admired some paintings that were flanking a battered bureau.
“Those were done by my mother. They are meant to reflect the difficulties of immigrant life in Lankville.”
“I like the yellows,” I offered. I closed my eyes and listened to the trickle of water in the basin.
“Think of things besides the fire clubs,” she whispered.
“I won that challenge. You know that.”
“There are no winners in a challenge. Look at the paintings again.”
They seemed suddenly transformed. The figures had changed, were far more grotesque than before. One was holding a pizza.
“That is what I see when I see Lankville. That is what my mother saw.”
I was beginning to understand.
Nevertheless, we had intercourse.
Getting to Know Fingers Rolly (Part Three)
By Bernie Keebler
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
The low moan continues to dusk. When the desert disappears in darkness, the face of Fingers takes on another stunning transformation.
“There’s them cake hunks in the icebox,” he says aloud.
Indeed, I find a creased and rumpled bakery container filled with asymmetrical hunks of cake. I push them gently onto filthy plates. Fingers begins eating almost before the dessert is even before him.
“They had this guy come out and he bought up the earth beneath us,” he comments. Indeed, an enormous plot of desert land had recently been purchased by the heirs of Ferdinand Buntz, mallows king of Lankville. Rumors, none verified, were flying around the region. “What do you think he wants with that land?” I ask. “The land is an asshole. What would you do with an asshole?” He pushes his plate away and then onto the floor. It lands in a pile of garbage.
“Tell me about your wife?” I ask. It’s a dicey question; Fingers’ bride had died decades before.
“She was in the stenographers pool at the high school,” he responds in an even, quiet voice. “They gave her a little cubicle and I used to go in the cubicle and talk to her. Lovely girl. Very fat. But lovely. She looked like a gibbous moon.”
“And then you moved here, to the desert?”
Fingers slowly shakes his head. The sweat is pouring off him. I bear witness to the rising vitriol.
MOTHERFUCKKKKKKKKKKERRRRRRRR. He gets up and grabs the shotgun again. I stop him.
“Rest. Rest in the chair,” I command. He does as told though I notice that his face has changed again. I decide to press.
“Why? Why do you hate the desert?”
But he will not answer. He is gone now.
For want of something to look at, I find a small stack of old gas station road maps in a heap of floor garbage. Many are of the desert region. Opening them, I find a thick series of crude markings in various inks with arrows leading to the margins and annotated with a mysterious combination of letters and numbers. These markings are virtually impossible to explain so I pocket one of the maps so that it may be photographed later. It is reproduced here for the first time.
Gas station road map of Desert Region with Fingers’ strange markings.
Hours pass. My curiosity is insatiable. I quietly move to the living room and, with the faint illumination of a cellphone, look through the signs again. Moving to the coffee table, I begin sifting through the mass of papers and letters (many never opened). Yet, there seems to be no key that I can stick in a keyhole, turn, and, by the rotation of moving cylinders, pin tumblers and so forth, unlock the mystery.
Then, I am surprised by the distant sound of a motor vehicle. Lights flash across the windows. It seems to be coming surprisingly fast– the crunch of boots on the gravel outside causes me to freeze where I stand. Then I drop to the carpet and attempt to construct a hiding fort out of blankets and pillows. They are outside the door now.
“Flatten them,” someone says. Boots crunching again, then the sound of my tires being slashed by a knife.
“You jus’ let me know when you’re ready,” the same man says. It is in monotone; a brutal voice without mercy.
I throw off the blankets and pillows and make a beeline for the backdoor. I pause only for a moment as a deadly shotgun blast bursts through the wood frame. It seems to have come from nowhere; almost silent, faintly sibilant.
Then, I am running across pitch black scrubland, away from the house. A booming roar of an engine starts up and I am now being chased by a raging pickup burying everything in its path.
This may be my end.
The story of Fingers Rolly and Bernie Keebler’s possible murder will be continued in future issues.
Impromptu Inner Hammer Display Confuses Fanfest Patrons
By Tito Presentation
Distinctive Reporter
File photo
An impromptu display on vintage radio repair delivered by Small Pizzas owner “Inner Hammer” confused patrons at a club fanfest, sources are now reporting.
“Yeah, he got up to speak and then he started talking about flat-molded paper capacitors and the importance of obtaining a clear schematic and it just got very confusing,” said Pizzas fan Kevin Fernandez-Tony. “People started murmuring and then he [Inner Hammer] would demand silence in a loud, commanding voice. No one was permitted to leave the area. It went on for hours and then finally it concluded with a long cleaning display. He just kept saying, “You use a soft toothbrush to get into the crannies” over and over again and he removed his shirt at one point which was just soaked with sweat.”
Fernandez-Tony later bounced out of a meadow and into a bottomless pit where he expired.
“Inner Hammer” left the event quickly after his speech but spoke briefly with the media.
