Do budgies burp and fart?
Tag: bernadette cacca
This Guy is #PoopingForBernadette
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.
Bernadette delivers..
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.
#PoopingForKaitlin
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Cacca Junior?
If Manteno communal narcissist Bern Cacca and her sociopathic husband Peppi had a kid, I wonder how he would look and act? For the love of humanity — and their neighbors — hopefully they will not reproduce. They already stink enough.
Thank you Vincey for entertaining the internet about the dysfunctional idiots known as neckbeards.
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A La Knuckle Sandwiches
Gothic Diana Ross, leader of the Manteno-based cover group The Midnight Supremes, is getting tired of her next-door neighbor Bernadette Cacca peeling out of her driveway, blasting her accordion, and stinking up the air by burning poopies. Diana wants to have a word with Bernadette, who is polishing her wall-mounted Turd Machine, and walks over after she finishes making her poo-shooter shine.
“You have a very punchable face.” Gothic Diana Ross tells Bernadette.
“I have a beautiful face? Aww, thanks. I get that a lot.”
“A punchable face you dipstick. Come here, I’ll give you a knuckle sandwich.”
“Thanks! I love to eat!” a wide-eyed Bernadette exclaims with glee, mouth hanging open until she gets punched by Miss Ross.
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Behind the Moroniverse – Gothic Diana Ross
As a tribute to my late friend Caroll Spinney — the man behind Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch — I am telling the backstory of my Grouch-inspired character Gothic Diana Ross.
Oscar the Grouch is not a bad person, despite what millions of kids big and small may think. Oscar just wants to be left alone. Like Oscar, Gothic Diana Ross just wants her solitude. Just like Maria knocking on Oscar’s can just to ask him nosey questions, Diana’s neighbor Bernadette keeps knocking on the door of the slate Victorian house which she and The Midnight Supremes share.
Can you blame them for getting mad?
A lifelong Diana Ross fan, I appreciate the diva singers most. Back in 2017, a few months after I left a toxic marriage with a communal narcissist, I met another diva online. Because my post-traumatic stress disorder was so raw, I would lash out at people whom triggered me so easily. I had felt like everyone was a narcissist after leaving one. Sadly, I had gotten very upset at a certain gothic diva and I feel bad about it.
Combining my love for music, all things gothic and my friend Caroll Spinney, I created Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes as a nod to some of my favourite performers.
Eventually I got to apologize to the gothic singer and felt a lot better.
Writing the conflict scenes between Gothic Diana Ross and her annoying neighbours Peppi and Bernadette “Bern” Moran Cacca feels very cathartic for me. Sonia Manzano (“Maria”) is quoted as having said Caroll playing Oscar “saved a lot on therapy” in the book “Jim Henson: The Works.”
Hopefully my stories will help bring the world a little joy, and I get to leave the world a little better someday far from now when I am gone.
Rest in peace, dearest Caroll Spinney. I miss you.
PS: watch the film “I AM BIG BIRD” to learn more about my dearly departed friend.
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No Dale, That’s MY Swamp!
A wild Manteno entramanure, communal narcadoodle and swamp witch Bernadette “Bern” Moran Cacca emerges from her natural habitat – the bog – hoping for her next meal.
“I lost my watch. Have you seen it? I’m lost without it,” Kankakee bill collector Dale Davis asks Bern.
“That’s MY swamp. Git!” Bern scowls. “Git-git-git!”
As the timid Dale takes off, a certain Peppi Cacca runs toward his wife.
“You’re looking awesome tonight!”
Bernadette lets out a huge fart, Peppi dives into the bog, and answers the call of mating.
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How Greg Got Undead
Manteno sociopath and sewer service owner Gregory Albert Schneissder likes to stir crap. Desperate for action, Mr. Schneissder drives his poopmobile down to The Gaslight Bar and hits on the ladies, only to have worse luck than regular customer Wally Green.
“I love your smile. Why don’t you use it more?”
“Yeah…no” Kankakee bill collector Sybil Kibble replies.
“Will you have my baby?”
“Get lost.” Kitty Bee deadpans.
