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Tucker, Stamps Return to Association

January 11, 2013 Leave a comment

By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
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The expansion Hoover Island Stamps have returned to the Pondicherry Association, sources are reporting.

“We are experiencing intermittent glee at the thought of their return,” said commissioner Dr. Albert C. Pondicherry, Jr. “They sent some nice gifts along too– a large wooden salad bowl with tongs, some fleece throws and some island Papayas which were ravenously torn apart by Association executives. They didn’t show much interest in the salad bowl and the throws– just kind of lightly pawed at them before casting them into a dark, shadowy, unlit corner but the whole point is that it shows that the Hooper [sic] Islanders are a gracious people.”

The Stamps had revoked their expansion application in December over frustration at the lockout.

“The people of Hoover Island are known for their patience,” said club owner Aaron Tucker, who was interviewed while breakfasting at a nude diner. “But this [the lockout] was too much to bear. It appears now that things are headed in the right direction and we will see hockey on Hoover Island before too long.”

Tucker, whose island is primarily nudist, discussed the pitfalls of introducing this custom into Association hockey.

“We have a great number of ideas floating around,” said the monarch, as a heavyset unclad waiter dished out second servings of coffee, syrup skins* and jellied hand cakes**. “We are working with engineers to construct a nudist section at our principle arena which will be covered by a floating glass curtain rendering it invisible to TV viewers. We are sensitive to Lankville’s general rejection of our custom and know that viewers will probably not be amenable to witnessing male fans and their dangling, jiggling balls or female fans bending over to reach something in their pocketbooks and revealing their round exposed rumps. We are working to come up with a solution.”

The Stamps have yet to unveil their jerseys for the upcoming season though Tucker revealed a few details.

“We’re going with brown. A dark, muddy type of brown. The socks will be a teal blue. That’s all I’m saying right now.”

Tucker then ended the interview and was whisked away to his next engagement.

*Editor’s note:  Popular breakfast dish on Hoover Island
**Commonly known as doughnuts.

Categories: 2012-13 Season Tags: ,

Return to Hoover Island: Part IV

January 10, 2013 Leave a comment

By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
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Tucker has sent a plane ticket and a palace press pass. “I will be rejoining the Pondischerries [sic] Association,” he has written hastily on a scrap of paper. I huff it out to the airport.

I am seated in a cramped private plane (indeed, few visitors are permitted access to Hoover Island). There is a short, silent man seated next to me who, for reasons unclear, is wearing a red toupee held in place by an elastic band beneath his chin. For forty-five minutes, no words are said in the cabin. We make a stopover in the Teets Island Chain and again, for reasons unclear, several bags of garbage are loaded aboard.

As we take off, red toupee leans towards me.

“Wondering if you might be interested in a lift-off mold ring?”

I stare at him over my crossword.

“It’s the 8-inch or 12-inch,” he adds, senselessly.

When I say nothing in response, red toupee becomes aggressive.

“You’ve done this before? Have any idea at all what you’re doing?”

More garbage bags are suddenly thrown in from the cockpit. Red toupee goes silent.

The flight finally over, I leg it out to the palace and am admitted straightaway. Tucker is in the middle of a strange photo session. He is wearing a top-hat and leaning against a mirror. Everyone seems instantly pleased with the effect. During breaks in the shooting, Tucker produces a handheld plastic game of the type where one attempts to navigate a ball-bearing through a maze. He is not faring well and is starting to show it.

“FUCK!  Damn these whorish games!” he yells and then instantly apologizes. The photographers pay no attention.

A man is ushered in and a chair and a hassock produced. The man places his briefcase on the hassock and opens it slowly. Tucker stares inside and a look of pure wonder crosses his face.

“What is in there? What is that?”

“These, Mr. Tucker, will bring you great, great luck,” says the man. And he presents a series of masks, each more beautiful than the last.

“You wear one of these, you don’t even have to worry about throwing up,” the man notes.

“I see. I see,” says Tucker, taking the mask of a bronzed, athletic blonde man into his hands.

“They’ve got tubes in there, see.”

“Astonishing,” says Tucker. He places the blonde on his face and his voice becomes slightly muted. “It feels so natural.”

“Absolutely.”

Tucker and the man step into the next room as the photographers continue to fiddle with their equipment. I wait another hour.

Finally, Tucker’s man-servant appears.

“Mr. Tucker is involved with masks, Sir. You will need to come tomorrow.”

I am presented with a hotel key. They give me a ride back to town.

Categories: 2012-13 Season Tags: ,

Return to Hoover Island Part III: By Dick Oakes, Jr.

January 8, 2013 Leave a comment

By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
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I recover from my horrendous beating just in time to meet with Tucker at the palace. Still, he keeps me waiting over an hour.

I am ushered into a gigantic, nigh-empty ballroom. A piano stands in one corner and a tiny child’s chair opposite. I think about the chair, dismiss it and wander across to the piano. The Oakes family has never possessed even the faintest hint of musical talent– my vagabond father once constructed a makeshift violin out of a tree stump and some rubber bands. It is said that the abysmal noise that ushered forth put the entire valley into deep consternation and later, of course, he was murdered– the tree stump violin broken beside him.

