Archive
SHOES TO DIE FOR!
By Suzy Sweetly-Services
The tables were being draped in shades of pink for important guests that were soon to arrive. Soon, though, was more of estimate than an actual depiction of time. We all know that it isn’t fashionable to wear watches. There was a big debacle about whether or not to lay the knives “in” or “out.” I thought about just picking one up and slitting my throat but thought the better of it, as it would probably ruin the overall color scheme. Whatever.
I watched the door, standing at attention with my hands firmly pressed together behind my back. An old, bespectacled man, the embodiment of dust itself and melanin challenged, moseyed on over and up the stairs. Less aged versions of himself, dapper in business casual, followed suit. A supposedly “glamorous” woman with shoes that my co-workers would not shut up about walked by, confidently carrying her blazer over her shoulder with one hand. This also showcased her extensive gold bracelets on her bronzed wrists.
The set table (take note of the lovely floral centerpiece).
“She’s from Bunkum-Gild City, ya know…” a fellow waiter said in a hushed tone.
“What a classy woman,” said another.
“Those shoes could pay for a month of my rent, lemme tell you…” commented somebody else.
From a financial standpoint, I wondered to myself if that were actually true. From a perception of style, I’d seen better. Again, whatever. The appetizers were passed around but no one was really biting, so to speak. Cluttered around the bar, these patrons knew where the good stuff was. The pre-meal was served without a hitch, water glasses were filled enough to make the ice clink a couple of times, and everybody got their entrees within seven minutes. We all stood in the corner and watched them eat and pretend to have a good time. After plates were cleared, it was time for the next and final course: dessert!
The shoes that could pay for a month’s rent (file photo)
Somebody messed up the order and went to the wrong table first, totally passing by an annoyed President Pondicherry. I held back in horror, two bowls of strawberry soup stuff in either hand, awaiting instruction from a boss.
“Just go!” commanded a boss in utter despair.
Dessert was finally served and barely eaten. Much of it went to waste. Upon clearing the tables, the old dust cloud backed his chair into one of the waitstaff, causing her to trip over the wire hooked up to a nearby podium. Causing a domino effect, the strawberry soup stuff went flying all over the place. In a pre-emptive move that essentially was non-effective, the classy woman got up and broke her heel. Unsteady and not used to walking with the ground so close to her arches, she stumbled and ended up falling forehead first into her very own stiletto spike.
There was blood everywhere and everyone was running around with strawberry soup stuff all over their Pashminas. I went over and knelt down beside her to see if she was still alive when gasping for air, she grabbed my shirt collar and whispered what the actual retail price of her shoes were. Now I’d tell you but my break’s up and I’ve got to go clean out some toilets.
Mayonnaise and Mayhem,
Suzy
I Want to Tell You About How My New Boyfriend Gave Me His Class Ring
By Ashley Pfeiffers
I want to tell you SO MUCH about how my new boyfriend just gave me his class ring!
We were playing Fire Quasars in his parent’s basement. Every once in awhile, my new boyfriend would pause the game and he would say, “Ash, I’m on fire. For you.” I JUST ABOUT DIED. Plus, we had just had some giant shakes and I got so nervous that I knocked mine over on the carpet and then, when I was trying to clean it up, I kept stepping in it and then I accidentally fell forward with what was left of the shake into my new boyfriend’s guitar. I thought I was going to cry.
“It’s okay, Ash,” my new boyfriend said. “What are a few lost shakes compared to a few lost kisses?”
We made out for awhile. Then my new boyfriend said, “Now, watch me gank these quasars”.
We have SO MUCH in common!
Later, we went in his backyard and sat on the air-conditioning system.
“Feel that warm air, Ash?” my new boyfriend said. “Yes,” I said– I was practically shaking. But he didn’t say anything else.
And then, all of the sudden, he got down on one knee and gave me his class ring! OH MY GOD– I started crying and then I thought I was going to pass out. I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT.
“We can go down to the mall and get a necklace for it,” he said, after I had accepted. I tried it on though and it ended up fitting perfectly! “You have such delicate fingers,” I said. He got a weird look on his face but he kissed me anyway. We are so in love!
