Author: Jen

Chief Moron Wrangler at MoronicArts.com

Behind the Moroniverse – Gothic Diana Ross

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As a tribute to my late friend Caroll Spinney — the man behind Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch — I am telling the backstory of my Grouch-inspired character Gothic Diana Ross.

Oscar art courtesy of Caroll Spinney. Do not reproduce..

Oscar the Grouch is not a bad person, despite what millions of kids big and small may think. Oscar just wants to be left alone. Like Oscar, Gothic Diana Ross just wants her solitude. Just like Maria knocking on Oscar’s can just to ask him nosey questions, Diana’s neighbor Bernadette keeps knocking on the door of the slate Victorian house which she and The Midnight Supremes share. 

Can you blame them for getting mad? 

A lifelong Diana Ross fan, I appreciate the diva singers most. Back in 2017, a few months after I left a toxic marriage with a communal narcissist, I met another diva online. Because my post-traumatic stress disorder was so raw, I would lash out at people whom triggered me so easily. I had felt like everyone was a narcissist after leaving one. Sadly, I had gotten very upset at a certain gothic diva and I feel bad about it. 

Combining my love for music, all things gothic and my friend Caroll Spinney, I created Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes as a nod to some of my favourite performers.

Eventually I got to apologize to the gothic singer and felt a lot better. 

Writing the conflict scenes between Gothic Diana Ross and her annoying neighbours Peppi and Bernadette “Bern” Moran Cacca feels very cathartic for me. Sonia Manzano (“Maria”) is quoted as having said Caroll playing Oscar “saved a lot on therapy” in the book “Jim Henson: The Works.”

Hopefully my stories will help bring the world a little joy, and I get to leave the world a little better someday far from now when I am gone. 

Rest in peace, dearest Caroll Spinney. I miss you.

PS: watch the film “I AM BIG BIRD” to learn more about my dearly departed friend.

No Dale, That’s MY Swamp!

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A wild Manteno entramanure, communal narcadoodle and swamp witch Bernadette “Bern” Moran Cacca emerges from her natural habitat – the bog – hoping for her next meal.

“I lost my watch. Have you seen it? I’m lost without it,” Kankakee bill collector Dale Davis asks Bern.

“That’s MY swamp. Git!” Bern scowls. “Git-git-git!”

As the timid Dale takes off, a certain Peppi Cacca runs toward his wife.

“You’re looking awesome tonight!”

Bernadette lets out a huge fart, Peppi dives into the bog, and answers the call of mating.

New dog treats?

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Kankakee bill-collector Sybil Kibble bought these turkey snausages for her Thanksgiving dinner thinking they were dog treats. Don’t feed them to your dog. Happy Turkey Day!

64K Ought To Be Enough

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Kankakee mother, squirrel-chaser and school-bus-parts-enthusiast JoAnn Kibble found this stunner of a vehicle at a Manteno dealer, a real steal with only 64K miles! All of Kankakee County will surely hear her coming down the road, and up it, too! Hurry up JoAnn, before Bern Cacca buys it for the farty-horns!

Madeline Has a Complex, Alright

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Kankakee sociopath, slumlord and dumpster clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant gets a call from a loan shark scamvertising some kind of crap, hoping to take her up on the offer. That heat source, though…

Dale Holds His Pants…

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Poor Dale. They closed the men’s washrooms at Cinema-13 in Bourbonnais, and he has to go realllly badly after drinking all that overpriced pop. After 20 minutes waiting outside the only family stall, he begins to grumble: “What did they do, fall in?”

Tiny twin sister act The Favorites continue talking amongst themselves, flushing repeatedly to make it sound like they need to use the facilities for something other than wasting the time of the pained folks waiting outside in line, Dale’s pants dropping from his legs wiggling. Those little turds.

Now Playing: The Favorites

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These tiny twin sisters sing about breaking crap in their new single “Broken” from their album “Broken,” coming soon from Broken Records. Not coming to a store near you. Be sure to see them open up for Vaudeville troupe Moronic Half-Assets (MHA) who bring you all the entertainment with half the budget.

Their favorite hobby is talking to each other in the washroom stalls, making sure to flush repeatedly, pretending to whizz while other ladies line up because they have to actually use the facilities. Bern Cacca would be proud.

MoronicArts Classics: Karma comes back to bite.

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“Where have you been?” Tara Bull barked at Linda Stay as she hovered over her desk.

“I had trouble driving in this weather and barely made it in. We got a foot of snow overnight and it took me over an hour to drive 25 miles,” Linda nervously explained as she set her purse and keys down on her cubicle desk.