“What are you doing sitting in the handicapped section? Are all you other ladies taken?”
“I AM disabled you moron!” Linda Stay replies.
Dejected, Greg heads out to the swamp to relax. “Heyyy handsome fella! You look AWESOME!” a voice calls out from seemingly nowhere.
“Huh?”
“Yeah. I would like to have you for DINNER!”
A hungry Greg walks over to Bernadette Cacca who is bathing in the bog.
“RIIIIPPPPPP”
“What the heck was that?” Greg asks as the ground begins to crumble beneath him.
“Oh I farted.” Bernadette lets another one loose. The swamp surrounding Bern Cacca takes the form of bubbles as the friction shakes the ground below Greg, who stumbles a bit.
Bernadette gives Greg the bedroom eyes. Attracted by the scent and Bernadette’s charm, Greg feels intrigued. Bernadette sings her mating call.
“Come here you handsome piece of meat!”
Hypnotized by the smelly siren, Greg cannot resist. He not felt this attracted since back in 1991, he saw someone going down the road who owned one, a 1988 Chrysler Conquest.
Bog witch Bernadette takes Greg by the leg and eats him for dinner. Then she farts a bunch of times.
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Why Does Your Love Hurt So Much, Sonya?
A voice sweet as honey, her striking personality leaves you with that bitter aftertaste and you don’t quite know why.
“I’m Bernadette Cacca! It’s my pleasure to play for your The Manteno Optimal Club musical theater sing-along! I will livestream here on my personal page every Tuesday from 7:30-10 and Saturday from 5-7:30 during the 3 week The Manteno Optimal Club hiatus! The Manteno Optimal Club will be back for Season 2 on Oct 12! Follow me for details! And always on Instaspam @BernCacca (except tonight – TOILET ISSUES) Comment with requests!”
Bernadette Moran Cacca wants to open up an arcade in Manteno. No, not a slot-machine room like “Winnie’s;” rather, a video-game arcade. Hoping to sell more Craptocoin, she will only accept her funny money from the gamers.
“Just think, my WONDERFUL customers will HAVE to pay in Craptocoin, mined the old-fashioned way by ME!”
“Git-git-git”
“Oh not now, honey. I have business plans to make.”
Butthurt by his wife’s disinterest in his mating call, Peppi Cacca claps back:
“You know, hon, if we can convince the developers at your favorite strip mall to put in that much-needed crossing signal, we can profit by providing the port-o-johns for the job. Let’s say we write a proposal and submit a bid if they accept.”
“My aunt Sonya will tell YOU about all the things I do for this community! I volunteer my time playing multiple accordion covers of popular show tunes for the Manteno Optimal Club!”
“She is also Optimus Prime.”
“Yeah, and Sonya is running for mayor. She knows the owner of that consumer shopping center. Back in 1991, he saw someone going down the road who owned one.”
“What about that Poopy’s you always wanted to open?”
“Stop causing so much drama, Peppi,” Bernadette gaslights her husband.
Bern goes down and applies for credit at the local loan-shark office and gets approved. According to her ex-lover Damien Hurlbutt, sharks eat poop, so Bernadette is not surprised they approve her credit.
“Scary” Barry Reynolds’ former “President of the Office of Belonging” at the Mathew B Johnson School of Intrepid Arts, Sonya Marie Smith Moran, is running for mayor to complete his failed agenda for the college takeover of Albion, Indiana.
Some of the things Sonya is wanting to do are abolish cats and pitbulls from being allowed in the town limits, open a charter school to be run by the college with city funding and close the nature trails and centers to anyone without a “membership” paid in full with Craptocoin. Bog Witch Bernadette Cacca will collect tolls and eat anyone who refuses to comply. Yum, cannibalism.
She’s planning to do drug raids on houses she’s thinks are drug houses, just for fun. What better to do when you’re bored?
Sonya also wants to abolish the local low income clinic because she’s pro-life. However, she’s running as a Democrat. Since when did common sense matter to a narc-a-doodle, anyway?
