Archive
Ask Catrin
Catrin Lloyd-Bollard answers all your questions.
Dear Ms. Catrin,
I don’t know, my son is asking me to build an igloo with him in the backyard. Thing is, there isn’t any snow around. You can’t build a god damn igloo without snow can you? Plus, there’s the clothesline to worry about. It’s unseemly. I don’t know, what should I do?
Fretting Mom
High Lankville Woodlands
Dear Fretting,
This is an excellent opportunity to foster your son’s creativity and imagination. Hold a fun brainstorming session with him. Locate a pad of paper and a large chisel tipped marker. Allow your son to use the marker. This will give him the opportunity to practice his penmanship and organizational skills. Have him write at the top, “Igloos can be made out of any of the following materials:” and then let the creative juices flow! Encourage your son to think “outside of the box.” I have started the list for you, to get you going:
Igloos can be made out of any of the following materials: 1.) Mud 2.) Woven sticks 3.) Tattered clothes stuck together with paste 4.) Poor people hired to shelter you with their bodies 5.) Igloos 6.) Snow 7.) Balloons
Go Team!
Catrin
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Dear Ms. Catrin,
My wife and I eat out in many different places and tipping has always been a great problem for us (we fundamentally don’t believe in it). I thought you might be interested in our solution to this problem.
Now, instead of leaving a tip, we leave a beautiful religious tract. These inspiring spiritual messages are a great force for good and I’m sure they’ve had a wondrous effect on the many waitresses that we have left them for.
It is true, however, that my wife was killed in a challenge. Nevertheless, I will carry on our tradition.
Ken
Special Lankville Fjords
Dear Ken,
There’s a corner store on my block that sells loose cigarettes, three for a dollar. The establishment has no electricity and conducts business by flashlight. The walls are covered with shelves upon shelves of DVD cases, available for rent. The DVDs are arranged haphazardly, with no discernible organizational scheme whatsoever.
I went in for my looseys yesterday and placed four quarters down on the counter. “Three, please,” I said. The shop keep placed an entire unopened back of Lankvoort 100s in front of me. “Thank you,” I said.
An entire pack of Lankvoort 100s for just one dollar — can you imagine that? Now that’s a deal.
Unwittingly yours,
Ms. Catrin
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Dear Ms. Catrin,
If a woman marries a widower with children, she then becomes stepmother to the children, right?
What happens if they get divorced and he marries again? Is wife number two still the stepmother or does wife number three become the stepmother? What if both are lost say, in the woods and he marries a fourth woman? Then, I’m guessing, wife number four would definitely be the stepmother. But I’m really confused.
Confused in the Lankville Outer Regions
Dear Confused,
Identity is an ever-flowing, ever-changing performance. Don’t let labels define you. We are all many things: step mother, boating enthusiast, arsonist, collector of plush children’s toys, lactose intolerant. We all can, if we so choose, traverse the infinite length of the identity spectrum throughout our short, unfulfilling lives.
I love you,
Ms. Catrin
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Dear Ms. Catrin,
I went camping with a prospective life-partner recently and the tent collapsed. My life-partner didn’t seem too concerned about it, just kept staring at the raging fire and whispering, “Let it alone, let it alone” over and over again. Later, a fervent wind came along and took the tent up into some trees. I had to sleep in the car.
What should I do in the future?
Pat W. Green
Western Pines
Dear Pat,
Murder usually is an effective solution.
Yours,
Ms. Catrin
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Dear Ms. Catrin,
Catrin, I never had a date in high school. I remember how out of it I felt when Monday morning would come along and all the other girls were talking about the fun they had at the Coconut House or the Casa Montecristo or the Big Stadium.
Recently, I went to my high school reunion and many of the men that I would have given my eyeteeth to date in high school came up and told me how much they admired me, saying they had been awed by my height (I am 6’8) and athletic ability (I’m really good at Handbats). They said they regretted not asking me for a date and it was their loss!
That made up for all the pain I felt as a teenager. I thought you’d like to know.
Bonnie Patrick-Dean
Showy Northern Suburban Area
Dear Bonnie,
Thank you for sharing. Your wisdom, I believe, will provide some succor to today’s suffering generation of grotesquely-oversized high school girls, lacking in dates, friends and personality. I cannot particularly relate to this problem, as I had so many dates in high school that I couldn’t keep the doctor away. But yes, Bonnie, indeed — sometimes our lot in life does improve with time.
However, ladies, don’t get your hopes up too high. Chances are, you will have to make do with a life-long commitment to your extensive collection of plush children’s toys. Although I have heard that Brian Schropp is single and looking.
Regrettably yours,
Ms. Catrin
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Dear Ms. Catrin,
I made a New Year’s Resolution to stop buying balloons but I am finding it harder and harder to refrain. So far, I am hanging in there because I know it’s probably better for me in the long run but still, I am not convinced it is as terrible as people make it out to be. I know some people who are quite old and have been buying balloons since they were 20. What is your opinion on the issue of buying balloons?
