Try these helpful replies to nosey “Where’s your jacket?” spammers:
After the recovering from the HUD investigation, malignant narc-a-doodle and attention-seeking fool Sonya starts to poop out a bunch more fake lease violations accusing her Manteno, Illinois residents of launching stinkoff from cat pee fair across their buildings and using their floors as washrooms, but this time typing them on a manual typewriter to hopefully evade more trouble from the feds. Sonya leaves her briefly office to whizz, comes back to see this helpful instruction notice taped to her door.
Sonya crumples it up, checks her non-existent security cameras to find out who did it. Ooops. Sonya accidentally forgot to renew her security contract because she did not want to get caught on tape harassing her residents.
Furious, Sonya storms out her door to look for the person, only to see dozens of these same flyers wallpapered across the hall, and outside:
As the frenzied fool and Ferengi fan makes her way to her manager suite, she jumps up in panic to see that a dog had peed ALL OVER her fake violation notices after scattering them on the floor in front of her office (and probably digging his feet in them afterward to show off his hard work).
“Good boy!” she hears off in the distance, a voice too faint to recognise.
“Oh my stars! That dog highlighted every single one of my rule of living violation notices! What am I gonna do now? Those precious papers, my babies…”
Sonya breaks down, gets down on her knees and cries about the dog’s desecration of her factitious fault files.
Wanting a break from work and her usual carrion lunchmeat, the shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture takes flight to find the biggest fast food joint she can find.
She lands at a McDonald’s which is so large it takes up an entire Chicago block. Sonya shape-shifts into her humanoid form after having been previously yeeted from a Midwest business which does not allow animals.
Sonya chows down on her greasy burgers and fries, washes them down with a large pop. Wanting a stiff drink and a place to nest for the night, Sonya walks across the street:
“Hotel Ferengi and Bar, sounds like my kinda place!”
Sonya enters the bar and orders a Long Island Iced Tea.
“Sorry, all we got is root beer. I can get you a great deal on a hotel room!”
“Sign me up!”
Sonya scans the QR code and downloads a booking CrapApp. She books the fanciest room in the entire joint and heads to the counter to check in. She hands the clerk her ID, gives him the reservation number and a pint of blood.
“All set, all we need is 50 slips of Latinum.”
“I just pre-paid!”
“50 slips of Latinum, ma’am.”
“I don’t have it.”
“It’s our policy. We need to charge you or you won’t be able to stay here.”
“Who can I talk to about getting it waived?”
“I am the only manager here.”
Calling her bluff, Sonya asks who is above her to hopefully resolve this confusion.
“I have my manager on the phone.”
“Hi Quark. I pre-paid my room.”
“Yes, it’s our policy to charge every guest a 50 Latinum deposit fee.”
“I don’t have it. How do I pay if if I don’t have it?”
“It’s our policy. Pay it now or leave.”
“Do you accept Craptocoin?”
“Don’t accept her reservation,” Quark tells his employee.
Sonya flies out the door and across Chicago to find another hotel.
Sonya walks into the Acne Hotel, upon suggestion of one of the other Poopy Groupies she called on her Smell Phone.
“Hi, I’d like to make a reservation for a one bedroom”
“Great. It’s $99.95 a night.”
“Awesome, here’s my card.”
The clerk swipes Mrs. Moran’s card and prints out her reservation. Sonya thinks about all the tenants she can’t wait to swindle again.
“Great. Before we give you the keys we just need 100 slips of Latinum.”
Sonya pauses and stares.
“Can’t you just accept a couple of candy bars or something?”
“I am so tired of sticking my beak up animal butts to slurp out all the entrails. I want some chocolate! Why does everyone else get to have THEIR ice cream?”
Shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran hatches a plan and flies down to the swamp where her love-child, bog witch extraordinaire Bernadette Moran Cacca swims and devours the living when she’s not burning port-a-poops nor doing charity cover songs just to look good.
“Hey, do you want to go with me to the Egon Spangler Candy Factory in Ohio? That’s where they keep all the dum-dums.”