Sonya Moran knocks on the doors of all the Albion residents, including the people she’s ticked off most every Saturday at between 1 and 2PM hoping to harass them, since they have blocked her on all social medias and don’t return her letters. She even sends them birthday gifts hoping to con them via guilt into sending her a thank-you card. She really wants hard to win over people who want zero contact.
“You’re prejudiced against the poor, humans, flora and fauna. You don’t even like cats. Who hates cats?” Kitty Bee says as they laugh at the silly moron running for office.
“I have black friends. I’m not racist.”
Kitty rolls her ebony eyes and lets the door hit the wannabe politician on the way out.
“Narcs be startin’ somethin’…and it ain’t no picnic,” the broadcast journalist says to their girlfriend.
“I’m walking away from you now!” Sonya snarks as she walks away from another uninterested voter. “Oh hello. Get out there and vote!” Sonya tells another stranger on the street with her usual forced-smile.
“I was sitting there when the log emerged” Bernadette Cacca details her newly-formed-turds (NFTs) on the phone to her lover JB, the neighborhood turd-burglar, then she hears a knock at the door.
“Hi Manager. My daughter wants to play Running in Manteno, where do we put the quarters?”
“You can get some Craptocurrency from me.”
“What?”
“Our games only take Craptocoin. I will gladly exchange! I just mined some now!” Bern says as she wipes her buttocks.
The father waves his hand in disgust as his daughter giggles, the family walking out the joint.
Kankakee junk-emailer, sociopath and petty criminal Pat Splatt will do anything to make a buck. He is hoping to get rich enough to someday implant a diamond in his forehead.
While leaning against the wall in his chair, scraping the internet for contacts to spam about his payola scheme for content creators, Pat gets a call.
“Hell, Satan speaking.”
“Is this Patrick Oswald Splatt?’
“You’ve got the POS.”
“This is Sonya Moran. I got your email today and want some bots.”
“Hey babe, I can hear the smile in your voice today. I am your moneymaker!”
“Yeah. I want to become the biggest PooTuber on Earth. My name is Sonya Moran. You have heard of my niece Bernadette Cacca right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“She was on the front of the Kankakee Sentinel. You DO live in Kankakee County, right?”
“What can I do ya fer?”
“I am running for office here in Indiana. I want to make a channel where I make videos where I pay my BIGGEST fans just for subscribing and watching. But I don’t people to think I am bribing them. Just like my EXTRAORDINARY niece Bernadette, I want people to SEE the acts of charity I am spending my busy day doing. Why be nice to people if nobody can see it? I do a LOT for this community.”
Pat begins to nod off.
“With your assistance, we can build a botnet to pad my followers, and argue with ANYBODY who disagrees. Hello?”
Snoring is heard.
“Hey babe, I think you’re hot.”
“Oh hey babe. What’s that about getting together?”
“Just seeing if you’re paying attention. I want to hire you to make a network of pretend followers so that real people will also look at me give all that money away, and do good deeds for the community. I am running for mayor here in Albion, Indiana and I intend to win!”
“You sounds like my kind of person!”
Sonya Moran is really on a mission to bully her residents out of her complex at Prairieland Country Club Apartments For the Disabled down by the Albion mills into leaving, because she is a complete and utter troll who has zero empathy. Compassion, what’s that?
Complaints have been pouring into the Department of Housing and Urban Development that she has been issuing lunacy letters falsely accusing her low-income, disabled tenants of violating their leases. How would she feel if she were in their place? I feel confident some of the people would gladly trade their chronic pain and bladder problems with her so they can have better lives. Oh, and she hates cats.
Sonya knocks on her residents’ doors at 9:30 AM to remind them that she is running for office, saying it would be unacceptable to vote for someone else, because she plans to own the housing committee. Must be a thing to live in fear. After all, she is a wussy little narcissist.
Jade Utica is not having any of Sonya’s crap. After getting unwanted knocks on her door, waking her up after a rough night battling her brain disease, she is not about to sit down let the so-called “Do-gooder” bully her into homelessness. After chatting with her neighbors about the junk her landlord left on her door, she finds out she is not alone.
