Author: Jen

Chief Moron Wrangler at MoronicArts.com

Peppi Wants a New Drug

~ Jen ~ 21 Comments

“Been drinkin’ again?” Manteno narcissist Bernadette Cacca asks her husband, sociopath and portapotty co-proprietor Peppi Cacca.

“Can you blame me?” Peppi replies as he takes another moonshine swig from a jug marked “XXX”. 

“I want a new drug,” Peppi thinks to himself, “one that won’t make me heave.”

Peppi Cacca knows crap is king, after all he and Bern own a portopotty business. Bored with binge-watching the Crap Me Outside Girl rapping on TakTik, Peppi starts looking for videos on how to get high on uTube. After scrolling through pages of unpredictable results, Peppi sits through a four minute commercial and watches a video filmed at Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.

“Plutonium tastes sweet” the presenter announces. 

Intrigued, Peppi asks YooHoo Answers in their Qanonsense section if Queue can tell him if snorting Plutonium can get him high. After all, Peppi believes everything he reads on the Internet.

Peppi goes to Wally Green’s and Bucketheads looking for plutonium to buy, but comes up empty. No 11 per cent off sale for him, no buy one, get one 50 per cent off (but never free) either.

Driving home, Peppi gets stuck at a light at the intersection underneath the I-57 interchange. Under the bridge he spots a wild Leona Krabalsky, the Kankakee town troll.

Peppi drives his crapmobile to the underpass, going through the red stoplight because he thinks the laws do not apply to him. Peppi rolls his window down and yells his mating call “git, git, git” to Leona. 

“I don’t want you and I am not for sale!” the elderly hag growls.

“You got some anything good?” Peppi clarifies wearing his turd-eating grin.

“I just might. What’s your pleasure?”

Peppi and Leona shake hands and Peppi peels out after chucking the brown paper bag into his backseat. Peppi rushes back home to meet wife Bernadette at their Manteno shack for dinner.

Bernadette and Peppi sit in their bedrooms, eat their Hardlees burgers and fries and belch a bunch of times. Bern lifts her leg and farts.

“Ahhh, that was a good one,” Bernadette says with glee.

Peppi takes his newly discovered rocks out the paper bag he bought from Leona.

 “Mmmmmmmmm…this is sweet” Peppi thinks out loud as he munches on the pebbles. 

Then Peppi pukes up his dinner since he was drunk. 

Bernadette walks in on Peppi tossing his cookies in their washroom.

“Hey, what’s up?” a nosey Bern asks her beloved Pep.

“Blecccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhh” Peppi repies into the toilet. 

“What were those cat turds doing in your bedroom? I need to burn them. Let me light a fart first to spark the flames and then I will watch them burn in the fireplace.”

Bern watches the glisten and pop, all aglow, gleaming like a twinkle in Bern’s eye. “Ooooh, that smell.”

Disgusted that Leona sold him fake Plutonium, Pep cooks up a way to make some cash.

Bern and Pep team up to make a mumble rap video. Pep raps and plays a single snare drum which fell off a truck, while Bern sings show-tunes while playing her accordion she uses to trick people on the internet into thinking she cares about charities.

The video fails to get monetized.

Bern makes a TakTik viral video lighting her farts and burning poopies in her fireplace which her fans adore. Then Bern runs out of poops because the neighborhood turd-burglar JB Martin stole them all.

Bern makes a collection of her own poops to burn since she needed more, and makes more TakTik videos, becoming an “influencer.” Companies offer to mail Bern free toilet paper in return for her becoming their brand ambassador.

As Bern logs into accept the free toilet paper, the Caccas’ fire alarm goes off from the unattended poopies burning in her fireplace.

The Manteno Fire Department rushes over to the Caccas’ house. 

Bern screams with excitement when the Waaaaaah Machines wail and fart as the firefighters rush to their house to put out the fire, clapping as they arrive.

“Hi guys, I really love those fart noises your fire engines make. Can I get one of those keen blow-horns for my house? I think they will go great with my accordion routine I do for charity and the Turd machine I mounted on the side of the shack to shoot at Gothic Diana Ross.”