Then, we went for a slice at the Pizza-A-Round. We were shown to a table by this weird guy who was soaking wet and, somehow, slightly on fire.
“There’s that goof again, Ash,” my new boyfriend said, once we were seated. “I can’t believe that goof. He probably doesn’t even have a class ring.”
“I have yours,” I reminded him.
We made out across the table. I knocked over a vase and some water spilled onto the floor.
We are soul mates.
The opinions of Ashley Pfeiffers are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
OPINION: I’ve Been Punched While Owling Before, I’ll Be Punched While Owling Again
Dick La Hoyt
OUTSTANDING OPINIONS
Yeah, this is a heads-up for that candied-ass shitheel that punched me in the mouth while I was owling last night. Guess what, buttface? I’ve been punched in the mouth while owling before and I’ll be punched in the mouth while owling again.
So, my brother-in-law Tommy asked me if I wanted to go owling with him last night. “Yeah, sure, I’ll sit around and look at some god damn owls if there’s a six-pack involved,” I said. He gave me that look and started on about some monkey owls or something that were hanging around in the neighbor’s barn. “You want to catch them, I got a big-ass net,” I offered but he just gave me that look again and handed me the six-pack. “You carry the beer,” he said. “GLADLY,” I responded, a little too loud (my sister was asleep on the couch).
So, we sat around the barn for awhile and then this fuckface shows up– some friend of Tommy’s. “We go on owling expeditions together,” Tommy said.
“What are you guys, a couple of faggots?”
I downed a beer and they didn’t say anything. This other piece of shit though, he gave me a look that I didn’t like at all and I decided to keep my eye on him.
Female barn owl (file photo)
Anyway, after awhile, this son-of-a-whore says he sees something and he and Tommy get all excited. They start moving real careful towards the screech of this monkey owl or whatever and that’s when this motherlover steps in front of me.
So, I’m like, “WHOA MAN– THIS SPOT IN THE BARN IS SPOKEN FOR!”.
Tommy immediately was like, “I knew I shouldn’t have taken you Dick– you just scared the damn owl away.”
And this other guy, he’s all like, “who the hell is this guy, Tommy?” and I’m all like, “I’M THE GUY THAT’S GONNA’ KICK YOUR FUCKIN’ ASS” and then he’s all like, “LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY” and I’m like, “LET’S ROCK AND ROLL MOTHERFUCKER” and then one thing leads to another and the next thing I know I’ve been punched in the mouth and I’m lying in the hay looking up at the rafters.
I think it was Tommy who dragged me back inside and my sister was awake by then and she was all, “Christ, did you get punched again Dick?” and I don’t remember much after that.
But I do want that prick to know it– I’ve been punched while owling before and I’ll sure as shit be punched while owling again.
The opinions of Dick La Hoyt are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
OPINION: Just Because I Throw Knives Into Cardboard Boxes Hidden Under My Bedspread Doesn’t Mean I’m Crazy
By Pump Minger
There’s snow on the road. Two rudimentary tire tracks cut through it and the going is treacherous. Pop is driving– my wife is in the passenger seat. I’m alone in the back.
They came to me this morning in my room.
Ambers (that’s my wife) began crying. “Pump,” she said, “your Dad is here. We’re going…well, we’re going to take you somewhere today. Go ahead and put the knives down.”
I put them down. I could see her looking at the square-shaped protrusions that stuck out like strange towers from beneath my flower-patterned bedspread. And the gashes. Hundreds of them– they were everywhere. They were even in the wall where I had missed.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“Well, just for a ride, that’s all.”
Dad stormed in. “What the hell is this?” he yelled, pointing at the bed. He ripped the bedspread straight off revealing my series of cardboard boxes with the targets that I had drawn on.
“Doesn’t even make any god damn sense,” he said quietly. “Christ, you can’t even see the targets.”
Then, we were driving. I watched carefully as we passed through long stretches of wooded area deep in the Lankville suburbs. Nobody said anything.