“No, it’s not nice to call people a dum-dum…” the holier-than-thou Bernadette Cacca snarks as she rejects her mother’s offer and bites the head off a man whom she just ate for supper.
“Fine. Don’t come to ME when YOU want a favor!” Carla squawks as she flies away.
“What an idiot. First Sonya breaks into my apartment, moves some stuff around, then she pees on my bed. Last year she posted a nastygram on my door accusing me of stinking up the floor from cat pee. The litter-box had just been scooped and there was no smell. If she poops out another fake lease violation, I am going to scream. Then I’m gone done report her to the Illinois Fair Housing Department. I’m done with her shenanigans.”
So go the postings on Manteno People and Places. Albion Places and People. Musings Around South Bend. This is not her first rodeo. She owns apartment complexes all across Northern Illinois and Indiana.
“Yeah, last year when the guys came in to do the bug inspection, they broke my shower-head. Then Sonya had gone and issued ME a violation!”
Complaints continue to pour in.
“Come in” Sonya Marie Smith Moran says, beckons, then gets up to close the door.
“Yeah I’m here to pay my rent.”
“Name and apartment number?”
“Edith Smith, apartment B240.”
The tall, slender, shapeshifting humanoid vulture taps away at the keyboard with her talons.
Edith can see from the angle at which she is standing in the tiny, closed office that there is a flash-note on her account.
Sonya’s assistant, JB the Turd Burglar comes over and looks at Sonya’s screen, craving Evansville brains after a long day stealing turds.
“You’re late.”
“I just got the bill Friday and it’s due today.”
Sonya’s eyes get really big.
“OK I am just gonna stand here and watch this interaction to make sure it’s copacetic.”
“Here is my check. I’d like my receipt.”
“You overpaid.”
“I would like my receipt.” Sonya prints her receipt and Edith walks out the door.
“She did not seem as biligerant and obnoxious as it says on the computer.”
“If it’s who I think it is, she made my last assistant cry,” Sonya projects.
Edith cracks the door back open pokes her head back in. “No that was two assistants ago. That was Erick, and he’s an idiot. He deserves it.”
“Put in that she eavesdrops too.”
Edith walks away, lets the door hang, and laughs in Twiddle-Dee and Twiddle-Dumbs’ faces. “You guys are morons. You need to get better hobbies! Maybe you’d sleep better!” she cries out sarcastically, then looks away, strutting her stuff like she’s living her best life — because she is.
“What’s this?” JB asks as he holds up a blue and white winter hat with the words “Be Nice” embroidered all over it.
“It fell off a truck,” Sonya snarks as she puts the hot hat onto her hard head.
“Time you asked for a refund!” JB jokes as he points at his boss, who does not look pleased to say the least.
JB leaves his job for the day and drives his Turdmobile over to his favourite singer’s house. No not Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes, thankfully for them.
“Bernadette!”
“JB!”
“Hey I got something for ya, honey puddin’!”
JB shows Bernadette the hat his malignant narcissist boss ripped off a tenant and puts it on his communal narcadoodle lover’s head as he walks in the door.
As the two sit on the couch to chill, JB’s former boss – and Bog Witch Bernadette’s other lover – Undead Greg Schneissder emerges from the washroom. Bernadette, the self-proclaimed “piano dominatrix” gets up and gives Greg a stern look. Hey poopy-brown eyes say it all.
“I flushed this time!”
“Did you wash your hands?”
“Don’t nag me, lady.”
Undead Greg spies his employee JB sitting in his seat. “Hey, wanna go over to Evansville and eat some friends? I mean some fried brands. Brains. Excuse me, I’ve had too much of your spicy fecal matter again.”
“I’ll do anything to get out of Manteno.”
After losing all but two dollars in the local mini-casino, Carla soars over to the factory in Northwest Ohio hoping to satisfy her sweet-tooth, only to discover they don’t even make chocolate there.
