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THE BSU STRIKES! Brian Schropp on Cuisine
Brian Schropp
It all began with me stopping at the ‘ShopSmart’ to pick up a few items for the book release party at the ‘Pizza-A-Round’. With the recent success of my book ‘Breakfast Sandwich Boy’ my manager, Scott wanted to see if he could possibly add his name to the Lankville bestsellers list. His book,’The Pizza Trade’ is a collection of stories told to me by Scott about the pizza business. There was a full out party staged in our dining area with balloons and cheap booze plus copies of the book for sale. With the purchase of the book you even get two free nuggets and a slice of cake (but you also have to spend $20 on menu items just to get in). So I was picking up some markers at the ‘ShopSmart’ in case someone wanted their book signed by Scott. I was really hoping this would be a success. I would hate to see the fallout if no one shows; Scott had already been drinking the whole day just trying to get his nerves under control.
The cover of Scott’s exciting new book ‘The Pizza Trade’
With markers in hand, I decided I was also a bit hungry (it was a full four blocks I walked from the ‘Pizza-A-Round) and went to grab a delicious ‘ready made’ breakfast sandwich. I recognized the cashier on duty– he belonged to the BSU (Breakfast Sandwich Underground) and gave a discount to others of his kind when purchasing a breakfast sandwich. The cashier (who I will not name) wasn’t very talkative but I really didn’t give the matter a second thought. It wasn’t until I was almost out the door that I noticed I wasn’t given any discount. I went back to see what happened.
“Say (name withheld), I think you forgot to give me that club card discount for the sandwich.” I exaggerated a few winks since we couldn’t talk freely with other Non-BSU’s around.
The cashier didn’t respond- just shook his (or her!!) head while ringing out another customer. Thinking maybe it was just a bad day for this person I left again putting it out of my mind. I was a block or so up the street when I heard the screech of tires from the street behind me and looked back to see a rather large older model car round the corner (knocking a trash can off the sidewalk) and advancing to where I was standing. The driver side window rolled down and I could clearly see three folks in this jalopy (two in the front and one in the back). All were also known members of the BSU.
“Get in Bri,” the driver said while the back door on my side was thrown open. The other two were looking around to see who was watching.
“What’s going on guys? I don’t have time- there is this book signing at work I need to–”
“I SAID GET IN!”
The one who was in the back reached out quickly and gave a hard tug on my sleeve. I knew better than to try and mess around with these folks. Before I even had my door closed the car was racing off taking yet another sidewalk too closely and almost hitting a family. The one in the back snatched the bag out of hands and started to go through it taking out the markers and asking me what they were for.
“For Scott, my manager, he’s going to sign copies of his book–”
The person chuckled. “That loser knows nothing about food. What breakfast sandwich options do you guys have on your menu there?”
“None I guess but I don’t know why—-HEY!!”
Him/her rolled down the window and threw the markers out. The next thing from the bag was my breakfast sandwich. “Thought you would of had this eaten by now.”
“I was just about too—HEY YOU CAN’T–”
“What?”
“GIVE ME YOUR SHOES AND HAT!!”
Off they came and out the window they went.
“I’m going to get in trouble for losing my work cap.”
“Well here is a new one for you-”
The now empty shopping bag was placed over my head and tied tightly around me. “Can’t have you squealing on where we are taking you. Just sit back and try to relax, we will be there soon enough.”
“Wasn’t I just here?”
One of them slammed the door closed. “You have no idea where you are at!!”
I was made to strip and checked THOROUGHLY to make sure I had no recording devices on. Instead of giving me back my clothes I was given a ‘trash bag poncho’ to wear. “Sorry Bri, orders from the high ranks to make sure you were clean. Someone from the top wants a word with you, and I really mean from the top-the way top-‘The Upper Biscuit’ top.”
Which Lankville Reporter is in the BSU?
I raised my eyebrows from inside the bag. In the pecking order of the BSU it goes-The Lower Biscuit, The Egg, The Bacon, The Cheese, and then finally The Upper Biscuit. This meant the person was big time in the movement and made things happen. Why did they want to talk with me? I had only a loose affiliation with the BSU.
After what seemed like a lifetime the door opened again. “About time,” one of the kidnappers grumbled.
“I knew the plan but I’m a very busy person–”
That voice, I knew it!!! Once the bag was untied from my head I saw I was correct. Now dear readers, I am not going to reveal the name of this individual. Even after all this I still somewhat know and understand the ideals of what this movement is doing and I will not be the one to publicly out a member. I will just said that one of The Upper Biscuits is a fellow reporter for the Lankville Daily News. You read and enjoy their articles every day with your morning toast and jam. This the last person on the paper payroll you would expect.
“I see your shocked expression Bri, I will admit it’s a gamble making myself known.”
I tried to ask a question but it just came out a garbled mess.
“I’m not going to screw around- just going to get straight to the point. We of The Upper Crust are not happy with your articles for the paper. You were meant to help promote and spread the cause of breakfast sandwiches so that maybe, just maybe, they might get an equal playing field.”
“I do, I mean I try—”
“Do you really? Your first few articles had promise, it’s true. Since then it’s just been a mess. Pizza Eggwiches, bumpkins, hill people, half the time the articles don’t even make sense.”
