Archive
Shopping with Royer
By Gump Tibbs
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
A special contingent of Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness wardens have been assigned to take incarcerated Lankville business magnate Ric Royer shopping and I’ve been invited along. Even though the trip is scheduled for 7AM, I cannot refuse– Royer’s excursions to the mall are legend. I must see for myself.
Langston’s Progress Crossing Mall
On the van ride over, I ask Royer about his new nickname– “One Who Uses it Daily”. He blinks confusedly and then lightly vomits. “I have no memory of that,” he finally notes. “I think that’s made up. Did you make that up? Or was it the guy that got carried off by the bubble?” Royer, of course, is referring to Brock Belvedere, Jr., still missing as of this morning. “No, no,” I assure him. “You stated it just a few days ago. Held a press conference and everything.” Royer takes an enormous bite of a cream-filled donut– the cream oozes down his neck. “It’s chicanery,” he says, spitting globs of half-masticated donut all over the seats. He eats four more donuts before finally sitting back in his seat and patting his non-existent belly. “Ooooh,” he moans, lightly. “I was hoping to make it to six donuts but clearly with age, my capacity has diminished,” he says. “Have you ever eaten a donut with your shirt off?” he suddenly asks. I shake my head– one of the guards seated behind Royer speaks up. “All the time,” he states quietly. “REALLY??” Royer asks. He seems unusually interested and the guard revels in the attention.
We finally arrive at the mall– LANGSTON’S PROGRESS CROSSING. I have no idea what the name signifies. Several of the anchor stores have agreed to open quite early for Royer so that he may have the entire showroom to himself. After buying casually at a few smaller stores (Royer purchases 11 new illuminated snow villages from an establishment called KEITH’S– he places a white glove on his hand and points disinterestedly at the desired objects), we finally enter the famous home goods store BARRELS AND CAGES. Royer puts on a new pair of white gloves and nods lightly at the perky young clerk who greets our strange aggregation with considerable aplomb.
“Show me some Easter towels,” he states, intentionally looking away from the clerks. He pushes over a glass media cabinet– the showroom is filled with the sound of shattering glass. The clerks all apologize and an island janitor is called for. Several jacquard dish towels are produced on pillows. Royer laughs. “Not to my liking,” he says, adding considerable noblesse oblige to the tone of his voice. “But I guess they will have to do.”
Royer kicks an ottoman and it goes sliding into a large display of wine glasses. Glass flies everywhere. Two island janitors are called for. “That ottoman was improperly placed,” he states, looking away. “Clearly you are hiring buffoons.” The manager nods in agreement. Royer puts on a new pair of white gloves. “Show me your duvet covers. Something in a marimekko pippurikera sage.” The clerk nervously straightens her tie. “We don’t have that here. It’s…it’s online only.” There is a long, excruciating pause. Then Royer lets out a horrendous scream. He orders one of his guards to slice open a nearby ottoman with his pocket knife. The guard obliges.
Royer suddenly runs out of the store and comes to rest against a pillar in the concourse. Several guards follow, I stay behind with a third who settles the enormous bill. “As soon as they get those new snow villages open, he’ll be alright,” the guard assures me. “It’s a shame about them not having that duvet.” “Why not order it online?” I ask. “No, he doesn’t order anything online. He has theories.”
I carry one of the shopping bags– it is full of the broken wine glasses. I don’t ask why. The guards corral the limp, exhausted body of Royer and carry him to the van. “He’ll sleep for 15-16 hours now,” one says mysteriously. On the ride back to the home though, Royer surprises everyone by suddenly waking. He looks wordlessly at all of us, then very slowly reaches to the seat and eats several donuts in quick succession before collapsing again.
It has been quite a morning.
Win a Free Remote-Controlled Robot Contest!
It’s time again for The Lankville Daily News’ robot contest!
All you have to do to win this fabulous remote-controlled robot without guns (worth $77,000) is complete the official entry form at the bottom of this story. Tell us what you think the robot should be named and why it should be named that in 8 words or less! Then, mail your entry along with your name, address, age and type of car you own and where it’s normally parked to: LANKVILLE DAILY NEWS ROBOT CONTEST, 526 Yelling Street, Eastern Lankville, 2915. All entries must be postmarked by March 30, 2014. You may include your resume.