“Shut up and leave, your house is on fire,” the firefighter warns Bern as the two Caccas walk away and watch their house burn, along with the poopies.

Golden Moron Award: Nice Try, PooTube.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Dearest PooTube:

We see how very hard you choo-choo-choose to railroad Sybil into giving out her personal information so you can do lawd-knows-what with them. Maybe you sell them to data brokers so that any moron stalker, ex-con or fugitive can buy them. Maybe you line the birdcage with them? Nice try, you are not getting it.

For this, we award you the Golden Moron Award.

How Jen Makes MoronicArts

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

“The sillies are manufactured in my brain, roll off the conveyor belt, out my hands and onto the paper.”

PS: “Moron” is the Welsh word for carrot.

PPS: Jen makes MixedMoronicArts, too.

Peppi, Bern & The Act of Mating

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

A wild Peppi Cacca in his natural Manteno habitat utters his mating call.

“Git, git, git” he cries, hoping to mount an approaching Bernadette. Displaying the power of his fragile male ego, the Peppi channels his inner Pepe LePew and tries to kiss the bog witch Bernadette, who runs like a cheetah, hiding; plotting her revenge.

Golden Moron Awards Himself MoronicArts’ Highest Dishonor!

~ Jen ~ 4 Comments

Oh Internet stranger, you slay me. The ignorance, it seeps right out your poophole and all over the internet. It’s like art, except you have ripped out a fart, and awarded yourself The Golden Moron Award!

Llongyfarchiadau mawr! (That’s Welsh for “Big congratulations!”)

Happy Birthday to The Kibbler!

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Kankakee bill collector Sybil Katrina Kibble got mad at her Chrysler LeBaron because it stopped talking to her, and headed out on the bus to grab a treat. Seated ahead of her was Undead Greg Schneissder. “Do you know you’re a zombie?” Sybil asked Mr. Schneissder. Thankfully she kept her brain, because Greg eats poopies to stay alive, he likes the taste better.

Sybil’s ma JoAnn treated her to a Puppacino and she saved the bone for last.

Indigestion, Upset Stomach, Pie-o-rrhea!

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

“Bernadette, your teeth look awful. If you don’t brush them to my standards, you are going to get Pie-o-rrhea.”

“Peoria?”

“If you DON’T brush and floss 8 times a day, you could get an infection that could give you a heart attack.”

“East or North?”

“I’m only telling you this because I lost all my teeth.” 

“Vultures have no teeth.”

“Don’t talk back to me!” the toothless, shapeshifting, humanoid vulture gaslights her daughter.

Bernadette rips a huge fart and lights it, aims the gas blast toward her evil mother’s face, letting her butt do the talking. She has a bad case of Pyro-hhea.

Gothic Diana Ross Tunes In, Tunes Out the Dropouts on the Bus

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment

Life is too short for morons, and Gothic Diana Ross knows it. All she wants to do is ride the bus to go shopping, and leave the driving someone else. Barely catching the bus — and her breath — in this 90-degree Fakeout Summer day in October, the last thing Di needs is a lecture.

“You need to be at the stop when I pull up. I am behind schedule…” the Kankakee bus driver rambles on, blaming his tardiness on his customer again. The bald driver motions toward the slender black beauty, leader of The Midnight Supremes to sit down. She takes off her headphones briefly, asks the driver, “Do I have to pay?”

“You can pay me later.” Diana dons her headset and blasts herself some more Cold Cave.

“You were ten feet from the bus stop sign. You should really listen to my instructions when you board the bus…” the driver continues his tantrum, hoping to blame his customer yet again, or pick a fight, who knows.

“They’re coming to get you…Diana,” Undead Greg Schneissder mockingly says to the unfettered Diana who has heard none of the malarky, rightfully ignoring the nitwit just like she does the moron in the driver’s seat who is supposed to be helping people get from Point A to Point B.

Life is too short to argue with fools who complain to their customers, failing to realize all that wasted time wind-bagging could have been better spent, you know, driving the freaking bus.