Tara Crown-Flowers
The Hills
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Dear Tara,
It’s an unpopular opinion, and some may accuse me of enabling — or, even worse, of suffering from addiction myself — but I am of the mind that one cannot buy too many balloons. What better feeling is there than to wake up in the morning to a sunlit bedroom full of glistening balloons? Or, even better, to lay flat on your back, gazing up past the shoulder of your indefatigable lover upon a bedroom ceiling covered in bright, bloated balloons?
And there is nothing quite so magical as a balloon hovering midway between floor and ceiling, having lost just enough of its helium to keep itself suspended in midair, like a humming bird.
Our time on Earth is short, Tara, and one must enjoy with abandon the simple pleasures life has to offer.
Always and forever yours,
Ms. Catrin
Lankville Vending Machines Under New Management
By Ida Rumpus
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
There are certain things, as citizens of Lankville, that we count on. Fresh, breathable, slightly off-color air. Winter trees festooned with plastic bags. The right to shower as long and hard as we want to. Sometimes, living where we do and enjoying the bounty and beauty of Lankville and its environs, we take these things for granted. We wake up and just assume that they’ll be there, like the Woods or the Mud Pits.
And then one day, they’re not.
Read it and Reap: Under New Management
Such is the case with one of our local points of pride and commerce: reliable, well-stocked vending machines.
When it was discovered last month that vending machines across Lankville were running dangerously low on supplies of Barlow Foods Braided Honey Twist Wheat Helices, Salty Crab Cake Crackers, and Double-Dipped Bow-Tie Licorice Ribbons, residents were rightly incensed.
“I don’t work hard all day in the Lankville State Office of Financial Excellence only to find nothing in the machine but Moon Chips,” snapped Dave Schlarsberger from his office in Carmody Hall. Schlarsberger, an assistant vice president in the OFE, then reminisced about a “bounty” he once found in an overstuffed bag of Braided Honey Twist Wheat Helices, until a passing administrator challenged him and he had to sign off.
Sad Sacks: Area Youths Dispirited at Dearth of Snacks
Fortunately, President Pondicherry and his staff sprang into action as soon as it became clear what was happening with the machines.
“The vending machines are under new management,” said Sue Ely, spokesperson for the president. “We can’t have gangs of ruffians and old people mismanaging such an important part of the local economy.”
Ms. Ely assured this reporter that henceforth vending machines will be run by competent youths and frequently (and fully) stocked with the tasty treats we all love. Dave Schlarsberger, and all of Lankville, is grateful.
Men’s Feelings Expert Thurston Injured in Ice Mishap
By Lloyd Byas-Kirk
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
It’s been a difficult winter in Lankville and not even celebrities are safe. Lankville’s foremost expert in men’s feelings, Dr. Kevin Thurston, succumbed to gravity with an assist from ice last week shattering his wrist.
Dr. Kevin Thurston, expert in men’s feelings, shortly before he fell on his wrist.
Donations, flowers and large mylar balloons can be sent to Dr. Thurston, c/o Eastern Defoliated Area General Hospital, Rooms 457, 458 and the part of Room 459 that doesn’t have the old guy in it, Eastern Lankville, 215.
Royer to Appear Nude
By Dennis Updatables
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
Enigmatic Lankville businessman Ric Royer will appear nude in a pictorial magazine appearing on newsstands today.
The magazine– CAUTION: MEN! are believed to have paid Royer $10 billion (Lankville) for the photographs.
“Everyone knows that Rock [sic] is a sex symbol in and around Lankville,” noted magazine editor Clint Knepper, who founded CAUTION: MEN! in 1987. “We have been in negotiations with Ric for quite some time. At first, we offered food and a tall ladder, then we went back and forth for awhile, and finally we landed on the amount [of $10 billion].”
Royer, who was interviewed while attending an ambiguous outdoor pageant, downplayed the pictorial.
One of the Royer nude photographs (money shot removed).
“It’s just me lying in a bed with some shorts on. Then, I take the shorts off. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to enjoy this pageant.”
Royer turned towards the stage and watched carefully as a series of actors shot dangerous fireworks into the crowd.
Some are decrying the photographs.
Ida Rumpus, occasional Lankville Daily News contributor and chairman of the Lankville Probity Board, called the images “pornography.”
“You could argue that the images themselves are not lewd (although they are) but they are made lewder by the captions that the magazine printed. Taken all together, they are most certainly filth.”
The captions in question read, “I have a strong tongue and I can take it to the hoop” and “Christmas Shorts”.
“[Ric] wrote those himself,” noted Knepper. “In fact, he insisted on them.”
Rumpus says she will protest the appearance of the magazine today.
“There’s no place [in Lankville] for this sort of garbage. CAUTION, MEN! needs to learn that pornography leads to pizza stripping and challenges. These are things we’d like to see gone from our landscape.”
