Archive
Oral Histories of Some Former Lankville Pugilists
By Lerd “Candyman” Wassler (1945-1959, 82W, 75L, 29KO)
I was born in a log cabin. My Dad was some kind of a laborer– he was the guy that would stand in a hole and they would pile dirt on him. I never did find out what kind of profession that was– never did hear about it being an actual profession again, never knew anybody else who had that profession and believe me, I asked around. Mom stayed at home with the kids and made candy for a shop the next town over. That’s how come I got the nickname “The Candyman” even though I didn’t actually like candy, was sick to death of the stuff and later on, after I made some money, I specifically sought out a town to live in that was bereft of candy shops which, let me tell you, isn’t easy to do.
So, one time Dad came home just covered in dirt as usual and told me that there was going to be a boxing match between two hillbillies. “Bare-fisted too,” he said, through the dirt. He took me and some of my brothers down to see it and there was these two shirtless guys in overalls and one of them had a two-by-four and the other had a snake and he had some bells around his neck– I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to be about. And they had this loudmouth prancing around outside the ring with one of those telemegaphones that he had taken off some old phonograph player. Well, turns out it was wrestling. And, I’ll tell you what, Dad never did know the difference between the two sports. He always proudly told people that his son was a big-time wrestler after I made it big. One time I brought him a boxing magazine with my picture on the cover and the title of the magazine was “BOXING” in big bright orange letters and he teared up (he was covered in dirt even then) and said he couldn’t believe that his son was on the cover of a wrestling magazine. I never did try after that.
Anyways, turns out the syndicate behind that hillbilly wrestling match also organized boxing and I went and tried out for it. They put me in the ring against a guy who was wearing a paper hat– I never did understand it– but I knocked him out anyway and then they brought in this ex-con from the next town over and I knocked him out too and so then that was the beginning of my career after that.
My first match was at the old Lankville Round Garden against Floyd Dean, who ended up getting his head chopped off a few years later, you may remember. Anyways, Floyd was a guy who’d throw a hell of a lot of punches, not land any of ’em and then he’d tend to fall over backwards. And that’s exactly how we played it out and sure enough, Dean fell over backwards in the 4th. His manager was hot– kept saying that he’d chop Dean’s head off himself and all this other stuff about chopping heads off and so I guess it ain’t no surprise what happened to poor Floyd in the end.
Wassler vs. Porps, 1945.
After that, I won a lot of $500 (Lankville) fights where you’d get paid $250 to show and $500 to win. I ran up a pretty good record along that circuit which was mostly out in the prairies or in the desert. Then, I went back to the Garden and fought for the Tawny Gloves Competition and I beat Ray “The Scotch” Woolson and then they gave me a big trophy and at the very top of the trophy was these two boxers squaring off and they was in gold and you couldn’t miss it. So I went back up to see Mom and Dad and I went into the living room and there was Dad, covered in dirt and with all these rolled-up posters on the couch next to him. Must’ve been a hundred of ’em. I never did find out what that was supposed to be about and, believe me, I asked around. Anyways, I go up to Dad and I say to him, “Dad, look at this boxing trophy I won”. And he took it in his dirty hands and he looked at the bright, shimmering cloth along the sides and he cried and said that I was a good wrestler and so that was the last time I even worried with trying to explain that whole business.
The matches everybody remembers me for best are my fights with Glenn L. Porps in 1948. And I think that’s because Glenn L. and I just pounded one another for 12 rounds and finally they said, “OK, that’s enough. We’ll settle this later” and everybody just walked away. Glenn L. and I couldn’t figure on any of it– they just emptied the arena real fast and left us there. It was the damndest thing and I never did get no adequate explanation for it. And then they said, “You boys come back and we’ll try this again”. So they had a rematch and Glenn L. and I both said at the weigh-in, “Now there’s gonna’ be a winner tonight, right?” and they said they wouldn’t guarantee nothing and a couple promoters got real hot at us and I saw one guy put our checks in a safe.
