No Contest.

Neighborhood turd-burglar and assistant property manager JB Powers takes over Moran Properties after Sonya disappears, hoping to take over, helping himself to the skims of the profits (and maybe some turds too). Marty the Mailer-Daemon comes into the office with mail, JB freaks out.

“You’re that scary mailman from my childhood with that daemonic voice!”

“No, I’m just a daemon now. A mailer-daemon. The dead letter office transferred me here after I got my fork in the road message.”

JB runs out the office screaming, computer unlocked. Marty glides on over to have a look-see.

“Shall I format, see colon? Naaah, let’s look for buried treasure. Ahh! Oooh, there are some skeletons in these here file closets. Tenant files, ashes of former co-workers, dead bodies? These remains to be seen!” Marty thinks out loud as he sighs and takes a moment to process the newly uncovered data in his inter-dimensional mind.

Satan wants to have a word with his intake clerk, Lucy Furr. He takes the elevator up from his basement C-Suite to pay her a visit at the desk, where she reads the rules and regulations to the long line of newly damned souls, after they have signed their lives away.

“Why did you assign a Sonya Marie Smith Moran to the pale yellow isolation lair? It says right here that she’s to go directly into the jagged rock and bubbling excrement pits!” Hell’s CEO and owner demands of his underling, who had bullied a young autistic lady on a school trip to Italy, before working as a receptionist at many a doctor’s office on Earth.

“I’ve been doing this job for more than ten years–“

“Lucy, I don’t need a resume. I already know your entire life’s history, you’re not going anywhere.”

Business is slow on a typical Sunday at the Manteno Optimal Club.

“Aunt Sonya’s been gone a long time. Who’s gonna run the show around here, and promote my wonderful gas…I mean this fantabulous venue?” Craptoqueen Bernadette belts.

Manteno Optimal Club barista-bartender Ant D. Yu just shrugs.

“I know honey, let’s have a contest,” bartender Dorian James suggests.

“You’re the GOAT!”

“No, YOU!”

Later that evening, the show goes on.

“It’s Sunday and YOU KNOW what THAT means!” orates emcee Konrad Teirant, 1/3 of traveling Vaudeville troupe Moronic Half-Assets.

“Drinks on the hoousssse!!!!” a patron heckles.

“No, silly goose. Do you want to do this job for me?”

“Of course!”

“Not if my wife has her way!” Konrad giggles, gives a snarky grin.

Eight-foot dumpster clown Madeline “Madwoman” Topolla-Teirant emerges and drags the former member by his…er…um…hair.

“It’s talent show time! The winner of this battle of the bands will take over as the brand spankin’ new president of the Poopy Groupies! Let’s have a hand for our first contestant, Wally Green!”

A slow clap echoes throughout the hall of the most Optimal Club in the Northern Illinois town known as Manteno.

“I invented my own version of this here 90s R&B song by Jade, I call it, ‘Don’t Walk Away From This Offer.’

I’ve got craptocoins
Waiting just for you
Made one hundred percent
of some Port-a-poo

Come on, get some new
From the doo-doo-doo
Get them from her dookie vault
Before she Bern’s them all!

I really like your art
This is coming from my heart
It smells just like my farts
From the cheeks that I did part

How will I get in touch
Do you use Whasapp much?
You will make ten grand
From this craptocoin plan!

NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way

NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way

Disarm the turd-machines
Guarding Bern’s turd vault
If you feel kinda funny,
It’s not your fault

They smell really bad
But they’re really cool
Sliding from her bum
Into your inbox!

I really like your art
This is coming from my heart
It smells just like my farts
From the cheeks that I did part

How will I get in touch
Do you use Whasapp much?
You will make ten grand
From this craptocoin plan!

NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way

NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way

Stop all this confusion
Pardon the intrusion

I really like your art
This is coming from my heart

It smells just like my farts
From my cheeks that I did part

How will I get in touch
Do you use Whasapp much?

You will make ten grand
From this craptocoin plan!

(Wally beat-boxes out his butt)

This is all for you, no money down!

NFTs for sale
NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you

NFTs For Sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way

NFTs for sale!”

The bulbous 60-something takes off his fishing cap, bows, then tucks his gut back into his trousers.

“That…was…interesting! Wally Green you guys!” MC Konrad announces.

“Who’s our next contestant, competing to win the heart of the farty princess herself, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca?”

Crickets chirp.

“No-one? Now certainly we have some competition? After all, he does own Wally Green’s Drugstores! ALL OF THEM!”

Konrad’s growing frustration begins to show across his wrinkled face, eyes on him, all six of them.

“Going once…going twice…gone! We have a new president!”

The portapotty empress, queen of the throne Bernadette Moran Cacca, reluctantly crowns her new fan-club president, Mr. Wally Green. A few people clap, the rest, “Craaap!”

“Now you’re gonna work for ME!”

“You mean, I can’t just stare at your beautiful face? You should smile more often, honey!”

Lil Ms. Craptocoin Bernadette Cacca drags Wally by the ear, into the back room, to talk about her backside table of contents.