Adventures in the Red Light Pizza District by Brian Schropp
By Brian Schropp
BRIAN SCHROPP ON CUISINE
For whatever reason, Scott, my manager at the Pizza-A-Round, has taken a real shine to me lately. Talk around “the pizza cooler” is that it’s my new found popularity/curiosity over the revelations revealed in my last article. I have heard locals and even reporters on the Lankville Action News refer to me as “Mankin”, “Bumpan” and the standard “Freak”. I’m almost like a hometown celebrity!! However, I like to feel that Scott’s sudden interest in me stems more from my hard work (dishes looking cleaner) and improving to a 26% success rate on my phone orders.
Picture of my manager Scott relaxing at home.
The other Friday night after closing down the shop and securing his guns, Scott asked me if I had any Friday night plans.
I told him that the 11:30 close is pretty late for me. I would probably go home, have a midnight breakfast sandwich or two and then try watching some scrambled porn on the Lankville Cable (my parents bullheadedly refuse to subscribe).
“Listen Bri,” Scott said to me with the deadpan, serious, almost frightful look he gets sometimes. “You need to start living a little. You’re starting to get a name for yourself and you also want to write really good articles for the paper. No one is going to take you seriously unless you really live it up!! Let Chet and I take you someplace we go on Friday nights. I swear you will have fun and might learn a thing or two. Something you can put in your little articles.”
Chet Cameron, okay guy.
As if on cue, Chet Cameron (nephew of the dreaded Hank Cameron, manager of Foodville, (but who is actually an okay guy most of the time) came walking up wiping his dirty hands (he never washes them at work) on his standard ‘Pizza-A-Round’ shirt. “What!! We’re taking him with us?!!”
Scott walked up and whispered in Chet’s ear. His eyes suddenly became wide and he smiled. “Hey Bri, you can have the front seat!!”
So, with that we locked the front doors and sped off in Scott’s 1987 Neptune blasting some old hard rock classics. I wondered where we were going, a diner perhaps? Maybe some type of late night book club which served some delicious offbeat food?
Driving into the heart of Downtown Lankville and the red light district I became a bit nervous. And when we pulled up to our destination I was even more so. It was one of the many topless pizza places springing up around Lankville which many social and religious groups are trying to shut down. I tried to voice my concerns about going in but they would have none of it.
“Bri, the pizza here is top notch ,” Scott said, checking to make sure he had a gun in his waistband. “You can make a review of it!!”
“Yeah, there are also a few other top notch things in there as well!!” Chet ‘joked’ rubbing my shoulders. They both laughed but I didn’t get it. Did they serve pizza bites as well?
The bright lights, the loud music, half-naked people fondling each other, it was like an alien world to me and that was just the parking lot!! We walked inside and were greeted by a “host” named Roberto who seem to know Scott and Chet well. I was taken aback for a moment as I stared further in and saw the various platforms with women of all sorts swinging from poles. I returned to reality when I saw a waitress pass by with a menu and then began to think about the pizza Scott had mentioned.
Roberto tried to seat us at a table that was far back from all the action but Scott shook his head. Scott pointed to me and said something to Roberto (couldn’t hear because the music was very, very loud)– whatever it was delighted him. Roberto ran over and grabbed my hand and led all three of us to a table very close to one of the platforms. He kept saying something to me like “Bumpkin Man” over and over (again the music was LOUD and I couldn’t really hear). Very soon Roberto had a few topless waitresses bring over some drinks which were “on the house.” I wanted just a water but several colorful mixed drinks were put in front of me. I am of course wary of the dangers of alcohol so I didn’t partake. Scott and Chet on the other hand started drinking them like they were going out of style. I tried to ask one of the sweaty boobed waitresses for a menu but they kept bringing drinks. Scott and Chet seemed to like it, I felt the body odor was going to turn me off from eating (although I was terribly hungry by now).
Roberto, the club owner.
Roberto started bringing people over and introducing them to me. City Officials, D-list actors (some who I recognized from direct to video movies), and even some actresses who might have been on the scrambled porn channels I would be watching if I was at home. On one hand it was nice to feel popular but I was starting to get light-headed from not eating. I wanted to tell Scott but he was taking full advantage of all the women coming our way (Chet as well). I finally got Roberto’s attention and he promised me that a new pizza he had his kitchen create just for me was on its way. He was calling it the “Bumpkin Delight”.
I became even more light-headed. The lights, the noise, the sweat all started to get to me and I fell into a daydream about the pizza that was coming. When I finally came around I found a woman (old enough to be my grandma!!) sitting in my lap. Her name was “Honey Rose” and she was the oldest and most sought after stripper in the red light district (or so she said). She was whispering sweet nothings and other crude assortments in my ear. I took a look over her shoulder and realized I was out of it longer than I thought and the “Bumpkin Delight” was already at the table. But the worst part was the other people who were crowding around the table were already eating it!!
Honey Rose, the oldest pizza stripper in the district.
I desperately tried to work my arms around Honey Rose to get a slice but she was a real pro. She kept whispering in my ear while fondling me up, down and all around (my left man boob was mighty sore the next day). As fate would have it the pizza was soon gone. It took me a few more minutes but I soon got “Honey Rose” off my lap and I made my to find the kitchens to see if they could make another pizza.
