Archive
Samways and Fick, Consultants: ORGANIZATIONAL DEVELOPMENT
Dr. Samways
In today’s increasingly challenging and competitive business environment, organizations must function more effectively and efficiently than ever before in World History to achieve their strategic goals. With that objective in mind, Samways and Fick, Consultants offers Consortium Enlargement Services® to help companies of all sizes plan, structure, set up posters, and manage those zipper envelopes that you put bank deposits in, in order to dramatically improve their chances for sustainable growth.
Initially, we work with the CEO (fat or thin- Samways and Fick does not discriminate) to gain an understanding of the organization’s past and recent business results, its organizational pyramid, staff performance and coming objectives, both near and long-term and even well into the distant future when there will be more robots. To expand on that knowledge base we conduct a multi-tiered S&F Audit™ (some chairs and tables may be carried away during this process) that involves asking a series of complex questions and presenting a series of word searches and pencil mazes to selected executives, supervisors, front-line employees and, just for kicks, some of the dummies at the bottom. With this audit information we prepare a multi-colored Powerpoint display with animated lasers that is designed to provide the CEO with organization-wide insights on goal calibration, resource allocation, telephones, and, most importantly, new business opportunities and possible land seizures to name a few.
Dr. Fick
With this organizational assessment completed, S&F then works with the CEO’s designated cohort to develop plans and interventions that will address processes, systems and structures that need to be created or improved (we will also bring out the Powerpoint display again). Our goal is to create extreme focus on the organization and to collaboratively develop a more integrated, efficient and effective operating system.
Samways and Fick: Helping You Reach the Area Near the Top of Your Mountain.
Schropp Book Filth Says Local Activist
Buck Igloos
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Some people don’t like Brian Schropp’s new bestseller Breakfast Sandwich Boy and they’re making their voices heard.
Self-proclaimed “morality activist” Amanda Jennifers says that the book is “filth” and should be banned from stores.
“The book contains bad language, sexual congress, bumpkins and pizza– all the things we are trying to teach our children to avoid,” said Jennifers, who gave a short speech before a small lectern this afternoon. “All of these things are decaying the moral threads of Lankville.”
“Kids are buying this filth, passing it around in locker rooms and by wooded areas and are becoming converted to this freewheeling pizza lifestyle,” Jennifers added.
Lankville University Press, Schropp’s publisher, issued a short statement.
Schropp’s new book causing a rumpus.
Breakfast Sandwich Boy is an honest depiction of an alternative lifestyle. We have no intention of censoring it.
The author, interviewed during a break from his shift at the Pizza A-Round, said he was saddened that some people were offended.
“I write from the heart, from a good place inside the heart, a place of brightness. I am lusciously sorry that anyone was offended,” said Schropp.
The 266-page collection, culled from stories originally published in The Lankville Daily News became a bestseller in its first week.
“It’s been on our “staff picks” shelf the whole time,” said Larry Pendleton’s Double Book Hut employee Larry Klacik, who was intoxicated. “Everyone always looks forward to a new book from Brian.”
Jennifers says she will take her argument all the way to President Pondicherry if necessary.
“This is a new moral movement in Lankville. We will prevail.”
I Want to Be Your Feelings Coach
Dr. Kevin Thurston
Dr. Kevin Thurston is an expert on men’s feelings.
I am Dr. Kevin Thurston, the Men’s Coach.
Surprised? Don’t be. After all, they have coaches for things like basketball teams and female aerobics. Why not a Men’s Coach? A Men’s Destiny Coach? A Feelings Coach™? All of these things are possible– all that is needed is ME and YOU.
Right now, in a local gymnasium, Dr. Kevin Thurston is holding “The 1st Annual Men’s Feelings Coaching Caucus”. This will be your opportunity to have some eternal men’s questions answered for the first time in a setting of comfort, joy and tumbling mats. What does it mean to be a man?, How do I find other men to be in my life?, How can I tell my own personal life-story/write my own personal life-book? The 1st Annual Men’s Feelings Coaching Caucus will answer all these questions and more. It will be like drinking liquid inspiration from a firehose and there will be also be some 64-ounce dual-threaded water jugs for sale– for use for both the left and right-handed. $9.99, good deal. Nobody is excluded.
The Caucus will close with an after-party that you will never forget. I will coach you through the process of casting aside fear and learning to accept your brothers as we together experience an epic night of bonding, reframing, and light refreshments. You’ll be added to an exclusive blog site where you will remain in contact with Men for the rest of your life.
If you were to pay for extensive one-on-one feelings coaching programs with speakers and group leaders like Dr. Kevin Thurston, you would expect to pay thousands of dollars. If you were to spend your life trying to interpret your own feelings without a coach, you would spend much more and years, decades would pass by as you continued to search fruitlessly.
But at the Caucus you won’t spend tens of thousands. You won’t pay the $70,000 I’ve invested in myself to become a professional Feelings Coach™. You’ll pay only $795, plus any of the fabulous items you choose to buy that I have for sale and that I don’t intend on leaving with.
Sign-up for the Caucus today. Seats are limited but feelings are not.
Musings of a Decorative Ham Man: The Horror of Fire Point
By Chris Vitiello
It overlooked my village on a steep hill of rocks and crags, accessible via a brush-choked driveway and a series of dilapidated staircases. It had been the home of the Maldonado Brothers Seminary and for many years had provided great spiritual warmth for a few select pasty individuals. But it had long since closed, fallen into shocking disrepair, been the site of vigorous and yet jejune coitus and then left forgotten. I purchased the site three years ago.
There had been many mysterious fires– 246 by the realtor Gorcheck’s count. “It became known as Fire Point,” he noted, as he kicked an errant piece of mortar into the woods. I desired to whip him but remained calm. “You’ll note that the building is a shell and that it is about to fall over,” he said, looking away. “But the grounds are nice and you sure can’t beat the view of the valley.”
Gorcheck was right, on both counts. The once-magnificent four story seminary had been utterly destroyed– only a skeleton remained. A small outbuilding and various sheds sat surrounding, their doors open in a frank, almost sexual way. But one could plainly see all of the valley and the village below, my hometown.
I wrote the realtor a check. He was shocked. “There is some paperwork, we can’t just…” I pushed him into some leaves. “Mind yourself, Mr. Gorcheck. Mind yourself.” My hand twitched over the hidden whip but I abstained.
I contracted to have the seminary demolished and several senseless quonset huts constructed. “A fiery balloon crashed into the cliff,” the foreman told me over the phone after two weeks had passed. “But otherwise things are progressing as outlined.” There was something tentative about his lower class voice that made me both desire to whip him and to probe him further. “It sounds as if there is something else,” I queried. There was a long silence. A noise like a basketball being shoved into a closet could be heard in the background. Finally, he responded.
“We…well…many of the men believe that the site is damned. It may be something that you need to see for yourself.”
I resented being called away from my decorative ham business but I made the trip to the great hill.
The driveway had been cleared and repaved and I instructed the driver to proceed to the top. He seemed tentative and for a moment there was no movement. “What is the problem, Throats?” I asked. Throats fingered the steering wheel. “I got a feeling, boss. It came over me suddenly like the odor of freshly-spun cotton candy at a small backyard event overlooking a cracked alley. This place is damned.”
“You are not the first to offer this mongoloid explanation, Mr. Throats.” I urged him on. I was suddenly quite hungry.
