“And now for our next act, two Bernadette Caccas in a trenchcoat!” barks the ringleader Konrad Teirant at Moronic Half-Assets Three Ring Circus in Manteno.
“Oh look, that’s the shapeshifting humanoid vultures Sonya and Carla Moran flying above! Look out, they just might poop on ya!”
The crowd covers their heads.
“Splat” goes the bird doo right atop Kankakee County’s number one Elvis impersonator:
“I wish I wore a hat…” Robbie Hurlbutt moans as the Undead Greg next to him munches his turd sandwich. He eats poopies to stay undead.
“Been drinkin’ again?” Manteno narcissist Bernadette Cacca asks her husband, sociopath and portapotty co-proprietor Peppi Cacca.
“Can you blame me?” Peppi replies as he takes another moonshine swig from a jug marked “XXX”.
“I want a new drug,” Peppi thinks to himself, “one that won’t make me heave.”
Peppi Cacca knows crap is king, after all he and Bern own a portopotty business. Bored with binge-watching the Crap Me Outside Girl rapping on TakTik, Peppi starts looking for videos on how to get high on uTube. After scrolling through pages of unpredictable results, Peppi sits through a four minute commercial and watches a video filmed at Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.
“Plutonium tastes sweet” the presenter announces.
Intrigued, Peppi asks YooHoo Answers in their Qanonsense section if Queue can tell him if snorting Plutonium can get him high. After all, Peppi believes everything he reads on the Internet.
Peppi goes to Wally Green’s and Bucketheads looking for plutonium to buy, but comes up empty. No 11 per cent off sale for him, no buy one, get one 50 per cent off (but never free) either.
Driving home, Peppi gets stuck at a light at the intersection underneath the I-57 interchange. Under the bridge he spots a wild Leona Krabalsky, the Kankakee town troll.
Peppi drives his crapmobile to the underpass, going through the red stoplight because he thinks the laws do not apply to him. Peppi rolls his window down and yells his mating call “git, git, git” to Leona.
“I don’t want you and I am not for sale!” the elderly hag growls.
“You got some anything good?” Peppi clarifies wearing his turd-eating grin.
“I just might. What’s your pleasure?”
Peppi and Leona shake hands and Peppi peels out after chucking the brown paper bag into his backseat. Peppi rushes back home to meet wife Bernadette at their Manteno shack for dinner.
Bernadette and Peppi sit in their bedrooms, eat their Hardlees burgers and fries and belch a bunch of times. Bern lifts her leg and farts.
“Ahhh, that was a good one,” Bernadette says with glee.
Peppi takes his newly discovered rocks out the paper bag he bought from Leona.
Then Peppi pukes up his dinner since he was drunk.
Bernadette walks in on Peppi tossing his cookies in their washroom.
“Hey, what’s up?” a nosey Bern asks her beloved Pep.
“Blecccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhh” Peppi repies into the toilet.
“What were those cat turds doing in your bedroom? I need to burn them. Let me light a fart first to spark the flames and then I will watch them burn in the fireplace.”
Bern watches the glisten and pop, all aglow, gleaming like a twinkle in Bern’s eye. “Ooooh, that smell.”
Disgusted that Leona sold him fake Plutonium, Pep cooks up a way to make some cash.
Bern and Pep team up to make a mumble rap video. Pep raps and plays a single snare drum which fell off a truck, while Bern sings show-tunes while playing her accordion she uses to trick people on the internet into thinking she cares about charities.
The video fails to get monetized.
Bern makes a TakTik viral video lighting her farts and burning poopies in her fireplace which her fans adore. Then Bern runs out of poops because the neighborhood turd-burglar JB Martin stole them all.
Bern makes a collection of her own poops to burn since she needed more, and makes more TakTik videos, becoming an “influencer.” Companies offer to mail Bern free toilet paper in return for her becoming their brand ambassador.
As Bern logs into accept the free toilet paper, the Caccas’ fire alarm goes off from the unattended poopies burning in her fireplace.
The Manteno Fire Department rushes over to the Caccas’ house.
Bern screams with excitement when the Waaaaaah Machines wail and fart as the firefighters rush to their house to put out the fire, clapping as they arrive.