This time, we both took it easy. There was a round, the 4th I think, where we didn’t throw a single punch, neither one of us. The crowd started booing, started throwing things like popcorn boxes and chairs and wet towels. But we kept on about it. But anyways, they did announce a winner for this one and it turned out to me but it just as easily could have been Glenn, nobody had no idea. I don’t think Glenn ever did recover from any of it. Last time I saw him, he was sitting in the woods eating fried chicken by himself. He wasn’t even using no napkin– his face and his chin was just glistening from chicken grease. It was a sad sight.
After that I lost as many as I won and I just called it quits in ’59 after I found myself boxing at the opening of a grocery store. I thought, “this is sad here, Lerd, you’re better than this” and then I did end up buying some groceries but still I didn’t have no passion for it no more.
Spent twenty years in the highway business. I’d go stand on the highway, wait for somethin’ to happen. It was alright. I’m retired now and I keep a good house. Never did marry. I always did say that why would you buy the cow when…”
(Wassler suddenly became very confused and was unable to finish his aphorism).
Belvedere Mauled by Bear
By Grady Kitchens
Senior Staff Writer
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS, YES!
Lankville Daily News columnist Brock Belvedere, Jr. was badly mauled by a bear Wednesday evening in the cafeteria at the Lankville Memorial Discount Zoo in the Western Valley Area. Belvedere is currently in critical condition.
Zoo officials stated that the bear entered the cafeteria via an access doorway that was accidentally left ajar. He immediately attacked the 52-year old journalist.
“Bundles”, 2005-2014
“He [Mr. Belvedere] was eating alone and “Bundles” had somehow climbed out of our historical bear pit, went up a stairway into the cafeteria unnoticed and just got all up in Mr. Belvedere’s cranny,” noted zoo official Rance Keepers. “Fortunately, pretty much all of our patrons were carrying guns and they shot Bundles dead.”
The Lankville Bureau of Probes has already opened an investigation.
“Obviously, we’ve had a number of problems with the Lankville Memorial Discount Zoo,” noted lead prober Detective Gee-Temple. “You have the President [Dr. Pondicherry] being eaten by a lion, you have the incident a few years back with Ric Royer getting his arm stuck in a trash receptacle shaped like a lion’s head, you have that terrible zoo peeper that used to hang from trees. Clearly, an investigation is warranted.”
Belvedere is being treated at Vitiello Decorative Hams hospital.
“We may have to do some surgery,” said Dr. Alvin Parrish, who was interviewed by telephone. “His head is basically off. I mean, it’s still on but really it’s about off. I think bears like to eat heads the best and that’s what we’re seeing here today, Grady.”
Belvedere has been a senior staff writer for the News since 1979.
Timely Salad Tips by Brenda Buford
The salad is a very important part of the meal. This fact is appreciated by more women each year. Furthermore, most of our husbands who used to scorn “rabbit food” now realize that the modern salad can be hearty, robust, and full of vitamins. The salad has come into its own.
A grave error made by most hostesses is the repeated serving of the same simple salad. Sliced tomatoes on crisp lettuce leaves makes a good salad but this dish should not appear with the same regularity as say, potatoes, lap cakes or breads. Salads should be varied as new fruits and vegetables come in season.
I noticed early on in my marriage to Glenn, for example, that he tended to be disappointed with the appearance of the simple salad more than once upon a week. Although he never said anything, later I would see him in the yard destroying a wicker clothes hamper (he is a wicker clothes hamper salesman). I learned then the importance of variety.
Right now, we have the Minger Pear and the Tokay Grape in season– both delicious salad fruits that should be used immediately if ripe. The Minger Pear is an extremely juicy fruit that adds zest and flavor to any salad– be careful though! The Minger Pear is known to elicit an explosion of hot, wet, juices upon its piercing. Have a towel at the ready to stop the sizzling, gushing, potent juices. The Tokay is a red grape from the outer Lankville regions– it is known for its dynamic, well-formed berries. I have heard it said that the berries are so hale that they often hang low in the orchards. Straggly bunches with damaged berries are obviously inferior.