I tickle the ivories a bit. Less than a minute later, the butler enters the ballroom, looks at me, looks down at the keyboard and says, “Sir, if you don’t mind, please…” I sigh and move to the windows.

In the side yard, some nudes lay sunning in the grasses, others frolic in the gardens. They run the gamut– some forms that, though of age, appear to be just blossoming into womanhood; others already sporting gorgeously developed bosoms. A hose is suddenly produced and the girls begin squirting each other directly in the chests and laughing innocently. It is just at the moment when I can take no more that the butler fetches me to see Tucker.

I am led into a different part of his vast chambers– here is the famous Hoover Island library, full of texts utterly obscure to the Lankville scholar. “Have a look,” says Tucker, who is wearing a marvelous light green robe and his bejeweled crown. “This shelf in particular are all titles pertaining to our historical embracing of nudity”. I scan the spines. Leaning Over Nude in the Workplace: How to Love the Unseen Places, An Account of the Knackers of Northern Hoover Island: 1728-1931 (3 VOLUMES), Crucible of Combat: The Bushes of Hoover Island. I nod politely.

Tucker leads me over to another exceedingly small chair while he rests on a bejeweled throne. I take out my notes.
He puts up his hand.

“I’ll have you know that we’ve given the Pondicherry Association one week to resolve their issues. Otherwise, Hoover Island will withdraw their franchise, ban all incoming flights from Lankville and you will not hear from us again for perhaps another four hundred years.”

I fumble. I have no such press report.

“No, no, you won’t find that in your press,” Tucker laughs. It is though he has read my mind. “The hubris of your Lankville does not permit such a story. After all, the dear bellicose citizens of Lankville would not take kindly to being threatened by such a meaningless place as Hoover Island.” He laughs again, louder.

I attempt to follow up but Tucker will not permit any further talk of hockey. He asks me of my evening and I explain the events in the oceanside bar. He smiles.

“There is a social covenant here that prevents a man from asking another man to move his nutsack out of view, even if it is jiggling side to side in the manner you have described,” he explains. “Whilst on the dancefloor, you need to train yourself to observe the jouncing, animate papayas in a less-carnal manner. Of course, you should leer, but leer with the aim of further understanding. This is how we achieved such peace here.”

I ask him why he is never nude.

Before answering, he reaches beneath his throne and produces a plastic barrel of orange puffs of a cheese variety. He unscrews the cap and eats several in quick succession.

“It is important for the monarch to be clad differently. There are many people on Hoover Island who have seen me nude on special occasions and, of course, I have schtupped many citizens, which requires nudity but whilst in state, I do appear in my costume.”

It seems fruitless to continue down this avenue again and I try to divert the conversation back to hockey but to no avail. Tucker does promise a review of the island’s main hockey arena in the coming days.

“I want you to continue to get used to the nudity. Focus on the asses of Hoover Island. Let me know tomorrow if you notice something peculiar.”

Tucker’s handlers suddenly appear and he is led away. After awhile, a butler escorts me out.

Dick Oakes’ series will continue in future issues.

Categories: 2012-13 Season Tags: ,

Return to Hoover Island by Dick Oakes, Jr. (Part II)

January 8, 2013 Leave a comment

By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
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I do not have an audience with Tucker until the following evening. I decide to sample a little of the Hoover Island nightlife.

“Take me some place hoppin,” I tell the taxi driver. He turns around and nods and I notice that he has tiny red eyes. This rattles me slightly. Still, within moments, he pulls up to an oceanside restaurant bedecked in colorful bunting. “You’ll like it,” he says, holding out his hand. I tip him generously while noticing that his eyes have suddenly devolved into the color of rust.

The place is packed– half the patrons in the buff. I order a whiskey and soda from the bar and survey the goods. Lot of gorgeous T&A to be seen but some guy with a hose-like schlong keeps dancing into view. I walk over and explain my outlook on the situation and he quickly recedes into the background.

Moments later, the bartender comes over.

“I saw what you did there. You must be from the mainland.”
“Yep. He was fouling up the scenery.”
The bartender politely smiles. “All of the people here are scenery. Makes no difference if we’re talking about giant gazongas or a set of smooth, milky-white nads. It is all beautiful.”
“Why don’t you stick to serving drinks and I’ll stick to deciding what I want to look at, pal.”
He smiles again in a patient, almost-grandfatherly way. “Whatever you say, my friend.”

After awhile, I get pretty lit and then I suddenly have to urinate terribly. I cross the thumping dance floor, nude bodies rubbing up against me and enter what appears to be an empty restroom. The door closes and in the mirror I suddenly notice the bartender. He has a crowbar in his hand.

“I will teach you now about beauty, son,” he says.

I remember taking the iron across the skull and then nothing after that.

Categories: 2012-13 Season Tags: ,