“Hi guys, I really love those fart noises your fire engines make. Can I get one of those keen blow-horns for my house? I think they will go great with my accordion routine I do for charity and the Turd machine I mounted on the side of the shack to shoot at Gothic Diana Ross.”
“Shut up and leave, your house is on fire,” the firefighter warns Bern as the two Caccas walk away and watch their house burn, along with the poopies.
After hearing Manteno entramanure,communal narcadoodle and bog witch Bernadette Cacca’s kazoo showtune covers on her husband Brandon’s phone, Pris Dixon tells Bernadette she is her biggest fan and wants to join her fan club, the Poopy Groupies.
After reading the fan message Mrs. Dixon had delightfully shoved into Bern’s inbox, BM Cacca reads this message posted to her Fakebook wall:
“You have been pre-approved to join the Illuminati! Have fun gaining wealth, power and glory in this secret society! Just pay a $19.99 convenience fee to start!
Text “JOIN” to 23
Or contact Emperor Norton to unsubscribe.
Fnord”
Bernadette of course falls for the scamvertisement, and brags at her next Manteno Optimal Club Charity Concert for Tips and Giggles that she had become the world’s newest Illuminatus. Then she blows some more cover tunes out her butt-trumpet.
Pris Dixon interrupts the gig to deliver a special news bulletin, special only in her mind. She complains she did not get her welcome letter, membership card and poop emoji decal. Bernadette farts in her face and keeps on playing, not missing a butt…umm…beat.
“I need to talk to the manager!”
“OK Karen!” one of Bern’s bumlickers heckles Mrs. Dixon.
Sonya Moran, President of The Poopy Groupies pulls Pris Dixon aside.
“Prius, did you pay in Craptocoin?”
“It’s Pris, short for Priscilla. No, I paid cash. Cash is king ya know?”
“We only accept Craptocoin.”
Pris storms out Manteno Optimal Club and calls her hubs, Brandon Dixon, to pick her up.
Brandon pulls his imbecile machine into the middle of the lot, and realizes his biggest crush is inside singing.
The dysfunctional Dixons have a spat and Brandon runs inside to hopefully get an autograph from his steaming hot crush, Bernadette Cacca from the car auto warranty messages. Pris sits alone inside Brandon’s overly lifted shiny white truck, decorated in sexist decals and MAGAt stickers, and rips a huge fart. Of course, she does not roll down the windows because she loves the smell of her own noxious waste.
“Is this…Bernadette…KaCo?”
“It’s Cacca.”
“Hello Mrs. Cankles. This is Mephisto Smith from the Illuminati. Your application got rejected due to insufficient funds.”
“Oh I have plenty of fun. I just met this AWESOME man here at my—“
“Funds. Your transaction failed. We cannot extend you our exclusive fame and fortune unless you pay us first.”
“Oh, let me whip up another batch of NFTs.”
“Mrs. Cocky, I said NSF. In-suff-icient FUNDS.”
“Newly formed turds! I mine my craptocoin the old fashioned way.”
“You need to wire me 19.99 plus a $23 dollar inconvenience fee, or we will reject your application.”
“What’s going on, beautiful lady, Manteno’s very own national treasure?” Brandon Dixon asks the steaming mad pile of crap Bernadette.
Bernadette storms out and slithers her way into the swamp for the night, putting the extra in bog-witch-extraordinaire.
“Honk honk! A-you-ga!” Brandon’s imbecile machine cat-calls as Pris lays on the horn. Brandon reluctantly drives his wife home and barely makes it. Pris of course was running its engine the whole time, because you know, it’s cold?
A wild Peppi Cacca in his natural Manteno habitat utters his mating call.
“Git, git, git” he cries, hoping to mount an approaching Bernadette. Displaying the power of his fragile male ego, the Peppi channels his inner Pepe LePew and tries to kiss the bog witch Bernadette, who runs like a cheetah, hiding; plotting her revenge.
Manteno entramanure, communal narcadoodle and bad driver Bernadette Cacca could be driving any of these cars. She just does not give a crap, because she thinks she’s above the law and it does not apply to her.