“Yes, breakfast sandwiches are my life. It’s just so much else has happened to me since I began writing–”
My fellow reporter held up a hand to silence me. “I’m not here to listen to excuses Bri. I am here to let you know that your connection to the BSU is now over. No more discounts, no more coming to our secret late night tasting parties. You are not an outright enemy but what we call a ‘luncher’. Just remember how entrenched we are in every aspect of life in Lankville. You know that gelatin dinner thing you created, ever wonder why the warnings got so bad? I mean don’t get me wrong that thing is a health hazard, just with a word from us and it was raised ever so slightly. Remember how your Mom tried to fix you some breakfast this morning?”
“She swore she bought a box of breakfast sandwiches the other day.”
“She did. (pause for dramatic effect) We took them in the night. Again, this is just a warning- don’t mess with us and we won’t mess with you.”
I got the point loud and clear…my wallet was taken and my ‘Friend of the BSU’ membership card (which is disguised to look like your normal everyday retail discount card) was confiscated. For some reason I was allowed to leave from what looked like the manager’s office back of the store. I did get my wallet back but none of my clothes. So, in my ‘trash bag poncho’ I decided I was still hungry but instead of buying another ‘ready made’ breakfast sandwich I just bought a can of sloppy joe mix. Somehow having a breakfast sandwich at that moment didn’t feel right. The cashier hastily put up the ‘register closed’ sign right when I was walking up and I had to fumble around with the self checkout machine.
Luckily my clothes were outside on the sidewalk in the bag which was tied over my head (I guess they have some sorta heart, they could of thrown them in the dumpsters if they really wanted to) and even found my hat, shoes, and the markers for Scott’s book signing (these items were a bit beat up from the traffic).
It was a long four blocks back to the ‘Pizza-A-Round’ not just because people were making fun of the ‘trash bag poncho’ from their cars and doorways but also because I was reflecting on how my life will be different going forward. Everything seemed just a tad bit darker, who was really a friend now? Is this the price you pay for growing as a cuisine writer? Questions best left to answer in due time and after a busy book signing. Looks like it’s a pretty good turnout (which shouldn’t be a surprise, it’s a pretty wonderful book!!) and my poncho was also a hit among the crowd!! Until next time readers, please keep your minds and mouths open to new ideas. Happy eating!!-Bri
Is it Safe to Change a Tire? A Zach Keebaugh Investigation
Zachary Keebaugh
You don’t need to save somebody’s life to be a hero. Maybe you just save their day.
Consider the inevitable flat tire.
Whether you’re traveling to school, work, or that weird summer camp your Mom sent you to that served nothing but unflavored macaroni and then told your Mom that you were a liar when you spilled the beans, it’s bound to happen eventually. That makes knowing how to change a tire– either your own or one belonging to an attractive female in need– an essential life skill.
But is it safe?
I aimed to find out. I am Zach Keebaugh: Investigative Reporter.
Bot Woolston has been changing tires on the Western Lankville Plains for 30 years. He claims that changing a tire is perfectly safe.
“You just need to make sure you chock the tire that is directly opposite the flat tire by putting some bricks or logs or some heavy object in front of it.”
“Yo, what’s chock mean?” I probed.
There’s really no need to put out a fucking triangle like this asshole but you should still use caution when changing a tire.
“It’s mechanic-talk for stabilize. This is the main thing that people forget and is responsible for all those deaths that everyone’s all up in arms about.”
“Man, who the hell carries bricks or logs around in their car? You’re not fooling anybody, old man.”
“Changing a tire is so simple, Zach. There is absolutely no need why anyone, even children, should not know how to do it.”
“Let’s switch gears,” I proffered. “In your opinion, what causes flat tires?”
“Nails and broken glass primarily. Other things include animals, teeth and hard food.”
“Is it safe to change a tire?” I probed.
Woolston sighed and went back into his office.
Amanda Fleckensbrother is President of the C.F.H. (Call for Help) Foundation. “We advocate always calling an expert to have a tire changed,” she said, as we walked slowly near a wooded area. “Too many people have lost their lives trying to pry off a wheel cover or due to improper placement of the jack. The safest thing to do is contact a trained technician.”
“Yeah, but who wants to stand around like an asshole waiting for some fat guy in a grey jumpsuit to show up? Why not do it yourself? Yo, when I was in the Child Scouts we had to jack up this old orange boat they had sitting around and swap out a tire to get a Merit badge. And I crushed that challenge man, I got that badge.”
“At the very least, C.F.H. is an advocate for clearer markings on automobiles showing individuals where they put the jack, where the spare tire is, etc. So far, the automotive industry has ignored us,” Fleckensbrother countered.
“Is it safe to change a tire?” I probed.
Fleckensbrother paused. “No, it isn’t,” she finally said.
I nodded confidently and we moved ever closer to the edge of the dew-draped woods.
Neptune CEO Arick Schlesinger
We then proposed Fleckensbrother’s ideas to Neptune Automotive Corporation CEO Arick Schlesinger.
“Yo, what about these markings and shit?”
“We’ve heard Mrs. Freckenships [sic] ideas and we know all about the C.F.H.,” Schlesinger replied. “But it’s not economically viable for us to implement any of these suggestions. And in terms of the location of jacks and spare tires, that seems like common sense to me, Zach. And even if you don’t know where they are, it is clearly outlined in every owner’s manual for every vehicle Neptune sells.”
“Is it safe to change a tire?” I probed.
“Of course. The only people I know who can’t change a tire are male buffoons and some women.”