At the top, some workmen were listlessly pushing long steel rods beneath rocks or buffing the smooth edges of the quonset huts. I located the foreman, a grim little man with a pinched face and abbreviated womanish feet. He was running a moistened towel over his forehead and neck and staring down at the earth. He did not look up at my approach.
I wound the whip around my shoulder. It was gold-braided and appeared striking against my shapeless purple chemise.
“What is the trouble here?” I was suddenly hit with a stream of bad air.
“No trouble,” the foreman said, continuing to stare at the dirt. “We are all hexed, we are all without hope but the quonset huts are excellent. Better than I expected. Remarkable staying power, these quonset huts.”
A fiery balloon suddenly crashed into a cliff across the valley. Screams could be heard in the distance. Still, the foreman did not look up. And it was then that I noticed the horrible transmogrification.
It became deathly still. Throats, who stood beside me in his decorative ham driving uniform, suddenly expired. The foreman turned his head slightly to stare at the fallen. He grinned and it was then that I could see that his teeth had dramatically sharpened and that his eyes had turned an ungodly pale shade of green. I spun and saw that the workers had all gathered together and that they too were changing. An interminable period of tension ensued. And then I began running off into the woods.
A path led away from the former seminary and deep into the forest. Dilapidated religious statuary could be seen every fifty feet and, in several places, small temples, covered in graffiti. There is no type of person that deserves to be whipped more than the so-called graffiti artist I thought to myself. But now was no time for such profundity. The transmogrified were right behind me.
I took refuge in a train tunnel alcove. The transmogrified passed quickly before me. I could hear their strange, echoing grunts far down track. Then they were gone. I headed back the way I came in.
At the tunnel mouth, I noticed something queer in another alcove. There was a little old man there, seated on a chair reading a modern paperback. He was clad in a tan great coat, a dark regency vest and, for some reason, a white soft bonnet. Upon my approach, he quickly removed the bonnet.
He stood up and put his hands on the long lapels of the great coat thereby affecting a rather stately look.
“Did you see the transmogrified?” I asked.
“Yes, yes I did,” he responded, in a gentle, grandfatherly way; I had only a slight desire to whip him. “Spirits are reacting to your…your construction up there,” he said, waving disconsolately in the direction of Fire Point.
He had raised my ire. “What concern is it of yours, old man? It was my thirst to purchase this Godforsaken hill and I have quenched it with the building of quonset huts. I could build even more, if I wish.”
He laughed. “Oh, I would advise against that.” His round eyeglasses somehow twinkled in the nigh-darkness. “I know you, I remember you from the village,” he suddenly added.
I studied his face further. He remained a stranger.
“No, it was long ago. Your father and I once purchased a barrel together. 55 gallons– it was a beauty. But we argued constantly over it. I wanted to fill the barrel with this, he wanted to fill the barrel with that. There were over twelve fistfights. Finally, one sodden night, your father dumped the barrel into the river. It was a good thing, too, because it had been my intent to kill him, chop him up and send his remains down the river in that very barrel so…” He trailed off.
“What point are you trying to emphasize, you codger?”
“Actually, my very reason for purchasing the barrel was to dispose of remains….and perhaps…if someone needed sauces…or…” He trailed off again.
I left him. I would not conquer Fire Point, that much was clear. It was a horror, a cosmic deviation, a veritable hell on earth.
It is the only time I have failed.
Ordeal of a Cosmonaut
By Nick Del Rio, Space Asshole
A stupid ongoing saga by an insufferable space cock.
I find the Repelletron Skywalk in the pod, buried beneath a mound of empty packages of space ice cream. Night has fallen on the orange planet and the light is a bland greenish color. Curiously, there are no stars but far above I spot a whirling red planet unknown to me. The friction kicks off a series of distant sparks.
I set up the Repelletron Skywalk by the Satellite Econo-Beam. Immediately, two beams bolt outward, creating a walkway above the savannah, disappearing over the horizon. This walkway will lead me directly to the mysterious camp of my fallen robot. I thank him silently for his efforts.
The journey takes hours. Normally, the Repelletron Skywalk will shove the traveler along at speeds exceeding 30MPH, but tonight, it is weak and limpid. I conclude that it must have something to do with different air streams here or perhaps a surfeit of gravity. I notice that I am bloated.
The Skywalk begins to descend. The topography has changed now– the savannah has given way to a series of flat rocks, surrounded by swamps. The flora here is large and threatening and moves with an eerie cadence. I take a space pill designed for gas and bloating by the inimitable Dr. Phoebus-Grotts. Afflicted with permanent bloat while touring Jupiter, the good doctor sought to help others. He died shortly after its release to the space market; beheaded with an adz by persons unknown.
The pill instantly provides relief. And then, the skywalk ends. I have come upon a seemingly abandoned camp– a dilapidated temporary quonset hut, dim and unpainted in the distance.
I know instantly that Dr. Ernwhitts is inside.
Perhaps you’re asking yourself, how? How did I know? (editor’s note: we’re not, asshole).
Dr. Ernwhitts
I have to take you back to 1997. It was then that I was a fresh-faced young student at the prestigious Cust-Heaves Aeronautical Center, completing my doctoral thesis. Dr. Ernwhitts had come for just one semester; indeed, he was too great a man to be in the employ of one institution for long and it was my fortuitous fortune of mentoring under him.
I will never forget the first time I made my way to his office. It was on the fourth floor of the Danius Zubrus Building, located off a distant corridor beyond some abandoned classrooms. The office itself was spare– only a metal desk and file cabinet and folding chair. There was a pennant tacked to the wall by means of the only decoration and Dr. Ernwhitts’ wife’s picture had been printed directly onto the felt with her name– SLOBOTKA fanning out towards the tip in an attractive cursive font.
There being nowhere to stand, I leaned against the wall. Dr. Ernwhitts looked over the top of his eyeglasses at me for what seemed like twenty minutes. Indeed, the light outside his small window had changed.
“I just stared at you for twenty minutes without speaking. Do you realize that?” he finally said. His voice was soft and low but seemed concussively jarring after the interminable silence.
“Yes.”
“You will have such periods of silence in the outer limits. Do you realize that?”
“Yes.”
“Then, let’s begin. Sit down and I’ll show you some pamphlets of different models of quonset huts”.
A chair was produced from somewhere and that was how we spent the next two hours. And it was from that strange encounter that I took away the great man’s penchant for a particular type of quonset hut. And it was precisely that type (a rare type indeed) that I found in the clearing upon my orange planet.
I headed towards it.
Meeting Scott’s Family: A Very Special Brian Schropp
By Brian Schropp
The note came to me during a hellish mid-morning rush at the ‘Pizza-A-Round’.
Truthfully, all times have been quite hellish since Scott (my manager) has been away. He initially got wrapped up in the glam and glitz of community theater with his lover ‘Lizzie Starlight’ (not her real name, actually BALD!!). And now Scott is out seeking revenge upon her once it was revealed that ‘Lizzie’ is really a High Priestess of a whacked out pizza sect who tricked Scott into doing some of her evil dark cultish bidding.
No one at ‘The Round’ had heard from him since and it showed- the place was almost at its breaking point, teetering on full-blown anarchy. Rumors were running wild along the prep line that the owner was going to be bringing someone new in soon but who knew when that would be or what would Scott think when he got back?
I didn’t see who dropped off the message (one of the phone staff brought it back to me). I was too busy trying to help Big James clean up his nacho cheese station. Without the stern hand of Scott lording over him, he had really let it go and weeks worth of nacho cheese were encrusted on his work table. The Health Department (making a surprise visit) were giving us two hours to clean up the mess (along with a million other areas) so I was taking an industrial-size sander to it.
