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Ric Royer from the Depths of His Heart

March 24, 2015 Leave a comment
By Ric Royer

By Ric Royer

The Lankville Daily News is proud to present a new series by enigmatic Lankville businessman Ric Royer.

The depths of my heart are a pure place to go.

I used to think it was a place of intense confusion, horror, and lewdness and also where the past lived, but I’ve come to find that it’s really a place of deep purity, like beautiful bouncing white soap bubbles caroming gently off a bare wall and onto a lover in a towel. Some people have said that these emotions are intense and for some reason I have experienced some sort of negativity in this world. Maybe it’s the way I am taking it? Maybe it’s the way that I interpret our world? Maybe it’s because there are heart simulacra everywhere and the true heart is no longer recognizable. You know how they have those little candies?

 Nevertheless, I am starting to find that this emotional intensity about life is actually simplicity itself. And therefore, I intend to get more and more emotionally intense. It will be as though there is a knob and I shall turn this knob higher everyday and all days through the rest of my life. If you want to lunch with me– say, for example, in a run-down restaurant with a hubcap attached to the desk and no exterior signage, you should expect long periods of emotional intensity. You may not even get to eat. Emotional intensity can sometimes manifest itself on tables and a full surface clearance is not out of the question. But that is purity.

In doing so, I shall link into the purity of these emotions that I have never fully experienced before.

Maybe that is life right there – fully experiencing emotions.

The depths of your heart can be a place where you go to understand the intricacies, mysteries, horrors, and sexual irregularities of this life. Those little candies are a poor substitute. Although, they are very good. I eat several hundred a day.

There are so many things that we do not understand about our world simply because we cannot see them. Sometimes, you must trust they are there. You have to be willing to put your feet forward while throwing out intense emotions everywhere all over everything before walking into a dense fog. Will it be scary? Absolutely. Will it be worth it? Oh absolutely.

Purity. Probity. Fogs.

Time and time again you must travel into the depths of your heart to find yourself. Only then, will you begin to function in a way that is truly connected and present with the world.

If you can do that, there’s no cork in the bottle of what your life can become.

To Catch a Thief, Part Two: Brian Schropp on Cuisine

March 24, 2015 Leave a comment
Brian Schropp on Cuisine

Brian Schropp on Cuisine

So the bust was set up and ready to go. I had six delicious large pepperoni sticks (from the SECOND pepperoni freezer) tucked in a duffel bag to hand over to Munny Joseph, “Big ” Eddie Jones, and Danny “Elf Boy” Finlay. Scott informed me that if the pepperoni sticks were damaged in any way it would come out of my paycheck (just like the other things I “stole” to gain the trust of these pizza thugs). I told Scott this could possibly add up to me owing him money.

“Guess you will have to work on your days off to make up for it, that’s life Bri,” Scott said harshly. “Now, lift up your shirt.” We were in his office a few hours before the bust was scheduled to happen.

“But-but why?” I was always uncomfortable being undressed in front of the human species.

Scott pulled out an old style micro recorder and some duct tape. “Going to wrap this around you and record the whole conversation in case there is any question from Detective Gee-Temple afterwards.”

“You said you would be acting rightfully under Lankville law after I handed over the pepperoni?”

“Maybe-maybe,” Scott replied. “I sorta looked over some stuff at the courthouse and I’m still not really sure. I have a hard time focusing on words written in paragraphs. No one is going to blame to me though, this is choice pepperoni!!”

From L to R- "Big" Eddie Jones, Munny Joseph, Danny "Elf Boy" Finlay

From L to R- “Big” Eddie Jones, Munny Joseph, Danny “Elf Boy” Finlay

I raised my arms while he taped the recorder around me. Not only was I going to be walking into a potentially dangerous situation I had no business being in, but now this tape was going to really really hurt when it was time for it to come off.

After squeezing back into my “Pizza-A-Round” shirt, I thought you could clearly see the micro recorder sticking out from my side.

“Just say you have a tumor, you gotta remember these three guys are really dumb even by pizza business standards.”

We went over the game plan yet again. I was supposed to meet Danny “Elf Boy” Finlay at his sleeping hole at 6:10. I had to hold off actually handing over the goods until all three were there. Scott didn’t want any of them getting away and not feeling his wrath. What was I supposed to say if I had to stall for time? Scott recommended things like small girl motel wrestling, glue sniffing, the Lankville drag racing scene, making out with girls. Stuff I knew NOTHING about!! (OK folks you did catch me in a minor lie, I am a fan of small girl motel wrestling). Scott said I was over-thinking the situation and told me not to worry.

“You wanna’ carry a piece with you, Bri?” he asked, as he removed a metal briefcase from beneath his desk.

I patently refused.

​The micro-recorder Scott savagely wrapped around me.

​The micro-recorder Scott savagely wrapped around me.

I left by the office “secret door” (which is just a slightly larger but very dirty air duct) and had nothing but worry on my mind. The few hours passed quickly and I was soon walking down some of the worst streets in Deep Southwestern Suburban Lankville towards Finlay’s sleeping hole. The only thing that made me feel safe was knowing Scott was in his car not too far behind with a full arsenal of weapons. Finlay’s address was hard to locate since the numbers on these “houses” were hard to read. Thinking I had finally found the correct place, I knocked on the rotten piece of wood which may have been a door and after a few deep breaths went inside. The interior was dark, it was evening and the idea of somebody actually paying for electricity for this dump seemed like a joke.

“Hello-hello?” I mumbled while stumbling around what I hoped was furniture and not bodies.

“Back here.” I could always recognize the nasally whine of Danny “Elf Boy” Finlay. I felt my way along a wall until I made my way into a “kitchen area” where Finlay sat at a table. The grey light of the evening was coming through an open (there was no glass) window.

He smiled his elvish smile while picking up a dirty beer bottle off the table and taking a swig. “Bring the goods?”

I nodded- lifting up the bag.

“Hand it over and let me see. I can tell by smelling the sticks if it’s from the second pepperoni freezer or not.” He somehow seemed impressed by this skill.

Danny "Elf Boy" Finlay's sleeping hole.