Fighting the crowd who wanted to meet me and “touch a mankin to see what it feels like” I found a side hallway which lead to the kitchen. It was a large area which was quite messy and seemed to be lacking any cooks. I called out if anyone was in here and if they could bake me another “Bumpkin Delight”. I heard a squeak from around the corner and a clattering of dishes. I made my way over to the sinks and to my horror found a small creature huddling in a corner wearing an apron and washing gloves. What made it even worse was that it was chained by the ankle. I moved forward and tried to tell it that everything would be ok but it shrank back shaking and squealing louder. And my heart sank when I realized that this was actually a bumpkin.
At that moment Roberto showed up, he wasn’t pleased that I was back in his kitchen. Something took hold of me, not sure if it was my hunger or my shock of seeing one of my half-kind being treated like a slave. I grabbed Roberto by his jacket and slammed him hard against the wall and yelled why would you do such a thing. I instantly realized my mistake, I was no fighter and he was much stronger. He grabbed me by my pizza shirt and slammed me against the wall. Before he could beat me black and blue there were two gunshots. Scott had showed up in the nick of time, he had fired the shots into the ceiling “Let him go Roberto!!”
The “Bumpkin Delight” I never got to try.
The shots had set off the water sprinklers and the alarms. Roberto let me go and I explained the situation to Scott. He pointed the gun right at Roberto “How dare you chain up his kind and use it as slave labor!!”
Roberto dropped to his knees with his hands raised. The water from the sprinklers was pouring over him.
“That isn’t a bumpkin you idiots!! It’s my pet monkey, “Ralphie”. I use him to cook the food and wash the dishes to save on money.”
Sure enough “Ralphie” jumped over to Roberto’s arms and started hopping up and down. Upon closer inspection I could see it was a monkey, maybe my light-headedness and talk of a “Bumpkin Delight” pizza got me confused. I tried to apologize to Roberto but Scott told us we had to get out fast. The bouncers were coming down the hall and it wasn’t going to be pretty when Roberto had back up. Scott and I bolted out the emergency exit just before a few bullets buzzed over our heads!!
Outside the strippers and customers stood around soaked from the sprinklers and wondering what was going on. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Scott yelled at me to run to the car as fast as I could. Luckily Chet was waiting with the motor running. “Honey Rose” ran up to me before I could get in. “Bri, will I ever see you again?” I squeezed her hand and told her I would never forget her. Scott kept telling me to get in the car.
Ralphie the monkey, who I mistook for a bumpkin.
We started to speed away with the music blasting when the bouncers reached the parking lot. Only a few more shots were fired and by that time we were a good distance away.
I was afraid Scott was going to be mad at me for losing his favorite Friday night spot. He chuckled and said there were plenty of topless pizza places around Lankville. I could tell he really had taken a shine to me!!
Well until next time please keep your mind and mouth open to new ideas!
Happy eating!!-Bri
Seven Habits of Highly Successful Lankvillians
By Shelley Reports
You’ve surely seen them swanning around the “fine cuisine” section of Barlow Foods, or carefully selecting a Vitiello Decorative Ham in preparation for the holidays. You may have bumped into them in the Sanduny Spa and Pharmacy, enjoying a nice steam bath and picking up a prescription. But did you ever wonder what makes the most successful citizens of Lankville tick? What is it that lifts them above the fray into a life of ease and notoriety, while you struggle pathetically in the muck?
The Lankville News interviewed our most successful townfolk in order to find out what habits they have in common.
1) They dig tunnels. Lots and lots of tunnels. When a mysterious tunnel was recently found near the entrance to the Barlow Foods Sporting Arena, many citizens wondered if the tunnel – which featured a fully stocked wet bar, a collection of plastic bags, and various animal-trapping devices – was the work of a crazed group of revolutionaries or a government project gone wrong. As it turns out, it’s neither. Successful people like to dig tunnels, according to psychologist Winifred P. Temple. Where they lead is of less importance than what they represent: “A place to work out ideas and explore the supreme Id,” said Dr. Temple.
Lankville’s finest having a “gabfest”.
2) They are up before you and they’re still going long after you retire to bed. Like the “Alpine Swift,” which can remain aloft for 200 days straight, sleeping as it flies and flying in its sleep, the most successful Lankvillians’ heads rarely touch their pillows. Instead, they manage to catch a few Z’s while doing the mundane tasks of the day. Whether it’s bathing, eating, driving, or balancing spoons on their noses while contemplating the universe, these shining examples of productivity have mastered the art of doing it while they doze.
3) They eat mud. The mud around Lankville – especially the mud that burbles in the recently reopened Mud Pits – is especially rich in minerals. While even the heartiest Mud-Pitters eventually wash themselves off upon emerging from a game of “Clod Hurling” or “Sticks and Leaves,” successful folks know the secret locked inside the mud. They even have recipes for it. “Mud cakes, mud tamales, even mud lollipops,” says Genevieve Rumpus, laughing as she reads from her family recipe book. Mrs. Rumpus makes all these and more for her husband, ensuring a long life of health and rigor.