The note itself was just a folded piece of paper which either had blood or pizza sauce on it. Pulling up my goggles (safety first!!!) I took a look-
Bri- Need a big favor. Word has gotten to me that some ‘major shit’ is going down on the homestead. It was my Mom’s birthday a few days ago and for some reason, Dad hid her cake. This will not stand. I want you to go over, assess the situation, and find that cake. Be back soon-Scott
At the bottom were vague instructions on how to get to his house.
I was at a crossroads on what I should do. I didn’t feel right leaving “the Round” on the verge of possible permanent closure yet Scott wouldn’t have sent the note if it wasn’t urgent. I was going to ask Chet Cameron (who fancied himself ‘the big dude on campus’) but he was up to his eyelids getting pizza after pizza out of the oven. So I went to Charlie ‘The Nugget Guy’ who was crisping up the chicken delights for a ‘Mid Morning Snack Pizza’.
My manager, Scott. When was he coming back?
“Well Bri, Scott still is technically in charge so you would just be following orders. Anyway, this place is so crazy right now with the health department here that no one will notice you were gone. Just look over there, Big James has been snoring in that corner for hours without one fool giving a second look.”
So, taking Charlie’s advice, I crept out the back, unchained my push scooter and headed towards Deep Eastern Suburban Lankville. I never understood why people called this area ‘suburban’. Sure, there are houses (mainly trailer homes) scattered around but it’s mainly large rocky hillsides with a low-lying swamp region. It was taking all my strength to push my sleek scooter up the winding roadways (I had also been using an industrial sander not that long ago) and then the sudden mind-numbing descents marred by the semi-poisonous smell of ‘swamp gas’.
Up and down, up and down. I lost all sense of direction which really didn’t matter because Scott’s directions were so vague in the first place!! Not to mention all the natives in their huge trucks or rusted out cars flying around the corners almost knocking me off the roadway. The madness finally came to a head when one guy in his truck pulled over after almost hitting me. I didn’t really notice him (or his loud cussing) I was too busy in my haze muttering to myself, slowly pushing the scooter up the steep embankment. The next thing I knew I was flying off the hill with my scooter (broken in two) not far behind. The sweet hand of fate must have been looking out for me. I bounced off an Eastern Pine with minimal impact and landed in a heavy bed of pine cones that cushioned my fall. I rolled down the rest of the way. The big tumble shook me out of my fog and I dusted myself off while taking a look around.
Scott’s grandmother
Before me was a group of trailer homes, three of them to be exact, in the classic Eastern ‘F’ formation. My heart beamed when I saw by the mailbox a spray-painted cardboard sign which read ‘Scott’s Domain’. I knew Scott was a popular name for the area plus it was known in these parts that last names weren’t used but hopefully I had just hit lighting in a bottle. I realized this was the correct port of call when a little further down the driveway there was another spray-painted sign which read, “I AM SCOTT”. Rubbing my hands together I thought, “let’s get down to this cake business.”
Approaching the first trailer (which made the back of the classic ‘F’ shape) I was greeted by an older lady pointing a gun at me. This turned out to be Scott’s Grandmother.
“You better start talkin’ quick, why you’re steppin’ on Scott’s Domain.”
I waved the note in the air. “Hello!! Scott sent me here to help you guys.”
She aimed the gun and shot the note right out of my hand, it was quite a feat of marksmanship! “A lot of folks named Scott in these parts. A lot of folks bring notes too.”
“He-he said in that note that his Dad hid a birthday cake. I’m pretty sure I have the right place, I saw a spray-painted sign back there with ‘I AM SCOTT’, he yells that all the time.”
“Well, that is my grandson’s ‘calling yell.” She eyed me up and down more carefully. “We did get a note from Scott saying he was sending some sort of simpleton who worked for him.”
“I bet he couldn’t reach that person so he got me instead.”
She eyed a pile of trash bags that were near me. “Scott said the person would know what to do with them sacks.”
Scott must have forgotten to include this detail in his note but I knew what to do anyway. I took off my clothes and made a trash bag poncho out of one.
“And the dance? The note also spoke of a dance.”
Again, not referenced on my side. I could only think of one thing, the popular ‘Pizza Whip’ dance which Scott would make employees do for a chuckle. So I gave it my best shot (so I wouldn’t be) flinging my arms and hips in that nutty rhythmic motion.
After a full minute she chuckled and told me to stop my gyrating . “Scott sent us no note, haven’t heard from that little shit since this damn pizza cult business. I guess any fool who goes through these lengths musta’ been sent here. Come inside and mind the waterworks.” I decided to leave the trash bag poncho on.
Inside their ‘living area’ there was a younger woman (Scott’s Sister) trying to comfort a middle-aged lady (Scott’s Mom) who had her head down on the kitchen table crying uncontrollably. The sister looked up at me and asked, “Who is this freak and why is he wearing a trash bag?”
“Says Scott sent him on down to talk with Daddy about the birthday cake.” The mention of the cake sent Scott’s Mom into a harder crying fit.
Scott’s Sister took a swig from a bottle she was holding before talking. “Oh yeah, I meant to say Scott sent a letter about him.” She nodded over to a messy area which had a few chairs and a TV showing a scrambled talk show, “Said if it was really him he would know what to with that outfit.”
I walked over and saw a pink dress haphazardly thrown over one of the chairs. I looked at some of the other dirty clothes laying about in hopes that it could possibly be another garment. “Nope said it was the dress.” Could Scott’s sister read minds? Why didn’t he mention this in the note!! I quickly took off the trash bag and got into the dress, then giving myself a nice spin around. I thought the pink ensemble actually fit my form quite well!
Scott’s Mother looked up through the tears. “And the make up, the letter also said make up—“. I had no idea how to apply any sort of cosmetics so with the unsteady hand of Scott’s Sister (I could smell whiskey on her breath) the bright blues and deep pinks were applied.
When all was said and done I stepped back for the three ladies to see. “Well–isn’t this proof enough?!!”
Scott’s sister
There was brief silence. The silence was followed by hysterical laughing. Even Scott’s Mom who moments before was on the verge of a breakdown couldn’t control herself. After many, many minutes of laughter, things finally calmed down. Scott’s Grandmother led me over to the kitchen table and told me to have a seat. She got a glass of strawberry milk out of the fridge for me. “Start drinking this and we will tell you what’s really going on.” Scott’s Sister walked over and started to pour the contents of her bottle into my glass causing it to spill over. “You’re going to need this breakfast sandwich boy.”
Scott’s Grandmother spoke again. ” Now let’s quit all of the joking around, yes Brian, we knew you were coming. The situation with the birthday cake is all too real. Daddy has hidden it and won’t tell us where or why. We got him tied up in another trailer, no easy feat, still won’t give us any clue. He’s hysterical, ranting and raving like a mad man. At first we thought it was just a bender but the man has been sober for a few days now.”
Scott’s Mom, who was in good spirits, turned sour again placing her head on the table. “I just want my cake!!”
I was looking at my make-up job in the reflection of my strawberry milk glass. “Why the dress and the make up?”
“Well Bri, Scott’s sister has been staying in touch with Scott throughout his ‘pizza cult ordeal’. They have always been close, a little too close sometimes if you ask me. Anyways, since Scott couldn’t come back he came up with this crazy scheme. He said he always thought that in a dress and make up, you Brian would look exactly like Daddy’s long dead sister which in fact you really do!”