Opinion is hopelessly divided. You can listen to Amanda Fleckensbrother and call one of Lankville’s many roadside assistance companies when the dreaded moment comes or, in this reporter’s opinion, you can pull over, consult the internet and learn how to do it yourself. It’s a skill that everyone should have.
Zach Keebaugh won a medal for this report.
OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth While Photocopying My Ass Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth While Photocopying My Ass Again
By Dick La Hoyt
OUTSTANDING OPINIONS
Yeah, I’m serving notice to that asspipe co-worker of mine down at the Tire Shredding Plant. Guess what, dickhead? I’ve been punched in the mouth while photocopying my ass before and I’ll sure as shit be punched in the mouth while photocopying my ass again.
Let me break it down for you. We got a new copy machine down at the Tire Shredding Plant. You oughta’ see this beauty. First off, she’s a Danny Madison Crusader with the HD color touchscreen– must have set the company back a pretty penny, I’ll tell you. This baby’s got a 1600 sheet capacity– seriously, they’re not assing around, man. You got a resolution of 1200 x 1200 dpi, page output of up to 6000 sheets a month, SVGA LCD graphics, the whole bit– one of the guys in the office even told me that the damn thing’ll order you up a pizza from anywhere in Lankville. It’s a serious piece of equipment.
Anyway, as soon as the office cleared out at five, me and Jimmy Balances from over in tire receiving had to christen the bad boy. Jimmy breaks out a couple of beers from the little fridge and we went in and dropped our drawers. “Shit, you go first, Dick,” he said.
So, I plopped my ass on the glass, as they say and Jimmy hit COPY. Out comes the god damnest picture I ever seen and believe me, I’ve christened many a new photocopier in my 22 years here at the Tire Shredding Plant.
“It’s beautiful, man,” Jimmy said.
“Sure as shit,” I said, downing the rest of my beer.
Well, the next thing we know this white-collar prick that I done never seen before comes in. Me and Jimmy still got our drawers down. I’m still sitting on the copier.
“What are you doing?” the guy yells. “Who are you two? Who are your superiors?”
“Hey man,” I said, holding up the copy of my ass. “Just giving your new girl a ride here. Check it out.”
I couldn’t believe it none. The sonuvabitch wasn’t impressed at all. Matter of fact, he was threatening us with all kinds of trouble.
“And you’re drinking on the job!” he said.
“Hey man, this here is Dick La Hoyt’s time,” I said. I got down off the machine and jacked up my drawers. “You got a problem with that, then maybe we’re gonna’ need to settle it outside.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Maybe I am. What you gonna’ do about it, standing around in your monkey suit, man?”
“I’m not wearing a tuxedo,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” I decided to let him have it. “Did you leave it at home with Mama?”
The guys looks at the floor. Next thing I know, BAM, he punches me right in the mouth.
I couldn’t believe it. I fell like a god damn bag of sand. My beer went flying off and onto the floor.
Then, to make matters worse, the assbagger reported both me and Jimmy. We both got cursed up and down and sent home early. Didn’t matter none– I put up a new shelf for some of Tammy’s crafts– Dick La Hoyt doesn’t waste a day crying over spilled milk.
But I just want that piece of shit to know it– I’ve been punched in the mouth while photocopying my ass before and I’ll sure as Christ be punched in the mouth while photocopying my ass again.
Behind the Stats with Corn Kernels
By Corn Kernels
It’s that time of year again. Leaves are falling from the trees. An assortment of mums tucked inside pots that look like pumpkins are on sale everywhere for $24.99. Corn maze magnates are busy engineering not-everywhere-you-look kinds of pumpkins like pumpkins distinguished by their thick and sturdy stems, plus polar bears, crystal stars, and Island Cheese. And lucky children don shoulder pads or pom-poms, because Football season is in the air.
Billy begs dad to let him try out for the team. Corn stalks are $3.99 a bunch. Janey comes home after sorting out prepicked pumpkins, which, price-wise, look to be good this year, then locks herself in her décor chamber to work on her splits. Everybody is excited about next weekend’s big game. But what do we really know about football? I’m professional quarterback Corn Kernels, and I’m here to take you Behind the Stats.
We’ll start today by looking at the most misunderstood position in all football: quarterback. And here at Behind the Stats we don’t pull any punches, so let’s get right to it: contrary to popular belief, QB play is irrelevant to team success. Sound crazy? Drive to Ed and Millie Awald’s farm and take a gander at their all-white pumpkins (!) which are good for carving or for displaying on your front steps, and you tell me what’s really crazy. The hard truth is that quarterback play is negatively correlated to team success. Keep that in mind when tallying up your favorite team’s record over the last four seasons.
An even greater misunderstanding arises around the role a quarterback’s father plays in team success. Football 101: it is the QB father’s duty to be in the stands, wearing his son’s jersey, showing all the love and support he withheld throughout his daily life. If a wide-open receiver is underthrown by 10 yards, look to the stands: where’s the quarterback’s father, ask yourself? What did he have to do that’s more important than watching his own flesh and blood on game day? Is he drunk? You bet he’s drunk, and making it rain with his son’s money, feeding the pumpkin catapult with whopper after whopper, five dollars a pop, all to impress the farm’s seasonably-employed females. “If only my son had an arm like that,” he’ll quip as the massive rig slings ten-pounders, “Oh now you wanna launch a white pumpkin?,” he’ll ask with a squint. Before they can respond, he’ll pull down his trousers and bend over “how’s this for a white pumpkin?” and he’ll laugh with his upside-down face between his legs like a grinning jack-o’-lantern while all the girls give a playful slap before taking him back behind the goat-mosh. You want to know why his son is just 3-for-11 with two interceptions in the first half? Go and see for yourself. And when you do, tell him all his son ever wanted was for his father to be proud of him. All he ever wanted was for dad to say, “Son, you played a heckuva game, let’s take that hayride you wanted,” and to give a boost and then sit beside him, put his arm around, and say, “Son, I know I don’t say it enough, and I know I’m a tough old bastard, but when I criticize you, or work you over, it’s because I care about you. It’s because I love you, son. And that’s never gonna change no matter what.”
