Tag: Becca Frickfrick

Becca Frickfrick is gone in 60 seconds.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Ennui fills the mind of Kleptomaniac Rebecca “Becca” Frickfrick as she foams at the mouth craving the next thing to rip off. After failed attempts to steal lawn ornaments, she’s now a free bird roaming the Moroniverse.

Kankakee bill collector and dog-food enthusiast Sybil Kibble is busy taking supervisor calls and reviewing debtor files at Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS).

“I need a calculator, Miss Sybil” collector Pamela Frickfrick asks her boss.

Sybil opens up a couple drawers from the supply cabinet.

“You have your choice of this silver solar-powered one one or this green one with extra large numbers.”

“Nope, I need a graphing calculator.”

“For what?”

“My math homework.”

Before Sybil could shake her head, she spies Pamela’s twin sister Becca Frickfrick across the way knocking down company flyers, raiding the fridge and scratching her butt in the lunchroom.

“Oh heck no. Not my dog chow!” Sybil exclaims.

“Becca, go home for the rest of the week.”

“But I need the money!”

“Just go home and shut up.”

Sybil Kibble is busy loading groceries into her Chrysler LeBaron at the Schmucks Supermarket parking lot. As Sybil turns her back, Becca Frickfrick helps herself to random things from Sybil’s shopping cart.

“What are you doing?” Sybil asks.

“This is mine, this is mine, this is mine too…”

With one hand, Sybil swings the swiped staples back into her possession.

“Do you know who I am?” Becca stupidly asks her boss.

“An idiot. Now go home.”

Sybil climbs into her passenger seat to finish putting the grocery sacks into the talking car. Mrs. Frickfrick opens the driver’s side door, swipes the keys out of Sybil’s left coat-pocket, and begins to steal her car. Ten feet and one turn later, Miss Kibble successfully wrestles the grabbity hands off the stealing wheel, puts her car into park and shoves the thief onto the pavement.

“You can’t do this to me! I started this town! I AM KANKAKEE!” Becca cries out.

“You’re fired.”

“Eeeeeeeeeee!” Becca lets out a perfect high C like a teeny baby, cries in the pouring rain as Sybil drives home.

Back at work, it’s Friday and Sybil can’t wait for the weekend. Neither can the rest of the CRASS staff.

Collector Mary Grr walks up to Sybil’s supervisor cubicle.

“Where did all headset foamies go? I went to buy some out of the vending machine and it was empty!”

“I’ll look into it,” Sybil assures her.

Fellow collector Dale Davis beeps his watch repeatedly while marching in place to the tune of his last call.

“Gates are closed everybody!” Operations Manager Mikey Phillips announces.

The entire call center cheers and logs off their collective workstations.

A couple of staff embers make a beeline for the washroom while others make their ways to the break-room, only to discover a certain Becca Frickfrick emptying the vending machines after she had jury-rigged them to give her free stuff.

“You know, there’s a better way to do that…” Dale deadpans.

“If these things all fall out, I get to keep them, right?”

Sybil Kibble grabs Rebecca by the ear, lifts her up and and hoists her out the window.

“YEEEET!”

Sybil waves at the former CRASS collector and laughs.

“How did she even get in here?” Dale asks.

“We have no security here at CRASS because our wonderful owner Mack. E Avelli fired our guards during COVID, to save money of course.”

“Of…course.” Dale agrees with his superior as Mack is in the back counting up this week’s profits.

Don’t Get Ego on Your Face, Becca.

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

Ennui fills the home of the bill collector and and banjo player for The Haggs, Becca Frickfrick.

Since her twin sister Pamela got arrested for leaving her young grandkids alone to go out stealing lawn ornaments, the desire to seek get revenge has boiled over. Instead of, you know, getting a hobby, Becca chooses to bother people instead.

“It’s all them kids fault. They never work, they sit around on their phones and they broke our Frickfrick towers that we made ourselves from their LEGOs! Dang kids don’t respect their elders. Imma gon’ done teach them pert near a lesson!”

“Ma’am, this is a Buckstars.”