We pulled up in front of an ancient, imposing building. I knew it. Everybody knows it. The Foontz-Flonnaise Home of Abundant Senselessness or, as it’s more commonly-known, “The Laughing Academy”. It’s hard time.
“Why are we here?” I said.
“Maybe because you throw knives into cardboard boxes hidden under your god damn bedspread,” Pop said under his breath. I could hear him though. My wife began crying.
We were met at the front door by a man in a white coat. It was stained with sauce. He took me to a small office.
“Pamp, let’s talk for a moment about the knives,” he said.
“It’s Pump.”
“Let’s talk about the knives. You throw them into cardboard boxes that you’ve hidden under your bedspread. Tell me about that.”
“It’s just a hobby. What? It don’t mean anything.”
He coughed. He looked embarrassed. Then, he rustled around in some papers in a folder.
“It doesn’t mean I’m crazy, doc. It’s just some cardboard boxes hidden under my bedspread. I just..I throw knives into them, that’s all.”
“These papers indicate that the cardboard boxes have targets drawn on them,” he noted. “Let’s talk about that.”
A hanging lamp suddenly became disengaged from the ceiling and smashed him in the head. The light bulb popped like a firecracker.
I pressed on. “I get the cardboard boxes myself. I go out and find them. I find them so I can throw the knives…”
I was getting off point and I knew it. He had me. He knew it. He brushed the pieces of light bulb out of his hair confidently.
Now I’m in a cell, looking out at the snow.
Don’t think it makes me crazy though. I really don’t.
OPINION: It is an Injustice that My Novels Have Not Garnered a Wider Audience
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.
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.
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
OPINION: If I Ever Wear a Shirt, I’ll Be Killed
By Peter O’Calendar-Bays
OUTSTANDING, MODERN OPINIONS
If I ever wear a shirt, I’ll be killed.
That’s why you don’t see me in one. Arm prisons. Chest prisons. They’ll kill you. Why would you want that? If I had to wear a shirt everyday like the rest of you rubes, I’d cut my own throat. That’s why I’ve organized it so I don’t have to wear one. Hell, I don’t even own one anymore. Know what’s in my bureau? Just leaves. Piles of leaves. That’s all.
Also, I will actually be killed if I wear one. Somebody will kill me. Rub me out like a pair of old shoes disappearing into a charity bin. That’d be the end of it. I know that now.
That’s why I stand in front of my house. I don’t stand there all the time but I do stand there a lot. With no shirt on, of course. Just a pair of khaki shorts. I do have a bureau drawer dedicated to khaki shorts.
Who wouldn’t?
The opinions of Peter O’Calendar Bays are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
OPINION: A Good Cup of Joe Hits You Right in the Balls
By Ray Tebbetts
OUTSTANDING, INFORMATIVE OPINIONS
When I wake up in the morning, I’ll tell you what I do. I grab me a good strong cup of Joe. Why? Cause it hits you right in the balls, that’s why.
I work in a toll booth. Sometimes, it can be really difficult getting motivated for my day. Eight long hours in a god damn hell– that god damn hot, stuffy tool booth box– nothing but irritated drivers throwing bills at you and that foreign foreman coming around checking on your posture every twenty minutes. It ain’t no fun, let me tell you. But if I get that good cup of Joe to slam me right in the balls…well, it’s enough to make it passable. Enough to make the world look cheery.
But it ain’t cheery, I’ll tell you that. That box may be one’s man minor inconvenience but it’s this man’s flaming Gehenna. It’s like getting roasted alive in a nether world of everlasting fire. Those smeared and streaked windows that nobody don’t ever clean, that choking odor of exhaust and petrol– I’m telling you. I just want to rip apart my own flesh and raw bone by the end of the day.
And then I have another cup of Joe bash me right in the balls.
And then I feel human again.
The opinions of Ray Tebbetts are not necessarily the opinions of The Lankville Daily News or any of its subsidiaries.