And that’s this week’s X’s and O’s with Corn Kernels! Where we go Behind the Stats.
Notes of an Old Man Who Lives Alone
By Luman Cans Harris
The Lankville Daily News is pleased to present Luman Cans Harris’ column “Notes of an Old Man Who Lives Alone”. Mr. Harris’ column had appeared for many years in “The East Lankville Journal for People Taking Bus Trips” which folded in May.
I had a place on the second floor in the back. There were a couple of dark rooms and a kitchen and a bath. The tub was made of plastic and it had been pierced when the guy who lived there before me had been stabbed by his roommate. The landlord said, “I’m not fixing that. For $300 a month, I’m not fixing that” and then we had a couple of drinks in the kitchen and he started crying, telling me some sob story about how his wife had left him for a retired Lingus Nets player. Then, he gave me a roll of waterproof duct tape.
I’d have two baths a day. One in early afternoon and another about an hour before dusk. Then, I’d take a little walk around the neighborhood. I’d stop in at the Island grocery and pick up some bread and some salami. The Islander’s wife was something– big hips, big bust and when she bagged the salami, I’ll admit it, I got a huge hard-on. Well, at least a hard-on.
I’d eat the salami sandwiches at the kitchen table and read old phone directories. I had a pile of them, going back twenty years. The sun would go down about then. I’d keep an eye on the street. There was this girl, you see, who lived in an apartment in back of the geegaw shop. There was a gate and then a long walkway filled with trash and she lived back there somewhere, somewhere with all the trash.
One night, when I was sitting eating salami and reading the phone directory, I saw this guy come over in a brown suit. He was a big guy with a mustache and he was just standing there near the gate. She came to the gate and then he went in. “Huh, little funny business back there,” I said aloud. The refrigerator suddenly buzzed. It buzzed sometimes.
I saw her in the laundromat one time. She was a husky young thing with a pretty big bust and behind but a little on the dumpy side. She kept smiling at me.
“You live across the street?” she finally said.
“I live alone.”
“Well, if you ever need any company, come see me.”
“I’m Luman Cans Harris,” I said. “Would you like to come over for salami sandwiches one night?”
She didn’t know what to make of that. But she agreed.
Three nights later, she knocked at the kitchen door. I let her in. She looked around the place. There wasn’t much to see– couple of chairs, a sofa, a teevee, my shelf of phone directories. I led her back to the kitchen.
“Do you like salami?” I asked. “I can put the air conditioner on. I don’t use it much.”
“I’m a vegan actually. Do you have anything else?”
“No. I only buy enough salami and bread for one night. I have an agreement with the Islanders– they let me break up a loaf.”
“OK.” She went out.
I watched her cross the street. Twenty minutes later some guy was over there. When she met him at the gate, she had changed her clothes. She was wearing some sort of leather get-up. He had a plastic bag from a nearby party store. But it was hard to see.
I ate my salami sandwich. I put a little mustard on it on this night.
Further stories by Luman Cans Harris will appear in upcoming issues of The Lankville Daily News.
Hadbawnik Announces 2016 Presidential Bid
By Kimball J. Cranney
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Lankville Daily News senior correspondent and renowned gourd expert David Hadbawnik has announced he will run for president in 2016.
“President Pondicherry is not a friend to nature,” declared the candidate at a mid-morning press conference held at the Casa Montecristo (an elegant reception hall). “He believes that economic growth comes from the construction of highways and malls. I believe that economic growth can only come from nature. And not just gourds but from all nature, all of nature’s bounty”.
“But also gourds,” Hadbawnik added.
The candidate will run alone.
“I don’t require another politician. I will run with the gourds,” Hadbawnik stated.
Hadbawnik becomes the third Lankvillian to declare his candidacy. Incumbent Albert Pondicherry Jr. and famous celebrity Randy Pendleton will also run.
Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
Dick Oakes, Jr.
We were sitting at the end of the bar near the jukebox. The old drunk had the corner.
“We’re all dying,” he said. “But man, Oakes, you show it like nobody I ever seen.”
I looked up at the mirrors behind the bottles. There, on my forehead, were the distinct red splotches. They had appeared overnight. Several teeth throbbed mercilessly. My legs were covered in sores. The blood came through the bandages, through the pant legs. It was all a hell of a mess.
“Your face looks like my piss in the morning, Oakes.”
That was it. I started unbuttoning my shirt. “Let’s settle this outside in the weedy area.” The bartender stopped buffing a glass. “On the lot behind the knives and puzzles shop, boys, not on my lot, not on my god damn lot.”
The drunk got up. He had a huge head and squinty eyes. He was a big guy but I figured I could get a knock in. A bunch of people materialized out of the shadows– followed us out.