Hanging her beak in disappointment, she tries to raid a mini-mall ice-cream shop in Sandusky, only to be chased out by the customers grossed out at the sight of a vulture with a six-foot wingspan invading their space.
After doing some fluffy sky donuts across Ohio and Indiana, Carla goes looking for a vending machine. Sadly the only ones she could find take CryptidCoin — not to be confused with Craptocoin.
The shapeshifting humanoid vulture busts the door open of a highway convenience store down in southwest Indiana. “Ah finally, some chocolate ice cream with peaches, licorice and oatmeal raisin cookies! My favorite kind!” Carla thinks to herself as she wolfs down the entire half-gallon. She savors her last bite, only to puke it all up outside.
“Get away bird, or I will call the cops! Stop stealing our crap!” the clerk demands of the bird-brained thief. Carla had tossed her cookies and ice cream out of fear. That’s what you do if you’re a vulture.
Undead Greg and his buddy-pal JB have just got their fried brains at the annual festival in Evansville, Indiana. JB chows down when suddenly Greg’s plate is swiped by an unseen force. He slams down his fists and starts making off-color remarks.
A certain vulture can be seen in her natural habitat, eating dead stuff off a plate.
“Wow, that’s the weirdest thing I’ve seen all day,” Cierra Glitchmore says to her wife.
“You’re surrounded by people eating brains,” April Fool-Glitchmore deadpans.
Then Sonya empties all over the ground and her feet the caustic waste of her previous day’s feast.
“Have that lady arrested!”
Sonya causes a public freakout, cameras naturally rolling, including those of the Evansville television station covering the brainy event.
“I pee freely. I poop freely. I’m a bird. I go wherever I want to. You can’t discriminate against humanoid shapeshifting vultures! Do you know who my niece is?”
“Umm, never heard of her,” Kitty Bee reports.
“Carla? What are you doing here?”
“And this is history in the making. As you just saw this…umm…human vulture thing just…well…make a mess where she probably should have not gone. Evansville police have got the woman, bird person in custody. Man, it’s been a day. Reporting live for Evansville TV, this is Kitty Bee.”
“Bernadette, your teeth look awful. If you don’t brush them to my standards, you are going to get Pie-o-rrhea.”
“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.
“Calm Down” Jina Vs The Manteno Wonder
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.
Shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Moran does sky donuts over Manteno.
“Why fly when you can drive?” her bog-witch daughter and portapotty empress Bernadette Cacca asks as she dreams up new ways to con people with her craptocoins after getting out of jail the second time.
“Because it’s cheep-er!”
The two go back and forth arguing. Carla flew in just to bother Bern. Methinks they both need better hobbies.
Communal narcissist Bernadette Moran loves all the attention she is getting at the Manteno High School awards ceremony all students were forced to attend, complaining she might have to move closer to the aisle because she keeps getting up to receive buttloads of awards. Pat Splatt, meanwhile is bored out of his skull and Gothic Diana Ross is pleading to her homeroom teacher to take her out of her misery.
Hey, sis, Bernadette’s enabler aunt almost ran me over tonight!
Carla Moran and her closet alcoholic sister have made it a habit to eat dinner over at Bernadette and Peppi Cacca’s house next door. You know, those loud stinky idiots who complain about our music. Those shapeshifting vultures rarely used to come here to visit the bog-witch except on occasion at holidays. Carla and Sonya flew in from Albion, Indiana, after doing sky donuts looking for carrion, I’m sure.
Tonight when I was halfway through the street, the aunt of that stupid communal narcadoodle Bernadette made a left out of Bern’s parking lot and nearly hit me. I waved at the driver, to alert her to wait. Nope, stupid moron kept beeping at me.
I screamed at her, and then flipped the bird once I had safely crossed. Her family is chock fulla enablers and I wish someone had taken the aunt’s keys away by now. Stupid fool drinks wine by the box! Hey, I’m no angel however I am in recovery and it’s daily, hard work. Ya know what? I do it.
Diana
“Hey, I am almost to the bank, I’ll text you later.”
