Poor Damien Hurlbutt. The Bourbonnais cinema clerk and communal narcissist who secretly loves to fart had this same idea. He got all mad, because he wanted to team up with Kankakee huckster Pat Splatt and sell his own farts on cBay:
Since this random lady got rich selling her gas blasts, Damien had to continue working at Cinema-13.
Clio Bersola, Human Resources Director of the Kankakee debt collection firm Credit Recovery Associates, LLC (CRASS), decides to make work a little more fun, in response to having received many complaints regarding a stressful work environment. She got permission from CRASS’ big cheese Mack E.. Avelli to open up a classifieds’ section to all employees, since their therapy goat idea did not work.
Leaked from the CRASS intranet, here are some of the ads posted by CRASS staff and their buddies.
CRASS Classifieds: No matter how long you work, an ad in the classifieds never stops working.
001 LOST AND FOUND:
Lost: My mind. Please help! Call Mack at 555-3700.
Wanted: The beast in my dreams…the one that makes them loony! Call Judithann Avelli at 555-FIND if you find him. Don’t tell my husband.
004 FREE CRAP
Free movie tickets for any of m’ladies who would love to adorn this tenderheart on a date to the theater. I tip my fedora to you. Email Damien Hurlbutt at firstname.lastname@example.org
Auction at the corner of Wally and Green Streets. Half-ply toilet paper, finger ale, a date with Wally Green and more.
010 WHOLESALE, RETAIL AND WHATEVER:
Lifetime supply of Sitagin, Just like the energizer bunny commercial from 1991! $40. 555-0000.
Money for sale! $20 bills only $26. Call 1-900-IM-CHEAP. Only $10 a minute.
011 APARTMENTS, UNFURNISHED:
One room apartment with water, 1 3/5 baths, 2 windows, no pets allowed. Call 555-RENT and ask for ext. 3SHACK.
020 FARM ANIMALS:
The perfect animal for all your farm work! Many colors from which to choose and low maintenance too! Call the Parakeet Center for more information at 000-BIRD.
030 INFORMATION FOR SALE:
Underground alien bases! Call Konrad at 000-UFO-RIDE to buy some information.
032 SERVICE FOR SALE
We scratch CDs, records and crush cassettes. Reasonable rates. Call 555-KRUSH
100 VACATION SPACE FOR RENT
Swampland! Free port-a-potty with every stay. Call OUT-HAUS and ask for Bernadette.
BRRRRPPPPPPHPTTMOBILES! All makes and models of these teeny-weeny motorbikes. As low as $500, seats and tires extra. We also have plenty of lifted trucks to lift your ego. Call Brandon’s Imbecile Machines at 815-555-STINK. Free roses for the ladies!
Manteno port-o-dump proprietor extraordinaire, communal narcissist and turd-machine operator Bern Cacca wishes she came up this idea first. After all, she lights her gas blasts to spark the poopy-burning flames. She enjoys watching the port-a-potty waste gleam in her fireplace, as she sits in her rocking chair, playing accordion while listening to GG Allin.
Manteno’s very own communal narcissist Bernadette “Bern” Cacca learned how to impress people in high school by giving classmates rides, starring in plays for charity and volunteering for charity. Did Bernadette care about those people and causes? OF COURSE NOT. She did it all for attention and to clean up her crappy reputation.
Bern’s grades were decent in school, despite her having turned a teacher against an autistic student.
The self-proclaimed Manteno Wonder, Bernadette tried to use her combat acting skills as a wrestler for a few years upon graduating from high school.
One day, after her career as a wrestler did not work out, Bern had an epiphany. Wanting to impress the entire world — which Bern considered her destiny — she decided to enlist in the United States Army.
Bernadette had high hopes for excelling, becoming an officer and meeting George W. Bush. However, her peers did not like her antics.
During her tour of Iraq, Bernadette got punished for demanding better tasting rations, taking more than three minutes in the shower, and refusing to do physical training because she thought she was too good for it.
Bern was placed on poop-burning dooty, kinda like these guys in Afghanistan:
Bernadette loved burning poopies out in the desert so much, she continued to SNAFU everything she touched, so she could get back on the poopy-burner squad.
Bern went AWOL and was eventually discovered swimming in a bog, luring in unsuspecting people to devour, and got dishonorably discharged.
Manteno morons and portable toilet entrepreneurs Peppi and Bernadette Cacca cook the chicken burritos from Hell, so stinky they can be smelled all the way down in Kankakee. “What is this stench? It smells like chicken and dead bodies!” Kankakee denizen Sybil Kibble cries as she takes out the trash at her Kankakee McMansion.