Meanwhile, Sonya’s PooTube channel has been getting thousands of followers and commenters every day, thanks to Pat Splatt.
“I just know I am going to win this election,” Sonya says to her campaign donors at her rally. “If they don’t cry for me, I will give them something to cry about!”
Bernadette Cacca and her Poopy Groupies cheer in conformance.
Undead Greg Schneissder gives a speech:
“This is the best thing. I have constantly and continuously been moved and inspired by the inventive, communal ways citizens found during the darkest days of the lockdown to seek out the light, keep connecting.
The thought of two people, across time and place, creating one thing: so beautiful to me, on its own. But to see it come together, in one room, the beautiful moment, both optimistic overture and grand, grand finale. What a lovely symbol of perseverance, of hope fulfilled. What a metaphor. What a tonic. What a reminder. I was unprepared for how moved I would be by this story.
The only thing *not* at all surprising about it? That Sonya Moran was involved. So let me also love on her for a second: in that weird way that all of Albion is all just a small town after all, I walked into a bar this past Friday, where Bern was celebrating a friend’s birthday, surrounded by the beautiful, lovely, joyous people that she seems to attract (birds of a feather and all that), and she gave me THE. BEST. HUG. And a greeting that made me feel like the only person in the world.
A friend of hers asked if I were an actor or singer, and I think I mumbled something like “I wish.” What I should have said, “No, but when I am in the company of Sonya, I am a STAR.”
As people watch Greg’s gushing, comments pour into Sonya’s PooTube channel:
“You need to remove your twitter post about my friend. Especially when you were selfish enough to do what you did and then block her. Because she is the only person who matters! Look at me, I’m a troll who crawled out from under my bridge because I need to get a hobby and I hate myself.. I don’t appreciate the way you treated her.”
The cheers of support from Sonya’s bootlickers are interrupted by some breaking news:
“Kitty Bee reporting live from Albion breaking news. Indiana officials and a spokesperson from the US Department of Housing and Urban Development have accused Albion landlord Sonya Moran of discrimination and harassment. Residents have complained that Mrs. Moran has been accusing them falsely of violating their leases, failing to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act, and even threatening to evict them. We will bring you more news as it develops. Back to you.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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Drama Llama, Causin’ Trauma.
“Is it stalking season yet? Where’s Sonya?”
“She hasn’t flown in yet,” Manteno, Illinois very own narcadoodle extraordinaire and port-a-dump proprietor Bernadette Moran Cacca informs her mom Carla, in from Manteno, Illinois to visit.
A thump is heard, likely from the bird deflecting against Mrs. Cacca’s Albion, Indiana home. The buzzard has landed.
“Are we going out stalking?” shapeshifting humanoid buzzard Sonya asks her family as she transfigures from vulture into subhuman.
“I need to cut down on my stalking bill,” Carla tells her sister-in-law and bird-of-a-feather, Sonya.
“I’m walking away from you now. This is unacceptable and won’t be tolerated,” Sonya berates Carla and flies off, doing donuts in the sky over a body of water and its surrounding structures.
Sonya eggs a guy on to throw a cat in the river, literally. She had been laying eggs by the water because she was bored and began chucking them, demanding the male stranger go murder the poor animal. Poor kitty was living at the bar on the river, surviving on the food in the trash there and the odd chicken tender or bit of burger the customers were giving him. Seriously, who the heck hates cats, let alone wants them dead?
Sonya’s distinct poopy smell, it lingers, wafting through air after she drops off some more friends at the pool.
A medium-skinned trio stroll along, new to Albion. “It smells like warm milk and trauma.” Gothic Flo deadpans.
Gothic Diana Ross scoops up the fluffy munchkin after having witnessed Mrs. Moran’s histrionic menacing.
“Sonya, the Indiana Attorney General is prosecuting animal abuse cases to the fullest extent of the law so I will be turning you in.”
“It’s just a rotten cat, ya stupid nincompoop!” Sonya screeches, mad because caught. Then she poops.