–Sonya
k
— sent from a jpay phone
Hey, my dahling niece Bernadette. The bank is closed. I ran all the way there only for them to close on me! Their ATM is broken. Sorry I cannot bail you out. When is your trial?
–Sonya
Not soon enough. I cannot believe this community allowed this to happen to me. I do so much for you, I do so much for them. I am an Actor/musician/writer/piano bar empress who raises money for charity. I paid to heal 1000 blind men on TakTik all with craptocoins straight from my bum! I am God, and in prison, about to be hung from a cross. This is all their fault!
— sent from a jpay phone
Diana is fed up with the Caccas’ and Morans’ shenangians:
Hello sir:
May I please submit a tip to you regarding a drunk driver? I almost got hit by her Friday around 7:15PM at the intersection of Kant Street and Utica Ave in Manteno, Illinois. Her name is Sonya Moran and she lives at 1304 O’Brien Ave, Albion, IN. She is a closet alcoholic and usually starts drinking around 4:30 PM daily.
Can the police please keep an eye on that area? I don’t want her to hit anybody. It almost happened to me. I think she drives a white crossover of some sort.
I want no drama, just want to keep people safe.
Sincerely,
Trisha Cobb (Gothic Diana Ross)
Bernadette gets desperate for bail money by leaving fake reviews using her jpay mobile phone, which she loaded with craptocoin:
Bernadette Cacca recommends Black Kow Manure
I met a recommendation by someone on this page writing how Mr Pat Splatt helped her earn $10,000 with $700 weekly on forex and craptocoin trading, wow I’m happy to let you know that it’s so real contact him now to know how its works and start making profit on craptocoin trades. Whatsapp: +1(815) 555-1896
“Success doesn’t come to you, You go to it… I’m not the one to call you to invest and have a bright financial situation. If you know what’s right, you’re supposed to contact him now and start trading ASAP”
Stylish interior
Tasting menus
Curbside Pickup
— sent from a jpay phone
“Come on Bernadette, we’re letting you go home.”
“Bail reform in my favor?”
“No, your farts are a safety hazard and pose a security risk to the other inmates.”
“Woo-hoo! I’m free!” Manteno’s favorite fake-do-gooder, communal narcadoodle and entramanure does a little happy dance, gyrating her hips like she’s pouring soft-serve from her bum.
Bernadette is in such a hurry to become irregular that she nearly runs over one of the regulars at the coffeehouse. She is a crappy driver.
She wants to get the runs, Gotta mine that craptocoin and those NFTs: newly-formed turds for her charity singing and kazoo playing which she does only for the photo opportunity. Looks are deceiving because she makes a good dog-and-pony poop show pretending she cares.
She only loves poop.
Bernadette calls her husband Peppi to let him know that she is free from jail. “We need a new jingle for our portable john business.”
“Like a hole in the head we do!” Peppi replies.
“How about we do a mashup of Lincolnshire Poacher and Funeral March for a Marionette and you rap over it? I’ll play the entire song on accordion and kazoo.”
“Mayyyybeee…” Peppi chortles as he takes a huge drag off his skunky joint. The Caccas love to smell bad.
Leona Krabalsky scowls at Sybil Kibble the whole time she is in her range of view at the Bourbonnais Buckstars. Leona’s evil gaze goes right through Sybil and she smiles wide intentionally, because she is living her best life and wants it to show. She cannot wait to taste that initial sip.
“Can I ask you something?” Leona asks Sybil, despire her body language giving off a glaring “no.”
Sybil makes her way back to her table to drink her iced mocha. Meanwhile Kankakee County troll Leona follows her to her table to spam her some more with her unsolicited advertisements of her nosey questions.
Sybil waves her arms to assert Leona “no,” however she asks anyway. “Where did you get that bag, I like that bag.”
“No means no!” Sybil chants, grabs her things and leaves. No Area 31 Bag sale for pyramid schemer and hag Leona.
