I can grab things off the bottom shelf, unlike these guys: Creator of the Moroniverse
Category: humor
Wally Green’s Brand Spankin’ New Inventions!
Coming soon to the corner of Wally and Green’s! What kinda crap is Kankakee ladies’ man, barfly and wacky inventor Wally Green cooking up now?
Sponsored by WallyMobile
Introducing the new mobile phone plan from Wally Green’s! Exclusive to our stores, WallyMobile offers unlimited talk/text, a super-hard to navigate touch-screen, and plenty of not-so-yummy tracking cookies to slow your phone while consuming your data! Apply today! Be sure to pay for it using your Wally Green’s credit card as we do not accept Craptocoin.
MyDoucheBag
These extra, extra-plopsy bags are made from recycled douche and rusty canoes. With more pockets than you’ll ever need, these bags are specially designed to make sure you lose your stuff! Wally’s patented CrapStraps will be sure to tangle and strangle the wearer. Buy one get one half off (but never free)!
ScrewyLid
Are your tumbler lids too easy to take off and put back on? Try Wally’s new ScrewyLid! Using the same design our adult-proof pill-bottle lids, you will be sure you lose your top! Screw it back on, but ohhh, it’s stuck half-way again. Pick one up at Wally Green’s on the corner nearest you! Three for $7.00! (Must buy three)
Throw-a-Fit Blankets
Do you get frustrated trying to keep your fitted sheets on the bed? Now, throw a fit, every time you try to fit this throw onto your bed, only for it to fling right off. You might as well throw it away.
Share this:
Why Do TV Commercials All Use the Same Background Music?
“Clappity-clap, snappity snap, and all the one-note-wonders make for a changing of the channel.”
– Musician, singer and producer, Gothic Diana Ross, Manteno
Share this:
Close your eyes…
Imagine a debit card with a 69% introductory UFO on purchases (for complete pricking information and impotent terms and conditions, policing of services, delimiters, modifiers and values, please clink on the lick below) and a 30-second online alien abduction (subject yourself to verification).
Apply now at Wally Green’s for an Area 51 Visa credit card!
“You might never encounter an offer quite close to being this good!” — Wally Green, Founder of Wally Green’s drugstore, inventor of the Turd Machine Deluxe and invader of spaces.
Coming soon: Alien Abduction Insurance. It’s hot!
Share this:
Kankakee Bill Collector Sybil Kibble Laughs, Lives, Loves.
Kankakee bill-collector Sybil Kibble and dog food connoisseur lives, laughs and loves — not necessarily in that order. Do you live first, laugh first, or love first? Do you need a bathroom break before deciding? Maybe you can help solve a mystery.
Want more morons? Keep up on the Moroniverse by signing up using your email or WordPress account.
Or if you prefer, watch us on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/AqXmtumAHXU
The Moroniverse thanks you!
Share this:
They’re Heeere!
But not for long with our new Polt-R-Gone!
Spray that spectre with our patented sage blend!
Got a witch in your bog? Hasten that hag’s hustle away from your hedgerow!
Get out the ghouls, daemons too with our maximum-strength, pure sage D-M’n-CON!
But wait, there’s more! Don’t wait another 28 weeks or another 28 days: Prepare yourself for the apocalypse now with our new Zombie Zapper! The undead will just walk right into it…eventually!
Buy one, get one half off (but never free) at your local Wally Green’s! (Not valid in Manteno, sorry!)
Share this:
MoronicArts Classics: Greg A. Schneissder is a real GAS!
Owner of Schneissder’s Sewer Service, Manteno moron, sociopath and zombie Gregory Albert Schneissder thinks his crap does not stink.
This 62 year old fartknocker sports a head full of salt and pepper hair, usually covered up by a ball cap. His eyes glow red and he eats brains for dinner.
Gregory is Chronic; paranoid people will steal his stash, Greg flashes his dime-bag full of perfectly cultivated buds on the bus when he is spaced out on coke he snorted while coming down off a weed high. Yes, he is that dumb.