Becca seats herself while waiting for her pumpkin spice latte, and starts talking at Wally Green who is busy dumbing down his newest Artificial Stupidity Robot.

“I hear that Gothic Diana Ross has been stealing lawn ornaments. I’ve been doing an investigation. You know what that is right?”

Wally continues tuning out Becca, searching for the perfect computer voice, so it can to answer his pharmacy chain’s calls instead of paying humans to do it.

“Hello! Hello! Can you hear me?”

Desperate for attention, Mrs. Frickfrick takes her index finger to Wally Green and repeatedly pokes him in the back until he looks up.

“Oh hey lady, why don’t you smile more? I’m Wally, and very single by the way. Did you know our family almost inherited Manhattan Island? The pirates stole the deed from—“

“Nevermind.”

“Read it on the internet. Trust me, it’s true!”

Becca walks over the sinks to wash her hands, a wild bog witch Bernadette Cacca appears.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“6pm”

Thanks!

“No, it’s only 4pm,” the self-righteous narcadoodle, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran says to her daughter Bernadette as she sits down at the table to drink her coffee.

“It’s 6pm, look at my watch.”

“You watch is broke, that’s why you’re always late.”

“Look up there!” Bernadette points to the coffeehouse clock.

“I’m sorry if I offended you. I was only trying to help.” Carla gaslights her own daughter.

In walks a slender blonde woman wearing white-and-purple leggings and a purple-grey shirt.

“Ah, someone new to harass!” Becca thinks to herself.

The woman gets her cake slice and sits in front of Becca, back facing her.

“Hey, did you hear about those missing lawn ornaments, Gothic Diana Ross and her sisters been going round stealing.”

Sybil Kibble turns around.

“Oh hi boss!” Becca sinks back into her seat.

“Why didn’t you come into work today?”

“You have no right to ask me that. Our investigation will be brought forth. You will be in trouble for stealing lawn ornaments. Anybody who stands in the way of what we want to get will be punished.”

”That’s nice.”

“If you want to get right with us, you have to do what we say.”

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Your contract is up this month. Go back to work. This is your final warning.”

Mrs. Frickfrick starts slamming her arms on the coffeehouse tables, slides her feet on the echo-y concrete, pirouhettes her way out the door shouting “I’m not coming baaack! Byyyyeeeeeeeee!”

“This is not an airport, no need to announce your departure,” Sybil Kibble deadpans.

The customers shake their heads and giggle.

A minute later, one of the baristas puts a hot coffee drink up onto the bar.

“Pumpkin Spice for Becca?”

Sybil just rolls her eyes and goes back to her paperwork.

MoronicMerch helps pay the Moron bill.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

We here at MoronicArts need to pay monthly to help feed, clothe and water the denizens of the Moroniverse. If you like these idiots well enough to wear them on your sleeve, please consider buying one of official MoronicArts.com shirts:

https://www.teepublic.com/user/moronicarts

“Great gift idea!”
— Sybil Kibble, Kankakee

Or maybe buy some mixed moronic arts? (Not the Scary Barry type) https://jenxmusic.bandcamp.com/

Only 1.50 a pop — CHEAP!

The Moroniverse thanks you!

What the Frickfrick?

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

“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).

The Garden of Dearthly Delights

~ Jen ~ 4 Comments

The Manteno Cantina reviews start to pile up all over social media:

“False advertising! They tricked us into thinking we were attending a Gotion protest when it was really just a stupid talent show. Plus those ‘free tickets’ are not really free because they have a two-drink minimum!”

“Bernadette is one of their many talented performers. She plays the same two-hour set, refuses requests, then demands craptocoins! Come by on any day but Tuesday or Wednesday and enjoy the non-Bernadette singers.”

“The smelliest washrooms in Kankakee County since the dog-food factory closed down.”

“We’re losing business again. Why is it always the same eight people here?” the president of Bernadette Moran Cacca’s fan club, The Poopy Groupies, aunt Sonya Moran asks.

“Maybe we can hire that Hurlbutt kid to do his Elvis act.”

“Nahh.”