CONTEST RULES:
1. The contest is open to all residents of Lankville, the Outer Depths, the Desert Area and the Lankville Regional Islands.
2. Duplicate prizes (not robots) will be awarded in the event of a tie.
3. You may only enter ONCE. After that, your name will be permanently removed from our computers and we will no longer recognize you.
4. The scoring system is as follows:
-40% originality
-30% paper
-20% imagination
-10% restraint
————————CLIP WITH SCISSOR(S)——————————-
Name____________________________________________
Address________ Lankville_______ Zips__________
Age____ Health: Yes____ No______
The robot should be named___________________________
________________________________________________
________________________________________________
Musings of a Decorative Ham Man
By Chris Vitiello
File photo
HAMMY LAND: A DIGRESSION
Five years ago, at the advice of a now odious colleague, I opened “Hammy Land”, an amusement/theme park. A decorative ham mascot “Hammy” was created and his smiling visage became a common sight on t-shirts, ballcaps and elastic limb bands in and around Lankville. In its first two years of existence, “Hammy Land” netted nearly a billion (Lankville) dollars.
Hammy Land: Closed for “the Season”.
The incident which I am about to describe took place a little before Easter of the third year. Millions had gathered that holiday and we had created a special “crucifixion Hammy” cap that was flying off the shelves. Our cramped, airless, basement restaurant was packed day and night and the “throwing fields” (pastures where decorative hams could be hurled for sport) were constantly engaged. Late arrivals began complaining. “We cannot get a room at Vitiello Restrained Hotels, we cannot get a table at the restaurant, we cannot get on any of the rides,” they would say in their collective nasal groan. We had completely run out of crucifixion Hammy’s.
To our amazement, more vacationers continued to funnel in, even as the weekend approached its most welcome end. The complaints became louder, somehow more desperate and my arm and shoulder became weary from the endless required whippings. I remember the moment when I looked out over the filthy restaurant- the uncleared tables, the demanding throng still waiting in the lobby, the lost and crushed crucifixion Hammy hats on the fetid carpet. “NO!” I suddenly announced. Everything quieted. “GET OUT VERMIN!” I shouted again. Within minutes, I had a plan of action. “Hammy Land” would be no more. I removed immediately to my suite at the top of the hotel and gave instructions to a trusted coterie of administrators. They were to close the gates and shut down all operations. Lastly, they would let themselves out, leaving the keys.
The next morning, I walked the desolate and abandoned grounds. Idiotic detritus was everywhere. I tore down several homemade banners of Hammy on the cross. I came upon the main entrance and let myself out. I never looked back.
Two weeks later “Hammy Land” (at my command) was permanently shuttered. I had contemplated annihilation but thought better of it. Let it stand as a warning. A warning that I will not be tested.
Weeds have grown over the gates. It is still possible however to walk along the perimeter and occasionally find a clear view of the greying, fading restaurant or the paint-peeled roller coaster, its cars still in the middle of their last ride. It is possible. It is also possible that you will suddenly find yourself face to face with the owner of this ghost and that you will be whipped mercilessly for trespass.
It is best to remember Hammy Land in your mind.
Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
View of Hunt looking to the West.
File Photo
They dumped me off the bus in the Outlands. Some town called “Hunt”. It was a real fuck of a place.
There was a restaurant with a bunch of color panels on the front and an orange pitched roof, garish as all hell. They had some tables in there and a formica counter. The menu featured heavily-saturated photographs throughout and there was a legend and an index. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.
The waitress came over– typical corn-fed Outlands redhead, she was filling out her semi sheer Dacron polyester uniform like a champ.
“Coffee? Eggs? Toast?” she barked. She whipped out a notepad from her hip pocket but it fell to the floor. As she bent over to retrieve it, I got a quick look at the haunches. I noted that her onesie had a long zipper from the collar to the bottom hem. Be easy enough.
I lit a cigarette and she went off to put in my order. There were a couple of hotels around and a western shop and then nothing else but dust and asphalt surrounded by dead trees. The redhead came back with a plate that contained nothing I had ordered and coffee in a sauceboat. “We don’t got any clean cups,” she said. “The hose in the back is out.”
“Just leave it there.”
I walked out, ripped off the stained and filthy button-up and threw it in a garbage can. Walked into the western shop wearing nothing but an undershirt. I picked out a couple of satin snap fronts. “I’ll wear this one out,” I told the guy behind the counter.