With the right kind of stout, potent fruits now in hand, try the following recipe on your family or guests.
Floating Coronado Salad
2 tablespoons gelatin
1 can of lard
2 cups boiling water
1/2 cup sugar
2 lemons
1/2 cup Minger Pear, sliced
4 pairs of rugged, juicy, heavy berries
Mayonnaise
Figs
Now, let’s begin by soaking the gelatin in cold water and then suddenly adding the boiling hot water. This will help to agitate the compounds and also what makes this a “floating” salad. Now, bring the lard and the sugar over to the counter’s edge. Hold your bowl of water one foot beneath the counter and push the entire container of lard into the bowl. Obviously, the water will splash out, maybe get all over your apron and maybe even run down your leg but don’t worry– part of making a salad is not being afraid to get a little dirty! Now, remove the entire container of lard from the bowl and push out two paddles worth (if a paddle is not available, try improvising– I’ve used broken pieces of the destroyed wicker clothes hampers from my backyard!) Now, grab hold of those lovely juice-laden berries and let them fall from your hand slowly into the bowl. Follow this by cutting up the lemons. Now serve on lettuce and mayonnaise.
You will never regret the slight effort necessary to prepare these unusual and seasonable salads.
Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.: Big Trouble at Johnny Plechino’s
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Johnny Plechino himself came out and told me to put the “Pizza Pie” sign back up. It had fallen to the curb and killed a homeless.
“Where do you want it?”
Johnny Plechino rubbed his chin. He was a fat, slovenly man who perpetually wore tomato sauce-stained T-shirts, after a fashion. As if that weren’t bad enough, I personally hated Islanders.
“Fix it up to hang from the second floor,” he finally said. “You can go up the back staircase.”
Johnny Plechino’s
I had to go through Johnny Plechino’s filthy bachelor apartment. There were stag magazines and films everywhere. I could hear the complete madness of next door issuing through the paper-thin walls– it was Big Ed’s Barbeque– nobody had any idea what went on in there. All I heard was a moaning in crescendo and the sound of things being suddenly deflated. I decided to mind my own business.
I threw up the sash of Johnny Plechino’s bedroom window. It was a degenerate street that Johnny Plechino had decided to open a carry-out on– there was scum everywhere. Some guy had a basket on his head and was urinating against a lamppost. That was the kind of thing you had to put up with around Johnny Plechinos.
I fixed up the old brass holder and replaced the sign. It blew listlessly in the wind. Then, I heard a door open. It was a gorgeous piece of eye candy, fresh out of the shower.
“I’m clean,” she said.
We humped.
Come to find out, it was Johnny Plechino’s girl. Turns out, he had a pile of money and he kept her there, in that trash-strewn apartment. And he knew about me and her right away.
That’s when I figured there would be big trouble at Johnny Plechino’s (titular line).
That Piece of Shit Ain’t Selling Me a God Damn Couch
By Fingers Rolly Man on the Street
I’ll tell you that right now.
I went into town the other day because I was sick as all hell of screaming at that mother of a whore desert. And also because I needed a new couch.
“You got something in a Western motif?” I asked the piece of shit who was wearing a fancy pants tie and sweater combination. “But gimme’ something without no desert scene on it. I can’t stand for no desert scene.” I thought about howling but kept it to myself.
“We don’t have anything in a Western motif,” the piss stick shot back. “It’s not fashionable right now.”
Typical western couch (for illustrative purposes).
I looked at the piece of shit for a minute and then spat on the floor.
“I oughta’ stick my boot up your fucking ass for talking to me like that,” I said. His eyes bulged real big then and I knew that he knew that I wasn’t gonna’ buy no god damn couch from his god damn popsicle stand.
I picked up a submarine after that and took it home and ate part of it while looking out at that old bitch-dog of a desert.
I don’t recall anything after that.