Danny “Elf Boy” Finlay’s sleeping hole.

I remembered what Scott said about stalling until the others were there so I tried my best. “So say Danny, have you ever- you know- had -like-relations with a woman-I mean a girl-I mean a honey? I-I have- don’t get me wrong–it’s just nice you know-laying down together–having a nice talk, stroking each other’s hair—what are your thoughts?” I think I did an okay job.

He took a slow swig from his dirty beer bottle. “Stalling for time Schropp? Was that part of the plan you and Scott came up with?”

Before I even had time to answer the back door was kicked open and in came “Big” Eddie Jones and Munny Joseph with Scott. They had Scott by one of his arms– I hadn’t seen such a shocked expression on my manager’s face before. “I’m sorry Bri, don’t know how they found out?!”

The three pizza thugs laughed. “You think we are idiots, Scott?” Munny said scowling at his manager. “But you’re the one who is the real clown. You think it’s been just us three in on this operation and it’s just pepperoni that’s being taken? Well there’s a fourth member, the real mastermind, who is giving us the low down on what to steal and when.”

Scott got the “Scott look” on his face. “Who?”

Eddie chuckled in his goofy voice. “Martha, the head phone lady! She even heard you guys planning this afternoon and gave us the heads up.”

It was my turn to be shocked. Martha the sassy but sweet lady who did her best to teach me the phones and was always smacking my butt. All the special times I had with her in my short time there, not only the yelling and screaming when I took a wrong order (which was a lot) but the laughs, the tender talks, the sometimes soft cuddling in the back of her car. How could she do this?!!

Picture of my manager Scott relaxing at home.

Picture of my manager Scott relaxing at home.

Scott wasted no time pulling away from the grips of Eddie and Munny and then punching their lights out with just one blow each! Danny’s elven like reflexes acted quickly and he flew up from the table and crawled under an area by the nearby rusted sink. Scott took a gun out from his waistband and quickly walked over and fired a few shots under the sink. He turned around and shook his head. “I think there is a whole tunnel system under the house, damn that kid is fast.”

I asked him what he was going to do with the two others. “I couldn’t give a damn about them right now Bri,” he said while reloading his gun. “There is only one person who is going to face my rage full force and she is working the closing shift right now!!”

If it was anybody else I wouldn’t of cared, but I placed a hand on Scott’s arm. “I know what she has done is inexcusable but please let me talk to her. I promise you will never see her again.”

Scott looked at me with full rage, I thought I was next for a punch. Then his look softened a little. “Alright you have until I figure out what to do with these two chumps over there. Once that’s done I’m heading back to the “Pizza-A-Round” and if she is there I swear to you Bri it’s not going to be a pretty sight.”

I didn’t have very much time and the shop was some distance away. I dropped the duffel bag of pepperoni sticks so it wouldn’t weigh me down and ran as fast as I could. By the time I got there I was in a slow jog and I was a sweaty mess. The phones were ringing off the hook since it was the late evening pizza rush. Martha made her usual fuss when I said I needed to speak with her but she could see by the look in my eyes that it was serious. I gently took her by the hand and led her out into the parking lot. I told Martha how the events of the evening unfolded and how the others ratted her out.

Martha, the real mastermind

Martha, the real mastermind

“You have to let me explain, I never meant for it to go this far. I needed extra money and—”

I put my hand up to her lips. “You don’t have time to explain, Scott will be on his way soon. You need to go and never show your face here again.”

“I never meant to hurt–”

“Me? You have. Not just because you put me in harm’s way of those pizza thugs but because you are not the woman I thought you were. The woman who found a warm place in my half-human half-bumpkin heart.”

“Can I–”

“Slap my butt one more time? No, we are beyond that.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Don’t worry, there are thousands of pizza places in Lankville. I would suggest somewhere over the border into Southern Lankville. It will be rough going but you will make it. When you get your act cleaned up I only ask that you think of me fondly every once in awhile.” I wiped a small tear from her eye.

In the last rays of the evening light Martha walked out of the “Pizza-A-Round” parking lot with her head slumped down. Yes dear readers the pizza trade is a hard hard business indeed.

BRI

President Pondicherry on Why We Won’t Be Picking Your Garbage Up Anymore

March 23, 2015 Leave a comment
President Pondicherry

President Pondicherry

We have a place, all of us, in a long story—a story we continue, but whose conclusion we will not see. It is the story of a new Lankville that became a friend and liberator of ancient kingdoms and a servant of freedom. It is the story of a Lankville that once possessed slaves but now only occasionally possesses slaves. It is the story of a Lankville that protects but does not possess, that deflects but does not conquer and has beautiful, beautiful malls– the envy of all the world.

It is a Lankvillian story— I want you to join me in celebrating it. Our faith in freedom is a rock in a raging sea and a seed upon the wind. I want you to tell me about that seed– how it blows to you. Write me about the seed. Can you feel it when you walk in the woods? Can you taste it? I’m told that you should be able to. Write me about it– write me about it now. You know that I can’t wait to get your letters– I want them so bad.

Every day, we affirm a new commitment to live out our nation’s promise through civility, courage, shopping, and character. Lankville, at its best, matches our commitment to ethics with a concern for civility. Our concern for civility is like a great bird that goes around to different tall trees. It is majestic, glorious and strong. There will be a banner showing the bird. You can come and see it. I want you to.

Unfortunately, however, as of this coming Tuesday, there will no longer be any trash pickup in Lankville.

God Bless You and God Bless Lankville,
President Pondicherry

Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

March 23, 2015 Leave a comment
Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

It was a windowless, ill-lit room. I sat there for awhile. You could hear the rain on the roof.

After awhile, a big guy came in. He huffed it to the other side of the table and sat staring at me.

“This idn’t any of my business,” he said. “I’m just here to make sure you get some papers. We got charts, you know. Pie, flow, horizontal stacked bar, scatter, triangle. You name it, we got it.”  He tapped a folder and then stared at his hands.

“Nobody’s going to god damn catch me unawares,” he whispered.

I couldn’t figure on any of it.

A woman came in. She was a big girl, selling it pretty well up front but the back was shot to hell. When she sat down opposite me, her chair squeaked resentfully.