4) They know how to live “the good life.” Imagine a typical night out with the family: struggling to park the car near Pondicherry Square, waiting on line at the Decorative Ham Expo, fighting off Bumpkins, and finally settling for a slice and soda at “Pizza-A-Round” before heading back home, broke and exhausted. There has to be a better way, right? A way to avoid the hassle and hubbub, to get exactly what you want, when you want it, free of roving Teenage Girls and rogue balloons and killer snowbanks? For the most successful Lankvillians, there is. They know that way. And they’re not telling.
5) They wear hats that are three sizes too big for their heads. A large hat represents many things, according to Dr. Temple. Confidence, even cockiness, when it comes to one’s power and authority in public space; a sort of “devil may care” attitude about the perceptions of others; finally, a complex and paradoxical pride in but indifference to material goods. “What they’re saying is, this hat could be blown off in The Woods or snatched by a Subway Cretin or a Bumpkin, and guess what, I don’t care. But I want you to notice it,” asserted Dr. Temple.
Yes, they are looking down on you
6) They use a lot of catchphrases and “hip” lingo. If you are riding the Lankville Subway on a Friday evening – perhaps the KY Express headed uptown to the Heights – you might overhear a group of well-heeled strangers exclaiming “Boffo!” or “Blimey!” or “That’s so jive!” These elocutionists are no doubt among the creme-de-la-creme of Lankville’s upper crust, expressing themselves as only they can. Patois, jargon, and slang are the particular purview of their breed, as common idioms help them to identify other members of their “tribe” and spice up their communication. So the next time you hear someone saying “The fat’s in the fire!”, take it “straight from the horse’s mouth” and “don’t get caught with your pants down” – you are privy to a “convo” of some of Lankville’s finest!
7) They keep in touch with childhood friends. What good is all the money and success in the world if you don’t have people to share it with? Especially people whose very fiber is intertwined with your own, whose roots stretch back to the playgrounds where you first cavorted, the fields in which you first gamboled? As Dr. Temple pointed out, Lankville’s best and brightest feel this need most urgently. Thus they habitually track down old flames and friends on Lankbook, making sure to share every triumph and post every image from their luxurious lives. “It’s just their way of being generous,” noted Dr. Temple.
If you already do some or all of these things, perhaps you are already one of Lankville’s most successful citizens. If not, it’s never too late to begin acquiring their habits!
So, You Daft Assholes Will Debate the Fucking Color of a Pair of Pants but You Won’t Read the Lankville Daily News?
By Marles Cundiff, Editor-in-Chief
A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
I just want to try to get something straight.
Basically, you daft bunch of assholes will stare endlessly at a picture of a god damn pair of pants but you won’t read the Lankville Daily News?
I got that about right?
For example, our analytics indicate that five million more people debated the fucking color of this pair of pants nonsense than read Elliott Cumber-Lanny’s important, dare I say groundbreaking report on the deadly snowbank. And evidently over seven million more people stared at these pants than read Gump Tibbs’ penetrating interview with female contributor Sarah Samways.
Are you a bunch of pig-headed mongoloids?
We work hard at the Lankville Daily News to bring you hard-hitting reports, important, modern opinions, innovative electronics articles and up-to-the minute bumpkin notices.
And all so you screwsticks can natter on endlessly about whether a cheap, shitty pair of pants are blue, yellow, or green.
FUCK OFF,
Marles Cundiff,
Editor-in-Chief
REPORT: Hundreds Have Disappeared Into Local Snowbank
Elliott Cumber-Lanny
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
It was just after dusk when Lankville Partial-Ice Regions resident Karl Chappas went out for a quick trip to the store. He never returned.
“He said he was going out for some cheese,” said Chappas’ wife Louise-Janet. “What kind of an asshole walks out at night for some cheese?”
In another section of the Partial-Ice Regions, barrel-maker Glenn Grapes left work early. “He wanted to get an early start on some barrels,” noted his son Glenn, Jr. “He was generally kind of a cocksucker that way.”
What happened to Chappas, Grapes and hundreds of other Lankvillians?
They are believed to have fallen victim to a local snowbank. A snowbank that takes everything and gives nothing in return. A snowbank that, despite the fact that it’s really cold and not at all like hell, IS HELL.
[The] snowbank that, despite the fact that it’s really cold and not at all like hell, IS HELL.
“I doubt we’ll be getting all these awful, stupid people out until Spring,” Gee-Temple added.
For now, the families will have to wait.
“I’d like some closure, sure,” noted Louise-Janet Chappas, who we interviewed while she crouched luridly on a pool table in a nearby bar. “Still, I’ve moved on. As I said before, Karl was always going out for cheese. Who the hell needs that in a partner?”
Does Chappas not feel sorry for the families of the other victims of this frigid tomb?
“There’s got to be a reason why somebody gets trapped in a fucking snowbank. Whether it’s pointless, idiotic cheese errands or getting a start on a barrel like that other asshole. I don’t even understand that- “getting an early start on a barrel”. I mean, what the Christ?”