Scott’s Grandmother took out a picture and showed me-she was quite right!!
“It’s a long shot but we’re hoping if you go in and pretend to be the long lost spirit of his sister you will be able to get the whereabouts of the cake. A very risky plan though, if Daddy catches on even with his hands tied he will attack like a savage dog. We had to somehow get you in the dress and make-up in case you said no.”
“What about the trash bag?”
“Scott said you would fall for anything. That was me just having a bit of fun–”
Scott’s Mom looked up from the table again, a sobbing mess. “You gotta help me get my birthday cake!!”
What choice did I have now? Could I pull off playing the part of Daddy’s dead sister? Find out next article dear readers. Happy Eating!!-Brian
Gump Penetrates
Gump Tibbs
It’s time for another penetrating interview with Gump Tibbs. Today, Gump interviews Lankville business magnate and thesbian [sic] Ric Royer.
GT: So, you’re having a little pageant coming up?
RR: Have you ever had anything happen to you? I mean REALLY happen to you? Have you lost a wife? Have you ever wrecked someone in a brawl? Have you ever eaten so much that you go, “boy I’m so full”, and then you fall asleep? Well that’s what I’m all about. Not “little pageants”, as you say. So unless you want to sit here and slit open your heart to let me hear your flaws, your fears, your thoughts about intercourse and your history with jail, and so on, then I suggest you start referring to my upcoming project as “epic theatre”, not “little pageant”. Are we clear?
GT: What a delight! Do you think the world needs more epic theatre pageants? And why?
RR: We need more children in the world. Next question.
GT: Absolutely fantastic! Is the epic theatre pageant scary?
RR: Once I spent all night with a gun to my head. You know who was holding that gun. Let’s just say he’s in the room right now.
Ric Royer
GT: Are you accusing me –
RR: No, it was me. I wanted to scare myself, I wanted to piss myself so hard that I would never forget. Like a scar of piss. To this day I use that fear in my work. Even when I write soft and lighthearted scenes, I bring in the fear like a black hood to put over those scenes, and throw them in the trunk of horror, taking those delightful scenes on a harrowing ride. And then I exhale.
GT: What is theatre?
RR: It’s the big leagues of life. That’s how I like to think of it. If you’re just living, you know, banking or cooking or having intercourse or maybe you’re in jail, then those things are just what I call “Dimension 1 Reality”. It’s just being, and anyone can do that. Even the moribund or extremely wimpy among us can accomplish “being”. But only those who master the dramatic arts, those who can perform “being being”, or Dimensions 2-4, are in the big leagues of life. It’s much harder, hence the name “big leagues”.
GT: What are some of your favorite theatres?
RR: My favorite theatres are the Winston Buchanan (haunted), Downtown Actor’s Fancy, and Sensational Mons Island Arena (swallowed by earth). No more, no less.
GT: What an affair this has been! Is there an area behind the theatre where we can shoot some guns off?
RR: Very funny, Gump. You know what, you smell very strongly of hydrogen-peroxide. And I’ve wanted to end this interview since the first question, but I didn’t because I looked around and noticed there are no doors in this room. The only room I’ve ever been in that didn’t have a door was the outside. So I’m really not sure how I even got here. But I’d really like to leave.
Samways and Fick, Consultants: RECRUITING SERVICES
Dr. Fick
Recruiting is a systematic process that begins the moment an opening is identified and does not end until the new hire’s fuckability has been completely analysed. Samways and Fick, Consultants can help you through the process.
Following a recruitment plan and pairing it with a robust “onboarding” GO TEAM™ (trademark in capitals only) program is the best assurance for a successful hire. Samways and Fick, Consultants will somewhat carefully structure a recruitment plan that sometimes maps out the strategy for attracting and hiring the most physically attractive candidate and helps to ensure a diverse applicant pool that includes women, Islanders, bums, Winter People, bumpkins and other underrepresented groups including veterans, people missing limbs, and the retarded.
As HR (Human Resources) recruiters at Samways and Fick, Consultants, we focus our efforts on filling positions within your company by matching the perfect attractive candidate to the most high-profile job. In order for this matching process to be successful, our HR recruiting professionals (Dr. Samways and Dr. Fick and a couple of interns that we can never remember the names of) work to develop and sustain a partnership with you, the client company. We may suggest conference room “team-building” games with ropes, bed sheets, and little funny cars or we may administer extremely difficult cognitive tests and display the results around town on posters.
Dr. Samways
After gaining a thorough understanding of your industry, vision, goals, culture and what’s inside your office kitchen, we then create and implement a customized recruiting process that is able to source, screen, interview, vet, measure, and put forward the most qualified candidate to fill the identified position or positions. Samways and Fick, Consultants recruitment support provides you with an essential component for your future business success.
Samways and Fick: Helping You Reach the Area Near the Top of Your Mountain
UPDATE ON THE PIZZA CULT! Cuisine by Brian Schropp
By Brian Schropp
As I promised dear readers I’m updating you on the events surrounding my last article and, boy, there is a lot of ground to cover!
Lankville authorities descended on the Pondicherry Performance Center in full force the other day. Paddy wagons, helicopters, people in riot gear climbing down ropes, boats with guns trying to make their way up from the nearby shallow creek. I was watching all this from Dr. Nickelbee’s electric car in the parking lot (I was trying to get it started for him) so luckily I didn’t get swept up with all the other people being dragged out and beaten and then tossed into one of the wagons. A small tear did come to my eye when I saw Scott being brought out separately in cuffs and placed in a squad car. He didn’t seem to put up much resistance. I wondered if maybe it was the ‘sparkling water sorta shit’ he drank now instead of beer or maybe “the old Scott” was just a front to deceive people from his true cultish intentions.
When the authorities learned who I was they said a Special Agent from the ‘Pizza Cult Division’ wanted to speak with me. I was brought to their makeshift command center which was being set up on the other side of the parking lot. Inside the main trailer, I was introduced to Agent Spiffy. I have to admit I was getting pretty nervous– I was unknowingly involved in many aspects of the play. Agent Spiffy assured me I wasn’t under suspicion but that he just wanted to hear my version of events, unless I wanted to admit I was a part of the ‘Floating Baby Pizza Slice Cult’, then I would be thoroughly beaten and thrown in with the others. He was pretty upfront about the through beating part.
I told him what I knew about Scott, Lizzie Starlight, the play and even everything that had happened at the ‘Pizza Inn.’
Evil Abomination- The Floating Baby Pizza Slice!!
Here is what I learned from Agent Spiffy– Lizzie Starlight is, in reality, a High Priestess for The Floating Baby Pizza Slice Cult and has been using community theaters all over Lankville to convert unsuspecting citizens into cult members!! Get this folks, Lizzie Starlight isn’t even her real name, just one of many aliases! And even crazier, THAT’S NOT HER REAL HAIR (I knew it was a wig!). Spiffy said that all High Priestesses are ‘bald as a cue ball’ (he giggled kinda weirdly after saying that phrase). The way the scheme went down was that Lizzie would attach herself to whatever production was going on in town, specifically the worst one possible (mine must have been an exemption), then slowly introduces pizza elements by adding in The Floating Baby Pizza Slice. Agent Spiffy wasn’t sure if the big slice was some sort of advanced machinery or the evil metaphysical being itself but the thing would ‘subtly hypnotize’ the audience. Not everyone would be affected, just a few would be brainwashed and would automatically know where to go after the show was finished. From that point on they were ‘easy pickin’s’ (again he giggled weirdly after saying the last two words) to become mindless cult members. He also admitted some didn’t fully turn but still went home and maybe stabbed a loved one or baked a pizza without knowing why.