Then I walked down and reserved a room. Two beds, carpeting, TV and telephone. Everything was paneled in ersatz wood. “Look at that grain,” the proprietor said, when he opened up the door for me. “That’s eastern grain.”
I went back into the restaurant.
“Your food’s cold now,” the redhead said. “I can’t warm it up. We don’t warm things up.”
“Let’s go. I got a room with carpet and TV. That space show is coming on in twenty minutes. Everybody out here likes that space show, right?”
She paused. “Yeah, we do like that space show.”
We walked down the dusty main street. The only street. The sun was fading.
“My husband is dead,” she remarked. “He was just trying to deflate some beach balls but they shot him anyway.” She had a strange, shuffling kind of walk.
“What kind of work did he do?” I asked disinterestedly. I was fiddling with the different snaps on the shirt front. She answered something about beach balls, I couldn’t make it out.
We watched the space show. There were some assholes that had gone off course and were headed for the sun. There was no logic to it. When it was over, she turned off the lights.
“This room, the bedspreads and the carpet, they’re all this bright green,” she said. “It’s giving me a headache.”
She disappeared into the bathroom. I could hear her throwing up in there. A fuck of a place I said to myself.
I went outside and walked by the pool. Nobody was around. There were only a few lights on in the entire town.
“Next bus is early, about six in the morning,” some guy called. He had on the same shirt as me.
A real fuck of a place I said again.
If You Want to Make This Gal Happy, Give Me a Photo of a Dog Emerging From a Yarn Basket
BY IDA RUMPUS The Lankville Society Scoop
Typical dog emerging from a yarn basket photograph.
File photo
If you want to make this gal happy, there is one thing you can do. Give me a photo of a dog emerging from a yarn basket. No matter how down in the dumpers [sic] I am, a dog emerging from a yarn basket makes me crack a smile every time. Particularly if the yarn is just spilling out on account of the displacement that occurs when the dog enters the basket and then some extra spilling that occurs when the dog emerges. It’s just so cute, it really is.
Most of the time, dogs don’t emerge from yarn baskets. Most of the time, when I open my yarn basket, I am simply greeted by yarn. Oftentimes, my boyfriend Glenn says, “You’re into that yarn basket again? Christ, it’s always in and out of that yarn basket.” But I know that even Glenn would find it adorable if a dog emerged from the basket. Even better, if upon opening the basket, the dog was revealed to be inside. I think that might be the cutest thing of all.
Anyway, if you’re ever on vacation, don’t send a postcard of a lake or a motel or some woods. Just send me a postcard depicting a dog emerging from a yarn basket. That makes me happiest of all.
Royer Pulls Up in Old Camper
By Brock Belvedere, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
File photo
Incarcerated business magnate Ric Royer pulled up in an old camper today, sources are reporting.
Witnesses stated that the camper was battered, rusted and full of holes but Royer proudly showed it off to passersby.
“He said he would be doing a lot camping in it,” noted witness Ghant Gaetti, who was given a tour of the mutilated vehicle. “I commented that the inside reeked of game and was moldy and wet besides but [Royer] just smiled and said he was going to do a lot of camping in it.”
“He pulled up in a very busy part of Lankville– in a handicapped spot and stood outside the camper for a long time, just grabbing anyone who would listen,” said another witness, who refused to be identified and was later shot by a gigantic, robotic camel. “He said that the camper came out of the barren west and that he was going to do a lot of camping in it.”
After some time, Lankville police ordered Royer to remove the camper and no further incidents were reported.
In Search of Aaron Tucker: A “Special” Piece
By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
file photo
Business magnate and sports team owner Aaron Tucker has agreed to meet me at Hoovers National Airport on his home island of Hoover. I’ve never heard of it. The plane ride is exceedingly long and tedious and I land slightly irritated and with a large sauce stain on my shirt.
I look around for Tucker but he has not yet arrived (he had promised to carry a gigantic sign with my name on it– “I’ll make it out of large posterboard,” he says excitedly over the phone). I watch the other passengers greet their spouses and girlfriends– many kiss or embrace passionately– several immediately fornicate. I hang around for an hour but Tucker does not show. The waiting area is now empty. An intercom announces, “Pumpkins. Pumpkins arriving.” I have no idea what to do.