This Miami Dolphenergans fan gate-keeps in Fakebook groups. Greg brags about his biggest life achievement, having seen someone in 1991 going down the road who owned one. The one-and-only 1988 Chrysler Conquest – just like the one Gothic Diana Ross drives – Greg witnessed the most important event in his life and tells everybody about it.
Undead Greg stopped driving due to DUIs; he lost his license before the slow-burn-virus took over his undead corpse. Now he can only watch people going down the road who own one. He is butthurt because he no longer can legally hunt down the living driving his Ford imbecile machine, covered in obnoxious decals, bearing wheels way too large for the body.
Ableist as it gets, Greg audibly harasses disabled folks on the bus, stalking them in cafés. He thinks they should work and accuses every disabled young person of “faking it” and tag teams with his BFF Pris Dixon to bully strangers since he is a scared wuss with no life.
Bern Cacca’s biggest fan, Greg made a BernCacca Fans facebook account.
He desperately needs a hobby (besides devouring the living). Manteno residents hope he gets one soon.
Share this:
Bills suck.
I have to pay the Moron Bill next month. Want to help? I know this is a long-shot. If you are less broke than I am, perhaps you could please contribute towards the yearly cost of hosting this silly site of mine, full of 500-some-odd stories all written by your friendly neighborhood weirdo who is really a cat. Meow.
https://wordpress.com/checkout/personal-bundle/gift/13577154
The Moroniverse will thank you!
Share this:
Gothic Diana Ross Plays Bocce to Win
Narcissists want to buy your time…so they can waste it…over and over without paying.
Gothic Diana Ross is busy minding her own business at her specialist’s waiting room up at Rush University Medical Center in Chicago. A routine follow-up appointment, Miss Ross would rather be home having fun singing with Gothic Flo and Gothic Mary, instead of waiting in a crowded room full of strangers.
An hour passes by and Di still has not been called.
“Hey, I’m Greg Schneissder. Are you from Manteno?”
”Ummm…” Diana rolls her eyes and looks away from the undead Greg,
“I saw one of your shows, you ladies are so beautiful and talented.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you know Pat Splatt?”
“Yeah…no. Eew.”
“Pat is one of the coolest guys around! I hang around him and Bernadette Cacca.”
Diana freezes from panic, already nervous awaiting her lab results.
“Don’t. Mention. Bernadette.”
“Oh why? She is the the nicest person around! And so famous! I see her picture in the paper a lot. She’s a celebrity. Wasn’t she on that Human Body Odor Channel show?”
Diana rolls her eyes.
“How can you say anything bad about her?”
“Stop.”
“I am gonna complain. You are harassing me now. Nobody talks bad about Bern Cacca!”
Di looks at the lady across from her.
“I am sure he was just trying to help.”
“Really? Just…no.”
“How do you know?”
“Just leave me the feck alone.”
“I am gonna just leave. I can’t be at this office where people talk badly about other people!” Greg whinges as he storms down the stairs.
“Deeanna?”
“It’s Diana…grrr.”
Diana grabs her patent leather sack and follows the medical office assistant to be roomed.
It begins to rain, the clouds taking a massive whizz all over Northern Illinois. Thankfully Diana merges her black 1988 Chrysler Conquest onto 90/94 safely and avoids rush-hour traffic to head south on I-57 toward her home in Manteno. Mind clear from a clean bill of health, the slender gothic beauty slides into her canopy bed, the silky black sheets comforting her as she drifts off to her internship in Hell.
Two hours later, Diana wakes up in a panic, startled by a moron who thought it would be cute to crawl into her bed.
“You know Diana, your music would sound better if you articulated your words better.”
A stunned Diana looks over.
“You forgot to lock your door, hon.”
“Get the freak outta my house and my bed!” Diana screams at the top of her lungs and chases out the bored poopy-burner and communal narcadoodle, next-door neighbor Bernadette Moran Cacca.