I needed one thing cleared up. The Chairman from the Performance Center had told me Lizzie was a renowned screenwriter and a lot of people knew her.
“A very ‘easy peasy’ (again the giggle) answer for you Bri, we believe the Chairman was either being manipulated by Lizzie via black magic or an actual, converted cult member. Either way we will get the answer from him.” He motioned me over behind his desk and on a small B&W TV set (which had been placed on the corner) showed me a live stream from an windowless bleak interrogation room. The Chairman was in there and readers I will not describe (for your sanity and your lunch) the ‘interrogation techniques’ being employed. After a few seconds I had to turn my head. “Sorry you had to see that, we in the ‘Pizza Cult Division’ don’t mess around.”
I told Spiffy my fears of what they might do to Scott, I knew in my heart of hearts he couldn’t really be involved in all of this. He assured me no real harm would come to my manager unless it was proven he was a member– indeed, they had never heard of his involvement until a few days ago.
At this point another Agent came in and told Spiffy the Performance Center had been cleared but there was no sign of ‘Lizzie Starlight’ or any large baby pizza slice!! Spiffy shook his head and muttered “Damn,’slippery as a greased-up seal'(insert weird giggle). Then, to the other officer, “OK, let’s burn it down.”
I looked out the trailer window to see men in Biohazard suits race up to the venerable old building with flame throwers.
I begged– NO– I pleaded with Agent Spiffy to let me go inside first and save the contents of the vending machines. “Nope Bri, can’t take any chances when it comes to pizza cults.” And as the building went up in flames I fell to my knees with tears now flowing freely.
An hour or so later I was on my push scooter heading home. I was thinking of ways to ask my folks to loan me the money for Scott’s bail if he was going to be released. I knew it would be a long shot getting a single dime for Scott but it was worth a try. Of course my folks (and the rest of my family) were out when I got there.
I decided to prepare myself a mid-morning snack and wait. In the kitchen, I thought I heard some strange sounds coming from my ‘basement apartment’. Walking slowly down the steps and turning past the laundry room to my area, I found none other than Lizzie Starlight. She was sitting in a meditative pose inside a circle of pizza slices, then another circle of candles (no other lights were on). I wasn’t too surprised to find her in a white robe with pizza slices printed on them– she was also missing the wig and COMPLETELY BALD.
A steady creepy chant was coming from her which sent a slight chill down my spine. She opened her eyes and gave an overly sweet smile. “Brian dear, I’ve been waiting for you.” She got up and carefully stepped over the candles towards me. Every fiber of my being wanted to run yet somehow I was paralyzed. She got close enough to loosely put her arms around my neck, she smelled like pizza and the dark arts.
I muttered, “I cant believe this—what you’ve done to everyone—to Scott–‘.
She put a finger to my lips “There’s no need to talk about that fool. He was a minor puppet in a much, much larger game. You see Brian, for the glorious and mighty Floating Baby Pizza Slice to come back to our physical world there needs to be a rebirth. I was brought here to Deep Northern Suburban Lankville because the visions told me the person was here. At first I thought it was Scott but now through deeper meditation I found that I was wrong. The real chosen one is you—.”
Lizzie Starlight- who really is completely bald!!
Lizzie moved back slightly to remove her robe–she was totally nude!! (And let me tell you readers, women look COMPLETELY different naked in real life then on the scrambled porn late at night on Lankville cable!). She moved and kissed me passionately on the mouth. Then I blacked out—
—At first there was just the darkness, then slowly a little light was moving towards me. It was accompanied by a horrid, otherworldly laugh. Slowly the iridescent haunting glow of The Floating Baby Pizza Slice headed towards me. I knew it was coming to take over my soul, my whole being, so it could rain terror and destruction on Lankville for eons! Wait—-abstractly from another corner of the infinite void of my mind came a hurricane whirling at a great speed!! I could vaguely see the bumpkin trailer spinning around inside and heard the sweet chorus of them fill all around me. This metaphysical force of wind caught up to the baby pizza slice and slammed right into it!! A huge explosion followed by a blinding white light—I saw a million universes being born and then dying at once. Another light—then darkness—the ringing—.
— And I slowly realize I’m laying on my basement apartment floor and the telephone is ringing. I carefully look around and see that Lizzie Starlight is now gone, the only evidence left are the pizza slices and burnt out candles. I slowly get up giving myself the once over. I don’t feel different mentally or physically, my clothes don’t even seem disturbed. Did I actually ‘do the deed?’ (Somewhere I hear Agent Spiffy giggling).
On the phone is Charlie ‘The Nugget Guy’ from ‘The Pizza-A-Round’– Scott has been cleared by the authorities and is there!! He said I should get down there quick. So I hopped on my push scooter and set off (ignoring the insults from the neighborhood kids along the way). Finally making it to work, I found the inside completely quiet with no phones or nobody working– it was like everybody in Lankville knew not to call or show up. The employees were circled around Scott’s door somewhat curious but mostly scared. They whisper that Scott had come walking in normally but VERY silent closing his door behind him.
“We figured you were the best one to see if he was OK,” Charlie said, nervously moving his hat on his head.
I nodded and slowly opened the door. “Scott…Scott?” I closed the door behind me.
He was almost done putting on his ‘Traditional Deep Eastern Suburban Lankville Outfit’. There was already a pile of beer cans around his feet with a few six packs on the desk. He pulled open a desk drawer to pull out two hand guns which he tucked into his outfit.
“Didn’t sell them all yet–,” he muttered over to me.
“Scott are you–?”
He flashed me a hardcore ‘Scott Look’ so it was best to keep my mouth shut. “I’m going after her Bri, her and all those damn cult fucks. I’m not going to rest until they all pay, even if I have to go through some big baby pizza slice. She made a fool out of me–I OPENED MY HEART TO HER–and I was repaid with manipulation. Not only for trying to discretely convert me or innocent others to the dark side but she was—was—COMPLETELY BALD!!! ME, SCOTT-THE KING OF KINGS-MAKING LOVE TO A COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY BALD WOMAN!!”
Scott in his traditional outfit.
He slammed his hand straight through the top of his desk. Splinters flew everywhere.
I wanted to tell him I could share in his pain but I wasn’t even sure if anything had happened between Lizzie and I. “Is it a good idea to go after this pizza cult alone, Scott? They seem really dangerous, I know you are in pain–”
“I AM SCOTT!!!!” he roared at me with the force of a thousand warriors. The force was so great it knocked me back into his pizza sauced stained office chair.
And with that, Scott swung open his door with everybody outside stepping back over each other to get out of his way. He stormed out to the parking lot and got in his 1987 Neptune. It took a few tries to start (he didn’t drive for a few weeks) then with a loud backfire the vehicle roared into reverse.
With a few heavy jerks Scott was out of the parking lot.
When will he be back? What will happen with the ‘Pizza-A-Round’ in the meantime? I will continue to keep you updated. Happy Eating!!-Bri
Police Station Number Changes Nearly Finished
By Lloyd Byas-Kirk
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Several police stations in Lankville are getting new numbers.
The changes are the result of a committee formed by Detective Gee-Temple and the Bureau of Probes who decided that nine stations should be numbered consecutively. Heretofore, because many stations had been eliminated, there was a number 54 station (Snowy Lake Area) and a number 55 station (Northern Hole Area) but no stations numbered 8-53.