I take a taxi to a nearby hotel and place a call to Tucker’s office. There is another long delay and finally a secretary with a hot voice snaps up the line. “I’m sorry sir, Mr. Tucker has gone to the airport to pick out a pumpkin.” I curse. “I was just at the airport.” “Well, I am sorry, sir.”
I decide to fish a bit.
“What does a pretty-sounding woman like you do in Hoover for nightlife?”
I meet the secretary in the hotel bar. She’s wearing a pencil skirt that is so tight that her fine heinie is clearly outlined. Two hours later, I’m rumpling that heinie upstairs. Afterwards, I take a look at some Hoover Island TV. It’s all shows about pumpkins. I can’t figure out what the hell is going on.
The phone rings. It’s Tucker.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says. “Jesus, I got all caught up with this pumpkin thing.” I can clearly hear him pushing a pumpkin in the background. I try to ask him a few questions about his business ventures but he’s clearly distracted by the pumpkins. “How many pumpkins you got there?” I ask, looking for something to put into my story. “Oh, it’s just…there’s a lot…we….” He drops the phone. There is a lot of laughing and then, sudden thunderous cheering.
I take the next plane out of there.
Our Man in America: Tips for the Lankville Traveler
Glass House Restaurant, Urbana-Champaign, Illinois
The Lankville Daily News is lusciously thrilled beyond measure to present a new series of travel tips from our correspondent in America.
By Rance Fenanigans
American Correspondent
Rance Fenanigans
The famous Glass House restaurant in Urbana-Champaign, Illinois (midwestern America) is known for its gigantic lollipop display; the discerning Lankville traveler will certainly want to make a stop here.
“I got the lollipop idea from how they have lollipops at the candy stores,” noted Glass House restaurant owner Jerry Yokely, who purchased the establishment in 1979. “I went out to the woodshed one night, put on a record of little jokes and built up that tree that you see there. The trees got them little holes in it and you slide the lollipop shafts in there. I rounded out the holes pretty good and generally the shafts go right in pretty easy.”
Yokely spat in the dirt.
The Glass House restaurant features an array of tempting American food– pancakes and waffles for breakfast, hamburgers and pepperonis for lunch and a full menu of dinner options. “We don’t got anything fancy– just food for Americans,” Yokely noted proudly. “And we’re located just off Interstate 41,” he added mysteriously.
Don Flesh of Urbana is a Glass House regular. “Oh, I just love it. The waitresses are kind, friendly, bosomy and motherly and there is carpet.”
Flesh paused and then suddenly screamed and had to be taken away.
“We got good girls here,” added Yokely, who spat in the dirt again. “We got an ample parking lot. Look at them phone booths over there. Plenty of options for the patrons.”
The Glass House is certified by the American Car League and is open 7 days.
First Annual Vitiello Decorative Ham Plate Contest: ENTER NOW!
Vitiello Decorative Hams, Inc. is sponsoring their First Annual Ham Plate Contest. The winner will receive the plate pictured (food entirely decorative) and two tickets to the CAPADES. “This is an excellent opportunity for the no-purpose little people to win something that will look presentable on their gouged and unpolished non-wood tables,” noted founder and CEO Chris Vitiello. “It’s a new product we’ve been working on, a $250 value. And then there is also this capade business which I’m sure will entertain the sort of unsophisticated mind that enters contests in the first place,” Vitiello added.
To enter, use the form below and include two letters of recommendation, a personal statement, a statement of intent and a photographic ID to:
Vitello Hams
Box 14
Lankville, Capitol 0412
_______________________________FORM_____________________________
Name___________________________
Address________________________
# of Hams in Home______________ (if answer is none, you will be visited by Mr. Vitiello)
BALLOON PLANET: A Film Review
BALLOON PLANET
Directed by Ted Wilks Starring- Lesley Bagwell, Gene T. Rose, Robin Yount, Sixto Morrison, Little Jimmy Hurling
Released by Sterling Studios Rated- R
Reviewed by Reggie Quintz
Top astronaut-robot Shiana 13 (Lesley Bagwell) arrives alone on a mysterious planet in which everyone must be physically attached to a balloon. She meets Kenny (Gene T. Rose) and Gerard (Robin Yount) who are planning a vague revolution against the decree, handed down by the cruel planet dictator Hildepanns (Sixto Morrison). They enlist the help of cute schoolboy Kent (Little Jimmy Hurling in his debut role) but the revolution ultimately goes awry when Shiana 13 and Gerard fall in love and decide to adopt Kent. In the end, Shiana allows herself to be attached to a balloon so she might stay on the planet and purchase a suburban home.
