Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and narc of the self righteous kind Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran does a few “drive-bys” down Kant Street in Manteno, looking for her part-time swamp witch, communal narcadoodle and vuvuzela horn-playing daughter Bernadette Moran Cacca. She had called her smell phone saying she was coming down to discuss some “projects” but did not tell her they were not of the fun nature. Planning to peck at her dirty laundry, creepy dolls and un-waxed facial hair, the changeling repeatedly drives by the Cacca shack. Meanwhile Bernie has been busy flagging down her mom to no avail.
“Bernadette? Bern? Bern Cacca?” Carla calls out to a random person on the street.
“Kristian Swanson, you’re a freaking piece of—“
“No, Bernadette Cacca. I’m her mom. Have you seen her?”
“Look at the sky. Put it on the freaking news for Kristian Swanson!”
“Calm down. I’m just looking for my—“
“I’m not stupid! Look on the news! The clouds are not real. Those were put there by General Freaking Motors! They’re coming for you! They’re coming for me.”
“Alright, alright, alright. Just tell Bernadette that I’m looking for her.”
As they say in Illinois, if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes. Desperate for attention, Carla circles the neighborhood and comes back five minutes later, pulls up to the same clouded thinker.
“Did you tell Bernadette?”
“No, I’ve been too busy sitting and spinning.”
“What’s your name? I’m Carla. Give her my number.. 815-55–“
“Ashlee Sittinspin. Just look in the sky, Kristian Swanson, he’s the man! Just look at those butterflies…them worms…they’re…in…my…hhhhhhead…”
As the ghostly vortex spins into oblivion, the sky is now clear.
“Maaa! I’m over here!” Bernadette shouts. “Can’t you hear me?”
MoronicArts 