“We felt this was very confusing,” noted Gee-Temple, who said the committee met over 20 times to decide on the new numbering system. “So, now the stations will just be numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and so on.”
“We had some other ideas, including ditching the numerical system altogether and naming the stations after famous politicians, mall designers, and [decorative ham magnate] Chris Vitiello but in the end we just went back to consecutive numbers,” Gee-Temple added.
Former Station 115 (Western Cave District), now to become Station 9 or Station 2, according to conflicting reports.
Under the new setup, Station 54 becomes Station 7, Station 55 becomes Station 3, and Station 82 (Pyramid Area) becomes Station 6. Other stations will remain the same.
Contractors have been working on the changes for several months.
“Gotta’ big sign there with a number on it and we gotta’ nail it in above the door,” noted Cloff Joffrey, a local contractor. “Big job, Lloyd. Big job.”
Joffrey became distracted by a lewd pamphlet and the interview ended prematurely.
Gee-Temple noted that several officers are still using the old station numbers which has resulted in some confusion.
“We apologize for the complete lack of police response recently. Understand that this is a process. It will be over as soon as they get those signs up,” the intrepid Detective said.
Getting to Know Nick Del Rio, “Astronaut”
By Brock Belvedere
Brock Belvedere had a chance to sit down with alleged “astronaut” Nick Del Rio via an apparent “robotic space transmission”.
BB: I’d like to begin this interview by telling you how vastly disappointed we are in you.
NDR: I don’t know if I agree. I think a lot of people are very excited by the evidence we have uncovered…
BB: You’re a veritable pariah in Lankville and you’re wasting everyone’s time.
NDR: Let’s move on.
Nick Del Rio, Space Asshole Correspondent
BB: Tell me about this stupid planet you discovered.
NDR: Well, I have been a little disappointed with some technological issues…
BB: Not as disappointed as we are with you.
NDR: I thought we were moving on.
BB: Stupid asshole up in space. (Mockingly): I’m just a big dumb asshole up in space.
NDR: Do you want to talk about this or not?
BB: Look at me! I’m just a huge horse’s ass parading around in space.
NDR: We’re done here.
(Transmission was aborted).
Ordeal of a Cosmonaut
By Nick Del Rio, Space Asshole Correspondent
An ongoing series by a lying asshole piece of shit.
Slumber is troubled in deep space. I have a long dream in which I am standing before a gigantic vending machine. There are some processed tarts inside– two for a quarter and I have never before experienced such desire. I put quarter after quarter into the slot but nothing happens. Then a blimp crashes into a nearby building.
When I awake, I find that the pod is far off course. Momentarily, I do not even recognize my orange planet but my instruments indicate that I am well within its orbit. My instruments tell me something else– a test pod with some big robots that I sent out last night has come back and has indicated that there is water on my orange planet.
I am astounded by this discovery. I try once more to radio earth but the transmission is now permanently dead. I consult several space manuals for protocol. “When approaching a strange, unknown planet, you must be careful of THE BEINGS”, I read. “THE BEINGS are recognized as the cause of the disappearance of Dr. Ernwhitts, our greatest cosmonaut.” Unfazed, I make the decision. I will attempt a landing.
It is well-known that Dr. Ernwhitts attempted to launch a colony somewhere in the outer orbits. I fantasize that this could indeed be the planet where his lost ship touched down. Perhaps I would find him living among the grasses and THE BEINGS, taming them, civilizing them– I would be able to pick his brilliant mind. As I am lost in thought, the gravity-jenny suddenly sputters and stops working completely and I am hit in the face by a giant meatball mouth hoagie.
I restore the gravity-jenny and its faithful hum returns. Using the ropelletron-vision screen, I find a suitable spot for touchdown. I decide on a sandy butte overlooking a series of green puddles. I immediately memorize the topography, shifting the ropelletron-vision screen to show different angles. Suddenly, my picture disappears and a crudely-made card reading BUCK UP, SPACE ASSHOLE! flashes across the screen. I suppose wryly that transmission with earth has not totally failed.
The landing is rough and I miss my preferred spot– alighting instead on a savannah-like terrain characterized by long, flowing grasses, sparse vegetation and a strange field of intermittent purple flowers. The pneumatic hiss that follows the opening of the pod door is also a release for me, after nearly five weeks trapped inside.
I am aware of an overwhelming silence. Not even the long, flowing grasses make a sound, though they move briskly in the wind. I am in a sort of valley, surrounded by high hills and then suddenly I spot a donkey and a lion fighting soundlessly before me, a mere twenty feet away. My God, it’s just like Lankville, I think. I watch the great battle– the lion eventually proves the victor and decapitates the donkey by utilizing a strange device that looks like a concave pizza tray. He drags the carcass off over the hills.
“Space”
After a short walk, I come to water. All of the singular characteristics of earth are evident here– hills, waters, grass, donkeys, lions. After a drink, I send out a triphibian robot. Then, resting by the water, I set up my satellite econo-beam with regenerating power source. Then, I wait.
The robot comes back after two hours reconnaissance– indeed, I had fallen asleep and he was forced to push gently on my buttocks. It was dimmer now; there was a strange green glow in the sky.
The robot discharges two printed images. The first is a lion, the same lion, resting among the grasses. The second is the mutilated donkey carcass.
“Anything else?”
Some calculations are made and the robot attempts to spit out another image. This time, however, the paper becomes jammed and the robot begins to wobble in an insensate manner as the obstruction becomes worse. I attempt to intervene but find that the robot is far too hot to touch– his steel casing melts away in moments. I am left with only a corner of the intended image.
I kick the robot remains in a hole and sit down to examine the photo.
It appears to be a cleared area beneath a thin canopy of tree-like entities. I can see faintly what appears to be a crude cook-stove fashioned out of dirt and clay. I see what may be the arm of an unfashionable shirt.
I start.
And I know then that I have found the long, lost Dr. Ernwhitts.
This fucking crap will continue in future installments.
President Pondicherry on the State of Lankville
President Pondicherry
I shall speak to you today about challenge and opportunity–and about the commitments that all of us have made together that will, if we carry them out, give Lankville our best chance to achieve the kind of luscious society that we all want. Every President lives, not only with what is, but with what has been and what could be and what could be on other planets.
Most of the great events in his Presidency are part of a larger sequence extending back through several years and extending back through several other administrations. There is no enclosure. We are all in fields of waving people, all of us waving backwards to Lankville.
Challenges, riots, poverty, no trash pickup, lack of mall parking, an increased number of entrances to hell, giant pests, basically only one law enforcement officer, no contingency plans, all have this much in common: They and their causes–the causes that gave rise to them–all of these have existed with us for many years. Several Presidents have already sought to try to deal with them. One or more Presidents will try to resolve them or try to contain them in the years that are ahead of us. I might be your President. I might not. But soon we will know.
If the Nation’s problems are continuing, so are this great Nation’s assets:
–our malls.
–our wooded camping areas
–candy
–the good commonsense and sound judgment of the Lankvillian people.
We must not ignore our problems. But neither should we ignore our strengths. Those strengths are available to sustain a President (whoever he or she may be) to support his progressive efforts both at home and overseas.
Vote for me. Tell me about how you will vote for me. Tell me what you will do when you pull that curtain and are left alone and unsupervised in that voting booth. I want to know so bad. Email me. Send me a letter. They have cards at the mall.
