This is the heavy-heavy bog witch sound…on Pootube.
Not watching the Superbowl? Neither is Bernadette Moran Cacca. Instead, the communal narcadoodle, bog witch and portable washroom empress is hosting a watch party with her Poopy Groupies at the Manteno Optimal Club:
Unfortunately, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture, Ferengi-loving landlord, and fan-club president Aunt Sonya won’t be there. She flew the poop coop.
Sucks to be Sonya.
Part 1: https://moronicarts.com/2024/11/24/get-lost-sonya/
Part 2: https://moronicarts.com/2024/12/21/violated/
“What we’re about to do with you, Sonya, is take that farm-to-table approach.” Dr. Jen Jenner explains to her shackled subject, multi-millionaire malignant-narcadoodle landlord, Sonya Marie Smith Moran.
“WAT?” Sonya squawks.
“Restrain that chick!” The good doctor orders the Security Treatment Aides of Area 51.
“Are you sure that thing is safe to eat?” Jen’s assistant Sam asks.
“I’ll call in an expert. I have a buddy of mine on another planet.”
The wall-to-wall screen displays a conference call window.
“Call Quark.” Dr. Jenner dictates into her Communicator unit.
The Ferengi overlord’s face flashes upon the screen. Sonya freezes in fear.
“You’re—you’re—“
“This is the dumbest acquisition you ever made. Where did you get that thing, and why? There is no profit to be made in shape-shifting humanoid turkey vultures! How did your boss sign off on that Purchase Request and Commitment? And why? What was the bona fide need?” Quark explains to the genius Dr. Jen Jenner who speaks 777 languages.
“Quark, you’re my idol! I learned everything I know about business from YOU! Why don’t you speak to ME? Communicate with ME! I love you! Will you marry me?”
The Ferengi leader gives the fluttering feathered fool the evil eye.
“Don’t you speak English? I thought they spoke it on every planet!” the xenophobic turd complains to the foreign friend of the Area known as 51.
“Self-reflection is scary, but necessary.”
“What did he say?” Sonya asks the crew.
“He says he doesn’t like you. Get over it.”
Sonya’s cold, bleak heart fails instantly; the sheer pain of her crush’s rejection sends her beak straight into to the concrete floor, creating a small crack from the impact. Then she poops.
The doors bust open.
“Vitals!”
“Time of death 7:30 AM.”
“Oops, nevermind.”
The technician leaves the room to go wake up someone else.
“We got a stiff! What are we gonna do with this thing?”
“I dunno, get it outta here, bury it somewhere in Indiana.” Dr. Jen Jenner shrugs slightly and moves onto her next task. Life is good.
THE END
Having trouble finding an affordable apartment with a landlord who does not behave like the fictional Ferengi-loving fool Sonya Marie Smith Moran? So am I. Screw Quark.
Shelter is a basic human need. However RealPage begs to differ. Their script-kiddy algorithm enables corporate billionaire mega-lo-landlords who – through their love of money above all else – make rent go up exponentially, like a luser trying to 0wn pWN n00bs.
They also conveniently forgot that they could become suddenly disabled from a stroke, heart attack or natural disaster, because, you know, we are all human and it can happen to ANYONE. Now how would you, Mr. Row-lex and Mrs. McMansion pay YOUR rent?
In the Divided States of Dystopia, we hereby award each and every individual RealPage landlord, owner, and property management company collective Moron of the Year trophies for 2024! Enjoy them, you earned them, now own them. (But you can’t take them with you – or can you?)
What do these bent carrots want now?
Seasons Yeetings from the Moroniverse! Yeet that 2024 to the Moon, Alice!
Part 1: https://moronicarts.com/2024/11/24/get-lost-sonya/
“Hey Sonya, we’re having you for supper! Come with us!” Area 51 Prinicpal Instigator and Pain Tolerance Department Manager Dr. Jen Jenner tells the shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and malignant narcadoodle Sonya Marie Smith Moran, who has been pecking back and forth with her cellmate, narc of the communal kind Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt.
“Hot Dawg!”
“No wieners or winners, just you for supper. Sonya, your hair is a rat’s nest. Violation! Clean your cage, there are bird turds everywhere, even in your water dish! Violation!”
“What? MY cage? YOU put me here!”
“Yes, this is your home now and you’re coming with us!”
“Knock it off!” Sonya says to the raptor-captors at Area 51.
“We can smell your bum-waste clear cross the High Desert. Violation! You freeloaders trash this place that your tax dollars pay for! Violation! Cha-cha-cha. Violation! Cha-cha-cha.” the guards scold the Midwestern scumlord and malignant narcissist as they read from the Code of Federal Regulations.
Sonya hisses at the guards surrounding Dr. Jenner, flaps her wings, taking a defensive stand.
“Violation! Haha. Alright, imma carve this turkey!”
The guards rush toward Ms. Moran, with chainsaw in tow, and yank the caged lady from her cell.
“Oh yum. I can’t wait for turkey dinner. I’ve had nothing but corn and corn-derivatives since I got here two years ago,” says her cellmate and fellow narcadoodle Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt, as he rubs his hands together. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh b–“
“I’m a dang vulture, not a turkey, you stupid neckbeard!” Sonya screams as she gets hauled away to a deep, dark crevice hidden within the bowels of the dry lake known as Groom.
TO BE CONTINUED
Gothic Diana Ross FINALLY discovered how to fend off their annoying neighbor Bernadette’s relatives, narcadoodles and shapeshifting humanoid turkey vultures Sonya and Carla Moran!
Hopefully Diana and her sisters-in-singing won’t have to flip the bird again, should Carla fly in, or Sonya hatch an escape plan from Area 51.
Manteno portable-waste-recepticle empress, communal narcadoodle and bog witch Bernadette Moran Cacca read this Turkey Day card from her reluctant mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran, which she had dropped off during a flyover.
Methinks we know from whom Bernadette learned to polish her turds.
“Ma, you ARE a bird! Cannibal!” Bernadette exclaims from the bog, to her mother who swooped on down later that evening.
Speaking with her mouth full, she tries to chase away her equally dysfunctional mother, in-between bites of yet another unsuspecting male suitor she had nommed for supper. Then she poops.
Happy Thanksgiving from MoronicArts! May your family dinner more fun and not so dysfunctional.
Kankakee bill-collector, basic babe and dog-food enthusiast Sybil Kibble wishes she could be as cool as this guy. Yum!
Kankakee Elvis impersonator and vulnerable narcadoodle Robbie Hurlbutt thinks he is Elvis. He posted this billboard to hopefully bring in some birthday cheer from the single ladies. Do you think it will work? Don’t lock him in the bathroom!
Do what you want, but think about The Omen, Damien!
I know who you are. Just stay away from Judi Avelli. She has a thing for evil spirits.
MoronicArts 
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