POSTERS AVAILABLE AT “THE SUMMONING COMIC SHOPPE”. Super rare. $19.99, limit one. Maybe two, but send photo first. Call: LANKVILLE 2391
Lesley Bagwell is probably the best thing about this cinematic turd which stumbles along at a crawling pace before finally ending in a long scene in which the new couple sit down at the closing on their suburban home (this closing is filmed with complete realism and takes a rather tedious 50 minutes). You get to see a bit of bare ass here (in the movie, not during the house closing) which inserts some color into the otherwise lifeless story. Robin Yount is terrible in his film debut as Gerard.
Lesley Bagwell ponders her balloon attachment.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: The Bill
By Ric Royer
File Photo
It came in the mail on a Saturday. I forgot about it and went to the jungle gym.
On Monday, I found it again. I had fallen behind a chair while eating some cereal and there it was, lodged between the molding and a basket of magazines. I opened it out of pure curiosity. It was a bill for $72. I shoved it into the basket and, in the act of doing this, it became torn and crumpled. On Wednesday, I removed the entire basket of magazines and placed them on the porch of a neighbor four doors down.
Several weeks later, I received a phone call while test-driving a golf cart over some hills. The man on the line claimed that I owed him $4,652.
“For what?” I asked. I parked the golf cart in the woods and left it there. I had decided that it was not for me.
He began reading off a series of vendors. There was the model train company, a bookstore, the decorative ham place, several motel rooms. I remembered only about half the purchases.
There was a long pause. “I hate you,” I said. I was just stalling for time.
“The minimum payment is $4,652,” the man said again. “Are you prepared to make your payment today?” He tried to sound cheerful. I suddenly remembered one of the motels. It was a blonde in a green suit. There had been some sexually-charged shoving against some columns.
“Is there a charge for a museum on there?” I asked.
I could hear the tapping of computer keys. “Yes, that’s on the 11th, that was the Lankville…”
“No, don’t tell me,” I interrupted. “Let’s succumb to the mystery.” He said nothing in response. There was nothing but the background cacophony of other voices demanding payment on other accounts.
“I don’t understand you,” I said. And I hung up.
I pushed the phone between two empty accordian folders that I found in a field. They were still factory-sealed.
Then I got in the van and drove.
The Electronics Cranny: LASERS!
By Fritz Tennis
Electronics Expert
File Photo
One day last January, two Lankville scientists and Electronics Cranny contributors, stood on a mound outside a swamp. Beside them, mounted on a tripod, was a cylinder no bigger than a flashlight or one of those funny decorative tubes. At a precise moment, one of the scientists pressed a button on some nearby electronic equipment. Instantly, a brilliant red flash shot from one end of the cylinder. And although the two scientists were killed instantly, people standing on a rooftop 250 miles away, were able to see the flash with their nude eyes.
This accomplishment seems unremarkable enough. Indeed, at the time, the two scientists were heavily-criticized as “dolts” or “clods” or “stupid assholes”. Yet Dr. Caramel Jameson of the Solid Electronics Research Foundation thought otherwise. “When I heard of the experiment, I knew right away that a new era of communication had begun,” said Jameson, who we interviewed while purchasing some tennis balls. “I knew that this new kind of light had never been seen before on earth or in Hell and I felt that a device which could tap this power, just alternately love it and tap it, would allow mankind to possess a light beam of unparalleled intensity, even purity. I made a chart about it.”
Dr. Jameson produced the chart which he had carefully laminated. The points were:
- true amplification of light for the first time in history (including Hell)
- the first truly coherent (single-frequency) beams of light ever produced by man
- a so-called atomic clock 1000 times more accurate than our best current models (including those possessed by Hell)
- a super heater that can pour out billions of watts of energy into an area the size of a pinheads [sic]
- a radio transmission system of such tremendous capabilities that it could carry more than 1,oo0,000 simultaneous television signals using only a single channel.
Here’s what the tube looks like.
“I knew that effectively, mankind had created the laser,” Dr. Jameson added.