“How dare you talk bad about my beloved Bernadette!” Gregory Albert Schneissder screams at Diana about the crowd-pleaser for whom he created the Fakebook account “BMCacca Fannn.”
Diana slams the slate door to her Victorian Gothic home.
Gregory slithers over to Bernadette and the pair head upstairs to Bern’s bedroom.
“Can you just, like, not fart in front of me?” Greg asks his date Bernadette Cacca during their date netting some flicks while hoping to chill.
“No, honey.”
”You don’t fart on stage at those charity events where you sing and play kazoo requests to raise money for the Manteno Optimal Club and for Ukraine.”
“No need to gas-sleight me!”
“You gaslit me!” Greg retorts.
“No, I mean, I need to fart. Farting is healthy. I will implode if I don’t rip ‘em when I need to.”
The swamp-witch Bernadette lifts her leg and her bum goes boom.
A wild Gothic Diana Ross appears in the foreground.
”Heave-ho! Where are your enablers now? Bwa ha ha ha ha!” The Gothic Boss Miss Ross interjects as she yeets the communal narcadoodle Bern halfway down the staircase, and the Midnight Supremes chuck her bum-licker Greg, spocking the pallino down the stairs.
“You left your front door open…” Diana addresses the undead mess spilled all over the basement floor with a smile.
”What did those stairs do to deserve that punishment?” Gothic Mary jokes as the Midnight Supremes leave in amusement.
Share this:
What the Frickfrick?
“Where the heck has Sonya been?”
“Uhh, a little birdy told me she was last seen near Area 51 in Nevada.” Bog witch, entramanure and communal narcadoodle Bernadette Moran Cacca says to her shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and self-righteous narc mother Carla.
“Who? Was it my cousin Jackie? He flies by all the time but not once, even once, ever says hi.”
“Who’s that?”
“Oh you know him, you met him when you were five at grandma’s house.”
“I have no idea, it was just a rumor…”
“I’m picking up all this stuff here at her house…”
“Oh wow, ma, anything for me? Anything worth beaucoup bucks?”
“Nope. Everything I’m picking up I’m THROWING OUT!” the angry bird says with great pride (but not the good kind). Why couldn’t I get a free trip to Area 51?”
“Maybe she got a job there, I dunno…”
“I’ve applied there over and over, and heard nothing. Why does SHE get to go there but not ME? MUST BE NICE.”
Feathers ruffled, Carla Moran starts flapping her wings and cursing.
“Maa, y’know I have you on speakerphone.”
“Nevermind!”
“Why don’t you come down to the Manteno Optimal Club and compete in our poetry slam?”
“You know I hate poetry, and it’s a long way from Eastern Indiana”
“Oh come now, it’s for a good cause!”
“We’ll see…”
“I’d love to see my mother again. Won’t you do it just for me? You do love me right?” the hag gaslights.
“Okay! Okay! Okay! Enough!”
“Great see you Sunday.”
“Roger that!” Pamela Frickfrick laughs to her twin sister Becca who has been eavesdropping on her neighbors from across the block.
“Our newly installed Frickfrick towers are working pretty darned good I say. When are your grandkids coming over, Becca?”
“Today. Can you watch them?”
“I gotta work at Credit Recovery Associates. You know, that CRASS job I got a few months ago.”
“Isn’t it illegal for bill collectors to call on weekends? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“You’re a CRASS bill collector too, you should know!”
Pamela storms out the door of her Manteno home and wanders on over to see what kind of dookie she can stir up over at the house of Cacca.
Bernadette is sitting upstairs pooping and singing a song of stupidity, therefore Pamela seizes the opportunity to do something even crappier. After all, it’s all a competition for these bored bitties. “Oh look a bowling ball!” Pamela hoists the lawn ornament from Bernadette’s house over on Kant Street to hers on Ken Street so it can grow legs.
She rolls the ball, striking her garage wall, sparing her from having to buy one herself. Then she goes out on another Moronquest.
