Archive
Feelings by Dr. Kevin Thurston
By Dr. Kevin Thurston
Special Correspondent
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The Pondicherry Association News is pleased to present a new column by Dr. Kevin Thurston, expert on men’s feelings.
I’d like you to start by envisioning yourself sitting at a picnic table painted red. For a very long time, you will not be able to see anything because they’ve taken out the normal windows and put in those big gigantic glass blocks that prevent people from stealing things like electronics and collectibles. It’s funny, I had an apartment once that had those kind of blocks and it caused a certain sort of mental instability even though I had no electronics at all and no collectibles and I told the man that. But he had the blocks put in and it became impossible to look out and judge the sort of day it was or what was going on in the street (there were frequent beatings and parties) and there was a sort of mania that crept in and I had a little table in the kitchen that I’d eat at and that was gone one day but I’m getting ahead of myself.
You want to enter the very tipps [sic] of that mania and then, suddenly, the entire wall with those horrid big glass blocks will disappear and you will be looking out upon a beautiful beach scene at dusk and you will hear that lovely sound of waves, surf and those birds they have. Let everything enter your body and let it out and then let it enter again. You can also let it out again if you’d like but that’s your choice.
For $29.99, I have a tape that can also be played while you’re performing this exercise which is known in some circles as the Thurston Movements. It’s very light organ music set to “mandolin”. I made the music myself on an organ that I built myself from a box from a foreign country. It came with a wood case and has two full octaves. If you want the organ, I can let it go for $49.99.
The “Feelings” of Dr. Thurston will continue in future installments.
Musings of a Decorative Ham Man
By Chris Vitiello
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I have no memory of any mother figure.
It is said though that my mother is still alive. She lives alone in the distant provincial town of Heaves, far north beyond the Dietz Mountains. A man (we will call him Klobedanz) recently was interviewed for the position of semi-post-production foreman at the factory and while viewing his two personal statements, I happened to notice the name.
“You are from Heaves?” I demanded. He shifted uneasily in his seat.
“Yes, I went to school there and graduated…”
“No,” I stopped him. “There is no need whatsoever for me to understand your sordid personal history, Mr. Klobedanz.”
Later, however, I returned to the statement. You should consider hiring me because I have Lankville small-town values. I come from Heaves, where people help each other do things like fix tires. They will gather around in large groups of ten, twenty and horn in on your tire to the point that you get pushed back into the dirt and can no longer feel the wrench. You can no longer see your car or understand anything. And, later, they will throw a picnic and there might be cold pies, a ham and often some dough pockets.
I tossed it away (indeed, Klobedanz was not hired) and consulted a booklet brought to me earlier by a research assistant. ABOUT HEAVES it was called, an ancient side-stapled pamphlet in simple block lettering. There was an advertisement for a feed store on the back cover and a small map inside showing the main street and the few ancillary roads that ended abruptly at what appeared to be wheat or perhaps alfalfa fields (the legend was unclear). A cemetery and Fluid Fellows Hall were crudely noted by a vastly untalented artist. Though that artist was likely deceased, I had a fervent desire to whip him.
I grew determined. It was late, approaching midnight, but I selected an appropriate vehicle from the garage and made the seven-hour drive without stopping. I reached Heaves at dawn.
It was grim and utterly silent. There was not a single operable storefront– it was as though the town had been crassly and suddenly abandoned. Nothing was boarded; it was indeed possible to view dark interiors with little more than a forgotten broom, the remnants of a chair or an enormous but renounced stuffed panda inside. Standing on the sodden wood porch of a former general store, I looked out on the hamlet and its odious hill houses with nothing but rancorous outrage.
I chose a street– white, cracked cement forming a byway to nowhere. The occasional wood frame house– ramshackle centenarians– stared back at me. Soon, I found my first inhabitant of Heaves, a tiny, barrel-chested old man in a blue bathrobe, attempting to feebly bend over to pick up a paper. I swiftly grabbed it out of his reach and held it to my chest.
“Look at me, old man,” I said. “Look closely at my face.”
“What?” He blinked in the sunlight. He was entering an area vastly beyond his understanding.
“I asked you to look closely at my face. Study it. Do it now.”
He issued a few more senseless utterances.
“You will not achieve the satisfaction of this newspaper if you do not do as I say.”