“Pretty certain that’s going to be the m.o. on all these people,” Chappas added.
For now though, there are no answers. There are only questions. Questions that cannot penetrate the forbidding, bitter cold of the unspeakable snowbank.
Et tu snowbank?
Nothing.
Elliott Cumber-Lanny won a trophy for this report.
Gump Penetrates
By Gump Tibbs
It’s time for another penetrating interview with Gump Tibbs. Today, Gump interviews contributing female Sarah Samways.
GT: So, you have that little area in the paper where you are a female who contributes?
SS: Yes, I started out covering the economics/business section but it quickly grew into other things like interviewing old ladies in the middle of nowhere who would push me into empty pickle barrels. It’s been quite the rush!
GT: Absolutely fascinating! Do you often contribute?
Samways in the Snow. It’s been snowing a lot.
SS: I contribute as much as possible. If I’m not eating, sleeping, or wrestling with condiments, I’m contributing. Lankville is an interesting place with lots of people begging for their stories to be told. It’s a journalistic endeavor that I’m proud to be a part of.
GT: Wait, they beg?
SS: Actually, they kind of demand it. People often see my press badge and will come up to me on the street and they won’t stop talking until I promise to write something about them. Lankville’s citizens aren’t shy in the least.
GT: (laughs) They really aren’t! What other things do you contribute to?
SS: Right now I maintain a digital workstation at SARAHSAMWAYS.COM where I take a break from the hard-hitting news that Lankville provides, and focus on sad-girl-poetry. Ya know, it’s something to do.
GT: Really terrific! You won a trophy a few months back. How did that feel?
SS: Amazing! I really wasn’t expecting it. I mean, now I always have a speech prepared wherever I go just in case hell freezes over again. But really, it was super fantastic!
GT: Just fabulous! You have a lot of wonderful adventures. Do you want to go fire guns into some old cars at the dump?
SS: It would be an honor!
Tibbs and Samways ran off and the interview was ended prematurely.
Let Me Help You With Your Elevator Ride
By a device inside an elevator.
OUTSTANDING OPINIONS
Let me help you with your elevator ride.
It doesn’t matter how far you’re going. Doesn’t matter if you’re going all the way up to the fifth floor or all the way down to the basement where they have those weird heavy air tanks and the rolling bins of cardboard that never move. I’ll take you there. You and me baby.
During our ride together, I will break things down for you. Just look at the ersatz wood paneling around me, focus on it, let your mind wander a little. If you want to smoke, that’s okay with me, if you want to drink, go ahead. Just let me do the driving.
Put your head down, darling. I’ll take you there. Nobody else but me and you.
Hold on to the rails. Might keep you from falling over. Because once I pick up speed, I’m not stopping. You wouldn’t want me to stop. It’ll be a little rough but you like it rough. Don’t you, baby? Don’t you?
Eventually though, I’m going to stop. You won’t even know it. It’s going to be like someone dropped you on a downy feather bed in the sky. You’ll hear the little electronic “ding”– you’ll be breathless by then. And you’re going to be all, “Oh, are we there?” and I’m going to be all, “Oh yeah, we’re there baby. We made it. Together.”
That’s when the doors will open.
I’ll see you again.
I’m Gonna Beat the Piss Out of that Guy at the Men’s Shop
Fingers Rolly
REMONSTRATIONS OF FINGERS ROLLY
I like a normal white button-up shirt. You can maybe sell me on a restrained checked pattern but that’s about fucking it. Don’t even come near me with one of those wild god damn jungle-themed horseshit shirts with the tigers all over it. You do and I’ll kick your dick in, I will that.
So, the other day, I’m just standing around at the stack of dress shirts that sit in the middle of the men’s store like some sort of beckoning pyramid. I’ve got a low wail going because I’m thinking about that absolute whore of a desert, that brown sweeping slut of tumbleweeds and I’m also tearing the plastic wrapper off shirts indiscriminately. I escalated to a medium-level scream after a few minutes.
That’s when this horse’s ass comes over.
“Sir, sir, these shirts must stay sealed. They are direct from the factory.”
He bent over the big pile of shirts and plastic wrap like he was picking up a god damn fancypants tea set.
The Fashion Elephant
“I’ll take my belt off,” I threatened. He looked at me– he had some little tight suit on, clearly he was a twilighter.
“These shirts will stay sealed. And you sir, can GET OUT!”
He escorted me out of the store and into the mall corridor. Some fucker was there in a clown suit with balloons. I looked down at the little silver strip on the floor– the strip that separates individual stores from the communal corridor.
“The Fashion Elephant no longer wants your business,” the guy added by means of a finale.
But by then it no longer mattered. By then, I was full thrust in thinking of that mongrel bitch of a desert.
I screamed into the clown’s face and don’t remember anything after that.
Royer’s Madcap Experiences: I Will Box You
By Ric Royer
One day, I walked into a gym in a lower-class Island neighborhood. I walked right up to the ring and smashed a bottle of orange soda into the canvas. The boxers looked up.