The Lankville Daily News would like to apologize for the preceding article. Mr. Rolly was assigned an article on the rise of Challenges in Lankville.
Feelings by Dr. Kevin Thurston
Dr. Kevin Thurston
Dr. Thurston is an expert on men’s feelings.
Recently, I led a group of eight clients on a masculine journey of rediscovery, exploration and fear. The journey was originally planned for the Great Lankville Pyramid Area but, regrettably, funds were rather low so we ended up renting a motel– utilizing the weedy area out back as a sort of conference room.
During our first session, I asked all the men to hold hands. “Breathe in the healthful air, all the way down to your belly and beyond,” I commanded. The men did as told. “Now breathe all of that air out– expel all that intangible waste.” Again, the men complied. This time, I went around and offered some items from a tray that I had stolen from a cafeteria– travel coffee mug, $5.99, gapless 5″ binder, $19.99, chess set that could also be turned into a table, $12.99, all good deals.
“Let’s move on to our varied spiritual loads.” I turned to Wayne, a fairly new client with a pleasant, round face and a strange habit of removing his shirt at odd intervals.
“I mean nothing obscene by this Dr. Thurston but my spiritual load is located in my nuts.”
There was a tittering among the men but I raised my hand. “Let Wayne finish,” I commented.
“Yes, it’s in my nuts. I think all my negative energy has migrated to my nuts. And so they hang there, needing release. I’m not sure how to do that.”
“Clearly, your aura is not centered,” I said. “Your energy field is beginning and ending with your nuts. You are not grounded to earth. I have seen this before.”
I made a prong with my hand and began massaging the aura around Wayne’s nuts. “I want you to imagine an energy fountain moving up out of your nuts and through the midline of your body. As you breathe, allow the fountain of energy to shower back to earth.” As he did this, I offered him an opened box of glue sticks— $9.99, great deal.
“How do you feel now, Wayne?”
“I feel a little better, Dr. Thurston.”
“Did you want the glue sticks? The box is opened but it’s never been touched.”
“OK.”
Everybody made out pretty well on the deal.
Vitiello Introduces Decorative Slow-Roasted Pig
By Lance Pepsid, Special Fashion Correspondent
Vitiello Decorative Hams, Inc. announced today that they will begin selling decorative slow-roasted pigs in time for Summer, 2014.
“We have accomplished everything we hoped to accomplish with the Decorative Ham and it is now time to move on to the decorative slow-roasted pig,” noted founder and CEO Chris Vitiello, who gave a short press conference clad in flowing white robes with two braided whips wound around each shoulder. “You may transmit this information to your whorish readers in whatever manner you see fit.”
Vitiello Decorative Slow-Roasted Pig (prototype)
Later, Vitiello sat down with Lankville Daily News fashion correspondent Lance Pepsid.
CV: It is one of the great wonders of our day, Mr. Pepsid, that you continue to be dispatched to cover stories for which you are shamelessly ill-suited.
LP: Tell us about the decorative slow-roasted pigs– will they be available for the BBQ season?
CV: When is the BBQ season exactly, Mr. Pepsid. Can you mark that on any earthly calendar?
LP: Well, how they can be utilized in the backyard…
CV: Let’s make something clear, Mr. Pepsid. Use of a Vitiello Decorative Slow-Roasted Pig in an outdoor setting requires further permits that be very difficult to acquire. A Vitiello Decorative Slow-Roasted Pig is ideally suited for the living room. That is the room for which it was designed.
LP: It seems like it would be nice for outdoors…
CV: Are you questioning the intent of the designer, Mr. Pepsid?
LP: Let’s move on. How much do they cost?
CV: Cost should never be a consideration when purchasing an item from Vitiello Decorative Hams. People with such concerns should frequent those shuddersome dollar stores that continue to be a blight on our landscape and which profess to sell oriental rugs for $20 (Lankville).
LP: I’m sure people would like an estimate.
CV: Move your chair towards the wall Mr. Pepsid.