He tried. Minutes passed.
“Now. There must be a woman here. An older woman. There must be a resemblance, you understand? Tell me.”
I waited. There was an endless period of deep confusion.
“Do not just tell me something I want to hear old man,” I warned. I showed him the whip then. He seemed to focus.
He described a nearby address. I looked down at the paper. Heaves Regional Gazette.
“I will give this to you now, old man. Atrocious prose awaits you.”
It required a simple right turn on the main street and then onto an overgrown dead end side street. The house was the last on the north side– it was a crumbling bungalow with missing cedar shingles. Dead plants lined the rails of the front porch. An overturned bird bath covered with a deflated Easter decoration filled the cramped front yard.
I stared up at the lace-curtained bedroom window. “You are there. That is enough. It will soon become clear.”
I deposited myself in a filthy wicker chair that creaked monstrously with even the slightest movement.
I would wait.
Former Owner and Reporter Pennies Presumed Dead
By Bernie Keebler
Senior Staff Writer
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Former hockey executive and Pondicherry Association News reporter Dr. Pennies is presumed dead according to a report released today by Lankville detectives. Dr. Pennies has not been seen for months.
“He has a third cousin who he hadn’t got around to killing yet and that third cousin asked us to investigate,” noted Detective Gee-Temple who consented to a brief press conference. “We went to Dr. Pennies’ apartment, knocked on the door for awhile and got no answer. Despite the horrendous, overpowering, permeating stench of darkest death in the hallway, we elected to leave the premises and are now operating on the presumption that the former reporter has expired.”
Dr. Pennies was last seen in Pondicherry Association News offices in February of this year.
“As I mentioned before, he came into the break room with a vicious look of purpose on his face,” stated senior staff writer Grady Kitchens. “He cooked a lasagna in the microwave at extremely high temperatures for an extremely long time until the lasagna combusted. He looked at us all very closely and carefully and then left the room, never to be seen again. I certainly think he was trying to communicate something.”
“He had a strange way of sort of barreling down on things, sort of moving very quickly despite his size towards some goal, the sort of goal that would not be achievable for most men,” remembered senior staff writer Nient Boffo. “He tried to kill me several times. I think he could have but decided at the last minute not to. I have not yet processed any of it.”
Catching Up with John Barlow: AN INTERVIEW
By Gump Tibbs
Senior Staff Writer
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Gump Tibbs recently had a chance to sit down with hockey executive, businessman and author John Barlow at the opening of “Barlow’s Hampered Mall” in downtown Lankville.
GT: What is a Hampered Mall?
JB: It’s a mall that is severely bereft of actual stores. Therefore, the shopper is quite hampered in his ability to purchase anything.
GT: Tell us about the construction.
JB: It’s a wonderful place. There is a terrific sense of proportion with the fountains.
GT: Now, I saw some women working in the tiny food court that were not exactly nice scenery if you know what I mean. One of them looked like an ironing board with fried eggs nailed on. Any thoughts on improving things on that front?
JB: All of our hiring is done by a company in the Islands. I’m not surprised that they have disappointed you. I was there once and noticed dried dung in the carpet.
GT: Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Hey, you wanna go fire some guns at some trees?
Barlow thought about the offer momentarily and then the two men got up and left the mall together. The interview was ended.
Woman in a Man’s Game
By Robin Brox
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I decided to check out Pineapple City.
I chartered a plane over some stupid forest and came down in the Eastern city of Arbisonia. There was a driver waiting for me with a handwritten sign that said BOX. I didn’t make a big deal of it.
“You gonna’ drive me all the way out to Pineapple City?” I asked.
“Yeah. Two hours.” He didn’t turn around.
I dumped a big bag of pills and a six-pack on the seat. “I’m gonna’ make a time of it, then.”
“Suits me.” He put on some terrible music without asking.
It seemed like the next thing that happened was that we were pulling into a gas station. The driver nudged me awake. “That’s Pineapple City up there,” he said, pointing east. I seemed to have a vague memory of the driver stopping for a long period of time, then a milk crate being dumped beside me. It seemed to contain long plastic containers full of some sort of green substance. I recall the driver on a cell phone. “Yeah, I got a big box for ya. It’s finely-ground and nonmagnetic and you can layer it to create a natural realistic scene.” There was a pause. “Nah, it’s foolproof. And they only had the putty in the pints.” Another pause. “IN THE PINTS. Yeah, that’s bullshit.” The rest of the ride was a blur.