“I will box you,” I said. The orange soda seeped towards their shoes.
“Get in here, you fuckin’ frog,” said the boxer. His manager, clad in protective gear, backed away.
I was wearing a bathrobe, some camoflauge short pants and a pair of penny loafers into which I had shoved quarters for effect.
“Hey, better get the frog some trunks, maybe some shoes,” called the manager, now outside the ring, relieving himself of his protective burden.
They brought me some proper gear and a small group of Islanders gathered around the ring. The manager rang the bell. Within three seconds I was hit by an uppercut and collapsed into the ropes. I recall a short burst of cheering and then nothing.
Hours later, I was in an outdoor chaise-lounge by a pond. I had a terrific headache.
“That’s what you get for egging on that Island boxer,” said a little man, who sat off among the reeds. He was clad in ancient, unfashionable clothes and wore small grandma glasses. Clouds approached from the east.
“After the fight, well, I don’t know if I can call it that– after your destruction, the Islanders strapped you to a chair and marched you around the pizza block. That’s where they have all those pizza restaurants. They took you in and out of some of the restaurants. They bought a pizza and shoved a lot of it in your hair. I tried my best to get the sauce out but you really should have a shower.”
The little man handed me a glass of iced tea. I took a sip. It was awful.
“Yes, that is awful iced tea,” he agreed. “It’s pond iced tea. This pond is all iced tea.”
“I’ve never…”
“No, it’s completely unique in the world. You would not have.”
We watched the sun go down together.
UPDATE- My Talk with a Bumpkin Specialist
By Brian Schropp
BRIAN SCHROPP ON CUISINE
Dr. Carl Woodard is the leading specialist in all things bumpkin. Following the shocking revelation of my last article, my folks wasted no time in setting up an appointment. Blood work and all sorts of crazy “pre-testing” needed to be done (I had to run on a treadmill hooked up to a bunch of machines and sleep upside down in a deperivation tank the other night) but it all should shed light on this matter. A few days later we sat down with Dr. Woodard in his office.
“Amazing!!” He exclaimed looking through the results. “Simply stunning!”
“Just give it to me straight Doctor, does my son have Bumpkin DNA?” My father gripped my mom’s hand tightly.
Dr. Carl Woodard, Bumpkin Specialist
“Yes—–and no.” Dr. Woodard could see the confusion in our eyes. “But first a little background before I explain the results.”
I groaned. I figured on this being a long history and I was getting kind of hungry.
“It was long believed that humans and bumpkins couldn’t mate. Sure there were times, much like you stated Mr, Schropp, that maybe distant family relations have had “pleasure” or as your son might better understand it, “doing the nasty” with them. You see, being two different species, mating is almost an impossibility, we have never found that genetic link between humans and bumpkins. But these findings show we have something wrong.”
“So my family bloodline is somehow tainted with bumpkin?” My Dad put his face in his hand and sobbed.
“That’s the funny thing Mr. Schropp, the blood work from all your other immediate family and relatives show no signs of any Bumpkin DNA. Even the Schropp Hill People that we captured in traps to test show no signs either.”
My Mom chimed in. “So it’s only my son then? I always knew something wasn’t right.”
“Well that’s another funny thing, your son has neither Bumpkin or Human DNA. He has the perfect blend of both DNA almost like an entirely new species in itself.” He let that sink in for a moment.
“So, what is my son?”
“You could say that either your son is a highly advanced bumpkin or a slightly lower-evolved human.” He turned and looked directly at me. “You know how to read and write at some basic level, correct?”
I nodded.
“Amazing.”
A stunned Dr. Woodard ponders this development.
My mom at this point kept muttering under her breath, “I knew there was something wrong. I knew there was something wrong.”
“I really wish I could explain how something like this could happen. My only working theory is that the genetic makeup of a bumpkin is so alien to us that it somehow evolves with humans at a slower rate and in ways we don’t understand. Maybe your son is just a result of that.”
My dad voiced concern over how I might be treated when the public finds out.
“I have spoken with President Pondicherry personally and we have both agreed to put your son on the “Lankville Endangered Species” list so none harm can come. And since technically he does have part Human DNA he will retain Lankville citizenship and full rights.”
It was now my turn for a few questions. “Could this explain my “advance taste profile” and also my “sweet and tender” nature?”
“Well, it’s a fact that bumpkins are less-evolved than us and by our standards not very bright. But we have found them to be very empathic and caring much like the way a common house dog will respond to human affection. The story you told me over the phone about the bumpkin in the alleyway at Christmas time, maybe that one could “sense” that you were somehow at least part bumpkin and that’s why it came up to you. Bumpkins also seem to possess a different sense of taste than us. They have a particular fondness for tree bark and car coolant for example. We have always thought of this as being somehow inferior to our own but I suppose it could seen as an “advanced taste pallet”, as you suggest.”