She talked me through it and I nodded along idiotically. I could barely pay attention. Buck up Oakes I kept saying to myself. You wanna’ be a charity case all your life? It didn’t matter none though.

When it was all over, she said, “I’ll give you a tour.”

We stood up.

“What about the papers? I got my charts to do,” the big guy said.

“Later.”

I followed the woman out. The big guy had taken a chair and slammed it down on the table. You could hear pieces of it flying all over the place. Nobody seemed to give a damn though.50

We came to a big open office with no windows. Boxes of garbage crammed into the corners. The floor was covered in scratched and streaked tiles. Bunch of grey-skinned middle-aged women wearing men’s clothing sitting in cubicles. There was something chilling about it. I couldn’t piece it together none.

We approached a closet with a battered steel door.

“And this is our kitchen,” my tour guide noted. “The microwave doesn’t work. We put in for one months ago but…” She trailed off.

She saw me staring at the blood that faintly stained one wall.

“Yes, someone killed themselves in here. We should…probably paint…”  She trailed off again.

Two days later I was entering senseless data into a computer.

OPINION: It is an Injustice that My Novels Have Not Garnered a Wider Audience

March 20, 2015 1 comment
By Cust Shirley, Novelist

By Cust Shirley, Novelist

IMPORTANT OPINIONS

I began writing 25 years ago.

In that time, I have produced 16 novels, countless short stories and several chapbooks of humorous poetry. I have penned essays, critical reviews, travel accounts and even a novella written entirely in rhymed couplets. And if you think that’s easy to do, my friend, then I invite you to try it. Hell, you can even use my desk and sleep in my guest room if you want to give it a shot.

But despite all this work, I bet you haven’t heard of me, right? Why?

Because of a grave injustice. Let me explain.

My first novel The Shed Out Back was a realistic story of a love-hungry girl in the Lankville scrublands. I actually spent several months in the scrublands just so I could get the feel of the place. It paid off. I ended up with what I thought was a masterpiece. Here’s a sample:

In the end, Gretchen was a one-man woman– a woman who could give only one man the full passion of her being– the wild, unheeding surrender of a scrubland animal. Cliff may have been the wrong man– he probably was the wrong man but it didn’t matter. Because scrubland trash loves it that way.

If you can’t get excited by the power of the written word over that paragraph, then we better start checking your pulse.

Anyway, the novel gets printed and comes out in some selected bookstores in the Lankville scrubland and peninsula areas. It gets reviewed– in this very paper, no less by a man who shall remain nameless. And this is what that reviewer wrote:

The Shed Out Back is the printed equivalent of vomit. And also, piss and shit.

I will never forget those lines. But I would not be deterred. I pressed on.

More novels followed in quick succession. Jezebel in the Meadows, Square and Bare, Hard Phil, High Pillows in the Snowy Region, Demon Experiences in Many Lands. Each and every one– a gem in my mind (and the minds of my wife and some of our friends, I should add!) And every time– the same kind of review or some version of it. Here’s what that same reviewer said about Hard Phil:

If you’ve ever wondered if it were possible that a pile of dung could be run through a printing press, bound and sold in bookstores, then pick up a copy of Hard Phil.

Can you god damn believe that? I told my wife that if I ever ran into that guy…

I pressed on. I completed a trilogy of novels about a quartet of overly-endowed revolutionary women and some bears who live in medieval times. The bears talk like humans and it’s sort of about the complex interactions that they might have if there were these overly-endowed revolutionary women around. I add further bears in the second volume and then several child bears with oversized heads in the third novel (they are meant to be from another planet). Then, everyone actually travels to another planet. It was a deeply personal work coming as it did at the zenith of my creative powers and when I sent it off to the publisher, I thought to myself “Shirley, you’ve done it. The first truly important work of our new century.” Then, I waited.

And waited. And waited.

Finally, I called Herb Howard over at Night Pyramid Books. I said, “Herb, what the hell’s going on over there?”

And he said, “I’m sorry, Cust. But we won’t be publishing the Nude in Orbit Trilogy. It’s just…” He sputtered out. I slammed the phone down.

And you know what I did? I published the god damn thing myself.

I got copies for $19.95, $29.95 for the signed deluxe edition. You wanna’ correct an injustice? Buy one.

You WILL NOT be disappointed.

The opinions of Cust Shirley are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

Royer to Purchase “Burger Rex” Franchise

March 19, 2015 Leave a comment
Elliott Cumber-Lanny

Elliott Cumber-Lanny

LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!

Eccentric Lankville business magnate Ric Royer announced today he will purchase a Burger Rex franchise in Eastern Lankville. Royer has long been a patron and social media enthusiast of the chain and of the Eastern Lankville location in particular.

“It’s my favorite of the many Burger Rex franchises,” noted Royer at an early morning press conference which was held on a log raft in the middle of a lake. “They have paintings of heaven all over the walls and booths shaped like automobiles which create the illusion that you’re driving while you’re eating your food. The booths and the paintings of heaven come with the restaurant.”

Retro automobile booth. Note the man crying in the background.

Retro automobile booth. Note the man crying in the background.

Royer noted that he will make only a few alterations to his new endeavor.

“I’ll add some more paintings of heaven. Otherwise, the tableau is perfect.”

The executive played the hero at the restaurant in an incident in January when he repelled several youths who were taunting an elderly woman.

“With the exception of some unwarranted sexual situations, [the restaurant] has exhibited model behavior since,” Royer averred. “I look forward to owning the restaurant and maybe, sometimes, living there.”

Royer will assume ownership on April 1.

OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth at the Doctor’s Office Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth at the Doctor’s Office Again

March 19, 2015 Leave a comment
By Dick La Hoyt

By Dick La Hoyt

OUTSTANDING OPINIONS

Yeah, this is some breaking news for that asspipe that punched me in the mouth at the doctor’s office the other day. Guess what, shit-clown? I’ve been punched in the mouth at the doctor’s office before and I’ll be punched in the mouth at the doctor’s office again.