Brandon Allen Dixon owns an imbecile machine lot. Like the dealer says as he works the lot, “I own one of these babies myself. Let’s go!”
Kankakee Elvis impersonator, wannabe ladies’ man and vulnerable narcadoodle Robbie Hurlbutt drives one of these exact same clown cars, but in purple:
“If you DON’T brush and floss 8 times a day, you could get an infection that could give you a heart attack.”
“East or North?”
“I’m only telling you this because I lost all my teeth.”
“Vultures have no teeth.”
“Don’t talk back to me!” the toothless, shapeshifting, humanoid vulture gaslights her daughter.
Bernadette rips a huge fart and lights it, aims the gas blast toward her evil mother’s face, letting her butt do the talking. She has a bad case of Pyro-hhea.
Manteno’s own Peppi and Bernadette Cacca might seem like empty characters at first, however there is a much darker side to them. Like all my characters, the Caccas are inspired by a combination of real people.
I have known Bernadette’s main inspiration my entire life. She had lived next to my grandmother. As kids, she was the entitled brat who wanted things her way or the highway. I used to try and dodge her, running the other way because she annoyed me so much, but then she would not leave me alone.
I clearly remember her insisting on calling me my deadname, despite my pleas for her to stop. Bernadette hasn’t any concept of boundaries and neither does her main inspiration. She just pretends to care.
In high school, she had found a way to manipulate people into thinking she was a wonderful person. I had to ask her an urgent question for a design I was creating for a play in which she starred, right before I had to catch the bus to trade school to design it. Instead of turning around and answering me, the “stage manager extraordinaire” sitting atop a desk kept talking faster and louder to the other student, drowning me out.
To add insult to injury, the real-life communal narcissisttricked the teacher into making ME apologize to HER. I will never forgive her for that abuse.
The real-life communal narc had been working on an app-only HBO show of some sort and playing piano for an LGBTQIA+ charity. You read that right; the same person who deadnamed me repeatedly is raising money for an LGBTQIA+ cause. Hmmm…
Now she is gaslighting people into thinking she cares about the Russian invasion into Ukraine, singing at charity events to raise money, and course to get that almighty photo opportunity. My best friend and her husband have family in Ukraine; this is personal for me. I do not care about a moronic photo op when my friends and their family are fighting for their lives, running from a DIC-tator who wants to bring about the Apocalypse.
I read she yelled at a late-night television host for getting too close to her piano. This behavior does not surprise me, having come from a person who has a history displaying her sense of entitlement to those closest to her.
I created my character to help cope with a lifetime of abuse from a narcissist who tricks virtually everyone into seeing her mask, which I suspect has been crumbling. I hope it falls off for good and she slithers away into a life of obscurity, working by herself, abusing nobody. Or maybe she will live out her life in the bog, devouring the living like the character whom she had inspired, Bernadette Moran Cacca.
Have you known a person like this?
Peppi Cacca’s name came from a rabid doorman in Italy who sexually assaulted me. Character Peppi Cacca’s main inspiration is a toxic, former neighbor who had stunk up my apartment with skunky weed and sadly abused his cat. I had gotten the idea from Pepe LePew and used to call him Pepe LePuke as I heard him through the ceiling vomiting every morning while he was upstairs visiting his boyfriend with whom he was having an affair. I am so glad to be out of that apartment complex, and in a much quieter, cleaner place – waking up to birds in the trees, not skunk-weed stench.
Awhile back, I had overheard him on the bus bragging to the driver about his drinking, making the excuse “can you blame me?”
It is the year 1997, in the month of May, day the first at the Bradley Amateur Wrestling League (BrAWL).
“In this corner, standing at 5’4”, weighing 250 lbs is Bernadette Moran, the “Manteno Wonder!'”
“In the other corner is her opponent, 240 pound 5’6” ‘Calm Down’ Jina Hansen!
“You beat me last time, kiss your beeehind goodbye!” Bernadette shouts.
“Calm down, calm down!” Jina gaslights.
“I’ll give you calm!”
The two Kankakee County wrestlers go at it.