I also asked if Hank Cameron, Manager of Foodville, could be arrested for trying to harm me since I was now an endangered species. Dr. Woodard is not a lawyer but said Hank Cameron would probably have to do something now since I was just being put on the list. My mom then told be to be quiet and not ask foolish questions.
Much more talking was done between my folks and Dr. Woodard but I tuned them out. I started to think about where we might go for lunch since it was quickly becoming that time. I was hoping to get my folks to take me somewhere they would usually say no to like “Wally’s Chilli Cheese Fries On Waffles” (a pretty straightforward name for a delicious place). Then I started to think about the news I was told and how it might impact me. No matter what I am- bumpkin or human or both, my love for breakfast sandwiches and writing about cuisine is what matters, so dear readers I will carry on with these goals. Until next time please keep your mind and mouth open to new ideas!!
Happy eating!!!
BRI
CONDIMENT HORRORS!
By Suzy Sweetly-Services
I can keep a real clean kitchen. I can soak the tables in sudsy liquids whenever I want; I can make them sparkle pristinely. I can mop up throw up like nobody’s business. I’m a professional and everybody knows it. But with great power comes great hostility because not everyone can shine like me. They’re out to get me, see. Every obstacle that They throw at me can be easily dodged. I’m the best.
The mayonnaise that almost killed Suzy.
I saw a few of Them snickering around the condiments and speciality oils, right next to the napkin dispenser. I didn’t really make anything of it yet as I had an important meeting to attend about how to properly dress a coffee cup, (with a Java Jacket, of course!). A loud groan was then heard in echoing crescendos, carrying off into the hallway. I looked to my left, I looked to my right, I looked forward, and then for good measure, I looked up and down, and then finally I looked behind me and saw the remnants of a successful crime spree. The metal homes for our beloved condiments had been broken into! The poor handles that pump the stuff onto customer’s hamburgers were pushed aside in haste, sitting in their own thick juices. Plastic sporks were everywhere and bits of iceberg lettuce clung for dear life on the adjacent counter. Napkins, although apparently under-utilized, had somehow made their own mess, crumpled up in piles in the corner. This had been a robbery – what had they stolen?! – my time. I swallowed my pride because you don’t get to be this fantastic without some hardships. I put on my powder-free gloves and got to work.
As I struggled with the mayonnaise, I had one thought: This is how I’ll die… Covered in a gelatinous mountain moulage of vinegar and raw egg – I would sink into its depths, without leaving so much as an eyelash or fingernail behind. I would disintegrate into the rotten core of the drainage system in the back where my dishwashing comrades will swear in agony: “Damn it, I should’ve joined the Army!” Yes, you can only be on call for so many crime scenes before it really gets to you, makes you feel a hysterical kind of funny. I could see an end in sight and I almost welcomed it; imagining customers stabbing me with sporks until ketchup exploded outward from my insides, I was ready and willing. I was saved from this sad display of weakness however, but I’ve gotta tell you later because my break’s up.
Ketchup and kisses,
Suzy
This Woman Came to Renew Her License– She Didn’t Notice that We Had Balloons Though!
By Dennis Updatables, Lankville Motor Vehicle House
LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES!
I saw her when she walked through the door. Pretty little thing– she looked lost, confused, maybe she’d never had a license before, maybe she didn’t know how to renew her current license, who knew? I was about to find out.
First though, I figured she would check out our balloon selection.
That’s right. We’ve got balloons now. The Lankville Motor Vehicle House has balloons!
Boy, was I all wrong though. She walked straight by ’em, straight up to my little service counter where I have the nice plaque that says “Dennis Updatables”. That’s the handle my parents gave me, God love ’em.
“I’m here to…renew my license,” she said. She looked down at the floor. Shy little thing, that’s alright. I just tried to make her feel comfortable.
Mrs. Lawrence W. Bundles
“Have a seat, Miss…?”
“Mrs,” she corrected. “Mrs. Lawrence W. Bundles.”
“Well, Mrs. Bundles, what can we do for you here at the Lankville Motor Vehicle House?” I sort of nodded towards the balloons. They were right behind her.
“I need to renew my license. I…I don’t drive much, Mr. Updatables. I…well…there was an accident some time ago and…”. She trailed off.
“Accidents can happen to anybody,” I said, smiling. I nodded towards the balloons again. She sure wasn’t biting though.
“It was a terrible…terrible accident Mr. Updatables. My husband…Mr. Bundles…hasn’t been the same since.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Bundles.” Why wasn’t she noticing the balloons? Balloons make everyone feel better. They were right behind her– right over her shoulder practically.
“But, I need to be able to drive him to the clinic. You see, his cousin, who is also named Lawrence W. Bundles– well, he tripped on carpet that hadn’t been nailed down properly and fell into a mine shaft. Oh, it’s terrible, Mr. Updatables.”
She began crying. What can you do for someone though? Someone who can’t see the balm to soothe their pain, the balm that is within reach, so close…so close.
I patted her on the back and some of the ladies took her to an office in the back and gave her a little paper cone of water from the cooler.
It was too bad. Too bad for Mrs. Lawrence W. Bundles.
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