So, I’m just sitting around Dr. Yothers’ waiting room, minding my own business, skimming through an old issue of Lingus Nets Illustrated and this tough guy comes strolling in. He makes some small talk with the nurse Karen and then he sits down a couple of chairs away from me. Whole time, I’m thinking what the hell is this prick’s problem? but I keep my thoughts to myself. Dick La Hoyt ain’t no troublemaker, know what I mean?

Next thing I know, this guy comes horning in on the magazine table. I’m like WHOA BUDDY! BACK OFF! THESE MAGAZINES ARE SPOKEN FOR! and I put my arms out quickly to signify that I’m ready for a dance if it comes to that.

Dr. Yothers

“You’ve been punched in the mouth.” 

This retard is all like, “All the magazines are spoken for? There’s twenty magazines here!” and I’m like YOU GOTTA’ PROBLEM WITH THAT, BUDDY, WE CAN TAKE THIS SHIT OUTSIDE and Karen, the nurse is all like This is a doctor’s office, this is a doctor’s office and one thing leads to another and the next thing you know, this cock fiddler is bucking, there’s some back and forth around the magazine table and then, BANG, the shitheel clocks me right in the mouth.

I wake up on a table in Dr. Yothers’ office. He’s sitting on a stool doing a word puzzle. He’s got this whole thing about word puzzles.

“Feeling better Mr. La Hoyt?” He hands me an ice pack. My lip is all busted to hell and a tooth feels loose.

“Where’s that horse’s ass?” I say.

“I sent him away. Just rest, Mr. La Hoyt. You’ve been punched in the mouth.”

Sure, sure, I’d been punched in the mouth, doc. But I just want that sack of shit to know it– ain’t the first time and it won’t be the last.

The opinions of Dick La Hoyt are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.

And the Best Public Restroom in Lankville Is….

March 19, 2015 Leave a comment
By Trent Steib

By Trent Steib

INVESTIGATIVE REPORTING…FOR YOU!

We’ve all been there: hustling up from the Lankville Subway, clutching sacks of delectables from Barlow Foods or holding a hatbox from Five White Guys’ Haberdashery, when nature calls. Urgently.

But where to turn when you are “on the go” and suddenly find that you “have to go”? Even as those familiar cramps begin to twinge with an unmistakable message, your thoughts can’t help but fan outwards over the qualities we all seek in a public restroom. Perhaps you are the type of person who values privacy; the open-air stalls beside the Pondicherry Square Farmer’s Market are not for you, then. Maybe you require hot, running water to wash with; if so, you will want to plan your next constitutional to pass beside the Mud Pits, where restroom plumbing is fed by the hot springs of the Lankville Partial-Ice Regions.

“I go there all the time,:

“I go there all the time”

After a six-month Special Investigation of the habits and preferences of Lankvillians, we have finally and definitively determined the public restroom that encompasses the features our citizens find most desirable: the Stacy Q. Pryzbylewski Memorial Water Closet on the third floor in the main branch of the Lankville Public Library.

“I go there all the time,” averred Men’s Feelings Expert Kevin Thurston. “Something about the color scheme, the lighting, and the water pressure makes for a gestalt that leaves me feeling well-adjusted for the rest of the day.”

Noted mall architect Mike Squatch, meanwhile, praised the restroom’s design aesthetics.

“You don’t often find that level of detail and harmony in post-mid-century Lankville lavoratories,” said Mr. Squatch. “The breadth, the balance – it’s really quite unique.”

Indeed, certain features of the Pryzbylewski bathroom were mentioned time and time again by men and women on the street.

Among these were the especially spacious stalls that allow ample room for spreading out. “It’s important to me to have enough leg room to do all I need to do,” confirmed Honey Rose, Lankville’s senior pizza stripper. “Especially first thing in the morning.”

“I appreciate the handrails, too,” she added.

Also noted was the pleasing mosaic design on the wall tiles, tastefully hovering at eye level for those making use of the stalls. The outward-opening doors also met with Lankvillians’ approval: “The last thing you want to do is have to step back towards the toilet when you come out,” said typical post-graduate Gretchen Chairley, 24. “You want to flush the toilet, pop the door open and leave in one fluid motion.”

High-pressure flushing action, solid aluminum panels between urinals (on the men’s side), well-stocked assorted vending machines: the Lankville Library restroom has everything to meet citizens’ gastrointestinal needs.

But it has more.

“The murder holes,” said Mike Squatch, smiling. “The murder holes are a nice perk that really sets this puppy apart.”

Every one of our respondents agreed: There is something deeply satisfying about finishing off a visit to the lavoratory by dropping an object or two through the restroom’s “special aperture” onto unsuspecting Library patrons on lower floors.

It’s just another thing that makes being out and about in Lankville such a unique adventure.

Shortly after press time, Trent Stieb was killed in a challenge. We will miss him.

To Catch a Thief: Brian Schropp on Cuisine

March 18, 2015 Leave a comment
Brian Schropp on Cuisine

Brian Schropp on Cuisine

A TWO-PART SERIES

The pizza trade can be a hard business- this fact becomes clearer to me each time I work at the “Pizza-A-Round.” My manager, Scott, pulled me into his office last week. “Sit down Bri, we got some serious things to discuss.” He proceeded to take out one of his guns and start fiddling with it. His gun fiddling used to make me nervous, now I know he was just deep in “Scott thought”.

Picture of my manager Scott relaxing at home.

Picture of my manager Scott relaxing at home.

There was a long silence. I did start to wonder if this had anything to do with my performance. I had been recently put in charge of the “dish cleaning division” of the operation. I even had two others under my “managerial expertise”, Oscar and Omar. My “mission statement” was to make sure every dish was clean and get the Lankville Health Department off our backs. It’s been a rough road in achieving this but we’re on our way.

“Is it the dishes Scott?” I finally offered. I sat down in a pizza sauce stained chair.”I’m pretty sure the whole team is using HOT water EVERY TIME–.”

“No-no nothing to do with that- I mean the dishes haven’t been great- but there’s something else.” He took out a folder and smacked it on the desk. “Have you ever heard of a profit and loss statement?”

Since it had nothing to do with actually eating food I had not.