Some guy came over and drew a circle in the dust with a stick. He had a huge head too. I couldn’t figure on any of it.
A couple of hours later I awoke in some motel room. There was a dull ache on one side of my head and in my belly. When I tried to sit up, the pain knifed me back down.
The room was done up all in brown. There were two queen beds with white vinyl headboards. There was a giant picture on the wall of the exact same room but with a family in it. The father was on the phone and the mother was standing around in a blue dress. The father looked like a drunk. A couple of kids were lounging on one of the beds. Below, in bold letters, it said AMPLE FREE PARKING. I thought about that for awhile but came up empty.
There was a TV and I struggled over to it and pushed it on. A blue glow came up, then some assholes were standing around talking bullshit. I tried another station and it was the same assholes. Then, there was a station that came up that just had the word “ADULT” on the screen. Below, there were instructions on a number to call. I called it.
A female voice answered. “What’s all this about, this adult business?” I asked.
“We have movies for men,” she said. She had a deep, sultry voice– I thought about messing around with myself but figured on it being indecent. “Your bill will be charged at the end of your stay.”
“Alright, then, give it to me, who gives a damn.”
The screen changed. It said, “NEXT UP: RUBBEROUS BUTTOCKY PUMPING. “What the hell?” I thought, “that don’t sound bad.” Some music started up and then there was a couple walking down a sidewalk towards a house. Then, they went inside the house. The camera remained on the house for a long time. Fifteen minutes passed, maybe twenty. Then, the couple came out of the house. The woman’s hair was all tussled. Then the movie ended and the same ADULT screen came back up.
“What the hell is this?”
I called the girl back.
“That wasn’t nothing,” I said.
“Well, it was implied sir. Didn’t you understand the filmmaker’s implication?”
I was too tired for an argument. They all wear you out and then they get you one way or they get you the other way.
“I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the movie,” she said. She sounded legitimately sorry.
“Skip it. There ain’t no merit in it.” I hung up.
I lied there awhile. Started to think that maybe I really was dying.
Cleanliness Questioned at Area Barlow Foods Store
Buck Igloos
A BUCK IGLOOS HEALTH WATCH
Cleanliness has been questioned at an area Barlow Foods store after several untoward photographs were posted online.
A view of the freezer in question.
The photographs, which appear to depict the remnants of some sort of pink frozen explosion in one of the freezers, has gone viral.
“It’s absolutely disgusting. I’m never shopping there again,” said former customer Gene (female) Cabinets. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw those images. The explosion is not even in the frozen desert freezer. It’s in the fry freezer. There’s no such thing as pink fries. So, how did it get there? It makes no sense.”
Many other customers have voiced the same concerns.
Barlow Foods head office was moving quickly this morning to explain the shameless act. CEO John Barlow himself addressed the media.
“The individuals responsible for this ghastly negligence have been terminated. The freezer has been emptied and cleaned. We will be moving forward and we hope that you will move forward with us.”
A detailed view of the frozen pink explosion.
“Move forward with Barlow Foods,” Barlow added. “A rolling army cannot be stopped by a mere pebble.”
Barlow suddenly left the lectern and his last sentence was never explained.
The store in question, the Southern White Pines location, was closed as of press time. A sign on the door read, “REPHASING PROCESS. CALL AGAIN”. Calls were not answered.
OPINION: It Will Be An Injustice If You Don’t Read My Latest Novel
By Cust Shirley, Writer
IMPORTANT OPINIONS
I’ve told you in the past about the grave injustice that has been perpetrated against me by the so-called literary establishment. I’ve told you about how, in an effort to rectify this wrongdoing, I’ve resorted to publishing my novels on my own. And I’ve told you about my deeply personal trilogy of erotic science fiction novels written, I believe, at the zenith of my creative powers and which, to date, have sold only four copies. I’ve told you about all this.
Well, now I’m here to tell you about my latest book. And I’m going to go ahead and be straight as an arrow about it– this one is my greatest.
Poon Time is a no-holds barred, warts and all look at sexual mores in the Western Lankville Gulf. I personally spent three months in the Gulf, tagging along with a couple of guys that had a truck, just learning the in’s-and-out’s of the place, meeting the ordinary, everyday people, discovering my own personal Lankville. And I’ve put all of that into Poon Time. All of it and more.
And just to prove it to you, I’m going to lay a passage on you free of charge:
She was a sin-chicken that had come home to roost. He was sculpted and brazen with big legs– not afraid to use them. Sure, dinosaurs had somehow come back to life and were charging through the Gulf like berserk monsters in some two-bit make-out picture. But it didn’t matter. It was all gravy from here on out. And the gravy was spelled s-e-x.
You were surprised about the dinosaurs, am I right? Well, Poon Time is full of surprises.
So, I figured on giving Herb Howard over at Night Pyramid Books one last chance. I express-mailed him a copy of the manuscript which included several pages of explanatory notes. Then, I waited.
If the cover of my latest novel can’t get you going, then we better check your pulse.
Nothing.
Finally, in a rage, I called him up.
“Herb, god dammit, would you half-wits even know a great piece of literature if it hit you smack in the god damn kisser?”
He sighed. “Cust, we gotta’ give the public what they want. Poon Time is…well…it’s passe.”
“Passe? Herb, we’ve known each other a long time.”
“I know, Cust.”
He didn’t say anything. I called him a sonuvabitch and slammed down the phone.