“Well, I don’t have four-wheel drive and I made it just fine” Tara snipped as she berated the beleaguered Linda over her five minute tardiness. “I will mark this as a failure on your bi-weekly production report because attendance needs to be at 100%. You will not qualify for your hourly bonus this pay period. This is unacceptable.

Before Linda could react, Tara snapped “get on the phones!” and sat at her desk down to nom some breakfast burritos.

At 11:00, everyone could not wait to get off the phones. Yes, it was a dreaded production meeting which mandated the entire corporation’s presence, regardless of position, an award ceremony which invoked memories and emotions of high school assemblies. However, the collectors would do anything to get off the phones, even for an hour.

“I will get straight to the point. We need to increase production,” said Mr. Mack E. Avelli, Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Chief Executive Officer. The crowd erupted in laughter when Tara Bull ripped one and crapped her pants.

“Did I do that?” asked an embarrassed Ms. Bull.

“We need to get more bullish!” said Mikey as the crowd continued to giggle.

“Silence!” Mr. Avelli shouted and the room went dead, as if you could cut the tension with a knife.

“Since nobody made production, the employee of the month award is going to go to the person who ranked highest on the quality metric. Without further ado, I present this award to Mrs. Linda Stay.”

The crowd cheered and clapped, that is everyone except for Tara. She went back to the washroom and filled the toilet, clearing everyone from the stalls and all employees within a 25-foot radius. Don’t light a match!

MoronicArts Classics: Come Fry With Me

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Bourbonnais neckbeard and communal narcadoodle Damien Hurlbutt sent out rambling smear letters after he went off the deep end, years ago when his former wife Lori left him to escape his psychological abuse.

MoronicArts Classics: Damien Goes Postal

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“It’s hotter than a boiled owl!” Bourbonnais cinema clerk, neckbeard and communal narcissist Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt thinks aloud, as he heads down the stairs to get his mail. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I got my postcards off CBay. I bought over 200 from this guy, one at a time. What a great seller! I can’t wait to impress my friends with these! All these favors I do, oh boy, oh boy, they will get a SURPRISE!”

A lady across the way gives Damien the side eye.

Damien logs onto his personal computer, setting atop a wooden folding table. He tries to log onto his alternate Fakebook account, purposely created to stalk his ex-wife Lori and her friends, who divorced him because he abused her.

“Oh man, I cannot get on. What is this about getting reported again for violating the terms of service? I did nothing wrong. I am just a nice guy who has no rights. What about us men?” Damien types into the box in response to Fakebook’s “How did we do?” questionnare.

A few minutes pass. “Ding!”

Damien awakes from a deep sleep, all his loud snoring ceases.

Damien jumps up to log onto his computer.

“Hehhhhhhhh…” Damien sighs.

“We have permanently disabled this account due to multiple third-party complaints. Do not attempt to log in again.

— The Fakebook Team.”

“Now this account is crumped. I know! I will just make a new one! That will show them. Hmpf.”

Damien clears his browser’s history, cookies, cache and then reboots his machine. He reloads Fakebook and tries to create a new account under a diffent name so he can continue to harass his ex-wife, because he clearly has nothing better to do with his time.

“We are sorry, Damien. Maybe you should go out sometime and get a life. Do something productive. Get off the internet. We are closing both your accounts due to impersonation.

— The Fakebook Team”

“Those damnedable Fakebook people! They really put poop in my soup! Both my accounts are clunked over! I wish I could zogg over there and give that clump of people a piece of my mind!”

Damien goes into the bathroom, takes a huge crap, does not wipe and heads straight for the shower. He does not believe in wiping. After he gets out, he runs out the bathroom door, leaving a lake of water on the floor in his wake to get a towel.

As Damien dries himself, he shakes off like a dog, getting water all over the living room carpet. He gets an idea.

Damien dries his hair and then his manhood with the blowdryer.

Damien gets out his box of 200 postcards and sits down, looking a lot like Homer Simpson in his tighty-whities. He scrawls away into the night.

Weeks go by and Damien wonders why he has not heard back. Damien turns on the television, as he has not been able to log onto Fakebook:

“Breaking news: Alabama lawmakers stalked by a mysterious Bourbonnais man. Over 200 postcards containing crude drawings were sent to Alabama politicians opposed to women’s reproductive rights. According to reports, some of the content contained references to so-called ‘MRAs’ or ‘Men’s Rights Activists’, a reactionary group known for their anti-feminist views. Some of the content could not be shown on TV. We will print his address for our viewers’ protection. Back to you.”

Damien gasps, gulping down six antacids to purposely constipate himself because he does not like pooping around people. He craps his pants anyway.