Pam spots the slate Victorian mansion of Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes. “Oh how handsome, a knight in shining armor. I think it fell off a truck,” Pamela thinks aloud as she hauls the decorative swordfighter over to her home to live instead. “Maybe I’ll dress him up to look like the king instead, the King of Rock and Roll!”
Pamela drives over to Wally Green’s to hopefully buy gaudy jewelry, a blue-black wig and fake sideburns to decorate her new man. Wandering around the store, two clerks circle around her asking eight times each if she needs help, despite her having said no the first time.
“Oh shoot-a-darn. I forgot to get my meds, where’s the pharmacy hun?”
The clerk points his arm toward the back of the store and a large cartoon of Wally’s silly grin.
After waiting in line for 25 minutes, Pamela finally makes it to the pickup window.
“Pamela Frickfrick”
“Sorry, we’re still working on it. Give us 20 minutes,” says her crush, Kankakee Elvis impersonator and pharmacy tech Robbie Hurlbutt.
Mrs. Frickfrick wanders around the store to buy some crap she does not need, only to circle back to her number one singer.
“We have a P and C at Pharmacy. Pharmacy, we have a P and C.”
“What’s that?” Pamela asks Robbie.
“Someone’s just dropping off a specimen over at the lab.”
“OK. Now tell me, do you have vaccines for FIV?”
“FIV? You mean HIV.”
“No. FIV. It’s a disease that cats can get and I don’t want to catch it.”
“Umm, we don’t have a vet clinic here, sorry ma’am.”
“It’s for me. You sell shots here right?”
“Of gin?”
“No, I don’t drink any darn alcohol. I just wanna shot so I don’t get FIV.”
“Lady, you can’t get FIV from cats!” a passerby shouts, then shakes her head as she walks away.
“Robbie, you are the sexiest man on earth. Don’t you know anything about what you sell? You are smart for your age.”
“Ummm, I am 47. I grow the same boogers as you.”
“You need to respect your elders! I am 74 and a lot older than you. Get me the manager now!”
“I AM the manager,” Robbie lies.
“Well imma gonna done call ICE and report you for being friendly to migrants when I go home. I am no longer your biggest fan!” Pamela breaks down and cries all the way across Kankakee County.
Meanwhile Keysha, Aaliyah and Cedric are playing in their gramma’s house. “Where did she get this bowling ball?” little Keysha asks her siblings as tries to lift it.
“I dunno, but let’s see how much damage it can do on this knight!” Cedric says, grabbing the 12 pound ball as he begins to throw strikes.
The two girls run into the backyard.
“Oooh, legos!” the kids cry, as they tear apart the red-and-white antenna array.
“A prize inside! Is this a radio?
“No, it’s just a dumb baby monitor.” Gothic Diana Ross tells the kids, having walked over looking for her missing lawn ornament.
“Hey kids, where’s your grandmother?”
“I dunno.”
“Is she home?”
“No.”
“Is anybody home?”
“Just us…”
Concerned about the thefts — and more importantly — the kids’ welfare, the Gothic Boss Ms. Ross calls the police.
The Kankakee police eventually locate Pam walking along the sidewalk somewhere in Bradley, carrying a red metal container.
“Are you Pamela Frickfrick?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Where are you headed, ma’am?”
“I had forgotten to fill my tank when the yellow light illuminated and I’m looking for a filling station.”
“Where did you get this bowling ball?” the cop asks as she shows her a photo from her phone.
“It rolled over one night when he had storms. Why?”
“And this metal knight?
“Oh he walked over to my house. I promise I did not steal him from his girl. I didn’t do anything.”
“Nope, you didn’t. We dispatched an officer to your home to find three children abandoned.”
“This is not fair! I’m a senior citizen who pays your salary! I know the mayor!”
“We know the mayor too,” the policewoman says as she handcuffs the town Frickfrick and reads her Miranda rights.
(This story dedicated to a special friend who loves cats).
MoronicArts 
You must be logged in to post a comment.