“That’s it, I had enough!” the Caccas’ next door neighbor Trisha Cobb screams as she blasts her Gothic Diana Ross impersonation music. The Gothic Boss Miss Ross starts belting her impressions of “Where Did Our Love Go” and “You Keep Me Hangin On.”
Peppi and Bernadette Cacca’s orange tabby cat Danielle runs out the door as she has dealt enough with Bernadette’s accordion playing and Peppi’s yelling “git” every time she walks into the bathroom, interrupting his daily puking up last night’s booze. As Danielle makes her way over toward Gothic Diana Ross’ house and into her arms, Peppi decides he needs to plot revenge on his neighbor.
The inebriated Peppi turns on the television and falls asleep in his white tank top and black shorts, only to be awoken by Bernadette’s falsetto singing emanating from her bedroom. Peppi starts watching the infomercial featuring Kankakee pharmacy chain owner and inventor Wally Green featuring some type of Rube Goldberg machine.
“With separate compartments for high fructose corn syrup, formaldehyde and turds, the Turd Machine Deluxe will change your life!” the short, bald, heavyset, older gentleman exclaims.
“Now with a crosshairs and scope, you can aim as you please!” Wally continues to babble on.
Wally and Bernadette are sold. They call to order a gross but only 20 were left since they did not call in time, so the Caccas buy them out.
The 20 packages arrive at the Caccas’ Manteno residence. Suspicious, Gothic Diana Ross hatches a plan. The 5’10”, slender, black-haired, medium-skinned beauty in a black dress huddles with her fellow girl-group singers and their new cat Danielle.
One of the Midnight Supremes takes out her body jewelry, dons a brown wig to cover her blood-red extensions and puts on a pantsuit. She drives over to Peppi’s Port-o-Potties to make an inquiry.
“What do you do with the poop after people are done using your port-o-dumps?” the pretend customer asks.
“We burn it”, Peppi replies nonchalantly. “My wife Bernadette lights her farts to start the process.” Bernadette opens up a huge grin, and lets in a fly, loving the attention suddenly drawn to her. Gulp.
The disguised Midnight Supreme exits the business and gags, nearly tossing her cookies.
The next day, it is cloudy and overcast. Bernadette goes into the storage shed to mount one of the modified salad-shooters-which-now-fires-excrement onto the side of her and Peppi’s house.
“Twelve turd machines left. Someone stole eight of them!” Bernadette growls angrily and proceeds to mount not one but four turd machines, including one she aims out her kitchen window directly at Gothic Diana Ross’ slate Victorian house.
The next day, Gothic Diana Ross briefly steps outdoors to check her mail.
“Bang bang, you’re dead, fifty bullets in the head” Bernadette sings as she cranks the turd machine, firing at Diana and missing every shot. Diana makes it inside, unscathed but angry.
Bernadette turns her back and begins cheering, and then heads into her bedroom to record her next corona-concert for charity on her computer.
When Bernadette finishes her voice, piano and accordion recital for attention — as she does not care about the charity —- she cranks up the volume to make sure she hears the cheering reverberate through her bedroom, loud enough to annoy Miss Ross. “Thank you for another performance from the extraordinary Miss Cacca!” the Manteno Optimal Club spokesperson exclaims. “Bernadette is a national treasure. How can you say anything bad about her!” Bernadette’s already swollen head gets even bigger and she switches off her computer.
“Bernadette B-Flat!” an angered Gothic Diana Ross screams out her window.
“You are needed at a job!” Peppi yells into the room and the pair head over to the worksite, drop off their port-o-dumps and leave.
Peppy and Bernadette head back to the construction site to gather their property.
They haul the portable toilets to their house to clean and disinfect. Peppy empties all the crap into a bonfire in their backyard.
Bernadette goes to light a fart to kindle the port-o-potty-poopy-burners. “Wait, hon, I need to inspect first. All these regulations from Springfield you know!”
Bernadette lights her fart and oh my gosh, it was a big one! Her butt aflame, she lights not only the poopies, but Peppi too!
“Stop, drop and roll.”
“What? Peppi exclaims as he tries to put his clothes out.
Before long, the billowing smoke can be seen as far away as Schaumburg.
“I guess you should not have eaten those burritos, Bern,” Peppi mansplains to his wife.
“Oh yeah! You got gas? I do. RRRRRRIPPPP. That was a good one!”