“Fee Fi Fo Fum. I smell the turds of a big moron!” Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes chant, enjoying their mockery of the apathetic fool who tried connive a kid to murder that adorable little fluffball. Gothic Diana Ross takes the kitten to the vet clinic where she had just interviewed to get him some help. She names him Kevin.
Shapeshiftin’ Sonya flaps her wings in frustration and anger, squawking like a parakeet. Then she flies away.
“Another one of these? What is Sonya on, anyway? There is no cat pee smell outside my door!” the young lady thinks aloud as she grabs the lunacy letter her landlord left on her door. “Why always Friday? I had a long day at work and am too tired for this codswallop. She needs to get a hobby!”
Gothic Diana Ross sees a familiar face.
“It’s Kitty Bee from Kankakee!” Diana cracks a smile and the two exchange some dap.
“Whatcha doin’ in town?”
“We came in because I had an interview.”
“Ah nice. On TV?”
“No. A job interview.”
“Nice. Where?”
“Over at that vet clinic by the college. That…um…self-defense school? What’s a PSI Ball anyway? Those ads blew up our TV!”
“It closed.”
“Oh, nice! Those ads were driving us batty.”
“Yeah, did you hear what happened? College President Barry Reynolds got in trouble and they shut it down.”
“Nice. One less moron. Speaking of nitwits, you should see this lady down by the river. She tried to kill a cat!”
“What?”
“Yeah, she was like, laying eggs and pooping everywhere.”
“I need to get the scoop on that poop.”
“Umm. Yeah.”
“What did she look like?”
“Tall, lanky, goofy eyes.”
Kitty gets out her phone and shows her a photo of her landlord, who has been running for Albion mayor.
“Yup, that’s her.”
“I knew it! Hey I am going to do a story on her. Our city is done taking her crap.”
“Us too. That smell…”
“RRRRGGGGH! Thanks! Bye!”
“See ya.” The dark gothic beauties wave in unison.
TO BE CONTINUED
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Sonya Runs For Albion Mayor, Fails to Understand the Assignment
“Hey Sonya, do you have a minute? We would like to interview you.”
“Not now, I am busy working this charity event. I do a lot for the community.”
Sonya hoists a big bag of money, brandishing it, crooked grin from ear-to-ear; she flails her arms in the air like she is dancing.
“We would like to talk to you about the upcoming election,” Kitty Bee informs the histrionic Mrs. Moran.
Seizing the time to brag about her run for Albion, Indiana mayor, Sonya speaks.
“Yeah, I am here raising money for the Albion Optimal Club. My niece Bernadette Cacca came in ALL THE WAY from Illinois!”
“Tell me more about your bid for mayor.”
“If you choose me, I will represent you. Facts over feelings. I own a large apartment complex and make a lot of money. I can make even more for Albion.”
“What are your feelings about cats?”
Stunned into fright, Sonya pauses, frozen into place.
“Can you repeat the question?”
Sonya did not understand the assignment.
“A visitor reported having seen you down by the river trying to convince a man to throw a cat in the river.”
“And defamation of character is a crime.”
“Do you have anything else to say to our viewers?”
“Facts over feelings. I, Sonya Moran, will ensure the people of Albion are put first.”
“This is Kitty Bee reporting live from the Albion Optimal Club. Back to you.”
Sonya walks into the washroom while Kitty communicates over her radio with her producer and director.
“I hate cats. I wish they would all die! And this election thing is so corny. I should just win and get it over.”
“Copy.” the producer says on his radio to reporter Kitty and the rest of the newsroom. Break when you can and pass it over to Kitty.”
“Breaking now, our news team has just heard something that may affect your vote in the upcoming mayoral election here in Albion.”
Sonya’s clip stating her disdain for cats is replayed over the airwaves, broadcasting to the viewers across the Albion, Indiana region and beyond.
Viewer mail pours in immediately, most of it from the Internet.
“Who will you vote for this November in Albion’s mayoral race? Back to you.”
Sonya storms out of the restroom stall, foaming at the mouth with rage, eyebrows afurrow.
“Was that mic live? You are NOT going to damage MY reputation.”
“Facts over feelings.”
MoronicArts 
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