“Well let’s just say that we are in business to make a profit and have less loss. Unfortunately it’s been the other way around recently.”

“Have you tried my mid-morning snack pizza idea yet? I know it’s a little ‘outside the box’ but I’m sure it would be a winner..”

Scott nodded. “Even though that is a brilliant concept, it’s got nothing to do with sales. This loss is coming from the inside, employee theft- plain and simple.”

Needless to say I was taken aback!! I would never think my fellow “co-buddies” (another managerial term I’m trying to incorporate) would do such a thing.

“Not only do I know who is doing it I also know what’s being stolen. It’s pepperoni being swiped out of the third pepperoni freezer.” Scott paused so I could take it all in. “Supposedly it’s a hot item on the Lankville black market. These fools think since it’s from the third pepperoni freezer I wouldn’t notice. But you can’t trick me, I’M SCOTT.”

“Who is it?”

“One of the drivers, ‘Big’ Eddie Jones. Thursday’s prep line chief, Munny Joseph. And groundskeeper/dumpster cleaner, Danny ‘Elf Boy’ Finlay.”

My "mid-morning snack" pizza idea

My “mid-morning snack” pizza idea

Inside I was happy. These three in particular were bullies and have tried to make my employment here difficult. I knew Scott was going to make those jerks pay!!

“They’ve been kinda tricky so far Bri, with all three of them working different aspects of the operation I haven’t gotten the proof I need. That’s where you come in, I need for you to gain their trust quickly. Once you have it, you tell these idiots you can supply them with better quality pepperoni from the second pepperoni freezer.”

“What then?”

“Set up a time for you to drop off the goods at a location outside of the store. Once the pepperoni is in their hands I will have the legal Lankville right to do what I need to.”

At this point I was shaking all over. This type of thing wasn’t my cup of tea and I let Scott know it (mainly in a whining, pleading tone).

“I know Bri, but you’re the only one I can trust. Plus with you being on the Lankville Endangered Species list they might not hurt you too bad if caught. The thing we have going for us is that the three are extremely dumb. I think you will gain their trust in no time, the deal will sound so sweet to them that we can set up the bust. THEN I WILL HAVE THEM!” Scott flashed his “bad look” into the work area at the sound of “Big” Eddie Jones coming in for his shift.

It really didn’t take that long for me to gain the trust of these guys. After a few days of mostly embarrassing situations (best left unsaid for purposes of my pride– there were only a few times I lost my pants) they let me hang out with them on their “breaks”. I think they liked the idea of a fourth member they could kick around. Scott had given me the ok to steal a few things if they were watching me (though Scott did say he will take the cost of what I ‘stole’ out of my paycheck). That got them talking to me about their “operation”. After a few times I told them I had access to the second pepperoni freezer and could get them quality stuff. Their eyes widened.

“Why are you doing this?” Danny “Elf Boy” Finlay asked in an unusually nasal voice. “The word was getting around that you were in with Scott.”

From L to R- "Big" Eddie Jones, Munny Joseph, Danny "Elf Boy" Finlay

From L to R- “Big” Eddie Jones, Munny Joseph, Danny “Elf Boy” Finlay

“I was,” I replied while crawling on my hands and knees (they were making me crawl around on all fours acting like a dog by the dumpsters while they flicked their cigarette butts at me). “But that jerk has been treating me bad recently. I guess the whole part-man, part-bumpkin thing wore off quick.” Scott had actually started to treat me rough again just to give the illusion of some tension between us. I was yelled at, threatened with a gun a few times and even once had my head dunked in some oily dish water.

“The best way to get revenge is to get him where it hurts, in his pocketbook!” This gem came from Munny who seem to be the ringleader. “When do you think you can get that pepperoni for us?”

“Tomorrow-bark-bark-as a punishment Scott is making me do the pepperoni count in that freezer.”

“Well you better get us some choice cuts or else there will be hell to pay. And be slick about it, we have a pretty smooth operation going on here. That fool has no idea what we are up to.”

“No worries fellas, I know he doesn’t look at those reports very closely.”

“Good, once you are done with your shift and you have the stuff meet us at this address.” Munny threw a scrap piece of paper at me. “Now eat our cigarette butts like a good boy.”

They stood around and chuckled while I did that nasty deed. Little did they know Scott and I would have the last chuckle come tomorrow evening now that a time and place had been set up.

Please come back for part two where you will really learn the dark side of this pizza trade!! Until then keep your mind and mouth open to new ideas!

BRI

Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

March 13, 2015 Leave a comment
Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

The sky was overcast and a light rain and a breeze had started up. I stood there in the half-empty market. The watermelon guy was looking at me. He lit a cigarette.

“Are you going to buy one of these watermelons, Oakes?” he said.

I stared at them. The rinds were glistening. It was pure torture.

“Why don’t you give me one on credit?” I suggested.

He laughed. “You don’t got no credit, Oakes. Fuck off.”

There was nothing to do. I went off down towards the main street. I could hear the watermelon man packing up the cart.

I hung around in the laundromat for awhile. There were a couple of ladies in there in skirts– they had some panties going in a dryer. One of them started nattering on about caves. “Do you think a cave is an appropriate place to take your wife?” she said. “Whenever Glenn and I go out for a night on the town, we always end up in a cave. What do you think of that Cathy?” I couldn’t make sense of any of it but they were thinking on it real good. Then the other said, “take me to one of Glenn’s caves.” There was a pause, then they put a couple more quarters in the machine and went out.

I opened the dryer door. Oakes, you god damn maniac I said to myself. But I nicked a pair of pink intimates anyway. I didn’t have any idea what the hell I was going to do with them. I stuffed them in my pocket and ducked out.

The business district petered out into a series of grim strip mall developments. There was a closed department store and a partially-destroyed burger joint. Someone had fixed up a sign out front of the rubble that said SMILE PEOPLE. I couldn’t figure on any of it. It was raining harder.

I saw it down on the left– The Sky Palm. I huffed it down there.37c280c99d4dfd3d10b86ac2a00a2a35

There was a giant palm tree out front and I touched it with my hand. It was fake. There was a guy in a raincoat nearby, waiting for a cab. “Watch out for this place,” he said. “Jesus Christ, I went to bed and when I woke up my pants were gone.”