OPINION: I’ve Been Punched in the Mouth at a Candlelit Child’s Christmas Eve Pageant Before, I’ll Be Punched in the Mouth at a Candlelit Child’s Christmas Eve Pageant Again
By Dick La Hoyt
Seasonal Opinions
This is a message for that joker that punched me in the mouth at a candlelit Christmas Eve pageant last night. Guess what, asshole? Been punched at one before, I’ll be punched at one again.
My niece was playing one of the animals from the first Christmas at some auditorium, so I went along. Got a chair right near the front in the middle aisle and I laid my coat over the back and then popped off my knitted sweater and draped that over a couple more chairs, one for my sister and her husband. Then, I ducked out back in the parking lot for a cigarette.
This is what the guy that punched me in the mouth looked like (file photo).
I come back and you wouldn’t believe it. My coat is thrown off to one side and this horse’s ass is sitting in my seat. So, I go up to him and I’m like WHOAAAAA BUDDY! THESE SEATS ARE SPOKEN FOR! This guy, he starts arguing with me about the coat and the sweater not being no “reserved” sign and I say YOU BETTER STEP OFF MAN, BETTER STEP OFF and my sister starts crying and pulling at my arm cause all the kids are starting to come onstage in their donkey outfits or whatever and some dude is walking around lighting these candles that was set up everywhere.
“We better take this one outside,” this clown says. GLADLY I say, and we start out a side exit. I turn around and BAM. I take it right in the mouth. I don’t remember much after that until I woke up in some sand. Must’ve been a playground or something. I could hear singing coming through the windows of the candlelit auditorium. I tasted blood.
So, just so this motherlovin’ asshead knows it– you ain’t the first, pal. I’ve been punched in the mouth at a candlelit child’s Christmas Eve pageant before, I’ll be punched in the mouth at a candelit child’s Christmas Eve pageant again.
OPINION: I Got Something You Can Check Twice
By Del Midnight
Outstanding, Informative Opinions
Hey, Lankville. If you’re still making out your Christmas lists, I got something you can check twice.
Know what I’m saying?
I been both naughty and nice, in case you’re wondering. And I don’t just come to town once a year. Know what I’m saying?
And you sure as hell ain’t gonna’ be pouting over this thing– this thing that I said you could check twice earlier in my article. Nope, I think you’re gonna’ be real pleased with it. Might want to even put it on that list.
Yep, I’d say you better watch out about this thing.
Know what I’m saying?
Better watch out so you can check it twice.
The Lankville Daily News would like to apologize for the preceding article. It is not our policy to publish lewd articles.
I Want to Tell You About How My New Boyfriend Just Got a Guitar
By Ashley Pfeiffers
I want to tell you SO MUCH about how my new boyfriend just got a guitar!
I couldn’t believe it when he told me. “I bought it to write songs for you, Ash,” he said. I JUST ABOUT DIED. Now, he brings it with him wherever we go. We went to the mall the other day and he just suddenly sat down by the fountain and started playing. “Every song I write is going to have your name in it, Ash,” he said that day. I was so nervous and shaky that part of this giant cookie I bought from the food court kind of folded over on itself and fell into the fountain. We are so in love!
Twin Removed Pines Mall where my boyfriend played his guitar to me.
We were making out the other night and he suddenly stopped and put his finger up. “Wait right here, Ash,” he said. He brought the guitar into the room and started plucking some of the strings. “Sorry, Ash, I just got inspired. Inspired by your kisses.” I couldn’t believe it. We just have so much in common.
“You ever think about just, you know, renting a van?” he said last night. He strummed a chord for effect. “Yeah,” I said even though I had never previously thought of renting a van. “You know, just taking that van and going to Western Lankville?” he said. “Um hmm,” I replied even though I had never previously thought of Western Lankville. “We’re gonna’ do that, Ash,” my new boyfriend said. “Mark my words, we’ll just ride off one day,” he added.
We are so in love.
OPINION: What Do You Get When You Put a Bunny in a Room Full of Partially-Deflated Balloons? A Very Happy Bunny!
By Ida Rumpus
It started like this. We had a big birthday party for my boyfriend Glenn’s 40th. It was a lot of fun– I made him a big clown head. He claims he never said anything about liking a big clown head but, trust me, he did. Many times.