Pepsid was whipped mercilessly.
Flying Saucers Today! ABDUCTION, 2014
By Graahaam Fosdick
Five minutes ago, I said goodnight to Terry, the office girl (and occasional lover), who all day 
has been busy answering angry, threatening letters from folks who have ordered the Graahaam Fosdick Book, “FROM OUTER SPACE TO YOUR YARD”, and are wondering when they will receive it. They won’t receive it, of course, since we’ve been advertising a book that I have no intention of ever writing but by that time I will have switched offices. Anyway, my point really is that today Terry received a rather unusual letter. It was from a man who called himself “AN AGGRIEVED SAUCERER” and bore a postmark from the Southern Lankville Plains.
“Dear Mr. Fosdicks [sic],” the letter began. “They’ve found the two women. They were in a deep creek just the other side of the Vitiello Decorative Ham factory. The police are saying that the women were driving their late model Tippett and that it skidded off the road and into the river. However, it was not a Tippett that the women were driving, Mr. Fosdicks. It was a saucer.”
I dropped the letter. Terry bent to pick it up and her round behind bumped into my groin and some funny business ensued. But after that, we examined the letter again.
“These women are not the only ones,” I commented, as I retrieved my pants which had somehow ended up on top of the window dressing. “After all, there HAD been the case of Olive Kernels, who I spent a great deal of time tracking down. Ms. Kernels, in December of 1889, went out to the well for a bucket of water and never returned. It was clearly a case of a saucer abduction.”
Terry made some notes.
“I think we should go over to the river,” I decided. “I am concerned about the Case of the Two Women.” I asked Terry to take note of that title.
We made it over in record time. I was disappointed to see that the wreckage had been cleared away.
A guard was standing along the banks languidly. He tried to stop us.
“I’m Graahaam Fosdick,” I stated forcefully. “Editor of Flying Saucers Today!. Where are the bodies?”
“Down at the morgue,” he said. “But you can’t…”
I knocked him flat on his ass. This was too important a case. I’d pay for it later, I knew– I had some friends on the Police Auxiliary, after all.
I told Terry to drive and made some notes on some scrap paper. I pretended to be so engrossed by my work that I failed to notice a pen falling out of my shirt and landing in my lap. Terry, ever efficient, went to remove it. Some funny business started again then and we ended up getting a hotel for the rest of the night.
But the next morning, I showed up at the morgue. O’Talbot was there and he let me see the bodies.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking Fosdicks [sic],” he said. “Look at the damage to their skulls for Chrissakes. Look at the hunks of broken windshield sticking out of their foreheads. Look at the mark left by the steering wheel on the driver. This wasn’t any kind of abduction– it’s plain to any idiot that it was a run-of-the-mill, everyday car accident.”
“What’s Pondicherry saying?” I asked. I stared him down.
“Pondicherry? What the hell does he care?”
“Exactly.” He started to speak but then he thought better of it and shut the hell up.
Terry was waiting for me in the parking lot. “I called his bluff,” I told her. “They’ve not been successful in silencing all witnesses and sources of information. So much of this is of a startling nature. But I’m ready to call it. It’s an abduction. First one of 2014.”
Terry nodded. Man, I was ready to get all over that again.
It’d have to wait.
The world had to know first.
August Memories of Youth by “Inner Hammer”
One of the few known photographs of “Inner Hammer”.
Ric Royer’s latest “Experience” is a chunk of horseshit. He never spent any time in such environs, never had mountain beacons, never witnessed an apocalypse. But he did remind me of one thing– the Cucumbrix 2000.
Ah, I recall coming home from school and heading straight into my parent’s darkened living room, adorned in thick oranges and browns. We had a gigantic wood-enclosed television and the Cucumbrix rested in a drawer that emerged from beneath. I would slap in one of the many great cartridges– there was Turtles!, yes but I always preferred Hunting in the Wooded Area (which came with a light-sensing rifle) or Racing Hardtops or the robust swords and sorcery game Castle Hesitation.