What the Laser Is. The laser actually stems from another development several years old. As you may have noticed, there’s a similarity between the words “laser” and “vaser,” and the similarity is more than coincidence. A laser is simply a vaser capable of operating at advanced frequencies within our visible light range.
In spite of its tremendous promise, the laser is an extremely common-looking device. It is nothing more than a cylinder of synthetic rubies and field greens about 1/4″ in diameter and 1-1/2″ long, mounted in the center of a spiral coil of binder clips.
To operate the gadget, scientists send a jolt of current through the gassy tube, setting off a brilliant flash of light. Some science is involved– electrons in the rubies and field greens absorb this light and redistribute the energy at another frequency (no graph available). A pure ray is then produced. It is this ray which is capable of performing the feets [sic] mentioned earlier – as well as a number of others – because it is utterly unique in several important ways. Let’s see just what makes the laser’s light so different.
The lasers, as represented by dots and arrows
HOW THE LASER WORKS
Let’s say that, for some reason, you decided to get into a barrel filled with water. As you entered the barrel, some of the water would spill over the sides in a comical manner. Keep this in mind.
Now look at the graph. Note that in “Area B”, the lasers are emitting a longer shaft of light. A shaft of light is being reflected back into the universe simultaneously. That shaft of reflected green light is interacting with the hundreds of stars in space to create a sort of “table tennis” effect.
A chain reaction builds rapidly. Because the ends of our rod are arched and silvered, the emitted light bounces back and forth, stimulating still more atoms to give up their energy. Our rod will soon penetrate these atoms, rocking them slowly back and forth at first but ultimately pretty much bending them over backwards and really having at it. Soon, tremendous quantities of light are rushing back and forth in the rod like water sloshing back and forth in a bathtub (the noise is also similar). Finally, it reaches such a level of intensity that it bursts through one end of the rod (one end has less silver than the other) and shoots forth in a brilliant, coherent ray.
How great an impact is the laser likely to have on the field of communications? Right now, it’s anybody’s guess. But those in the field make no secret about the fact that they are tremendously enthusiastic about this new gadget. “This rod is exceptional,” noted Dr. Jameson. “It never has a problem with busting wads of light all over the place.” With usable frequencies already badly overcrowded in many regions of the present radio spectrum, any system that promises to open up vast new chunks of deep space is something to get excited about.
Perhaps the potential role of the laser in communications is best illustrated with a remark recently made at a laser convention in Eastern Lankville. Said a participant, “We’re not ready to start replacing telephone lines yet.” But he added with a smile, “we’re beginning to think about it.”
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: Incident at the Candy Counter
By Ric Royer
File photo
We hired a girl to man the candy counter. She had come down from the hills a few days ago.
At the end of the first week, I asked her if she was enjoying the job. She said that yes she was, she enjoyed helping people pick out which candies were best suited for their own personal needs. She did have one complaint though.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Well, Mr. Octotris, it’s this stool,” she said.
“It’s Royer,” I corrected. My bowels released a little and my leg became moist.
“Do you see this stool, Mr. Roypacks?” she asked.
I stared at the stool. I was lost for a moment. Then, I looked past her, out the picture window and saw some bushes suddenly disappear.
“Mr. Octotris, the stool has no cushion left. See?”
She showed me how the upholstery had been torn down to the plywood base.
“By the end of the day, Mr. Roysticks, my…well…my backside (she said the word with extreme embarrassment) is red and sore, chafed even. I’m wondering if we could get another stool.”
It was impossible, I knew it. But I was slowly falling in love with the girl and I knew I had to do something. I muttered some platitude and got the hell out of there.
That night, in my apartment that had become a dark, dangerous trash maze of my own creation, I found a seat cushion. It had been a promotional item I had once received at a baseball game and had the team name “The Balloons” written in script across its front. It was designed, I supposed, to help fans deal with the hard, unforgiving steel benches that passed for seating at the stadium. I squeezed it into my knapsack and fell asleep right away in an old child’s swimming pool.
The next morning I got to the soda fountain early. She had not arrived yet. I tried the seat cushion on the candy counter stool. It did not fit well but I did not want to believe it. I wanted to believe that it hugged the stool, providing a luscious pillowy barrier that would last forever. Outside, I saw that the building across the street had been demolished some time in the night. A cordon had been fashioned to a tree and a mailbox. I threw up a little.