“Um yeah. I am calling you for help in the Turdology department. Can you come down to Albion, Indiana and sniff things out?
A flush is heard in the background. Barry continues his request:
“My wife his this “constrution”, I mean construction project going on in town, running until the end of the year. I was told we were blocking emergency access to the street. Why should I care if a bunch of junky locals OD on meth? Anyway, can you come down today, it’s an emergency.”
“We specialize in emergencies. Peppi and I will come right over.”
“Good, we need help clearing the air.”
Barry ends the call, excited to get the Caccas’ expertise in all things crappy.
After Bern Cacca finishes burning poopies in her Manteno, Illinois backyard, she peels out her driveway and hurries over to Albion, Indiana.
Hours pass, no sign of Peppi and Bernadette. Barry checks his phone.
“Umm, how do we get in so we can get the scoop on your poop? These roads are all blocked. Every single one of them.”
Barry texts Bern back:
“We are building 100 roads — all the more to block.”
An hour later, someone rings the doorbell outside the gate of Barry and Terry’s McMansion.
“Hi Barry. Peppi’s Portapotties. King and Queen–“
“How do you know my name?”
“You called me and told me.”
“I. Don’t. Like. That.”
Barry buzzes the gate open and the Caccamobile burns rubber across the Reynolds’ driveway.
“Park over there,” Barry demands, pointing to a crooked spot toward the end of the driveway, behind Barry’s multiple luxury cars.
The Caccas get out. Bern runs up to Barry, as if to hug a long lost classmate.
“Git!” Barry barks.
“Ooooh, I think you’re cute.”
Bern goes to hug Barry.
“I SAY GIT!”
“That’s my mating call. I met her in the bog,” Peppi Cacca tells Barry.
“She’s my bog witch extraordinaire! Entremanure by day, bog witch by night.”
“We met you there, remember?. Bern was taking a bath so we left. Can you help me clean up my act, I mean reputation? It really stinks out here.”
“Your construction crew hit a gas line. We only do portapotties.” Bernadette advises Barry.
“Nature is calling, we gotta go.”
Bernadette and Peppi Cacca make their way out of Albion, and back to Manteno over in Illinois, eventually. Bern did not get to burn rubber that night, only poopies.
Manteno moron, port-o-dump proprietor and attention-seeker Bern Cacca is in awe of herself as she watches the televisions at the electronics store. This commercial advertising her and her Peppi Cacca rap about doing their business at Peppi’s Portapotties is displaying on all screens at once. A sales clerk approaches the mesmerized Bernadette, only to get brushed off. So in love with her own image, Bern fails to reflect upon the fact that she is only on TV because she paid to advertise.
“Why are people up here in Albion so anti-Reynolds? I have done nothing but help this community. The other day, I told an obese lady about the new gym I wanted to build. I wanted to help her. But, noooo, people are so rude and mean. They do not appreciate my help! After all, they shut down The Mathew B. Johnson School of Intrepid Arts — The Best Martial Arts School around I could have taught them kiddos how to make PSI Balls!!”
“Those are fake.”
“I know. But but makes us money, and I want to teach ’em! This whole state needs a good schoolin’! This whole world!”
“Hey Barry, why don’t you call that Bernadette moron, the bog witch who sings opera for charity?”
“How about we drive down to Manteno. Maybe we can try their porto potty business since their number always goes to voicemail. I can only listen to that recording of them polka-rapping about porto potties so many times.”
“We have nothing better to do. I am bored. Let’s go!”
“Take that ugly desk with you. Maybe you can give it to her to pay for our public-relations clean-up act.”
Barry and Terry Reynolds run to Manteno.
“Turn left. Then turn left. Then turn left. Recalculating.”
“That dang GPS, why does it screw up so much? It has one job!” Terry exclaims.
Terry and Barry arrive at Peppi’s Portapotties.
“Dang! Just missed ‘em. They closed ten minutes ago. Let’s do a drive-by past their house.”
The bumbling idiots drive past the Caccas’ run-down shack. Nobody’s home. Spotting the beautiful slate, Victorian Gothic home next door, their curiosity draws them in.
The Westminster Chimes are played as they ring the doorbell. A 5’10”, slender, medium-skinned Gothic beauty answers the door, wearing an all-black dress and fishnet stockings.
“Yeah?” Gothic Diana Ross answers.
Barry’s stoic face turns a slight smile.
“Umm, hi Miss. We will not take up much of your time.”
“You’ve already taken up too much.” Diana quips.
“What’s the deal with your neighbors? The Caccas?”