I would play for hours. Eventually, someone would come home– I could hear footsteps in the hallway– but they would always pass by the living room and head towards the bedrooms in the back and the next thing I knew, I’d hear heavy suction noises followed by the loud beeping of an empty IV. And I’d just turn up the video orchestra that was the sound of the Cucumbrix 2000.
A white and a brown person play the Cucumbrix 2000. The creator of the system shot himself in the face.
I was never fed as a child. But it didn’t matter because the Cucumbrix was my sustenance. I had nearly all of the company’s offerings and I cannot describe the sincere heartache I felt when I went by myself to the store to find the display case gone.
“The owner shot himself in the face,” the teenage clerk told me, point-blank. I believe that may have been my first brush with mortality. “You were the only one that ever bought these things,” he added.
I stood beneath his raised platform, near to tears.
“Asshole,” he said quietly, without heat.
Two days later some men in blue jackets came to take my Cucumbrix. It was law, they said, all systems had to be removed and they were going house to house to insure that their job was done thoroughly.
I sat on the thick orange carpet, staring at the empty drawer for days.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Mountain Beacons
By Ric Royer
Ric Royer has elected to add the nickname “Tabs” to this story. The meaning is unclear
For several months, I lived alone on the summit of a desolate, treacherous mountain chain in the deepest wilds of Roi Hardy. It was a three-day hike and climb from civilization and my only contact with the outside world was via a series of log beacons set up on various far away summits and set ablaze to impart emergency information. It was unlikely that I would ever need these beacons but I was careful to organize such a system anyway and I paid a small aggregation of Roi Hardy hill people to monitor the news with the instructions that the beacons be lit only under the more urgent of circumstances.
I sat alone in my cabin for these many months, going out only in the morning to gaze off at the nearest summit in search of the fire. I cooked rabbits, built wooden boats on a table and wrote terrible sonnets to my lost checkers grandmaster, who had abandoned me after a week-long session of stringent motel coitus.
I became bored. The cabin had a second floor with two small bedrooms, one of which was locked– an overstuffed pink chair had been placed before it. I became curious about this locked room and went about the business of pushing the overstuffed pink chair out of the way and kicking in the door, an ordeal that took two full days.
The windows of the room were covered in heavy green drapes– very little light penetrated. It was empty, save for a large pile of dark items that had been placed in one corner and reached near to the ceiling. It was hard to discern the nature of this pile at first but once I pushed aside the drapes (an ordeal that took another full day), I was able to recognize the heap for what it was– a series of factory-boxed video game systems of vintage age.
It was the “Cucumbrix 2000”– I remembered it well. Introduced with much fanfare, it ended a terrible failure– the creator had shot himself in the face after losing millions. I removed a console– it was sleek and white, had two streamlined controllers and an ashtray built into its face. There was an enormous insensate instruction guide and a pile of pink forms that flaked away in my hands.
In another corner, I suddenly noticed an older model television set and I decided to hook up the Cucumbrix and give it a spin. It blinked and sputtered but then flashed on and I removed the complimentary cartridge from its plastic casing. It was called Turtles! and it too came with an instruction booklet with screen shots, tips from the creator and a series of patches for the Turtles! club.
I began then, as the sky faded into twilight, to play Turtles! with an interest that became an obsession and I failed to notice out the window that the beacon had been lit. I know now the exact time that the flames would have risen out of the mountains, signifying mankind’s terminus, the time of the end, 4:05 LST. I know now because later I would locate the diary of the nearest Roi Hardy hill person and the dead embers of his beacon, his last act. Ironic, then, that my being distracted by Turtles! saved my own existence.
For when I alighted upon Roi Hardy weeks later, I alighted upon the dead and the broken and a barren wasteland.
Yeah, I’ll Make a Little Presentation Oar for You
By Floyd Tingley
Yeah, sure– you need a little presentation oar? I’m your man. I’ve been making little presentation oars for 25 years. Started out making ’em out of discarded table legs. Man, I used to have a whole basement full of discarded table legs– don’t ask me how. Seriously, don’t ask me how because I WILL NOT answer you.