“How about we do some remodeling? And a name change? Nobody will know the difference,” suggests Poopy Groupie and neighborhood turd-burglar JB Powers.

“Not a bad idea. I’ll notate that.”

“I don’t know, Sonya, maybe we need more advertising?”

“Yeah, Dorian. That’s a wonderful idea! Woooooh!” Sonya exclaims a bit too hard, holding her brown note a bit too long.

Dorian begins to sing with excitement.

“Oh honey, don’t quit your day job.”

“Umm…Bernadette, my day job IS advertising and design.”

“Oh I mean keep going with that. I am sorry IF I hurt your feelings,” communal narcadoodle Bernadette gaslights in her typical fashion. She has the voice of an angel and the soul of the devil, leaving that bad taste in your mouth but you don’t quite know why.

Text alerts go out to every member of the Manteno Optimal Club via their CrapApp:

Kankakee Idol! Watch and sing along with the best Kankakee County singers, right here in K3! Watch our singing  competition from the comfort of your own home on Cable Access 19, or be a part of the audience in Manteno. Get your free tickets now! Another crappy show brought to you by Peppi’s Portapotties! Bernadette and Peppi Cacca are King and Queen of the Plastic Throne!

Signage has been plastered all over Kankakee County featuring the big cheesy grins of the judges, craptocoin emojis, and this text:

Tomato Karen & The Haggs
“They’re Coming to Take Me Away”

vs 

Wally Green
“Fart Your Birds”

Judges:

Bernadette Cacca
Sonya Moran
Dorian James

With your host, Konrad Teirant!

The day arrives. Emcee Konrad Teirant, one third of Moronic Half Assets and chief cooker of the CRASS books, hopes to make a big bag tonight.

“Live here, this is your host KT on the TV. Tonight at the Manteno Cantina, we have a real salad bar! We also have these ladies! Give it up for Tomato Karen & The Haggs as they sing “They’re Coming to Take Me Away!”

Tomato Karen Napoleon, Demanda Broccoli, Becca Frickfrick and Jamie Turnip try their very best to sing and play their poorly tuned instruments. As the crowd plugs their ears and Bernadette plugs the toilet, Tomato Karen’s ghastly wail raises in pitch and insanity – hitting a high C toward the very end – barely. 

“Thank you for that, whatever that was. Now let’s hear from our awesome judges. Bernadette?”

 “You guys are the GOAT! It’s a wooooooooooo from me!” Bernadette’s mouth opens wide, tongue hanging out as usual.

 “Why am I craving tin cans right now? Oh, speaking of can…” Bernadette runs off stage and straight to her favorite room to mine more craptocoins because she can. It’s potty time!

“Sonya?”

“The Haggs rule this composition. It’s a woo-hoo from me!”

“Dorian?”

 “This song is too repetitive.”

The crowd erupts in boos.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over. It’s a yeah, no from me.”

Sounds of the disappointed crowd magnify.

“Speaking of boos, be sure to stop by our bar for our awesome drink specials!” Konrad spamvertises the already mad crowd.

“Butt, be sure to text us your votes on your smell phones! 815-555-FART.”

“Thank you Bernadette. You look awesome!”

“No, you!”

“You’re a national treasure Bernadette. This next guy is a real hoot! Tonight we present you Wally Green!” The bulbous, squat, 60-something enters the stage wearing a horizontal striped polo shirt, a fishing cap, and a cheesy grin.

“This one is for alllll the single ladies out there. Wally taps the microphone, causing ear-piercing distortion in the public address system.

“Fart your owls, fart your cockatiels. Let them fly away, let them fly for free. Don’t hug your dog, don’t kiss your cat. Love is what I got so give it all to meeeeeee!”

The three judges look at each other in wonder, confusion and astonishment.

In unison: “This is the dumbest thing we saw all day. It’s a heck-no from us!”

“Be sure to lock in your—“

“No nevermind, the razzy has already been awarded. The loser of Kankakee Idol is, Tomato Karen & The Haggs! Congratulations, you’re the only act we’ve seen that’s worse than Wally Green!”

“This is Konrad Teirant signing off…ooh is this thing on?”