Slips runs with a balloon.
A few days passed and all the balloons started to partially deflate. Well, I gathered them all together in the dining room with the intention of eventually icepicking them into oblivion and putting them in the garbage (such a sad, sad process– it’s murder, really). Anyway, I also figured I’d let our pet bunny “Slips” into the room, just to get her out of her cage for a few minutes. We call her “Slips” by the way because she has epilepsy and actually does slip a lot. Well, Glenn came up with the name anyway. I don’t really like it. I wanted to name her “Felicia”.
Anyway, “Slips” started playing around with the balloons. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, literally. She would occasionally climb on top of the balloons. Then, she started carrying the balloons in her mouth and running with them. Well, it’s really just those two things she did. But so cute! Just super-cute.
“Slips” is super-gentle too! She didn’t pop a single balloon.
Rumpus suddenly had nothing else to say and the story just ended unexpectedly.
There’s No Accountability and That’s Why I Scream at the Desert
By Fingers Rolly
IMPORTANT OPINIONS
There’s no god damn accountability anymore. Everybody just runs around with red hair, earrings in their noses and those terrible dungarees. And that’s why I sit in my fucking tin shack and scream at the desert.
Fucking cracked brown bullshit.
You don’t have the morality they had when I was a kid. Back then, you fucked up and everybody knew it. They’d bring a big truck in once a week and that’s the way it was. Not now, because there’s no fucking accountability. It’s a god damn free-for-all is what it is. Nothing left but to scream at that whore of a desert.
I can’t even put down the little awning and sit outside anymore. There’s no accountability. Who even knows what they’re singing about these days?
I scream at the desert regularly.
The Lankville Daily News would like to apologize for the preceding article. Mr. Rolly was assigned an article on funny holiday books.
OPINION: Yeah, I Think I Can Do It
By Pat Lowenstein
OPINIONS TO START YOUR DAY OFF RIGHT
It was a few months back. I was feeling really down. I had just lost a big competition in which large amounts of tubular snack foods had to be consumed quickly during a short period of time. I was sitting alone in the locker room, toweling off. I had a terrible fire in my belly and a great shadow had passed over the high windows. I had the blues, I’ll admit to it.
I was feeling really down. I had just lost a big competition in which large amounts of tubular snack foods had to be consumed quickly during a short period of time.
I looked down into my duffel. There was a brand new ceramic knife there (I collect them) and I thought about how easy it would be to slice open my neck and die against the lockers (yep, that’s how bad off I was, folks). No one would find me for days– not until the competitive tubular snack food circuit rolled around again. I unsheathed the knife. And that’s when Dennis Updatables walked by.
Dennis was the champ– everybody knew it. But he was a general good guy and he liked me. “You’ve got the elan,” he would often say. “Don’t throw it away. Follow your dreams.” The younger guys– we clung to him like children– gathering around on those long bus rides to hear him spin yarns of his decades on the circuit. He was in the twilight of his career, sure. But he was still topflight in my book.
“Feeling bad, Pat?” he asked. He slowly reached for the knife and took it from my sweaty hand. “No need for this though. How’s about I hold onto this tonight?” He threw the knife into his duffel and joined me on the bench.
“I’ve got something for you, kid.” He reached into his breast pocket. “Take care of the fire in your belly first. And then, you can take care of that fire in your mind.”
Dennis Updatables– aging champ.
It was a roll of antacids. The good stuff too– foreign brand, maybe from the Islands. He popped a couple off into my palm. “Sit back and close your eyes,” he advised. I took two down in one swallow.
Everything opened up then. I forgot totally about the knife and my idea of ripping open my throat and bleeding to death against a row of lockers.
He put his hand on my shoulder. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah, gee. I feel great.” He smiled.
He stood up. “Keep at it, kid. You’re going places.” He threw his duffel over his shoulder and disappeared down the darkened hallway with a friendly wave of his hand. I looked after him, amazed. “WOW,” I said aloud.
So, yeah, I think I can do it. And you can too, Lankville.
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