The driver didn’t seemed interested in taking me into town. He sat down on a bench and smoked a cigarette, started chatting up some guy in overalls. I got my suitcase out of the trunk and walked down the old Interstate. There were only a few wood frame buildings here, raw and weather-beaten. Then I saw the sign. “PINEAPPLE CITY”. A little hippie was standing there was his shirt off.
“Are you Miss Box?” he asked, excitedly. He extended his hand. It was calloused and bony. That’d be alright. He showed me to my room– just a pile of boards and a single bed with a handmade quilt on it. “You make that quilt?” I asked jokingly. “Yes, I assisted,” he answered proudly. “All chores are shared here in Pineapple City. There are no pre-assumed gender rules. Men make quilts, women fix cars, everything is equal. Every morning, we all gather in the grains…”
I stopped him.
“You put ’em in a sack?”
He seemed confused. “Yes, we have sacks.”
“And then you empty your sacks?” I snickered.
“I don’t understand.”
“Skip it. What the Christ is for dinner?”
“Come. I’ll show you the dining hall.”
“Nah, fuck that,” I said, suddenly annoyed. “Order me a pizza. Meat Enthusiasts with extra cheese.”
“Oh, Miss Box, we don’t…there is no meat here and we don’t order, well, we don’t order any town food.”
I got the next bus out of there.
Updates From Royersford
By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
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9:53 AM
I’d like to welcome you to Royersford in Eastern Lankville. Royersford was named after Terrifying Bats owner and GM Ric Royer. He owns a summer home here and is a member of the borough council.
Thanks very much for your attention.
11:25 AM
Just now, Mr. Royer has finished addressing the citizens of Royersford in an area of scrubland east of the train station. A small dais with colorful bunting was erected.
Temperature is a perfect 75 degrees.
7:13 PM
Mr. Royer had a late dinner last night at “The Lucky Lab” restaurant. He ordered the “Loaded Pub Nachos”– a pile of tri-colored tortilla chips with melted cheeses, some olives and a tubular-shaped side of sour cream. This was followed by “The Fry Basket”, the Burgundy Tenderloin Medallions, the Shrimp Etouffee, and a hot dog.
Then, it was off for some television and then bed.
Oral Histories of Some Former Lankville Pugilists
By Andypop Lennus (1952-1953, 3W 10L, 1KO)
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I worked at a lunch counter in the daytime and boxed at night. Everyone went to Fuller’s Gym. Fuller hated everybody. Would hardly let you in the place. He sat up on a raised platform and would throw trash at you. Terrible guy.
They farmed me out to the Islands and I boxed there for awhile. That was in the late 40’s or thereabouts. I did some commercials for soup. I’d sit there with my gloves on and try to grip a spoon and I’d say, “look at this soup” and then some music would come on. Made more on that than I ever did in the ring.
When I came back to Lankville, I found that I had lost something. A sort of philosophical spirit had vacated my body and perhaps taken refuge in some caves because after that I had no ability whatsoever. I searched and searched for that spirit but never found it. I ended up in the desert for a long time.
So, there’s not much to say about it. I won 3 fights. I had one knockout. I got all my clothes for free by answering questions about the kind of car I’d like to have. That went on for many years. More years than I’d care to remember.
Lennus suddenly passed away.
Musings of a Decorative Ham Man
By Chris Vitiello
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My first automobile was a 1978 Neptune Conquest which I purchased myself from funds accrued working summer night shifts at a rural lumber yard. It was orange with an exceedingly flat hatchback, bronze colored rims and a deep chasm in the dash where a glove box had once been. “We took the glovebox out years ago,” said the yokel, who had left the vehicle exposed to the elements in a field of alfalfa. “My wife, who is dead, would not stand for it. She was not one for hidden compartments.” He spit and then ate a pickle which he produced from his pocket. “But she is dead now and we forded a river to take her home.”
I could no longer tolerate him. “Take the money,” I said, as the fury mounted. “Help me get this to the road.”
A few hours later, I pulled into a popular area taco stand. Though I later taught myself impenetrable methods of self-control, at that time I was young and concupiscent. I leaned against the car and some girls came up in short dungarees, rolled up in-line with the panties.