I wish it were possible to say that everything that this administration has achieved had already completed a cycle of luscious progress. But believe that at least it will be said that we tried. I tried hard, especially after lunch.
Vote for me.
God Bless You and God Bless Lankville,
President Pondicherry
Latest News About Hell: By Zach Keebaugh
The Lankville Daily News is lusciously delighted beyond measure to present investigative reporter Zach Keebaugh’s column “The Latest News About Hell”.
By Zach Keebaugh
So, yo, the up-to-the-minute count of places in Lankville that are believed to be possible entrances to Hell now sits at 3. Yeah, I didn’t believe that shit either. But some guys and some nice-looking college students convinced me. They showed me some websites, some stuff on Scanit.com and a couple of books that were lying around. The question, of course, is do you believe in any of this fucking crap? Well, I aimed to find out. I aimed to find out the latest news about Hell. I am Zach Keebaugh, Hell Investigator.
So, the first place was a fenced-in copse off Route 71. We all know about Route 71.
I met Sheriff Bill Tetts. He handed me a coffee. “You’re gonna’ need this Zach,” he said. So, I was like, “C’mon Tetts. What the fuck is this about? You got the entrance to hell over here?”
“Zach,” he said, in his inimitable Route 71 drawl. “If there be a hell, then here it is.”
“If there be a hell?” I queried. “You gettin’ all eloquent on me Tetts? Let’s see this hell entrance.”
He led me into the copse. I’ll admit, things got a little weird. It got dark fast. The sky above (where it could even be glimpsed) was a flamboyant orange. I suddenly began speaking like Tetts. “That be a weird sky,” I commented. “This be a supernal copse.” I couldn’t control myself. I don’t know what the hell was up.
Tetts led me over to a steaming crater. “The mouth of this infernal caldera is an abomination to all humankind,” said Tetts. His sipped his coffee and looked at his cell phone.
The Hell-Mouth of Route 71.
I steadied myself and stared into the abyss. It was then that I realized what a mound of horseshit the whole thing was.
“Hey, Tetts,” I said. “Souls are incorporeal, man. Hell has no need of physical mouths. Get out of here with this mind fuck, man.”
He didn’t have anything to say to that and I struck place number one off the list.
So, I took a bus down to the Warm Peninsula Regions. There, I met local historian Wilma Sheets. Wilma was a little older than me but, good Christ, she was rocking her jeans pantsuit.
Course, we were standing around a pile of god damn rocks and a weedy area. I guess there’s some guys that can make a little romance out of a pile of rocks and a weedy area but I sure wasn’t coming up with anything.
“So, Wilma, what’s up with this pile of rocks, girl?”
“Well, Zach, it sure doesn’t look like much but many ancient Lankville historians have indicated that this was once the seven gates of Hell. It was said that if you passed through all seven gates, you would land straight in Hell.”
“I only see one gate,” I said, pointing out an old chain-link fence that was pretty much sans chain-link. “Yo, what’s up?”
“Well, the other six gates are invisible during the day, Zach,” she shot back.
I stared at her for a long time. I smelled bullshit, sure. And I was a little peeved that I had ridden the hump on that shitbus all the way down here. But that pantsuit was really nice, really a good fit. You don’t see that sort of thing too often when you’re standing outside.
The Seven Gates of Hell.
“Are the invisible gates over in that weedy field?” I asked.
“I think so, Zach. These giant stone blocks, these were part of an insane asylum. Hell’s insane asylum, the legend goes. Can you imagine the sort of patients that would be in hell’s insane asylum?”
She shuddered. I was quick to give her a comforting hug. The jeans pantsuit was nice, man, I was digging it. But I knew I could check this Seven Gates of Hell nonsense off my list too.
A few days later, I took the bus out of the Warm Peninsula Regions and up to the Snowy Lake Area. That’s where the alleged third entrance to hell is located– at the infamous “Cave of Sibyl”.
Glenn O. Cox is the curator of the cave, which is just a little stone mound that you enter through a ragged doorway and which, after a couple of stairs, drops down several hundred feet into fire. They have a little sign there (in a couple different languages) warning visitors but still, thousands of dumb shits fall to their deaths every year.
“So, Glenn O. baby, you think this is the true entrance to hell, huh?” I was a little worn out– hadn’t slept in days. And I wasn’t buying the claims of this sad little stone asscave.
“Yes, Zach. According to legend, the sibyl emerges at the surface each night and leads the damned to the underworld.”
I just looked at him.
The Cave of Sibyl.
“Yes, Zach, also we have evidence that birds flying over the lake have died due to the toxic fumes the cave emits. It is, indeed, a deadly portal.”
I still had nothing to say. Glenn O. was getting a little antsy.
“And also Zach, there have been many ancient Lankvillian kings who have offered condemned prisoners the chance for freedom if they would allow themselves to be lowered into the Cave of Sibyl and report what they saw below. And in every case, the prisoner chose death over the cave!”
“Yeah? Fuck this cave, man.” I was irritable, I admit it. It was uncalled for. Let’s just say I got worn pretty ragged down in the Warm Peninsula Regions.
Glenn O. was shocked. “Oh, Zach, that…don’t say that…” He began praying, making some kind of weird sign with his stubby little hands.
“I’m packing it in, Glenn O. baby,” I said. Later, I wrote him a letter of apology.
So, man, do what you want with these three claims. That’s the takeaway here. This reporter? This reporter isn’t buying any of it. And that’s the investigation– the latest news about hell.
Zach Keebaugh won a trophy for this report.
Is There an Evil Side to Pizza? Brian Schropp on Cuisine
By Brian Schropp
Is there an evil side to pizza? I know dear readers, pause, take a deep breath and really think about it. Of course, your mind automatically retreats to all the good- the anticipation of opening that delivery box to all the cheesy goodness inside, the way the pleasure zones of the mind sparkle when the mixture of cheeseburger and tomato sauce hits your quaking taste buds whilst enjoying ‘A Mid Morning Snack Pizza’, the joys of watching the hottest pizza play around ‘Ektar- Pizza Champion’. But could there be darkness lurking just behind all that light?
I was back from my somewhat enjoyable if rather disturbing vacation (please see my last article!!) and was shocked to find four daily showings of ‘Ektar- Pizza Champion’ at the Pondicherry Performance Center. Scott, my manager at the ‘Pizza-A-Round’ (now sporting a beret with pizza slices on it) was over the moon when he passed me at the front doors. “I can’t believe it Bri, this play is finally making me famous!! I never thought I could be what society deems a ‘somebody’.” I tried to ask him how things were at ‘home base’ (my silly nickname for ‘The Round’). “Don’t know to tell you the truth, been way to busy with this play to really deal with that place. Press interviews, hanging out in the coolest theater nightspots, getting my feet rubbed by beautiful groupies, it’s all so much!” I found this a little odd– even though he often talked about leaving the ‘pizza trade’ for bigger things I never thought he would just abandon ‘The Round’ so suddenly. I also took note of the nicer clothes he was wearing and some recent weight loss. “Quit drinking the beer and now I’m drinking this sparkling water sorta shit Lizzie gives me. Making me feel clear you know? Coming up with all sorts of shit for the follow up plays. Did I tell you I’m selling my guns?—”
Dr. Nickelbee- the LAST person I wanted to see.
At this point Lizzie Starlight (co writer of Ektar and my former stage partner) came up from behind and started to rub Scott’s shoulders. “Say sweetie, the next performance is going to start soon. We need to see if that actor playing ‘the fourth pepperoni stick’ is really up to snuff.” Scott took leave, grumbling under his breath about what would happen to the actor if he messed up. At least he waved a quick goodbye to me, Lizzie didn’t even acknowledge my existence!!