Stagehands wheel a couple of beds into the ring and the ladies start to jump like five-year-old children. The crowd boos Jina and throws tomatoes, peaches, eggplant, radishes, and ranch dressing into the ring at her which make a sloppy mess over her bed.
Jina picks up the salad ingredients and shoves them onto Bernadette’s bed.
“Clean it up!”
“I’ll clean YOU up!”
“Calm down! Calm down!” Gina gives her familiar line which makes The Manteno Wonder anything but calm.
Bern knocks the crap off her bed and chucks it crap at Jina, who slips on the dressing spilled across the ring.
Bernadette pins Jina with her bum. Then she farts.
“One, two, three!” the referee chants as they beat the floor and the two jump up, Bernadette’s hand raised in victory by the ref, Jina’s farty head reeling from the stench, stomach about to retch.
It is the last time Jina ever wrestles. She is disappointed to find out it is all an act and goes back to her old job harassing customers at a local donut shop.
“The Lifft driver you get sure makes a difference. It was like getting upgraded from Undead Greg Schneissder to Gothic Diana Ross!” Sybil Kibble tells her ma JoAnn “JK” Kibble as she sets down her phone.
“The LeBaron done broke down again? Why don’t you trade that thing in?”
“I’d probably have to pay THEM to take it off my hands.”
Sybil exits the house, waving to her mom whose bum is parked square in front of the television in her basement apartment, decorated with her school-bus parts collection. Sybil cares naught about her mother’s decor, as long as her rent check made out to Sybil does not bounce she’s cool.
The blonde, bespectacled 60-something collections supervisor goes to rage mow, she takes pride in having the greenest lawn in Kankakee. Two angry birds circle above her, arguing as they do donuts in the sky, taking a massive dump on Sybil’s head before she has a chance to cut the grass.
“It’s stalking season!” shapeshifting humanoid vulture says to her wingding sister Sonya, and then they fly over to a certain house in Manteno.
“An absolutely epic weekend in Bradley. Had the ENORMOUS pleasure of reading a terrifically colorful role in a nearly sold-out benefit reading of dear old friend JB’s wonderful play, HOW TO STEAL TURDS, along with a stellar cast (including BRILLIANT CARLA MORAN as my mom) and many visits to the ER for my rear with friends from far and near. Wow. Here’s to—“
“Hi daring!” Carla calls out to her daughter loudly bragging about lawd-only-knows-what to her drunken, sleeping husband Peppi, empty jug marked “XXX” just beyond the reach of his flopped out arm.
“No thanks, honey. Not now. Did you wax your chin yet?”
“I’ll go! I wanna ring the bell! I wanna ring the bell! Can I ring the bell?”
“Of course Aunt Sonya. Come on over to my charity auction down at Kankakee’s Best and hear me play kazoo covers of OKLAHOMA!”
“How dawg! Ooooooooooh!” Sonya sings, poorly.
“AND, I am donating an autographed picture of ME to the charity auction!”
“Ooooooooooh!”
“Does this lipstick make my beak look big?” Carla’s bird-brain wants to know. “Just be honest.”
“Maybe they will auction off something to help you with your Mamma McRageFace. Come on DOWN! We’ll have a BLASSSST,” Bernadette exclaims with her tongue hanging out her mouth wide open as if to catch a fly. Then she farts.
JB the nighborhood turd burglar and his lover Bernadette Cacca are swinging their interdigital clasp as they walk down the aisles of Big Deal electronics store.
“I miss the days when I could just type “format see colon” to wipe out a store’s computer.”
“You can format my colon any day, Justin,”
“That’s Jay.”
“Let’s go find some crap to get into,” Bern says to JB, one of many tools she has on her side.
CRASS Chief Cooker of Books, multiplex owner and Emcee of Moronic Half Assets (MHA) Konrad Teirant begins the bidding for the charity auction. Of course, bog witch Bernadette Cacca had to show up, as she will do anything to look good and cover up her real-life lack of empathy.
“What is that, a TV?” a citizen asks Emcee Konrad.
“Noooo, that’s a signed photo of Bernadette Cacca!”
“Who?”
“I signed it myself!” Mrs. Cacca brags.