“Got a new car, Chris?” said one, a brunette named Shelley with large aviator glasses that I knew instantly to be fake. “It’s got a flat back. Flattest I’ve ever seen.” She was aroused.
“It’s a 1978 Neptune Conquest,” I said, hating myself for it. But it immediately impressed them all as I knew it would.
“Let’s take a ride,” said Shelley. “Do you know Twin Carnal Trees Drive-In? They’re showing Thergos 2015 tonight. It’s erotic.”
And so it was. A pornographic drive-in theatre nestled in a shallow grove and Shelley’s hand down my fashionable gym shorts. I leaned back and looked up at the dome light. It was cracked. I silently cursed the yokel. I reached down and attempted to move the seat back. It wouldn’t budge. Nor would it incline. I would get even.
I focused on the film. There was a man dressed like a clown in a dirt clearing and some shabby wooden structures that looked like deer blinds. Suddenly, there would be an unannounced oral scene. It was very confusing. But I moved like the actor and before long there was climax. Shelley asked for a napkin.
“There are only thin ones,” I noted. “Even when stacked together, they provide little in the way of absorbency,” I added.
We watched the rest of the film in silence.
Oral Histories of Some Former Lankville Pugilists
By Herm Mount-Vince (1941-1949, 26W, 24L, 9KO)
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Well, when you first came by here, I thought you wanted to compliment me on my lawn. Look here, I’m 85 years old and I keep a good lawn. You look at the areas near the sidewalk, you see them? Normally people got big god damn mud patches there. I can’t stand the sight of that. But look at my lawn. Grass all the way to the sidewalk. Run your hand through that. Go on, run your god damn hand through it. [The interviewer was reticent but Mount-Vince insisted to the point of near-violence]. Alright, that was easy enough, wasn’t it? What was the big god damn deal? You feel that– that’s what they call LUSH. I keep a good lawn. Best in the neighborhood.
Anyway, I wasn’t what you’d really call a serious boxer. I had quick hands but they used to say I had concrete legs. They meant that I couldn’t move my legs, not that they were strong as concrete– just that they were, didn’t move, right? Do you understand? Heavy legs. So, usually a guy would dance around me and I couldn’t keep up. I’d get tired out and then after awhile I’d just sort of fall down. I got knocked out quite often.
I remember one time out in the Desert region. They had a place called the Boulevard Arena and I fought there often. They put me on a bill with Curtis Extension-Wand [middleweight champion, 1946-1948]. I got to meet him beforehand. He was alright. He had a funny habit of putting a toothpick in his mouth. That’s much as I remember. I think I got knocked out in that fight.
I used to have all my clippings. Used to get real angry when my clippings weren’t favorable. There was one writer who said, and I’ll never forget it, “Mount-Vince is distinctly mediocre; the sort of blinkered individual that comes along upon occasion taking the same route that feces might take along a sewer pipe.” Yep. Then later in the article he said that I was a “travesty” and “an aggregation of different feces that causes a system clog thereby requiring service.” Now, I never done nothing to this guy.
I met him outside a restaurant one time, me and some of the fellows. We took his coat and shoved it into a newspaper box. I know it don’t sound like much but that was a big insult back then.
You need to seed your lawn in the fall. When you get them cold nights. That’s the best time.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: Two for the Road
By Ric Royer
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For reasons entirely unclear to me, I suddenly purchased a three-bedroom rancher and married an airline stewardess. She wore way too much makeup and had no interests whatsoever outside of television but I immediately proposed anyway. I bought her a gigantic diamond ring at her request.
A truck delivered a series of overstuffed grey sofas and recliners and a gaudy bedroom set. Carpet was installed. She fretted over that. When I once dropped a tureen of syrup-soaked pancakes, I was banished to the garage for nearly two days.
I took a job in an office. There were some binders on shelves and two stand-up file cabinets but I never fooled with them. There was a little phone and a tape recorder and, for no good reason at all, I set both on fire. They let me go that evening.
The stewardess was gone then, away on an overnight flight to the Depths. I came home and sat in one of the grey recliners. The set, a gigantic wood-enclosed monstrosity with a mysterious blue glow, transmitted forth a series of programs. I would catch only pieces of them– there was something about some little yellow tickets that were being handed out. If you got one, you could go to a picnic in a courtyard. It was all a big to-do. That one went off and something else came on about giant cardboard boxes filled with electronics.