“Communication between the islands will be an important source of information and if you’re communicating, you might as well be doing so on a serviced and clean radio. My belief, fellows. Take it and bang it around a little, pull it back up and let me know how it turns out.”
The executive then left in a specially-made sports car that was somehow doorless.
The fanfest ended shortly thereafter.
Every Town Should Have a Hill with a Cannon
By Fingers Rolly
Man on the Street
File photo
I’m not fucking around here. Put a cannon on a hill in every god damn town. Stop shitting us.
If you don’t have a hill, build one. What the fuck are all these yellow fancypants asshole machines sitting around for? Put ’em to work.
When that sonuvabitch is in place at the top of your new grassless hill, you let me know. Don’t come out to the house though. That asshole of a desert. Best leave it alone. And don’t send no mother-of-shit letter either. Those fuckheads.
But I want to feel that aged cast iron. And then I want to scream at that fuckhead desert.
You let me know.
Screaming at the Desert: A Primer
By Fingers Rolly
Man on the Street
File photo
You set up your chair and put the blinds up. Needs to be before dawn. Make yourself a pot of shitbird coffee– that asshole kind of coffee that comes in a god damn big can. You peel off the metal top and you get hit with that blast of fucking air. People think that means freshness– I’ll tell you what that means. It means LIES.
The sun’s going to come up over the butte. You’ll notice the shadows first. That’s when you start.
You don’t want to blow your voice out early. Start with a low, doleful moan. You need to sell that shit though. Don’t go half-assed. Go half-assed and, god as my witness, I’ll take you out back myself and kick your dick in.
Build slowly to a crescendo. By lunchtime, you should be at full blast. They should be able to hear you for miles. Make that asshole of a desert cringe– shake a cactus to its mother of a whore core. Don’t let anybody get away with anything. Show that pisspit of a desert what it means to have to account for itself.
Slow down by evening. Rest.
Then repeat the next day.
To Hell with These God Damn Little Asshole Hills
By Fingers Rolly
Man on the Street
File photo
Everywhere you go now, it’s these little god damn asshole hills. Just staring at you, the little whores; they know they got you by the balls. Some of them have these rocks– what in the name of all that is decent is that supposed to mean?
Sometimes you gotta walk all the way around before you find a staircase leading up to the food kiosk. I oughta’ stop going to that bullshit place. You can’t put your kiosk on flat ground then fuck you, I’ll take my business elsewhere.
The Pondicherry Association News would like to apologize for the preceding article.
Getting to Know Fingers Rolly (Part Two)
By Bernie Keebler
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Fingers gnarls at his dinner; he has a strange habit of putting food into his mouth sideways and hunching over his plate protectively. Suddenly, he will bolt upwards in his seat and, remaining completely still, will gaze for an interminable period at something far off and distant out the window. Then, he will slowly return to his meal. For Fingers, eating seems a completely pleasureless experience.
I ask him about his last job. “Physical education,” he blurts out. “God damn desert high school. No fields to speak of, just that cracked brown whore dirt.” He spits on the floor. “For a time, I enjoyed it.” “How so?” I probe. He stares at me. Then: “It was fun to torture the unathletic children. But then I’d have to go into my office to fill out grades or something and even with the blinds shut, I knew that god damn desert was out there, mocking me.”
He takes a long, steadying drink of coffee. This is a rare, lucid moment. I know it will not last long.
“Then, I took to sleeping under the gym bleachers at night. I could no longer use facilities because, standing there, I could see that asshole desert out the window. So, I started defecating under the bleachers. The principal called me in after a few weeks.
“What did he say?”
“He said, Fingers– he said, we like some of the work you’re doing. You’re making important strides in teaching the fatter, unathletic kids how to wear their gym shorts. But we can’t have this moaning and screaming at the desert. And now that we’ve learned of this expelling of waste beneath the gym bleachers, well, I’m afraid that’s the last straw. So, he kicked me out on my ass.”
“What did you do?”
“I went home and made up two signs– I still have ’em, in there in the living room. Then, I took up a post here in this very chair and started screaming at that sonuvabitch. That cracked, god damn sonuvabitch…”
He gets up from the table (his rugged gait now marred by age) and starts towards the back door with a shotgun. I stop him.
“There’s nothing you can do, Fingers,” I plead.
He breathes rapidly but stops at the counter. He removes his hat and looks at the floor for several moments, blinking. He seems near tears.
Then, suddenly, his face changes completely. The transformation is stunning. FFFFFFUUUUUUCCCCKKKK OFFFFFFFF he moans slowly. He tries to strike me but I duck out of the way. He moves to his chair and begins the deeply unsettling desert moan broken by occasional moments of vile profanity. I keep out of his way as best I can. “At this point, he’ll start tearing the kitchen up,” warned a journalist friend.
I dig in and prepare for the worst.
The story of Fingers Rolly will continue in future issues.
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