Business is crappy at Peppi’s Portapotties and there has been a brownout at the spectacle known as the Manteno Optimal Club. Despite offering “free tickets” to Robbie Hurlbutt, Madeline Topolla-Teirant, Konrad Teriant, Judi Avelli, her mother Carla and the Cheshire Cat, nobody’s falling for the “two drink minimum” scam anymore.

Needing take make extra dough, bog witch, communal narcadoodle and entramanure Bernadette Moran Cacca applies for a job at Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), the company at which nearly all of Kankakee County has worked at one time. She is so good at annoying people that Clio Bersola hires her right on the spot.

“Would you like take a survey?” Bernadette asks her first caller. “You have been specially selected because your opinion matters!”

“Would you like take a survey?”

“Would you like take a survey?”

“You have been specially selected.”

“Your opinion matters!”

Instead of hounding people for money or craptocoin tips, the wrestler once known as The Manteno Wonder haunts CRASS debtors and creditors with survey spam.

The calls go on and on.

“Is she that weird lady who works down at that Manteno port-o-dump facility?” Dale asks Polly.

“Oh yeah, I see her on TV all the time. Those ads drive me crazy!”

“Just another day in Kank!”

The collectors share a chuckle.

“Good job, keep it up. You’re the only person who applied for this job, so we hired you. What’s your name again?” Sybil says.

“Don’t you know who I am?” the show-tune cover queen and portapotty empress Bernie asks her boss.

“Um…no. That’s why I asked you.”

“I do the charity gigs at the Manteno Optimal Club! I sing showtunes, play piano and blow vuvuzela horn.”

“Well don’t blow this job.”

Sybil goes to Schmucks a few days later to stock up on her Alpo meals. Not finding good deals on her favorite food, she walks across the street to the Wally Green’s and gets one can at regular price and another for half-off (but never free). While browsing the Sleevies, StrangleTangles and Turd Machine Deluxes, her new employee runs up to her as if to hug her, unfortunately.

“Hi there, my fabulous boss!”

“I’m busy.”

“Let me drive you home.”

“No thanks, my car is a block away from here.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have to drive in the rain.”

Not wanting to isolate her new hire, Sybil reluctantly wheels her doggie bags to the trunk of Bernie’s poopmobile and gets in front. Before she has a chance to close the car door, let alone don her seat belt, Bernadette peels out of the Wally Green’s parking lot.

“Slow down there…Nelly.”

“My name’s not Nelly.”

“OK, just drop me off at Schmucks. I took the preggers parking spot. Nobody’s gonna look inside my womb to verify.”

Bernadette loads the heavy cans into Sybil’s car.

“Call me if you need anything, pal!”

“Yeah sure, thanks!”

Sybil drives her white Chrysler LeBaron home, makes sure the oil is not low, and carries her suppers inside. While munching on some milk bones, Sybil checks her voicemail.

“This is a reminder call for: Sybil Kibble. You have a colonoscopy scheduled in three weeks. Please call us back to confirm your appointment. Be sure to have a driver because you cannot legally drive the day of your procedure.”

“Oh crap. I forgot about that.”

Trying to find someone to bring you to a procedure is as bad as finding people to help you move.

Sybil calls down to her mother and asks if she can bring her.

“No, I’m playing Bingo with the girls that day,” JK yells up to her daughter from her basement apartment’s air vent.

She reluctantly calls Dale Davis, even though she’s the object of his unwanted affection.

“No boss, I have to work that day. You scheduled me, remember?”

Out of options, The Kibbler texts The Manteno Wonder.

“Oh yeah, I will take the day off just for you.” Bernadette replies, then she poops.

Bernadette repeatedly texts Sybil daily to ask if she needs any supplies, toilet paper or liquids. However, Sybil says no thanks to the offers, except for the dog food one.

“My two favorite words, free food!” Sybil tells Mrs. Cacca.

“You’re the best!”

Something does not feel right about her newly found friend (not to be confused with Newly Formed Turds). “How can someone be so fond of me, so quickly?” Sybil writes in her diary. “I walk away from her with a funny taste in my mouth but I cannot quite put my finger on it.”

The weather has cooled off a bit in the two-and-a-half weeks which have passed. It’s Friday night after a long, stressful week at work, and Sybil is happy to be back at her Kankakee home.

“Can you come over and check to see if I locked my door?” Bernadette texts, asking about her shack up in Manteno.

Sybil plays The Crushing Candy Game for an hour and then texts Bernie back, “yeah, it’s locked” before going back to her phone, then watches some Unsolved Mysteries.

Sybil texts Bernie to ask for some toilet paper, however she gets no reply.