Frustrated with her lack of business, Leona Krabalsky makes her way for home, the Exit 315 interchange. As she sulks, a mad driver squeals her brakes as she pulls over to Mrs. Krabalsky, nearly hitting her.
“Hey where did you get that bag?”
Stunned, Leona’s eye open up wide, her jaw drops.
“Area 31.”
“Did it come from outer space?”
“No, but I can get you a deal that is out of this world.”
The two morons shake hands, Sonya Moran peels away, her niece Bernadette Moran Cacca smiles with her tongue hanging out.
Sonya and Bernadette head toward Manteno and the Bradley police car makes his usual patrol up and down the main drag — or does he?
Happy to be free from jail Bernadette heads upstairs to the washroom and pinches a massive loaf, not even waving to her husband Peppi sitting on the rocking chair, drinking moonshine.
“Time to mine more craptocoin! My turd vault is fresh out.”
A siren heard in the background, gets louder, its doppler effect fading as the decibels rise.
“Ooh, party horns!” Bernadette jumps for joy.
Bernadette tells her aunt about her prison stay:
“I had an absolutely epic month in jail. Had the ENORMOUS pleasure of police reading my terrifically, bigly, colorful rights in a flashy car. Stellar food — included with cot are THREE HOTS and many visits with friends from far and near. Wow. Here’s to Kankakee County Jail.”
“What are you on, hon?” Peppi asks his wife Bernadette. “Can I get some of that?”
Bernadette’s smell phone rings but she does not answer, too busy gushing about her fun times behind bars and all the friends she made. “They are totally going to give me community service, I just KNOW it.”
Bernadettes phone continues to ring as she continues to ignore it.
“Darn it. I did not know these fools were going to pay in Craptocoin.” Leona says to her sister Doris. Leona makes a call to someone else.
January 14, 2023, was the last day I performed in person with other people. I was at The Manteno Optimal Club, and I re-live-streamed my shift because I honestly wanted to encourage people. I thought, “This will be an interesting experiment for a couple of months or however long they keep me in this silly prison cell.” ONE MONTH LATER, and a BIG thank you Aunt Sonya.”
“Wooo-hoo!” the histrionic Sonya screams as she runs and then jumps onto her man Bingle-Derry, spindly legs wrapped clear around his waist.
“Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Manteno Police. This is not a joke.”
Peppi opens the door, glad that his stash is well hidden.
“Are you Mr. Peepee…Cacca?”
“Peppi.”
“We need a word with your wife. Is she home?”
Bernadette retracts in fear, stunned she could possibly be in trouble. After all, she thinks she did nothing to deserve her jail sentence. Her mind races as she prepares excuses.
“We heard that you were dealing in some funny money.”
“Oh not her, she is a WONDERFUL person,” Sonya tells the cop.
“I am asking Bernadette.”
“Sir, we can talk about this. Here, how much do you need for your funding? Let me get you a coffee and–“
“Don’t bribe me unless you want arrested.”
The smell of Bernadette burning her turds overwhelms the cop, who coughs his way out the Cacca homestead.
“Oh hey officer, ya got a minute?” Gothic Diana Ross asks, gesturing for the cop to come over to her next-door home.
The gothic singer and the officer exchange information and a wandering Leona Krablasky slaps Di five.
Bernadette gets yeeted from her home and back into the clink where she belongs, along with her aunt Sonya who is thrown into the drunk tank.
Much to Bernadette’s dismay, and the delight of her fellow inmates, the jail chef changes the menu to a bland diet.
Shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran swoops down on her Manteno, Illinois bog-witch daughter Bernadette Moran Cacca, just to waste her time.
“What ya looking at?” the communal narcissist, Bern, asks her raging narc-a-holic mother.
“Nothin’ much!” Carla replies like a schoolyard child.
“No really, there is nothing original about you,” Carla squawks into Bern’s face and then flies away back to Albion, Indiana.
Bernadette plots out revenge on her mother and everyone else who she has ever met, on a mission to seek supply after that narcissistic injury she received. Then she poops.
MoronicArts 
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