Anyways, you can pick from a couple different styles. When I’m done, I’ll even put a little plaque on there. It’ll say, for example, “TO MILT, FROM FLOYD”. That’s just an example– man, I’ll put anything you want on there as long as you’re not making a mockery of things. I don’t have patience for that.
People, say, what am I gonna’ do with this little presentation oar once I receive it? Well, they’re perfect for your den, office, yacht club or basements. Creates that nautical look. The freedom of the open sea. Now, they’re presentation only– we need to understand that right away. You can’t actually use this oar. You won’t get anywhere if you try to use this oar, I’m telling you that right now. I got a little warning sticker on the side letting people know that they’ll die if they try to take a craft out with just this oar. No doubt in my mind.
I gave one to my son last Easter. He’s a professor out at the University. He’s got a whole den full of books. I said– “why don’t you just throw away some of the books on that shelf and then you can put the oar there for display purposes?” I told him I’d help him throw them away. I don’t think he ever did do it though– I saw the oar on a small hill in his backyard last time I was there. Who knows what these kids think these days? Sure don’t seem to have a sense about creating that nautical look– that freedom of the open sea. You won’t get me in some classroom, I’ll tell you that. You can’t learn to make little presentation oars in a classroom, that’s for sure.
You can write me: Tingley Little Presentation Oars, 55 Knobs, South Lankville, 2-111. Serious inquiries only. I really don’t have time to mess around with someone who’s only half-hearted about little presentation oars. Besides, little presentation oars sell themselves. You don’t want on the list, fine, free up your spot in line.
They’re $195.
The opinions of Mr. Tingley are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News and its subsidiaries.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: It Was Orange…and Emitted Vapors!
By Ric Royer
When I first saw the Thing, it was throwing a car into a ravine. It stood as tall as a large building, its center completely amorphous. It emitted an eerie yellow vapor and it appeared to have the strength of something superhuman– indeed, when it was done with the car-hurling it moved to a nearby train trestle and crushed it easily with its fist.
This girl I was seeing and occasionally having boring intercourse with, let out a loud scream. LOOK AT THAT HORRIBLE THING! LOOK AT IT! I laughed and stared her down. There was an old clamshell bucket that someone had left to rust by a barn. “Go sit in that,” I told her. She did as I said.
The next thing was to figure out how to bring the orange beast down. A piece of paper blew against my shin. I picked it up– would it yield a clue to the mystery of the terrible monster? And I read: “it also has 2 fish crates with fish in them! Just add a delivery figure and you have a great delivery scene…” I tore it apart in frustration. And then the beast was upon me.
Artist’s rendering
Later, I would realize how lucky I was. If not for that senseless hole, I would certainly have perished. I climbed in and waited until the monster had satiated his mad, violent desires by destroying a series of nearby homes. Then he went away, I think. I don’t care really.
After that, I traveled into the Lankville back country– an area called “the Forest Quarter”. There were a series of fallen towns that had been destroyed during the Depths War; bereft stone walls and a series of windowless parish houses were all that remained. I stopped at a graveyard– the stones had mostly been lifted and replaced with little advertising placards. Still, I was able to locate several relatives. I didn’t know or remember any of them and yet, it was calming to stand there, reading my last name again and again.
I was suddenly hungry. Although nothing lived in this ancestral town, I managed to find a Pappy’s Chicken on the outskirts. I ordered a bucket. The guy behind the counter asked about the orange monster.
“You don’t wanna’ know about that fucking shit,” I said, allowing the chicken grease to run down my chin. “You’re better off right here. That thing is a nightmare.”
I ordered some fries.
“Just regular fries?” the guy asked.
“Yep. Fix ’em up in bacon fat, would you?”
“I can do that. We don’t have napkins, I’ll warn you now. But there’s a little pond out back.”
“Yeah, fine.”
