The Lankville Daily News

Zachary Keebaugh

It’s getting hot in Lankville and you’re probably thinking about dragging that old oscillating fan down from the attic, setting it up on a chair and letting it go to town. But are they safe? I aimed to find out. I am Zach Keebaugh, Investigative Reporter.

Wunderkind inventor Danny Madison laughed at the idea. “The traditional three-speed oscillating fan with the alleged “safety grill” (here Madison employed the use of ironic air quotes), 90-degree oscillation and adjustable tilt is, more or less, a dinosaur. At Danny Madison Industries, we no longer make them. Let me show your our version of the fan.”

Madison led me past a series of glass cases where strange products beeped and buzzed. We entered a windowless white room. Lights flicked on instantly at our appearance. “Yo, that’s cool,” I commented. “Like, magic lights and shit.” Madison eyed me up for a minute, then he led me over to a small device on a table.

“This is our version of the fan. Note, we don’t even use the word “fan”. We use the name “Air Augmenter”.”

Madison gave me a few moments to let it sink in.

“The Madison Air Augmenter collects air from one area and transfers it to another area, if you will,” Madison continued. “While this may seem like an obvious extension of vacuum motor science, the Madison Air Augmenter takes that collected air, filters it, and redistributes it as “Breeze Cubes”. Ours is the only product that can achieve this complex transformation.”

“Yo, you mean, the air comes out in big cubes?” I asked.

Fifty years ago called. They want their oscillating fan back.

“In a sense,” Madison replied, as he removed a calculator from his jeans jacket and began to program a series of equations. “We also have successfully marketed an organic non-carcinogenic, non-toxic florescent dye that can be placed in the Air Augmenter. This allows the user to actually view the released breeze cubes with the naked eye. You can literally watch the cubes collect in your room.”

“So, your overheated shitbox of an apartment becomes like a cool wind rustling over the savanna?” I asked. Madison furrowed his brow.

In addition to all these awesome features, the Madison Air Augmenter requires no messy cleanup. No trying to wash out that big dented alien head of a grill in your bathtub while watching some challenge in the alley behind the knives and puzzles shop.

“The Air Augmenter needs no protective cover,” Madison said. He was back to the calculator again– punching a bunch of shit in there. “You don’t even need to wipe it down– it cleans itself. Sprays a fine mist on itself on a daily basis. Another feature that separates us from the so-called “oscillating fan” concerns. Also, the fan can be programmed via your “Reckoner”– another fine Danny Madison product.”

“So, you’re out working at the toy store or waiting for some bozo to finish up a steak sandwich and you can use your little calculator there to fill up your room with those cubes,” I commented. “You come home and BAM, you got yourself a room full of cubes.”

“Essentially,” Madison responded. He was staring at me again.

The Madison Air Augmenter retails for $199.99 and recently received an “A Safety Rating” from the Lankville Bureau of Probes.

By Zach Keebaugh

STORIES THAT AFFECT YOU

CENTRAL LANKVILLE– An area jackass has nothing but, like, fucking trash in his front yard.

The jackass, who has been identified as Mr. Coven Slides, a Tungsten Inert Gas Welder, had little to say about the fucking trash when challenged.

ZK:  What’s with the fucking trash, old man?

CS:  The wood was all part of a shed that was in the backyard. It was in the backyard for years and then it wasn’t. Then, it was in the front yard and it was broken up like that. That’s also when that big cart was there.

Would you just look at the fucking trash that this area jackass has?

ZK:  The Lankville Daily News is not buying that shit explanation, man.

Mr. Slides just shrugged his shoulders and walked away. Later, we saw him inside the big shitty cart.

Calls to the Central Lankville Sanitation Department were answered.

“We know about Mr. Slides,” noted Sanitation Director Rudy Sakata. “His yard does have a lot of trash in it. But in that photo you faxed over, one can clearly see a blue trash can. We took that to mean that Mr. Slides is taking care of the issue.”

“The old man is all, like, acting like he doesn’t know how the trash got there,” I said. “It’s a big mind game if you want my opinion,” I countered.

“Well, there’s that wood cart there. And the cart is full. Clearly, some things are happening,” said Sakata.

My toaster pizzas were done then so, you know, I cut the interview short.

Mr. Keebaugh’s story also suddenly ended. 

By Zach Keebaugh

A ZACH KEEBAUGH REPORT

I’ll admit it. It’s been awhile since I’ve worked. I needed something and fast. So, I took a job in a toy store.

I’m working right now. And there’s this old lady staring at these stuffed animals in this really weird way. It’s freaking me out, man.