So anyway, now I got a case of Poon Time’s that I published myself, just waiting for you. $19.99 for the paperback, $29.99 for the deluxe signed edition. Wanna’ correct a grievous injustice? Buy one.
You WILL NOT be disappointed.
The opinions of Cust Shirley are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
Upcoming Titles from Lankville Authors
Elliott Cumber-Lanny
Here at the Lankville Daily News, we’re proud to bring you some of the finest local writing you’ll find anywhere, with a full range of hard-hitting news, opinions, funny stories, musings, and even more opinions. In fact, our authors are so prolific that even the cornucopia that is the Lankville Daily News can no longer contain them: our cup runneth over! Herewith, a roll-call of worthies, as many of the contributors to these pages will soon break into print with these upcoming titles. Look for them in a bookstore near you!
29 Lesser-Known Gourds (Shining Dome Press, $15.99), David Hadbawnik
I Want to Tell You About My New Boyfriend: The Coffee Table Book (Massage Ball Editions, $21.99), Ashley Pfeiffers
Hey, Can I Buy a Cigarette Off You: More Funny Stories from Dick Oakes, Jr. (Two-Fisted Tales Press, $5.99), Dick Oakes, Jr.
I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth While Writing This Book, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth While Writing My Next Book (Two-Fisted Tales Press, $5.99), Dick La Hoyt
Dr. Kevin Thurston, expert on Men’s Feelings, consults with an area female.
Make Your Me-Burger (for less than $10.99 a month) (Real Feelings Books, $35), Dr. Kevin Thurston
The 2,978 Lankvillians You Meet in Heaven (Fluffing Pillows Press, $11.99), Ida Rumpus
From “Appleheads” to “Zuftmerschnausen”: A Lankville Lexicon (Lankville State Press, $19.99), Dr. Glen Ogilvie
Girl Spills Milk (Memoir of a Lankville Female) (Massage Ball Editions, $14.99), Sarah Samways
Sandwiches I Have Loved (Shining Dome Press, $31.99), Brian Schropp
Musings, Cuts, and Other Viscera (Decorative Hams Products, $19.99), Chris Vitiello
Woman in a Man’s Game: Interviews with Robin Brox (Massage Ball Editions, $14.99), Robin Brox with Ida Rumpus
Scratch-Hiss-Purr: A Meow-moir (Lankville State Press, $19.99), Grumbles the Cat
This Chamber’s Loaded (My Academic Journey) (Real Feelings Books, $35), Dr. Matt Chambers
You Can Take the “Age” out of “Village” But I’m Still the Guy in Charge of Lankville (Fluffing Pillows Press, $5.99), President Pondicherry
Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
Dick Oakes, Jr.
I was waiting for a bus when I saw her. Across from Grant’s they had a closed car dealership and she pulled in there. I leaned back a little against the front window. Grant had a bunch of old cakes in there that had melted and some patriotic bunting that was creased and tattered to hell. I couldn’t figure on any of it.
It was hot and the little bit of breeze did nothing but blow dust everywhere in this fuck-all town. I looked up at the little faded bus sign and wondered if the damn thing was ever going to come.
I looked back at the girl. She had put on an enormous straw hat that hid her face but was really selling a black strapless number and she had great legs. You’re a bum Oakes, a bum with fucking sores on your legs and nine dollars in your wallet. I thought about the night before, in the motel room. Couple of foreigners screaming at each other upstairs and me in the bathroom with a razor to my neck. Easy now. Easy. I had backed away, gone upstairs and told the assholes to can it. They did.
And now here I was, in the daylight watching a pretty girl with amazing legs cross a baked desert road at high noon.
She stopped under the overhang and looked at the cakes. I turned around and as I did, one of the cakes collapsed into the bunting.
“What a queer event,” she commented.
“Something you don’t see everyday, a cake collapsing into some bunting.” Oakes, you stupid shit. You got nothing else to say to this woman?
“How is the food here?”
I got a look at her face then. It was an exotic face, only pushing thirty but there was pain on it. The eyes were large and distant.
“It says good food on the banner.” Oakes, for fuck’s sake, you’re one king hill asshole.
“Do you suppose they mean it?” she asked. She eyed the cake again– it was melting quickly into the bunting. Nobody gave a damn.
“I figure they might. Why don’t we see about that?”
“What is your name?”
I thought about that. Dick Oakes– not a strong name someone had once told me.
“It’s Buck…” I was floundering. “Buck Tubbs.” You Christ-all stupid shit. You shoulda’ done it last night, Oakes. You shoulda’ done it.
“Buck…Tubbs?” she said. She removed a cigarette from a little pink case and lit it. The smell was agonizing– it had been days.
“What sort of last name is Tubbs?” she said. A little wry smile appeared at the corners. She offered me a cigarette and I could have married her right there.
“Skip it. Let’s go inside.” I thought about the nine dollars in my wallet, the bus ticket that was only good for the next ride, whenever the hell that came. I thought about how the bus would slow down and there wouldn’t be anybody and it would pick up speed and bust off in a fury of dust and smoke. It didn’t matter none though. Here was a girl that didn’t come along everyday.
We got a booth in the back by the air conditioner. The waitress was wearing a white uniform with a giant stickpin shaped like a basketball. I couldn’t figure on it. We ordered and she went off somewhere.
“You married?” I had noticed the ring on her finger.