The guy put on a little TV. Nothing came in from the cities.
I finished off the chicken and then went to the pond. Night came.
Pondicherry: “I’m a Levi-Straussian Totemist…and a Gay Bozo”
By Larry “God” Peters
Following several hours of television and restrained puzzles, hospitalized President Albert C. Pondicherry, Jr. entertained Lankville Daily News reporters with exploits of his intellectual adventures.
“Well, I’m a Levi-Straussian totemist, of course,” said Pondicherry, who also spent the morning snapping bras and creating complex messes in the nurse’s station. “In the Manido System, we have eagles, geese and the chthonian snakes. Sometimes birds are invoked in my special breed of sexual totemism. The woodpecker and the superb warbler become symbols of how my sex and my liquids of life relate to the plant kingdom.”
Blurry image of President Pondicherry
“I’m also a gay bozo,” the President added.
When pressed further about this comment, Pondicherry immediately alighted on the subject of brush piles. “Have you seen the new offerings from the Hadbawnik Company? They have ascended to the apogee of their business with these new piles– it is a splendid, towering achievement.”
After wolfing down a carafe of viscous coffee and a plate of steamed little pizzas, Pondicherry continued. “In the sexual totemist world, the sorcerer (who is Me) exhibits a tamed animal as proof of his power. The animal then lends its services to the sorcerer, by becoming a spy and finding out which of the upstarts has the most exuberant member. If a masculine totem becomes injured in this manner, for example, if a tent collapses, then the entire sexual group feels insulted and a dispute will likely ensue.”
Pondicherry then requested an additional plate of little pizzas but was denied by a surly nurse. “Ah, but I strapped her bra earlier,” he said, confidently. “She will not deny me later.”
The President refused to answer questions about his health, referring to such inquiries as “meatless bagatelles” and “streamless micturations”.
He is expected to be released sometime next week.
Pondicherry Hospitalized; Discusses Hobbies
By Gump Tibbs
Newly sworn-in President Albert Pondicherry, Jr. became violently ill last night and had to be hospitalized. The President was in good spirits this morning, however, and entertained reporters with an account of his favorite hobby.
President Pondicherry, Jr. has a peculiar hobby.
“Bra-snapping in my roomy pants,” Pondicherry answered unequivocally when asked. “I put on a pair of extremely roomy pants. I like to have a lot of room in the waist, groin and around the top of the thighs. Then I go out to a place where I know there will be a preponderance of elegant older women shopping for objets d’art. I feign interest in the same objet d’art. I try to horn in on the objet d’art, you know, to make them feel a little bit uncomfortable. As they turn away, I grab their bra from behind and snap it powerfully.”
“Oh my friends, it is a wonderful, wonderful, exquisite experience.”
The President ejaculated a booming, joyous laugh before reporters were escorted out of the room by a surly nurse.
The nature of Pondicherry’s illness is currently unknown.
Beast Appears
By Bernie Keebler
A beast appeared today, sources are confirming.
“I was lying in my bra and panties by the window when I first saw it,” noted witness Lisa Sisters-Pulldrawers. “I did not cover myself but merely let out a horrific scream. I had just time enough to paint a picture of the horrible creature.”
According to Sisters-Pulldrawers, the beast then took off towards the East.
Lisa Sisters-Pulldrawers had just enough time to executive this crude painting of the alleged beast.
Lankville conspiracy theorists and millenarians are already attributing the appearance of the beast to the election of Albert C. Pondicherry, Jr.
“If you look into the background of Pondicherries [sic], you’ll know about his secret late-night meetings, the various ritualistic scars that he bears upon his body, his interest in mysterious back rooms,” noted local lunatic Edvard Collins, from his darkened, book-lined study. “This beast appeared in Lankville to remind us of our terrible misfortune in having him elected. I only worry that now it’s too late.”
As of press time, the beast has not been located.
“We’re looking for it,” noted Detective Gee-Temple, who was standing in some tall grass. “It’s a process.”
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