She just keeps holding them at different distances from her face with that same demented smile. It’s crazy. Phil, the boss, he came over and asked me to go offer to help her. I was like, “Forget that shit, Phil.” He left and I went back to sorting the stuffed penguins– arranging them in rows by height. But I kept an eye on this crazy old broad.

This is the crazy old lady I was telling you about.

I took a closer look. It was a bear and a tiger. What in the hell is the difference between a bear and a tiger? They’re both winners. How can you go wrong? Why the hell would it take, like twenty-five minutes to figure that shit out? It’s a choice of two, yo! Make it and be DONE with it.

So, in the end I bet you can’t even guess what this nutty grandma did. She left them both. Didn’t even buy a single one of them! Christ, I wanted to carom one off her noggin’ as she waddled on out. “Can you believe that fucking shit?” I said to Phil. Phil was all, “C’mon Zach, no cussing on the floor.” Phil’s religious- I always forget about that.

Here’s the two stuffed animals that the old lady was pawing at.

So, I had to go see for myself what the hell was up. I picked up the bear and I picked up the tiger and then I put ’em side by side just the way the ol’ gal had ’em. I couldn’t tell any difference. So, I tried putting the same weird look on my face, staring at them in that same weird way. For a minute, I felt something strange, like something supernal, from beyond our world. But it passed quick and then it was, like, nothing.

I put them back on the shelf and now I’m headed to lunch.

Fuck it.

By Zach Keebaugh

Paladin Pizza in Central Lankville has been in business since 1972. They operate out of a mean, one-story building nestled in front of a defunct factory. The parking lot is cracked and worn and the sidewalk in front of the door has nearly returned to dirt. The windows are covered by weather-beaten cardboard and the lighted sign has been burned out ever since I started living above the knives and puzzles shop across the street.

Finally, I had had enough. What the hell is up with this place? I aimed to find out.

I am Zach Keebaugh: Investigative Reporter.

I went in at lunchtime. The small, poorly-lit seating area was completely empty. Pieces of newspaper littered the floor. It felt like no heat had been on in the place for ages. There was no counter– merely a ragged chasm in the brown paneling that offered a view into the kitchen. A pulpy middle-aged face suddenly appeared in the breach.

“Let’s have a pie, make it a large and a steak sandwich too,” I called out. The pulpy face nodded very slightly and then disappeared. I took a seat and looked over the ancient laminated placemat. There was a little maze on there– you had to lead the pepperoni through the maze to the pizza on the other side. That was cool, that occupied me for a little while.

It was then that I became aware of complete and total silence. Nothing moved through the chasm. It was the absence of sound that stunned me, it was an absence of life as well. They have killed all their customers it suddenly occurred to me. The ovens are inoperable. There will be no pizza. There will be only the end. This is your denouement Keebaugh, I thought.

“Yo,” I called out. It was desperation, more than anything else. The pulpy, expressionless face returned. “Yo, are you making that pizza, that steak sandwich?” I started backing away towards the door– I could feel the thin strands of sunlight as I drew closer. The pulpy face said nothing. Relax, Keebaugh I thought. I breathed.

And then a bag was pushed through the chasm. The bottom was covered in grease. But there was something inside. It was the sub (and, as I unexpectedly found out later, the pizza too). They had shoved the pizza into a paper bag. It was eldritch, this pizza, made by phantoms.

I threw a twenty at the chasm. Some change somehow appeared.

“Enjoy your meal,” the chasm said. The pulpy figure was gone. I looked at the chasm. It grew suddenly grey outside. Nothing further was coming, I knew it. I thought about approaching, thought about trying to get a glimpse into the kitchen. But there was just no way, man. It was over. I had to accept it. The chasm had accepted it.

The pizza was good though. And so was the sub.

That’s what you should take away from this, man.

By Zach Keebaugh

NEWS YOU CAN USE

1. Save as much money as you can.

The sooner you begin saving, the more time your money has to grow. Plus, you’ll be putting money aside (in a bank, with friends, in a hole, whatever) rather than “spending” that money– i.e., giving that money to another “agency” in exchange for services or products.

2. Set realistic goals.

Think about your retirement expenses in terms of what you’ll need to live the way you WANT to live. Be honest about it. My old man, for example. He spends a fortune on those little pebbles that you line gardens with. He’s constantly putting out more and more of those little pebbles. His whole front and side yard is just those pebbles now, man. There isn’t even any grass visible. Just pebbles. Now, I know I won’t need any pebble money. I can cross that off my list. Makes it simple.

