Byline: Gary Llewellyn
Dateline: June 17th, 2017
Hello again, gluttons for punishment. This week the Page Five Ghoul’s nonsensical itinerary has take us to Ukraine, but not the parts the Russians are currently trashing. Specifically a podunk hole in the ground called Nova Borov, about three hours into the wooded countryside outside of Kiev.
While the town’s name might be fun to say, they have themselves a bit of an unfun problem. A local, water dwelling creature known as a Vodyanoy, or in Ukrainian, Vodianyk. The thing looks a lot like my uncle Wallace, a fat, dumpy old man with a frog face. That’s right Wally, I’m talking shit about you in print. You still owe me $300 for breaking my glass dragon bong.
Like Uncle Wally, the Vodyanoy is often covered in algae and river bottom muck. The Vodyanoy would travel around by doggy paddling around, clinging to a rotting log. If you’re going to live on the water, wouldn’t you learn how to swim? Not Uncle Wally. He can’t slide me three hundred bucks for busting up my shit, but he’s got the scratch to buy a houseboat and the dude doesn’t even use it. It’s just tied to a dock, rotting.
Also like Wally, the Vodyanoy demands favors or he’ll start wrecking your stuff. That’s how most of these monsters work. They start protection rackets, but unlike Wally they’re good at it. They’ll demand tribute and then throw a tantrum when they don’t get it. Drownings, sour milk, turning chickens into stone, stealing your kids, and then when the local yokels get fed up with their shit and call out the pitchfork crew, they go into poor me victim mode. Sound familiar, Wally?
So that’s what we have here. A Vodyanoy running a protection racket on a local hole in the ground. The way a Vodyanoy runs his game is, if you don’t pay up he’ll take you down under the lake and keep you as a slave. This particular Vodyanoy is running a sweatshop server farm that’s responsible for an estimated 83% of the world’s spam. Ever wondered why that one brunette, who’s constantly emailing you, is always named Olga or Svetlana?
When something like this happens. What are you going to do? You’re going to call a professional. That’s me. Gary Llewellyn. I’ve got business cards. They’re just beer coasters with my name and my secretary Stephanie’s number on writen on it, some in pencil. Just until I can get the real deal printed up.
24 hours 7 days
So, I banish the sucker. A carton of smokes goes a long way with Vodyanoy. I present the mayor with a bill for my services, which is when folks got real chilly. If you don’t want to pay, that’s fine. I can just bring the thing back.
Stop Calling Me!
Byline: Stephanie Morgan
Dateline: June 17th, 2017
If you call me looking for Gary, I’m just going to hang up. If it was one after another it would be one thing, but it’s the same five guys. I don’t care that you want to talk to Gary about blah, blah, blah harpy, blah, blah, blah shoggoth.
This week we were in Delta Junction, AK. Gary wanted to see his Uncle Wally, because he owes him three hundred dollars and since the SEG checks didn’t clear, again, and Gary blew out the charge card in the Riviera, we could use the money. Wally claimed Gary broke the bong and it kind of sounds like he did, but he wouldn’t back off the money.
Normally, I wouldn’t back Gary, especially when he’s being transparently full of shit, but I’m too hungry to be concerned with subjective things like justice and morality. I’m rationing Tic-Tacs.
They got into a fight and Wally started breaking shit, yelling, ‘<crash>Now you owe me three hundred bucks,<crash> six hundred, <crash>nine hundred.’ So then, Gary picked up a cricket bat and threatened to destroy Wally’s server farm. Wally said he’d give Gary the three hundred if he got him a carton of cigarettes. So all we really got was around two seventy after the cigarettes. Gary handed him a stained beer coaster when we were done with my phone number on it. And he’s been handing them out for the past two weeks. So that’s what happened this week. Stop calling me.