“No. Well, yes.” She took out another cigarette. “My husband was killed in a challenge six months ago. I can’t get the ring off.” She looked down at it. “I think my hands have grown fatter.”
“Everything else looks just right.” Steady boy, steady.
She tossed me a little smile. A garden salad was brought.
“He was kind of a turd. He threw trash everywhere. Toilet, kitchen sink, behind the radiators. I don’t miss it.”
“Sounds like a Class-A asshole.” I took a cigarette from the case and sat back in the booth. I glanced down and got a good look at my slacks– they were bright orange and stained to hell. You got no business sitting here, Oakes. No business.
“He was terrible in bed,” she said suddenly. She stared out the side window at a parking lot alongside a hardware store. Some guys pulled up and quickly unloaded a piano against the store. Then they peeled out of there. YOU MOTHERFUCKERS, the hardware store owner screamed, running after them. I couldn’t figure on any of it.
“He was interested in everything in the world but me.” She crushed out the cigarette. “A little crack in the ceiling could occupy him for hours. I’d just be lying there waiting and he’d be worried over that little crack. It grew tedious.”
“A slob and fastidious at the same time, huh? What do you call that, a conundrum?”
“Yes, yes, a conundrum!” The steaks were brought.
We ate. I thought about asking her to marry me. You gotta get some high-end pants first, buddy.
I excused myself and went to the counter. The waitress was back there fooling around with some ketchup containers that were shaped like tomatoes.
“Where’s a men’s store?”
“What, you mean, like a place that sells them magazines?”
“No, no, a clothing shop. For men.”
She thought about it. It wasn’t coming easy.
“Maybe two, maybe three towns over.”
“Alright.” I went back to the table.
I didn’t have no money anyway. I looked at her gnawing the tough steak. Made me start thinking about a job.
Ask Catrin
Ms. Catrin answers all of your questions.
Catrin Lloyd-Bollard is an expert in answering questions.
Dear Ms. Catrin,
I’ve been married to my husband for three years and we laugh a lot, have gentle, cordial sex (at my request) and we just bought an ox together. The only thing he wants to add to our marriage is an occasional threesome. I’ve replied that this would not work for me.
Last week, the two of us went to a convention where they showed us some different windows open at various angles. In past years, it was always fun but this time he kept asking all the women if they were interested in a threesome. I got really upset and I’m finding that one week later, I’m still upset.
What should I do?
Annoyed in the Great Lankville Basin
Dear Annoyed,
As you know from your three years of love and laughter with your husband, the partnership between two people is a beautiful, magical, incomparable delight. Now: imagine that delight times three.
Enough said?
Ms. Catrin
***
Dear Ms. Catrin,
I’m getting married in three weeks. My fiancé goes for the natural look and has said many times that he doesn’t go in for anything phony or artificial.
Little does he know that I have had my nose fixed, my teeth capped and my behind has been replaced completely.
I have come close to telling him but I always chicken out.
Should I tell him the truth now or wait until after the wedding?
FRETTING BRIDE
Small Ponds Area
Dear Fretting,
Who You Are is just a story you tell yourself. The past doesn’t exist any longer. You are who you are now — if that’s who you want to be. Forget about where you may or may not have come from, or what you may or not be synthetically comprised of. That is not a story you need to keep telling yourself — or your fiancé, or anyone else, for that matter. You have already taken the revolutionary, self-affirming steps to reinvent yourself as the You you want to be. Now revolutionize your mind, Fretting. Start telling your story the way You want it to be heard. Embrace the new You and start being the You of your dreams: unapologetically, confidently, aggressively, naturally, You.
To You,
Ms. Catrin
***
Dear Ms. Catrin,
I have taught many people how to make delicious popcorn and I derive as much pleasure out of teaching them as they do of learning.
I do not have a question.
Phil, Desert Area
Dear Phil,
Popcorn sticks in my teeth and makes my gums bleed. It is also only good with butter, but I am lactose intolerant.
Ms. Catrin
***
Dear Ms. Catrin,
How do you feel about nudist colonies?
CURIOUS IN CENTRAL LANKVILLE
Dear Curious,
It depends on the nudist colony. The Paddling Bares Canoe Club is a great time for the whole family: down to earth and activity-focused, a great way to get away, get some sun, and stay in shape. The Buns ‘n Fun community in South Dump Lankville is less kid-friendly, but a highly enjoyable stay for mature nudist couples and nudist singles looking for other mature nudist couples and nudist singles. The Sno-Birds resort in the Mountain Region is too groomed for my taste, with inordinate standards of personal hygiene enforced by intolerably cold and clipped regulars. I had a great time one autumn at the Nip of the Neck in Good Neck, Lankville.
Personally, my favorite nudist colony is You Paint On Me I’ll Paint On You, located in the Lankville Outlands. I lived there for several of my most formative years. I have never experienced an environment so rich in art, freedom, and artistic freedom.
Thanks for asking,
Ms. Catrin
***
Dear Ms. Catrin,
My husband is 51 and I am 49. We have been married for 20 years. Aside from the usual marital squabbles, we have had no major problems.
Yesterday, he came home from a business trip and flatly announced, “I’M IMPOTENT!”
Naturally, my first question was, “how do you know?”
He turned red, never said a word and walked into the other room. We have not spoken since.
Did I do something wrong?
PUZZLED IN PENINSULA
Dear Puzzled,
I’m pretty sure you misheard your husband. He probably actually said, “I’M IMPORTANT!” And then felt hurt when you questioned him.