3. A Teete-Rozema Bill is the best way to save for retirement.

Mr. Teete-Rozema, creator of the Teete-Rozema Bill.

Contributing money to a Teete-Rozema Bill gives you an immediate tax reduction (you should do your taxes, by the way), deferred growth on your savings and usually a matching deduction from whatever company you work for. This guy Teete-Rozema that created this bill– he’s alright. We reached for the same bag of Flummies at a convenience store once. We were both holding onto the top of the bag, neither letting go, both staring into each other’s eyes with a hatred and a fire that could last a lifetime. It was an intense moment. Then, I was like, “Hey, you’re that Teete-Rozema dude.” He was like, “Yeah, I am” and all.

4. Shift Money Around A Lot

You don’t want to get pinned down. So, move your money around a lot. One bank to another, in and out. I’m talking like every week. Make them think you know something they don’t. Keys them up. This one bank manager, he was like, “Why are you doing this?” He was shaking and he couldn’t look me in the eye. I was like, “My $250 can’t be tied down, that’s all. Maybe it’ll be back, maybe it won’t.” So, this guy was like, “We have some hot/cold packs with the insignia of your local Lingus Nets team behind the counter. Stay, and I’ll give you one.” I thought it over for about an hour but then I went back up and was all like, “Nope, my $250 is riding the wind right now.” I know he thought about that one for weeks.

5. Rent Rooms

Never, and I mean, NEVER rent apartments or buy houses. All you need is a room. Be nice if the room had a kitchen but I wouldn’t take it too far. A house is a terrible investment. The roof is just going to fall off and where will you be then? There’ll just be some guy from the Islands hustling some old boards up there for ten grand. Terrible shot to your nest egg. Rent rooms now for a better life later.

By Zach Keebaugh

NEWS OF THE SEASON

With Halloween fast approaching, you may think that by picking up a couple of packs of candy corns, you’re doing the kids in your neighborhood a favor, right? Perhaps. But first, maybe you better take a minute and learn a little something about this polarizing small candy.

1. PEOPLE LOVE CANDY CORNS OR THEY VIEW THEM AS AN UNMENTIONABLE LANKVILLE NIGHTMARE– THERE’S NO MIDDLE GROUND

Yeah, man– for a seemingly innocuous little bullshit treat, candy corn sure sparks a lot of opinion. When I recently polled some friends in preparation for this article, I got over a million responses.

“I become sick every year,” one friend (a woman) wrote. “I throw up for nearly a week. Nothing but bile and candy corns. Just over and over and over again into the toilet, the mop bucket, into the street, wherever. Just bile and candy corns.”

“HATE CANDY CORNS. Cannot emphasize the word HATE enough,” said another friend who utilized a yellow highlighter device on her email to make it especially clear.

“I love ’em yo’,” said a good friend (and fellow News contributor BIG CHIPS). “They’re awesome. Like little candy pizzas, man.”

About half the people surveyed admitted to liking the stuff.

Candy corns. Do you know five things about them?

2. IT USED TO BE MADE IN COUNTRY POTS

Snagged this fact off the net. Apparently, candy corns used to be made in these giant pots that they only had out in the country. These assholes would cook sugar and corn syrup into a sort of slurry and then pour it out into kernel-shape trays.  “The Buntz Mallows Company of Lankville was the first company to sell candy corns commercially,” noted Gordon Dillard, who claimed to be some sort of candy historian or something. “Funny thing is, Buntz still sells them!”

I didn’t really get the joke but whatever. Used to be made in country pots.

3. THERE’S A PROPER WAY TO EAT THEM

So, about half the people I surveyed said that nibble on candy corn from one end. The other half say they just pop the whole fucker in their mouth and be done with it. “The proper way is to begin nibbling from the narrow white end,” said Dillard.

“Why?” we probed.

“Etiquette,” he responded.

4.  THEY CAN BE DEEP-FRIED

An ex-girlfriend of mine recently posted a recipe on some blog that involves rolling a bunch of candy corns in a ball of dough and then frying it in hot oil.

Crazy whacked bitch, I initially thought.

Turns out though, it’s true.

“Why wouldn’t we fry candy corns?” said a chef who asked to remain anonymous.  “Frying makes everything taste better.”

I thought about pushing the big white hat off his head but decided against it.

5.  THERE ARE VERSIONS FOR OTHER HOLIDAYS

This, I didn’t know. Turns out, candy corns are not just for Halloween any more.  They got candy corns for Easter, Christmas, Saint Virgil’s Day and the Opening Feast. Manufacturers even put them out in different colors to match the occasions.

I got nothing else to say on this matter, man.