I wanted her to understand that I could take the Balloons seat cushion away and that, without me, there would be no comfort.
Things moved very slowly that day. An enormous shipment of tri-colored gums had arrived and it took her hours to remove them from their cardboard boxes. Mr. Jipps, the owner, had assigned his son Duke candy counter duties for a few hours. I was standing right there when Duke first noticed the cushion. He fingered its edges and almost picked it up. But then his father barked at him and the cushion was forgotten.
It was after lunch when she took her place behind the counter. The after-lunch candy crowd can be brisk and for nearly two hours she did nothing but push gummy drops into special paper sheaths, engage in restrained pleasantries and explain chocolate-to-nougat ratios. I was starting to feel moist with rage.
Finally, at three, there was a lull. She sat down and I could see the look of surprise on her face. Then, she slipped off the chair and fell face forward into the display case. I heard the sound of shattering glass, the screams of the idle women at the fountain. Mr. Jipps shouted CALL A FIREMAN! In the chaos that followed, I was able to slip out the back. A billboard that had once framed the parking lot on the east side had disappeared. I ran blindly through the alley.
I went into a fever dream. I could see, in extreme close-up, the Balloons cushion fitting snugly across the top of the stool and people standing about commenting on it. “Look at that fit,” they said. I awoke at one point to find myself mindlessly gobbling the cans of a fat hooker in a fleabag hotel room. She had the Balloons cushion on her head, was wearing it as a wig. It looked beautiful. She said, “My ex-husband used to follow the Balloons. Do you remember that big Islander they had– Herrera?” I stared at her. Then I blacked out again.
Next morning, I ended up in front of the soda fountain. It was closed. They had put up a sign but someone had stolen it– you could see the drill holes in the door. The candy counter was covered by a thin white sheet.
That was just the beginning of my odyssey.
Oral Histories of Some Former Lankville Pugilists
By Gern Naglers (1958, 0W, 3L, 0KO)
File Photo
I was never what you would call a boxer. I’d get in the ring and give the other guy a mean look and then he’d knock me out. After that, I’d go back to my little huts. Sometimes, I’d go out and jump some guy. Tie him to a chair, take his pants off, take everything out of the pants and then give him his pants back. It was nothing weirdo, or anything. I just wanted what was in the pants. You know, wallet, car keys, food, whatever.
I had a manager by the name of Bickford but he didn’t want to mind no criminals. So, he dumped me. After that, I did a lot of pants robbing and then I got sent up to the Lankville State Pen in 1960. I remember the judge, he said, “Mr. Naglers–I would like to sentence you to a beheading but I cannot do that. So, you’ll go to the Pen instead.” That was all.
In the Pen, I became champion. I was champion from 1961-1970, no one could beat me. They’d have a match about six or seven times a year and they’d let all the fellows sit on folding chairs around the ring. They had a photographer one time from Boxing Matters that came in; later I got a letter saying that none of the pictures had come out right. “It was all just your knees,” the photographer wrote. I didn’t have any idea.
Well, I got released in 1982 and by then, of course, it was too late for a comeback. I got a little bit of land in the Lankville Desert and a pop-up camper. I go into town and pick up some bologna and bread and a pack of cigarettes and that’s all I need. I don’t got no TV.
A guy wrote me one time saying he wanted to write a book about me being that I was prison champion. I told him to come out for an interview. He did and I stole his pants. Didn’t give ’em back either. He went away and I never did hear nothing after that.
I’ve Had Just About Enough of These Hippies and their Sex Magazines
By Fingers Rolly
Man on the Street
File photo
I swear to the Lord Christ, I’ve had just about enough of these fucking hippies and their god damn sex magazines.
You walk into the drugstore. There’s Fat Sam with his apron. You look at the magazine rack. Nothing but god damn hippie sex magazines.
“Why you carry this degenerate shit?” I asked once. Fat Sam looked at me kind of funny. I didn’t press it.
Then I went over to the post office. A whole wall full of god damn hippie sex magazines. It’s unbelievable. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on. I get home to my trailer in that lousy whore of a desert and there’s the Evening News. Guess what’s inside? A god damn hippie sex magazine.
I scream at the desert often.
The Lankville Daily News would like to apologize for the preceding article. Mr. Rolly was assigned an article on the wetlands of Lankville County.
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