I went down the hall to the bedroom and opened the closet door. I looked at the stewardess’ clothes. Bunch of grey pantsuits. I had no idea. I pushed them all to one end of the rod and noticed two round holes in the drywall. “Two for the road,” I said senselessly. “Two for the road.”
They were.
Royer Releases First Book of Poetry
By Sal-Peter Vooks
Special Literary Correspondent
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It was announced this morning that hockey and baseball magnate Ric Royer has released his first book of poetry. Dances with Bears will hit the shelves today.
“The sparkling, glimmering little rays of my illuminated Christmas village layout has inspired this work,” noted Royer, who appeared briefly this morning at a press conference in which a large sheet cake was served. “Also, my new van has provided creative arousal. This abundance has been an awakening. My literary panties are all wet.”
Royer was allowed a small piece of the sheet cake, signed a few copies of his book and was then taken back to the Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness.
“I read some of the poems,” said reporter Brock Belvedere, Jr. “There was some stuff in there about mountains. And then some stuff about bears.” Belvedere awkwardly ate a large piece of the sheet cake and then added, “There was a sensuality that I deeply appreciated.”
Dances with Bears has been issued in heavy cardstock wrappers with sewn-in “guidance ribbon” and directional arrows in an edition of 500.
Oral Histories of Some Former Lankville Pugilists
By Pineapple Duvet (1938-1942, 10W, 5L, 8KO)
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My first fight was in Southern Lankville. And they had a guy there that said, “why do you fight in them leather trunks? Don’t you know we got the cotton down here? It breathes better.” He took me out to a field and the next I knew I was, you know, actually working in the field. I got confused. So, I missed the fight.
I got blackballed after that. For about 13 years. By the time of my next fight, I couldn’t keep my hands up. Fortunately, I could throw a real haymaker. I’d take hundreds of blows straight in the face and then I’d throw that ol’ haymaker and knock the guy out. Long as I could get that haymaker off, I’d generally win. Then, I’d sit at a table, carve up a pineapple and listen to Richard and the Postman on the radio. That’s how I got my nicknames. I was known by Pineapple in the ring and “The Postman” out of it.”
One time, after I knocked out Floyd Roh, I was sitting at the table carving up a pineapple. And there was this girl there. I don’t know where she come from. I don’t know who let her in the house. But she never did leave and I couldn’t argue with her cause she started buying the pineapples. I let her stay and I give her a room in the attic and then we got married and she come down to my room. We decided to have children and we gave it a go once and we had Lance. Then we give it a go again and we had Belinda. And then she went back up to the attic. But she always had them pineapples.
I had to give up the ring in ’42 when I got drafted for the First Great Depths War. I was on a big gunboat that got lost at sea. We were lost for about five years or so. It was quite a time.
I worked for General Magnets after that. We made magnets in a general way. Like them little grapes you put on a refrigerator. But I’m glad for my time in the ring.
Small Child Makes Debut for Terrifying Bats
By Trenton Scisse
Baseball Beat Writer
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A small 9-year old child made his debut last night as the Terrifying Bats were crushed by the Arboreal Dells 21-3 at Deeply-Wooded Area Park.
“We’ve been beating the bushes for talent,” said Bats manager Jimmy “Apple Cakes” Quizzler, who watched as his club committed 7 more errors and fell to 0-5. “Someone told me about this small child, I was drunk, and I signed him up. That’s pretty much how it happened.”
The small child, Dennis Clean-System, allowed 7 runs in 1/3 of an inning before being lifted for no one.
“We didn’t have any pitchers left,” noted Quizzler. “At least anyone notable. So, we just forfeited the game at that point.”
The Arboreal Dells notched 10 hits off Clean-System before the forfeit.
“Well, Jimmy came out to get the kid and they both walked off and no one was coming in from the bullpen,” said home plate umpire Karl Saffran. “I walked over and asked for a pitcher and Jimmy just kind of threw his hands up and there was a long period of silence and confusion. Then, it was over.”