Even though I was only gone a week I had a hard time getting into the performance center. Having a big part early on in the making of this play seemed to have no weight on getting me through the doors– I needed a ticket for the sold out show. My pleas of needing to check out what was new in the vending machines were falling on deaf ears when I suddenly heard, “don’t worry-don’t worry I have an extra ticket for him!!” I turned around to see none other than my whacked out therapist Dr. Nickelbee pushing past people and waving two tickets excitedly in the air. Just great, I thought, he is LAST person I wanted to see having just returned from vacation.
Why a freak like him had two tickets I will never know. He also spent the extra extra dough and got the really good front row cushy seats which he was all giggly about. Before the show started he kept asking me how my vacation was (while rubbing my leg). When I tried to tell him how strange my trip had been, he would just cut me off and start talking loudly (annoying the folks around us) about how much he was looking forward to the play. He had even bought fake ‘Ektar novelty horns’ (the character is half-man, half-buffalo) in the lobby and put them on.
Finally the lights started to dim (and he was gripping my knee tight!!). I was surprised to find the opening changed. The laser light show was now the opening scene followed by what appeared to be a bigger and much more realistic floating baby pizza slice. After a moment, the eyes of the baby lit up and it started talking in a weird voice that didn’t make any sense. I looked around and saw that the audience was totally mesmerized by this! It was then that I felt Nickelbee’s hand tighten on my knee–I turned to see his face twisted in pure horror. Before I had time to find out what was wrong he stood up screaming.
“NO, NOT YOU, YOU’RE NOT REAL-YOU’RE NOT HERE!!! GET OUT OF MY HEAD, I HATE YOU-I HATE YOU-I HATE YOU–”
The Floating Baby Pizza Slice- true evil?
Then Nickelbee fled holding his head shrieking out the door. The lights came back on and the giant pizza baby floated back behind the drawn curtain. People were looking around at each other strangely. I was of course overly-embarrassed by the whole ordeal and with the dirty looks I was getting from the stage hands I knew it was best for me to go after Dr. Nickelbee.
I found his car open and abandoned in the parking lot and could hear his screams a few blocks away. The electric car must of broke down again, I thought. I walked slowly after him, following his loud howls in the night (which was one continuous stream) all the way through Northern Lankville to his offices. He left the office building and his own personal office door wide open. I heard him sobbing from under his desk. I walked over to where I usually sit on the couch and grabbed a few peanuts from a bowl on a nearby table. It took me a moment to find the right words. “So,—I take it something was bothering you?”
“JUST LEAVE ME ALONE I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!!!”
I had no intention of really staying but the peanuts were those sugary kind which taste like candy, they can be so addicting!! Before long he just started to babble from under the desk. He talked about having visions of the baby pizza slice ever since he was a little kid. The slice would tell him to do all sorts of bad things, things he didn’t want to talk about. This otherworldly slice would also haunt his dreams telling him that one day all of Lankville would worship the baby like a God. When he was a teenager ‘the evil’ (which Nickelbee was now calling it) was trying to get him to kill elected officials!
“It was then Bri that I knew there was only one thing I could do. In my dreams I had to eat the floating baby slice, swallowing that thing whole would end the horror. CAN YOU IMAGINE FORCING YOURSELF TO EAT A BABY WHO IS MADE OUT OF PIZZA?!! HAVE YOU EVER HEARD ANYTHING SO ABSURD?!!”
Supposedly, that did the trick for him until he saw it floating before him tonight.
There was a long silence and then he returned to a sobbing mess and I’m pretty sure I smelled urine. With the bowl of peanuts also finished I really had no other business here. Walking back, I started not only thinking about tonight’s events but the things that happened during my stay at the ‘Pizza Inn’. Could they somehow be related? Then it dawned on me- the beret which Scott was wearing tonight looked much the same style as the robed men I saw at the Inn– white with tiny pizza slices on it!
Paranormal Investigator Dexter Kornish.
I desperately needed more answers. Instead of heading home I went over to the house of renowned Paranormal Investigator Dexter Kornish. I am a big fan of his books on the supernatural occurrences along Highway 71 and other like subject matters. He was very gracious letting me into house late at night and even offering me a large glass of strawberry milk. We sat down in his spacious offices which were located in the basement with some old exercise equipment.
“So Bri, how can I help you?”
I was nervous about relating the whole story so far. What if he didn’t believe me? I never read anything about a floating baby pizza slice in his books before. He listened attentively to everything I said then took a pipe out of his desk drawer and began puffing on it. He shook his head and muttered “absolutely fantastic.”
After another pause he turned directly to me. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret which I hope you won’t share (sorry Dexter but I have an article to do!!) Half the stuff I write about is pure BS. Total crap just made up for money.”
My heart sank to the floor “You mean the stuff about Highway 71?—”
“Oh that place is totally fucked beyond belief, you wouldn’t wanted to know the truth about what’s going on there. You see the money I make off writing about the fake happenings helps me channel funds into my real paranormal investigations- the things I share only with fellow investigators. If the real stuff got out your typical Lankville citizen wouldn’t be able to handle it. If their minds didn’t explode they would certainly go mad jumping off buildings and the such. I hate to tell you this but the Floating Baby Pizza Slice is far too real.”
Kornish took a large stuffed folder out of a messy file cabinet. “Have you ever read about the pizza prohibition and how it started?”
“Of course! In school they told us it was about criminals smuggling illegal cheese from the Lankville Islands to all the pizza places.”
“That’s what they what you to believe. The real reason, which has been covered up by the Lankville higher ups for years, has to do with pizza cults.”
He showed me photostats from the file folder with all sorts of articles and secret documents telling of the pizza-related societies who tried over the years ‘topping’ the current rule of law in Lankville. Several made references to a floating baby pizza slice who was either worshipped or came to people in visions. Dexter even had a whole separate folder on the slice which told about these demonic possessions since the beginning of recorded Lankville history!! In recent times it seems these particular stories have trailed off until last year when sightings came back full force.
He took out a picture from a top drawer, it a screen shot from some grainy VHS tape.
“This was taken only last week from a top secret Pondicherry home video. See that strange triangular shape in the sky?”
Actual footage of the slice!!
I looked really hard. “Not sure if I see anything.”
“Oh come now, really look hard. You’re no dummy!”
I squinted with all my soul. “Yeah-yeah I think I see it!”
“Recorded evidence of the slice, what further proof do we need that the floating abomination from the underworld is indeed back? So you say this play everyone is raving about has something like this in it?” I nodded. “And it’s being run by your manager at the ‘Pizza-A-Round and a woman named ‘Lizzie Starlight?’ Well I better go up there tomorrow and check this out. Until then DO NOT WRITE ABOUT THIS IN THE PAPER AT ALL!!”
Well readers, it’s been a few days since that conversation and I haven’t heard from Dexter Kornish at all. I know what he said but I am now publishing this in hopes someone has information about his whereabouts. If anyone does can you tell him to contact me via the paper. I tried tapping on his basement window a few times but his folks keep chasing me off. Can all of this be true? And how far is Scott wrapped up in it? I thought I knew him and not only thought of him as a manger but somewhat of a friend as well. I’m going to try find answers to all of this and will let you know dear readers what I uncover. Until next time- please keep your mind and mouth open to new ideas. Happy eating!!-Bri
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