‘Oh man. Just don’t.”
Diana inches away and begins to close the door.
“Wait? Miss! We have this $1000 desk we can give you, if you just talk to us!”
“I’ll tell you where to put that desk.”
Diana slams the door and goes back to singing rehearsal with the Midnight Supremes.
“Barry, I gotta whizz.”
“Yup. You’re the boss.”
“No Diana is. Let’s go.”
Barry and Terry pull into the nearest corner Wally Green’s. While Terry is emptying her bladder in the washroom, Barry finally answers the sales clerk who asked him six times if he needed help finding something.
“Yeah, do you sell those SpamMaster 2000 CD-ROMs?”
“No, sorry. Are you looking to send unsolicited emails? I got a guy.” Drugstore clerk, covert narcissist and Elvis impersonator Robbie Hurlbutt slips Barry the number for Pat Splatt, petty criminal and junk emailer.
Barry and Terry meet Pat Splatt at midnight on the street, not far from the interchange bridge under which Kankakee troll Leona Krabalsky is sawing wood. The three shadowy figures shake hands and part ways. The Reynolds drive onto Interstate Route 57 North, toward Chicago-O’Hare Airport, and board a plane for their monthly vacation.
“We’re headed to Australia and we’re so stoked!” reads the craption below Terry’s Fakebook post, loaded with the hashtag #RichPeopleProblems. Terry cannot wait to take photos of her legs and feet.
Pat Splatt hopes to buy an overly lifted truck to compensate for his lousy personality with all the money he makes spamming on behalf of the dysfunctional former leaders of the Mathew B Johnson School of Intrepid Arts. Brandon Dixon’s imbecile machine lot is booming with their end of year sales and Pat hopes to wheel-and-deal himself one.
While Scary Barry and Terry Reynolds spend loads of money they got from who-knows-where, seeing the sites of Australia, email junker Pat Splatt is busy sliding unwanted emails into the inboxes of college students all over the USA. Pat spams on behalf of disbarred college president Reynolds about the wonders of PSI Balls and how Barry Reynolds can teach them to defend themselves from psychic attacks. A second wave of spam stinks up the computer mailboxes of students at UCLA, Yale, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, Colgate, Boston University, Loyola, Olivet Nazarene, Baylor, Kent State, Oregon State, Nebraska and Iowa City, spewing propaganda to try and connive random students into taking Barry’s online martial arts courses “because he is a nice guy who does a lot for the community.”
A sleeping Barry is awakened by an unexpected phone call.
“This is the Albion Health Department. We have received multiple complaints about a cockroach infestation at your compound.”
“It’s 3AM. Who the heck is this?”
“Huh? I don’t know where you are or what you’re talking about. We need you to rectify the infestation or we are going to have to condemn your property.”
“I’m in Australia on vacation with my wife.”
“Must be nice. I have not had a vacation in 21 years.”
Barry hangs up the phone and goes back to sleep. The Reynolds spend the day at their exclusive resort on Australia’s Gold Coast taking pictures of themselves and braggity-boasting on their Fakebook pages.
A month later, the relaxed, but tired couple heads home to their Albion McMansion. Several “Condemned” signs are seen posted all over their estate.
“What the heck now? After all we do for this county? This state? The entire Universe?”
Beep-Beep-Beep goes the Avelli Truck, lowering a shipping container on the grass outside the massive, now-condemned Reynolds residence.
“What’s this?” a stern Barry asks.
“Your new home. There’s even room for your desk.”
A truck from Peppi’s Portapotties pulls up, “King and Queen of the Throne” its lettering reads below a smiling cartoon depicting owners Bern and Peppi Cacca.
“His and Hers,” Peppi says to the Department of Health worker overseeing the Reynolds property seized by the City of Albion, Indiana as he sets up the two portable toilets.
“We are NOT going to sleep in there.” Barry says with his nose to the air, walking away from the metal shipping container.
“You can live in a dumpster. We won’t judge.”
Barry checks his bank account, hoping to stay in a swanky hotel. The robobank announces “Negative Forty-Nine Thousand, two-hundred twenty-four dollars.”
“Paaaaaaaaat!” Barry and Terry exclaim as they fall to their knees in unison, mad because their goose is cooked.
Scary Barry Reynolds gets fired from his job as a road-test proctor for the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles, and starts his own college called “Dr. Mathew B. Johnson School of Intrepid Arts” in Albion, Indiana, teaching martial arts and telekinesis, a school he named after his favorite academic leader and best friend.