Ms. Catrin
***
Dear Ms. Catrin,
Would you please explain in detail how salted and unsalted butter differ? I’m being held at gunpoint until you answer.
Desperately waiting in East Lankville Sound
Dear Desperately Waiting,
You wrote me back in March and it is now July. Are you dead now, or should I still answer your question?
Let me know!
Ms. Catrin
I Want to Tell You SO Much About How My New Boyfriend and I Went to the Beach!
By Ashley Pfeiffers
I want to tell you SO much about how my new boyfriend and I went to the beach! I JUST ABOUT DIED– it was the best time EVER!
So, my new boyfriend borrowed his Mom’s station wagon and we drove down to the Lankville Standard Sand Beach on the Eastern Coast. It was a three-hour drive but my new boyfriend wasn’t really worried about it. “Ash, I’d drive to the end of the world with you.” OH MY GOD, I was so nervous and shaky! We had brought a tub of fries for the trip and I accidentally dropped them out the open passenger window.
My new boyfriend took it OK but he was a little disappointed. “Shoot, I really wanted to crush some of those fries,” he said.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I responded. He stopped the car right away in the gravel lot of a country peach stand and we made out for awhile. I think the peach guy, an old farmer in overalls, was a little confused. Finally, he came over and asked if we were terrorists.
“We’re just SO in love,” I told him. He looked back at the peach cart and then he spit in the gravel. “Alright, I can unnerstand that,” he said. And he gave us some peaches for free! He was SO NICE!
An hour later we arrived at our motel– the Thunderbird Inn. It had a pool and EVERYTHING! We got room number 11. My new boyfriend said, “That’s because we’re two people sharing one heart, Ash.” I was SO HAPPY that I got kind of confused and ended up walking into the wrong room. There were a bunch of guys in there watching some girls wrestle. It smelled terrible- like cigarette smoke! But I was just on CLOUD NINE anyway!
Then, we went out to the beach. I had on a new pink bikini that I got at the mall and my new boyfriend had some really super long swim trunks that went down well below his knee. HE LOOKED SO CUTE! It was dusk and we saw a really beautiful sunset. My new boyfriend put a big giant beach towel that had a sports car on it over us and we made out until the waves crashed over us. Also, a bunch of seashells.
Then, we got some pizza.
It was the greatest night EVER.
Dr. Kevin Thurston Speaks on Radio
By Buck Igloos
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Dr. Kevin Thurston, expert on Men’s Feelings and Lankville Daily News columnist, made his radio debut yesterday on shortwave band 49m (5900 kHz), station WYYY out of Eastern Lankville. Noted announcer Pat Kewley was the host.
Dr. Thurston was interviewed for over fifteen minutes and offered diverse opinions on Men’s Feelings and also several new exciting items for sale.
“I was generally pleased with the interview,” noted Thurston, whose “Feelings Now” movement has been enormously popular. “You have to get the word out to the Men’s. You can’t just expect the Men’s to come to you. I’m all about utilizing technology to reach the Men’s and sell products, so this was exciting.”
Dr. Thurston with men at one of his recent “Feelings Seminars”.
Kewley, an acclaimed interviewer, said that the show got off to a slow start but he was generally pleased with the final outcome.
“Before we went on the air, Dr. Thurston was really pushing me to buy this twenty-and-a-half foot cubic trailer that was attached to the back of his car,” Kewley averred. “He kept going on about the extra-large flotation tires that would cover the roughest terrain, the tilting bed that made dumping loads easy, the durable heavy-duty steel frame. I mean, I admit, I was kind of interested but it was getting really close to our airtime and I needed to move things along.”
“Afterwards though, I was kind of kicking myself for not picking it up,” Kewley added.
Station executives at WYYY said that the response to Dr. Thurston’s interview was overwhelming.
“The switchboard was lit up,” said show producer Gene Hazewood. “Men were eager to know more. I wanted to know more. It was good to connect with some of these men’s.”
The full broadcast can be heard here.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Phantom Car Balloon
By Ric Royer
I was driving down one of those busy routes when I saw a car dealership. The cars all had balloons tied to them. “MOTHERFUCKER”, I said aloud. I swerved suddenly across two lanes of traffic, drove up on the median and sped into the lot. They all came out from the air conditioning.
“What are you doing?” one of them said. He had on a short tie and brown pants. The rest sauntered back inside.
“I saw the balloons. Might want to buy one of these cars.”
He calmed down a bit. “What are you in the market for?”
“Anything with a balloon tied to it. Anything at all but maybe something with a lot of leg room. Where a person could get down in the well and hide there.”
He showed me around. The heat was terrible. But the balloons held up. They were strong and noble in the stale, windless air.
“What about this one?” He opened the door to a late model sedan. The steering wheel was brown. I looked over the hood and saw the balloon there.
I decided to play it tough. “Can I keep the balloon on it? I’ll only take it if I can keep the balloon on it. What are you going to say to that?” I paused. “Asshole,” I added.
“Sure, you can keep the balloon on it.” He smiled. I called him an asshole again just for effect.
An hour later, I drove the car off the lot. And as soon as I did, the balloon disappeared– it was a phantom. I turned in my seat and saw that the entire dealership was gone. “How can such things be?” I asked aloud. “I’ll drive for an extended period of time and see if it returns.”
It never did.
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