“Your pants were gone?”

“Gone as Christ.”

“Where’d you get those pants?” I asked, pointing to his fairly new pair of brown flat fronts.

He seemed confused. I went inside.

The guy at the desk had a green hat on and was drunk. He made change incorrectly– I ended up a couple bucks on the plus side of the deal. “Room 158, down at the end,” he said, handing me the key to 164. “Got a…got a good view of the hedges and…” He didn’t finish and I didn’t figure on waiting for him.

The room was fixed up in different shades of mauve. I had just put the keys down on the battered bureau when a knock came at the door.

She was a spent piece of town trash with hair that was all teased to hell. “Five, ten, fifteen, twenty-five and fifty,” she said, filing her nails. I couldn’t figure on any of it.

“What’s the five for?”

“It’s just for lite fare, you know,” she said, looking up. “This room is different than the others. The rug in here looks like it might be expected to have a life of 10 years, depending on the traffic. My husband was a carpet salesman. He’s dead. He fell off the roof of a tall shed. The shed was on fire. He was installing carpet on top of the shed while it was on fire. Nobody knows why.”

“Skip it. Here– here’s five dollars.”

She came in and closed the door. We sat down on the bed. She shoved her fingers into my temples suddenly and rubbed them around for about a minute. Then she stood up.

“Thanks, shug.”

“That’s it, then?”

“It’s light, like I told you.”

I couldn’t make sense of none of it. But I knew I loved her. I gave her the panties from before.

“Have dinner with me,” I said. I thought about the eleven bucks left in my wallet.

“I could nick some sandwiches from the gas station,” she said. “We can watch that space show.”

“Alright.”

She moved to go. “Hurry back,” I said.

I waited.

My Recovery: A Physical and Spiritual Journey

March 12, 2015 Leave a comment
Dr. Kevin Thurston is in.

Dr. Kevin Thurston

Dr. Kevin Thurston is an expert on men’s feelings.

Much more was broken than just my wrist when I slipped on that ice.  Much more.

And that’s why I attended a Warrior Training Adventure.

It was a group of about 30 men. In line with our commitment to ecological awareness, we were asked to utilize alternative methods of transportation to the training site. I rolled myself there in a wagon.

I was guided on my adventure by a bearded man in a sweater vest named Keith. Keith was not aware of my expertise on the subject matter of men’s feelings and, therefore, I had trouble respecting his methods. Nevertheless, other men may find some of the activities useful in working through some of their own physical or spiritual “fractures”.

DAY ONE OF THE ADVENTURE

The Separation: This is about moving away from the familiar. Keith elected to go with team-building exercises and a low ropes course (methods which are now generally regarded as antiquated) as well as indoor group exercises wherein the modern male psyche is purged of accountability, leadership, confrontation and competition. Dinner consisted of a light rice dish and some gelatin.

DAY TWO OF THE ADVENTURE

The Long Descent: An exploration of authentic male emotion, conflict, crying, purpose, and healthy restrained power. Keith elected to revisit the horrors of our individual lives (we went over time during this segment as I found that I couldn’t stop talking) and building connections to the challenges ahead. Lunch, which consisted of roughly-cut meats and uncooked roots, was hidden in the woods.

The Ordeal: A challenge to embrace full authentic masculinity, to step into raw power, and to experience the full potential of mature manhood. Keith elected to go with the “round cushion hunt”– a recreation of primal aggression and war (with the cushions replacing weapons) and we split into teams. Unfortunately, Keith gave me a bright orange pintuck cushion with button tufts that could be easily seen in the forest. I was captured almost immediately.

The Initiation: Accepting responsibility as a man among men. Exploration of group dynamics, diversity, more crying and similarity. A test of solidarity and trust (Keith elected to go with the hackneyed “falling into each other’s arms” exercise which I disagreed with). I also voiced my complaint about the round cushion hunt. As punishment, I was kept out of the first circle of men. Later, I wrote an obscene poem about Keith on a bathroom stall which I now regret.

DAY THREE OF THE ADVENTURE

The Integration: An exploration of legacy, connection, fear, purpose, relationships and intention. Understanding our connections to nature and men and feelings. All of which, I was unable to participate in because Keith found out about the poem.

The Joyous Ceremony: A feast of victory held on some picnic tables. I sat off on my own. Nevertheless, the fierce and rigorous self-examination has been beneficial to me. My wrist feels better and my feelings feel better.

We will be incorporating some of these methods in our next FEELINGS, NOW! session.

Mouthy, Sanctimonious 24-Year Old Hasn’t Produced Any Trash in 3 Years

March 11, 2015 1 comment
Kimball J. Cranney

Kimball J. Cranney

LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!

At first glance, Gretchen Chairley seems like a typical 24-year-old post-graduate living in Lankville City. Clad in a baggy, shapeless blouse, leather vest and foreign shorts, Chairley’s style is congruent with her parent-subsidized two-bedroom apartment in a South Lankville City development.

While most of us who have jobs utilize "trash cans", Chairley has a jar.

While most of us who have jobs utilize “trash cans”, Chairley has a jar.

But a further look beyond the shabby-chic decor and exotic plants reveals something unexpected. A small jar filled with a collection of colorful wrappers, slivers of plastic, an apple and a candy cane sit atop her spotless kitchen counter.

“That’s my trash for the last three years,” she says with a smug, self-satisfied smile.

Indeed, Chairley has barely produced any garbage since she began subscribing to a “Nullity-Waste Lifestyle” three years ago. The idea behind the “Nullity-Waste Lifestyle”, developed by a series of glib, bombastic hippies in 2007, is to eliminate anything that will end up in a landfill or that cannot be pompously composted by Chairley in her self-aggrandizing smart-alecky zero-responsibility day-to-day life– a life that she pretentiously crows on about on her electronic web station site “Trash is For Dumpers”.

As an environmental studies major at Lankville City University, she felt like a “hypocrite” for nattering on about sustainability but still owning a traditional trash can. “I decided to remove plastic from my life entirely,” noted the hifalutin’ self-applauding undergraduate. “I don’t even own a toothbrush or deodorant,” she added haughtily.