“Become as powerful as the Dragonball Y characters you see on TV! Develop your real life martial-arts skills, and when you get to your senior year, you’ll become a PSI-ball master!”
“Not this ad again…” Gothic Diana Ross says across the Indiana border in Manteno, Illinois at the slate Victorian home where she and her bandmates reside. “Who wants to go to Indiana anyway?”
“Indiana wants us, but we can’t go back there.” Gothic Flo retorts and The Midnight Supremes all giggle.
Classes begin at the School of Intrepid Arts in Albion. Students practice basic self-defense, mixed martial arts and fencing.
“A new life awaits you at the School of Intrepid Arts” a flashing, talking blimp advertises as it flies over Northern Indiana and Illinois, spending a rather long time over Chicago, until someone begins to fire at it.
“Pop! Pop!” is heard as the floating advertisement-machine is gunned down somewhere on the Southside.
A scholar gets harassed in his dorm, racial remarks litter his marker board. One moron, Pat Splatt, writes “KKK” on an empty pizza box and drops it outside his dorm room.
Protests are held by multiple school groups which make the local news.
“I will answer that later. Come back.” President Reynolds tells the news, and does not return their calls.
The scholar tries to learn to make “PSI Balls” on the internet and learns that it is fake. Meanwhile President Reynolds uses school money to pay for pet construction projects so he can hire his wife Terry’s company to do all the work.
Barry and Terry make the classes so hard, it is impossible to pass. Barry and Terry love seeing the disappointed faces of aspiring martial-arts students receive their report cards littered with Fs.
President Barry Reynolds sends out a memo to his wife Terry using negative humor, snarking she should bulldoze “trash and idiots who live on minimum wage.” Barry accidentally copies the entire college on the email.
Students start creating memes and Fakebook groups. President Barry reports them to Fakebook owner Emperor Zucc who shuts them all down.
Students take to the news to expose the corruption.
The scholar is interviewed, and talks about his brother — also a student — who died when trying to defend a bully using “PSI Balls.”
“If President Reynolds wants to create chaos and censor those who rise up against his regime, then maybe he should move to North Korea. I bet he would feel right at home.”
Barry and Terry visit Bern Cacca bathing in the bog near Manteno, Illinois, for public-relations advice hoping to clean up their image, since Bern is so good at maintaining her squeaky clean image while doing dirty those closest to her. Oh, and she burns poopies.
“Bern Cacca? We have an important message. We need your help.”
Bog Witch Bern keeps on swimming.
“Bern? We have something to tell you.”
Bern continues to ignore the looming Terry and Barry.
“Bern? We want to know how you keep your image so clean while you do others dirty.”
“Can’t you see I am taking a bath?” an angered Bern yells back, hoping to be left alone.
“Oh you are so…RUDE!” Terry snarks at Bern.
“I am busy. Go away.”
“God hates ugly people! I am calling the manager!” Terry says out of desperation and fear.
“I am the manager.” Bern replies as she shoos away Terry and Barry.
“I wish my hearing aids were broken.” Peppi Cacca says to his wife Bern and the Reynolds couple leaves.
The Indiana Attorney General investigates and shuts the school down, and the story makes television headlines.
“Oh good, we no longer have to see those annoying ads.” Gothic Flo says to Gothic Diana and then turns off her TV.
Manteno swamp witch, co-founder of Peppi’s Portapotties and communal narcissist Bernadette “Bern” Cacca, burns poopies in the fireplace after her husband Peppi empties the portable johns.
Bern gets a message from a potential customer who had watched her sing show-tunes and play accordion to raise money for the Manteno Optimal Club. Little does the he — nor the rest of the public — know that Bern only does this to help her look good on the outside. After all, looks are deceiving. She could not care less about the charity nor anyone but herself.
Impressed, the fellow presses Bern for more information.
Bern is busy pooping, lighting her farts to spark flames and burning the turds in the fireplace. She hands the phone to her husband Peppi – who hopes to score a side-piece.
Peppi feels disappointed, rejected by his love-interest who shares his level of imbecilics. He goes out and starts emptying the porta-johns, bringing the solids to Bern and rolling the liquids into his dime-bags. Peppi is excited to roll some extra skunky joints. Ahh, nice and stinky.
Peppi puffs away lying on his bed; not a care in the world, not even to his neighbors Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes who cannot stand the smell. Then he drowns himself in moonshine and pukes it all up.
Thankfully Bernadette already had already pooped in the washroom like her idol Kaitlin Bennett.