Archive
Pondicherry Readers Speak Out
By Chip Collinsworth
Lankville Stock Exchange
You flash Pondicherry in the right circles and you’re guaranteed to get laid. It’s pretty simple.
The other night, I walked right into a place and ordered a $125 martini. A classy broad seated nearby was shocked.
“That’s $125!” she offered.
“That’s nothing to me baby. Look.” And I tossed Pondicherry on the bar.
“Oh, I see.” She started blushing and fooling around with her hair. The waitress brought the martini and I knocked it right over. Then I flicked the olive against a wall.
“A $125 martini is apeshit, baby,” I said. “How about you and I go hump the carpet off a hotel room floor?”
And it was done.
That’s pretty much all there is to it.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: Demon Night
By Ric Royer

File photo
Before I can even begin to tell you about the Demon Night, I need to take you back to 1981.
It was in that year, some time around Thanksgiving, that I was placed in a leather fringed onesie and taken to see Dentist Spangles. There was an interminable wait in a darkened, windowless room– the only entertainment made available were several tattered copies of Jocular Sentences for Children and these I took up greedily. My father sat staring at his knees as was his habit and after some time he disappeared behind a frosted glass door and spoke testily with a receptionist.
An intercom clicked on and general announcements were made. My father had returned by then and I saw him quickly place a printed index card into his jacket pocket. I saw clearly that it said “DEMON NIGHT”. This I never forgot.
Finally, Dentist Spangles appeared. “Come back Mr. Royspacks,” he said in an accent that was vaguely foreign. “It’s Royer,” my father corrected. “I have this card. I was supposed to present it to you.” Dentist Spangles took the card and I noticed that his eyebrows suddenly rose with alarm. “This case,” he sputtered. “This case is beyond me. I’m sorry Mr. Roypacks.”
My father dropped his head, deflated. And that was it. We left the building quietly and we never returned.
Two nights ago, I was in an industrial arts class at the Home, fucking around with a pneumatic temperature-controlled glue gun and some concrete bonding agent when I suddenly noticed him. He was sitting alone behind a drill press, fingering a senseless electronic device of his own creation. It was Dentist Spangles.
He had aged terribly and had deep, dark circles beneath both eyes. It was also apparent that, at some point, he had been struck by an axe– a long scar was now visible. “Stay here,” I said to the glue gun and surreptitiously made my way across the vast, ill-lit room.
He saw me coming. And although he did not look up, he addressed me as soon as I was within earshot.
“You will have the Demon Night. I know you have not yet had it. It’s coming. Stay away from me.”
I decided to play it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about asshole but I see that you’re new here and I hate all new things. Let’s go fight in a distant room full of large containers of cooking materials, knocking over several shelving units as we do so.”
“I will not,” he responded after a long period of tense silence. “You must stay away from me. I cannot abide by the Demon Night.”
I hassled him for awhile longer, calling him all sorts of foul names but nothing gave. Finally, I left him alone and returned to my cell.
The Demon Night came shortly after I fell into slumber. It began with an expeditious shriek from very close by and then a sudden invasion. My few possessions were taken up in the fury and I was lifted from my bed. There were a diabolical series of lights and then the commencement of a rhythmic wail that seemed to come from all directions and yet from no direction. And this continued unabated throughout the night; there was nothing to do but succumb to it.
And when I awoke it was morning. My chair had been mangled– what remained had been placed directly against my thin mattress– just inches from my face. A card had been placed on its contorted surface. It, like the chair, was bruised and battered but its message could still be plainly discerned. And it read “DEMON NIGHT”.
I never saw Dentist Spangles again.
Vitiello Discusses His First Draft
By Lance Pepsid
Special Fashion Correspondent

File photo
LP: Tell me what you’ll be looking for tonight.
CV: Before I answer that question, I’d like to know why you Mr. Pepsid are doing this interview.
LP: I was assigned…I’m not…
CV: It was my impression Mr. Pepsid that you were a fashion correspondent only. I cannot even fathom why the Pondicherry Association News would send someone of your ilk. Clearly, you are just reading these questions off a form.
LP: Let’s move on. What players are you looking at in the early rounds? Any particular position?
CV: It has been said that one selects the correct tool Mr. Pepsid. You are the incorrect tool for this job.
LP(becoming increasingly hysterical): Well…I….can I just…what round might you select a goaltender?
CV: When one is confronted with a man brandishing the incorrect tool, one has the option to counter with an apparatus more suitable to the situation.After a long, pregnant pause, Mr. Vitiello rose quickly and began whipping Pepsid mercilessly. The interview was ended early.
Pondicherry Association to Draft Tonight
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer

File photo
The Pondicherry Association will hold its draft for the shortened 2013 season this evening, according to a statement issued earlier today.
The event is expected to be a toned-down affair with three of the nine owners unable to attend– Ric Royer of the Terrifying Bats is still incarcerated and notorious astronaut-asshole “Nick” is still stuck in space. Fick of the Darkness club will be sending a representative.
“It’s not going to be a big deal at all,” said Small Pizzas GM “Inner Hammer” who is returning from the Teets Island Chain some time this afternoon. “I’ll probably just put a robe on, walk down to the ballroom whenever the hell I feel like it. In the past, the draft has left me a quivering heap of nerves, deep horniness and hate. Plus, I would generally gorge myself on small pizzas. But not now. Life’s too short, boys.”
Stamps owner Aaron Tucker will be making a rare visit to Lankville to attend his first draft after purchasing an expansion team during the summer. Tucker will be traveling with a coterie of Hoover Island representatives and is expected to arrive by speedboat some time this afternoon.
“It should be exciting,” said hockey enthusiast Gene Slipps. “It’s said that Tucker’s speedboat is capable of propelling itself into the air for great distances. Should be something really interesting to see rather than the stuff I usually see which is not very interesting at all.” Slipps was later killed when he accidentally fell into a pit of fire.
The Association will play an abbreviated 48-game season following a 3-month long lockout.
Vitiello to Distribute Irregular Decorative Hams to Needy
By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer

file photo
24-Piece Men GM and ornamental meat magnate Chris Vitiello announced today that he will distribute several thousand irregular decorative hams to needy families.
“It came to my attention that there are a number of island-type people without decorative hams in their homes,” said the executive, who, for reasons unclear, was carefully examining a dessicated gourd. “I grew up poor, always wanting and so I understand their plight.”
Vitiello will supervise the distribution process and has already targeted specific homes in the Lankville Eastern End and the Northern Hole Area.
“These are two of the filthiest, most degenerate places in all of Lankville and therefore the most needy,” said Vitiello.
Area organizers, however, are already questioning Vitiello’s offer.
“People need real hams,” said Quentz Lister, who helps run a “Soups Kitchen”. “I’m not sure of the value of fake ones.”
Lister was immediately beheaded.
The distribution will begin later in the month.







































LETTER SACK