Chairley talks about her la-di-da lifestyle.

Chairley talks about her la-di-da lifestyle.

That meant spending her ample free time finding alternatives to everyday items and crafting several on her own. “I spent quite a bit of time with a wood craftsman learning how to fashion a toothbrush out of oak shavings and horse hair that fell out of the horse naturally, of course,” Chairley pontificated. “I spent a ton of time just waiting around a horse for that.”

Despite her self-absorbed, imperious lifestyle, Singer says she hasn’t really changed– she’s just found alternative means to live her “better than everybody else” life.

“I don’t have to be a stereotype to live a sustainable lifestyle. I just have to be me. My taste is the same. I enjoy the same things. I just don’t make trash and I’m going to tell you all about it for many, many years.”

Chairley’s rants may also be found on scanit.com and as a mobile application on your “Reckoner”.

New Mall to Feature Roaring Chasms of Fire

March 11, 2015 Leave a comment
Brock Belvedere

By Brock Belvedere

LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!

The newly-built Grand Southern Expansive Cement Grove Mall will feature roaring chasms of fire, sources are confirming.

“People have grown tired of those tiled pools they have in most malls where the fount kind of spurts out inconsistently like a urinating grandfather,” noted architect Mike Squatch. “And all those pennies. You wouldn’t believe the Island-Person man-hours spent picking pennies out of the bottom of fountains. It’s ridiculous.”

“We have eliminated the weak-streamed fountain, pennies and Island people all in one step,” Squatch added. “With roaring chasms of fire.”

Squatch says that Southern Expansive will feature four roaring chasms of fire, placed conveniently near staircases and elevators.

Squatch working on the fire chasms.

Squatch working on the fire chasms.

“I mean, if you want to throw a penny in one, by all means. It’s just going to get burned to hell,” Squatch noted as a giant smirk appeared across his face.

Mall Age Magazine, Lankville’s premier mall periodical, is embracing the innovation.

“There are different modes of production of fountains (i.e., fountainization) from both natural space to more complex spatialities where the fountain is socially produced,” noted Mall Age Magazine critic and editor Barry Games, who was interviewed at the edge of a copse. “What we’re seeing from Squatch is an analysis of the fountain as a three-part dialectic between everyday mall practices and perceptions, representations or theories of fountain space and then, finally, the spatial fountains of our time. It’s quite an achievement.”

Games was suddenly attacked by a lion and the interview was ended prematurely.

Southern Expansive is due to open in April.

John Knewstub’s Hard, Cold, Spiritual Facts

March 11, 2015 1 comment
With John Knew

With John Knewstub

Sorry, shit for brains, but it ain’t that easy! Now I know what you’re thinking. Of course you wish you’d never been born. Of course you want to rid the planet of every last trace of your worthless existence. But you’re such a miserable piece of shit you don’t have what it takes to murder your parents, much less rack up the body count necessary to ensure perfect extirpation of your memory. Let’s not kid ourselves here.

Now, hold on, okay, I hear what you’re saying. Or I at least smell what you’re saying, Christ Almighty, your mouth reeks like a miscarriage, your tongue’s a rank abortion, but okay, I hear you. Let’s just pretend for a moment you possessed enough energy to take out every member of your graduating class –you don’t have enough energy to wash your stinking behind, but let’s pretend. Let’s say you wiped out every relative, every co-worker, every neighbor, every celebrity unfortunate enough to receive one of your deranged letters. You think that would do it? No, of course not –you’re not capable of thinking with that puking shit-pile in your skull, but trust me when I tell you: you’d still be all too present.

But alright I’m a’give you the benefit of the doubt. Let’s say you mustered the ingenuity to erase your name from all public records –utility bills, library registers –you even manage to unlaminate your membership cards to all those sad little clubs you thought would provide you with meaning and community and shopping discounts. Well, even then, you’d still be as far from this goal as from all your others, you awful, agonizing misallocation of flesh.

What if one of your murdered acquaintances mentioned you to someone? You ever think of that, you pus-souled, fungus-tongued waste? What if you were held up as an emphatic example of cowardice and talentlessness and a luckless, loser life? What if the story of your cerebral and sexual futility passed mouth to mouth like some inverse fairy tale/respiratory disease?

Your problem, you stench, is the interconnectedness of life. You don’t get this whole thing is a tapestry whose intricacy dizzies even divinity. That’s right, you fecal ache, the very spiritual truth which you recognize on some primitive level because you recognize you are a contaminant whose pollution extends infinitely for eternity – this very spiritual truth means you are inextricable. You cannot be uprooted even as you rot the earth around you. You are destined to fester forever and to emit your foul air like an ever-blowing wind which curses the wasted places of this suffering planet. Suffering because of you, you eternal cancer.

John2

Now I Understand the Pain of a South Lankvillian (A Very Special Brian Schropp)

March 11, 2015 Leave a comment
Brian Schropp on Cuisine

Brian Schropp on Cuisine

My good friend Trucker Joe came by the other day to hang out and grab a bite to eat. We have both been very busy and haven’t had the time to see each other like we used to– Joe, of course, off on his “big riggin’ adventures” and me with my job at the “Pizza-A-Round” plus my new found celebrity being part-man part-bumpkin. As fate would have it, Joe’s rig was in the shop due to a minor accident he had the other week. “I just wasn’t paying attention to the road,” he told me while we both relaxed in my two very comfortable chair recliners in my basement apartment. “I was busy folding my socks coming back from the laundry. That’s the first rule of big riggin’ Bri, never fold clothes and drive your rig at the same time. And I had no idea that school buses would still be on the road that late in the evening.”

Joe's fender bender.

Joe’s fender bender.

I asked if he thought there would be any charges brought against him since some of the kids were hurt.

“I don’t think so. It was a bus from Southern Lankville up here on some sorta field trip.” There was an awkward pause. “You know how it will probably turn out.”

We both knew the injustices perpetrated against Southern Lankvillians very well. Throughout our history, they have always been seen as “inferior” to those in the northern half. It’s only been in the last hundred years that they have had any sort of “equal” rights. Both Joe and I being very liberal-minded think much more should be done but it’s hard to fight “the machine”.