“I’m sure you did. Now don’t panic, don’t be alarmed. This here car alarm was done been donated by Mr. Brandon Dixon, owner of Brandon’s Imbecile Machines! Let’s go! Get those bids in!”
“Now here’s a steaming pile of something, this mystery bag was donated by JB!”
Bernadette’s nose wiggles with interest.
“And here, how clever! A bottle of dehydrated water donated by Mr. Wally Green himself! I bet it has no calories!”
Awkward silence fills the room. Very awkward.
“What is this? I bet it’s essential, that’s right a bottle of essential snake oil donated by the Krabalsky sisters Doris and Leona!”
“And last, but not least, two tickets to see a matinee of your choice here at Teirant Cinema-13! Remember this goes to a really good cause! The big bags you help raise will help the manager of Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments get a raise!” Emcee Konrad points over to his wife and dumpster-clown, Madeline “Madwoman” Topolla-Teirant.
“I mean you got to have solid leadership, and she is really solid! Yuk Yuk Yuk.”
The seven-foot, 350 pound clown is not impressed.
Bernadette begins to sing and play accordion.
Sybil Kibble has been hanging out at a certain coffeehouse on the regular. A month or two ago she had overseen shift manager Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran verbally abusing her staff, making fun of them for spilling drinks so she decided to leave a review:
“I spoke to the staff and told them I have their back and that if she does it again, everybody should get together and ask Carla how would she feel if she spilled a drink and we all made fun of her.
A couple of weeks ago I saw Carla put her hands on a staff member while she was using negative humor making fun of them. I let the staff know that I had their back but this time this woman seem to be more aware of by standing up for them because she waited on me right afterwards.
Well tonight it happened again. I wanted to complain about it but Carla was the only one on staff who was in charge. Oh my God all she did was argue with me. She said she would hand my comments to Kankakee Police and I would be prosecuted for ‘defrimation of character.’ Nobody should abuse their staff like that. Don’t go there if Carla is working, she’s the shapeshifting vulture with the blonde hair.”
Konrad Teirant tries his best to hustle the donated hunks of junk.
“Last chance to bid on this lovely bottle of dehydrated water, generously donated by Mr. Wally Green himself! Did you know that he was born in Deerfield? It’s their loss because Kankakee is lucky to have him!”
More awkward silence fills the room.
“And sold, to absolutely nobody because nobody bid. Last we have this mystery bag, what is this? If I said then it would not be a secret right? Yuk yuk yuk. I’ll start the bidding at ten dollars. Just ten smackeroos will get you this brown bag of fun!”
“Two thousand dollars to Greg. Going once, going twice…sold!”
Bernadette raises her arm again.
“It’s too late. Sold to the zombie dude. Now get this thing outta here.”
Undead Greg takes the bag of poo and chows it down. He eats turds to stay alive instead of brains.
“Now pay the lady $2000.”
“Buurrrp.”
Shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Moran is busy filling out an order form for Quack Valley Cosmetics, using her beak and blood from a recent carrion meal.
“Hey, you’re getting blood all over it. You just wasted a perfectly good order form, now you should be ashamed of yourself,” Carla’s bird of a feather and fellow shapeshifting vulture Sonya guilt-trips her sister.
“Nevermind!” Carla exclaims with the wrath of Satan. She stirs up a hornets’ nest which attracts the local murder of crows.
Sybil Kibble stops on Kant Street to text, right out front the Cacca homestead where mother Carla and aunt Sonya are bickering on the lawn like three-year-old children.
The massive flock of crows poop all over Carla and Sonya as they caw, caw, caw.
“Now look what you done!”
“Look what you done!”
“I gotta go to work tonight and now I have to shower all over again.”
Sybil Kibble laughs her bum off watching the bird-brains argue who is the biggest moron, then she drives away in her newly-repaired LeBaron giggling and feeling giddy that the nasty coffeehouse supervisor finally got some crap handed to her, errr, dumped all over her.
“You spilled poop all over your shirt! Now go clean that up!” Sybil shouts out the window and then drives away to her home in Kankakee, looking forward to that rage-mow.
MoronicArts 
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