She shoots another text: “I’ll give you a ten.”

Another hour passes, so she sends out her ma to get the TP instead.

It’s the Sunday before her procedure. Between potty runs, Sybil texts Bernadette to confirm the time tomorrow. An hour passes, no answer. She calls Bernie, who answers after the third try.

“What do you want?” Bernadette snarks.

“I’m just calling to confirm the time you’re come getting me.”

“Just have them call me when you’re ready. I’m not going in.”

“You ARE bringing me TO and FROM my procedure right?”

“I have to meet someone by 9:30 for a portapotty job.

“OK, just pick me up at 8:45.”

“That’s fine. But I’m not signing any paperwork.”

After a very long, sore night, it’s now the bottom of the hour on colonoscopy day.

Bernadette peels onto Sybil Lane and into Ms. Kibble’s driveway.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’ve been going all night!”

Awkward silence passes.

Bern Cacca — the proud G.G. Allin fan and craptocoin miner — does not even flinch at Sybil’s poop joke.

“Just give me directions.”

Despite looking so good on the outside by giving her a lift, the charity-side-show-queen Bernadette does not even bother to ask Sybil how she’s feeling.

“Just have them call me. But, I’m not signing any papers.”

“What do you mean by not signing papers, if you don’t mind I ask?”

“I don’t want to sign anything I don’t know what I’m signing up for.”

“They might need you to sign a discharge paper, to say you are picking me up, that’s it.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll have them call you.”

Bernadette still does not even ask Sybil how she’s feeling, and instead pulls away. Sybil enters the outpatient facility to bravely face the her anal probe alone.

The procedure goes well. Sybil enjoys the best 10 minutes of sleep ever, and then awakens in the recovery room full of people fart-fart-farting away.

“Good news, Ms. Kibble. I circled Uranus and found no Klingons.”

“Great news doc. Have you got ahold of my ride?”

“We’ll have the nurse keep trying.”

Eventually Bernadette pulls into the outpatient facility.

“Slow down!” the guard warns her.

Sybil Kibble gets wheeled to Bernie’s car and she gets in. “How’d it go?” Bernie asks Sybil.

“It went well. No abnormalities.”

“Did they use real anesthesia?”

“No…just the Fisher Price kind.” Sybil deadpans.

“Great, let’s get you home.”

Bernadette spends the whole ride home complaining about “the sky poop” and her online battles with people who “don’t get her revolutionary ideas,” because “it must be that Manteno water,” while explaining in detail every little chore she has done for CRASS, The Poopy Groupies and The Manteno Optimal Club.

What doesn’t Bernadette do? Ask Sybil how she’s feeling, of course. Instead she peels into the Kibble homestead’s driveway, dumps Sybil on her doorstep like a turd, peels out and waves, evil grin showing off the barely good deed she did for a fellow citizen. She cannot wait to brag about this all over Fakebook and Instaspam!

Mrs. Cacca shows up for work at CRASS the next day, walks in the door bright and cheery, mouth wide open as if to catch a fly, eyes as cold as always to hide her daily fear and self-loathing. She struts right by Sybil’s cubicle, and toward Marketing until Sybil calls her name at the top of her lungs:

“B. M. Cacca, come to my cubicle now!” The call center floor giggles.

Bernadette sits down at her desk in Marketing, defying her boss’ orders.

“Bern Cacca, please see Sybil Kibble immediately,” Accounts Receivable Chief Tara Bull calls over the intercom.

Bernadette chooses to ignore the page, so Sybil walks over to her instead, stack of papers in hand.

Sybil faces Bernadette.

“Your position has been eliminated due to lack of business needs. Resign immediately or be terminated.”

“I told you, I’m not signing anything!”

“OK. You’re fired. You have a 30 minute window to clean out your desk before Security escorts you out the door.”

“I WANT to SPEAK to the MANAGER!”

“I AM the manager.”

“No, YOUR MANAGER!” Karen — err — Bernadette, cries, throwing a toddler-tantrum.

“I’m giving you five minutes to leave,” a tall, fit, medium skinned woman wearing box braids demands.

“Do you know who I am?” Bernadette asks.

“No, do you know who I am?”

“I need the manager STAT!”

“I AM the manager. Leave now before we prepare the trebuchet.”

“Can I go to the washroom first?

“That’s it!”

A tiny violin is heard over the intercom, then Sybil’s voice commands: “YEET!”

The entire company cheers as Bernadette gets flung to lawd-only-knows-where.

“I wonder how she is feeling now?” Ms. Kibble giggles to herself before taking another supervisor call.