Moderately exciting PBA action will continue tonight as the Crisply Moving Bisons will take on the Stamps at Hoover Island.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Very Small Lion Statue
By Ric Royer
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“And Mama was saying just last night,” said Myrna while filing her nails, “that she didn’t think this office was a proper place for a young girl wearing sweaters to work. What with these undesirable people coming and going all day and you swearing at me all the time.”
“Shut up,” I said, thoughtlessly.
“No, sir. She just didn’t think this was suitable at all.” She put down the emery board.
“Shut up,” I said again.
She stared at me.
“Shut up,” I repeated. I went into my office but came back out shortly thereafter and told her to shut up again even though she wasn’t talking.
Moments later, a man wearing a tiny tie burst in. I had been pouring water on my typewriter for reasons unclear to me.
“You’ve got to help me Mr. Roysticks! A man in a green mask just broke into my apartment and made off with an exceedingly valuable but very small statue of a lion.”
In unison, we huffed it down the three flights of stairs to the street. Within moments, we pulled up outside the building. It was a curious structure of indeterminate age. Several of the lower floor windows had been boarded over with oddly-stained wood. Yet, there was a doorman. He held the elevator for us.
“I was just lying in bed reading the latest Dean T. Pibbs* novel, when suddenly I heard a loud clatter in the kitchen,” explained the little man, as the lift began its ascent. “At first, I thought it might be the island maid who comes in every once in awhile. But then the green-masked man appeared. I screamed, I admit, in a girlish way but the man ignored me and made a beeline for the bureau where I keep the very small lion statue. I can’t impart to you its value Mr. Roysticks, it’s priceless really.”
“We’ll settle it all out,” I assured him. I knew we wouldn’t though. I could feel it. Plus, I had no idea what the hell was going on.
He opened the apartment door. It was a comfortable but ascetic little place, three rooms painted in pale yellow with orange molding. There was a framed poster of a cat on one wall.
“Well, perhaps you can find some clues, Mr. Roysters.”
I nosed around a bit and the little man didn’t follow me. In the kitchen, I found a tin of saltines and began eating noisily. When I thought enough time had passed, I came back out into the living room. The little man was straightening the cat poster for reasons unclear.
“Nope. Nothing.” He looked disappointed. “No question, this was a professional job.”
He began crying. I was worried I might have to smack him around a bit but he got a handle on it.
“Well, OK,” he said.
“Oh, OK.”
“So, the little lion is…”
“It’s gone, right. Forever.”
“OK.”
I left by the back stairs.
*Editor’s Note: Popular Lankville author of terrorist attack novels.
Dick Oakes Baseball Digest
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
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The Pondicherry Baseball Association Division of Leagues kicked off action last night with a moderately exciting slate of contests.
The Chunk Island Ruby Legs pounded the visiting Terrifying Bats 16-1 behind lefty Merv Boats, Jr. (1-0) who hurled six scoreless frames. Chris MacDonalds and Didius Getta had 3 hits each and 1st baseman Vic Puppies homered. Jo Tet (0-1) took the loss for the Bats after allowing 8 runs in 1 inning.
“I didn’t have good stuff tonight,” said Tet, who was throwing a mix of slowballs and pitches that bounced once before arriving at the plate to be crushed. “I couldn’t get my arm slot right and my mechanics were all off. Something to work on at some point whenever I can find the time. I’ve just been buried in paperwork lately.”
Attendance was reported as 16,245.
Later in the evening, the Outer Depths Wipers edged the visiting Western Area Small Pizzas 3-2 at Depths Facial Tissue Plaza.
Oren Schrantz (1-0) picked up the win in relief for the Wipers, who scored an eighth inning run on a bunt, a dropped pop-up, two further errors and a moment of deep confusion following the storming of the field by an old hippie. Mike Reeps had 2 hits and a homer for the Small Pizzas.
“Everything kind of broke down there in the 8th,” said Small Pizza skipper Sherm Bumbry. “I thought that a strange haze seemed to issue forth from the air conditioning units and that it enveloped my players and made them suddenly incompetent. And then the hippie, of course. Once the inning was over, the haze seemed to dissipate and I noticed the hippie was hanging out by the railing, like they never even threw him out or anything. It’s something we’ll be taking up with the league.”
Attendance was reported as 25,342, 7 kids, 10 pets.
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
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The Lankville Daily News 
LETTER SACK