After awhile the conversation turned to what was most important, where would we eat today? Joe had only one place on his mind.

“Subs ‘N’ Suds!! Subs ‘N’ Suds!!” He said banging his hands on the arms of the recliner.

He wasn’t the only one excited by the reopening of “Subs ‘N’ Suds”. Even though it had been closed because of various health violations we both never had had a bad meal there plus we thought the concept was top notch. What better way to enjoy a quality sandwich than in a nice warm tub full of bubbles soaking your worries away?

Fritz Malone with a lemur.

Fritz Malone with a lemur.

The place is owned by a man named Fritz Malone who said he always had a passion for eating in a bathtub ever since he was a child. He also has a passion for the equal rights of lemurs. Fritz believes them to be our “lost cousins” and notes that they should have rights equal to if not even more equal than South Lankvillians. Joe and I argued this with him from the tubs many a time at the old place. He never seemed to hold our views against us and always gave us a hell of a sandwich plus the best soap.

Upon arriving we were greeted warmly by Fritz and his staff but I could tell something was off almost right away. Fritz hugged Joe but only lightly patted me on the shoulder. Joe, who is usually pretty wise to his surroundings (I mean he is a trucker) got too wrapped up looking at the menu board and which tub he was going to select. The place looked about the same at least. Just imagine your typical sub/sandwich shop but instead of tables and chairs rows of nice (and always cleaned before the next customer) bathtubs. Don’t freak out– there are both men and women changing rooms!

Joe babbled on and on about what type of sub he might get while being lead by a worker to the changing rooms. I started to follow but Fritz stopped me.

“Uh Bri, how would you like to try our “VIP Room”? It’s private and out of the way, you can enjoy your meal in peace.”

I tried to tell him how I like to sit out with the other “bathtubbers” to see what they ordered. I was also there with Joe and nothing bonds two friends together than soaking next to each other and eating. Fritz was very persistent and steered me in the direction of the kitchen doors. I turned back to get Joe’s attention but he was already entering the changing rooms (still going on loudly about the subs). The kitchen was busy preparing for the lunch crowd with the smell of fresh cooking bread in the air. Fritz led me to the far back behind the food freezers and the kitchen sinks. In the corner by an emergency exit was a shower.

“Here it is- the lovely “VIP Room”! It’s been booked pretty solid since we opened but for some reason it’s not booked for our lunch today. You will love it, very nice.”

Customers preparing for their meals.

Customers preparing for their meals.

I told him it didn’t look too glamorous or special. He assured me that this was all the rage in “VIP rooms” these days. I was also concern about the lack of a changing area. Again, he said this was a “new thing” and just to close the shower curtain and throw my clothes over. This didn’t sound very relaxing. Could you shower and eat? Would it be the same? It felt very wrong but I still decided that this could be some sort of cutting edge trend that I hadn’t yet heard about.

So I got in, closed the curtain, then threw my clothes over the shower. Fritz told me he would be right back. I waited for what seemed like a very long time– the shower wasn’t all that big and it was somewhat cold back here. What was going on? Did he go to get a menu?

I heard someone finally come back. After a moment a gloved hand reached around the curtain with a sorry looking sandwich on a paper plate. “Here you go,” Fritz said.

“I didn’t order this! You didn’t even give me a menu.” I looked closer at the sandwich. “Is this even something you made or did you get this somewhere else?”

“Bri, just turn on the shower now. It will feel good and the sandwich will taste a lot better.”

I rolled my eyes and tried turning on the shower. No dice, the shower knob seemed to be rusted. I told Fritz this.

“No worries I will be back.”

The "VIP Room"

The “VIP Room”

With Fritz gone again I could definitely tell the food given me was not made here. In fact, it was made two doors down at the “Grit Spoon” a local dive which I haven’t been to in years and for good reason. What was going on here? Why was I back here? Why wouldn’t they serve me their food?

Fritz was back with promises of everything being fixed and that all I had to do was open the shower curtain. Was he finally going to stop this foolery and take me to the main room? I pulled back the curtain and found him standing behind one of his workers. The worker was wearing a hazmat suit and holding a garden hose in my direction. Before I could say anything I was being sprayed by water, the cold spray hit my face and then worked down knocking the plate out of my hand.

“See, see Bri, water feels good right? This is what all the people want in the VIP room!”

It finally dawned on me what was going on. It hit me with the force of Trucker Joe’s big rig. The problem was me.

I told them to stop the hose.

“But it’s what we do for–”

“Come on Fritz I’m not buying that anymore. I want you to tell me the truth.”

“Please Bri, you have to understand it’s nothing personal. I really like you, I really do!! But I couldn’t have you in the tubs you see–.” He trailed off and turned away from me.

“You were afraid that if someone was to use the tub after me they would somehow get “bumpkin” on them. Is that right?”

He nodded his head in shame.

“And the food, you were afraid of giving me your own food because there might be some sort of contamination?”

“People in the area they talk–”

Worker in Hazmat Suit

Worker in Hazmat Suit

“You can’t become a bumpkin just using the bathtub after someone or eating after them. No matter what people think you should know the facts Fritz. I knew you had your prejudices and maybe I overlooked them before but I now understand that is wrong no matter how good the food is.” I found the towel nearby (which was dirty) and wrapped it around me and then picked up my clothes “But I will take a reuben to go and it will be on the house.”

I walked out to find Joe. He was on his third meatball sub and his tub water was cold and dirty. After telling him the situation he stood up (without retrieving his towel) and stormed off to change into his clothes. After he came back he told Fritz that he was lucky his big rig was still in the shop or else he would have smashed it through the front doors. Joe also demanded three meatball subs on the house which Fritz made no fuss about.

A few days later I received an “electronic-mail” from Fritz apologizing about what took place. Evidently, his precious lemurs who had witnessed some of what went on are now not even giving him the time of day. He has read up on what bumpkins really are and understands some things more clearly. I can only hope he continues.

Until next time dear readers, keep your mind and mouth open to new ideas.

Happy Eating,
BRI