Tag: bird jokes

Manteno Cantina Madness

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

Bog witch extraordinaire and port-a-potty proprietor Bernadette Moran Cacca is out walking while taking a break from burning the portable poo from Peppi’s Portapotties in her fireplace. Looking forward to her accordion and vuvuzela gig at the new Manteno Cantina, she gets interrupted by her mom, shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Moran:

“Why are you wearing THAT? You need to wear your NICE shirt.”

“This shirt is nice!” Bern replies to her mother who is wearing a moo-moo outside, perched atop a tree stump.

“You know what I mean. Wear your pretty shirt! Don’t you want to look good in front of your audience?”

“Maaa, I can see your cloaca.“

“That’s it! I’m calling Aunt Sonya! You are NOT to show up tonight. WE will handle it.”

Birds of a feather Carla and Sonya Moran team up to go on stage at the Manteno Cantina, located in the basement of the Optimal Club.

“Where’s your makeup?” Sonya demands of her sister and bandmate.

“I dunno — where’s your dress? Are going to stand up here looking like THAT?”

“I am my costume. My body is covered in paint. Nobody will know I am not wearing any clothes.”

The Morans belch out a few tunes.

Food is thrown onto stage including chicken wing bones, the two vultures nom it up and fly over the crowd, pooping.

Then they fly off stage-right.

“And now for our next guest, Wally Green, the Karaoke Machine!”

The bulbous 60-something drugstore owner, barfly and wacky inventor walks over to center stage, a slow clap is heard.

He takes the mic:

“Fart your birds, fart your parakeets, gimme all your budgies, hope your birds are real.

Don’t try to fly,

Don’t try and tweet.

Gimme all your budgies!

Fart your parrrrakkeeeeets.”

Somebirdy Needs Better Hobbies.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“Why are you wearing THAT? What is that thing in your nose? That looks awful!” a creepy – yet familiar – voice echoes throughout the the eaves of Gothic Diana Ross & The Midnight Supremes’ Manteno home, annoying the poor ladies who are just sitting down on their patent leather chairs minding their own business. Their stalker is back.

Wanting to find the source of their pest, the trio of slender black beauties climb atop the roof of their slate Gothic Victorian mansion, and briefly take in the view of their town. Illinois is full of small towns. This is one of them.

“Why is that stupid vulture asking us dumb questions and pooping all over her claws?” Gothic Diana Ross asks her bandmates about the bird trespassing on their grass.

“It flew into our wall today. Twice.” Gothic Mary deadpans.

A large nest is spotted, hidden inside one of the spires.

The shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture hurls more insults at the talented sisters.

“Your hair is full of rats’ nests! You need a wax! When’s the last time you had a shower?”

“That looks like Bernadette’s mom!” Gothic Flo tells the Ross siblings.

Gothic Diana has had enough. She looks Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran dead in the eye, only for the stupid bird to go into defensive mode. Carla pukes up all over the Ross sisters’ lawn. Feeling egged on, Mrs. Moran tries to make herself look bigger by extending and flapping her wings as if they were fists ready for a fight. She looks like a confused chicken.

“Here’s your rat’s nest!” Gothic Flo says as she chucks Carla’s second home clear across Kant Street into next Tuesday. The ladies don’t like squatters.

Carla flies up onto the roof, and starts making demands. She clearly has no concept of boundaries.

“NOW I CAME HERE TO TEACH YOU GUYS A LESSON! SEE WHAT YOU DID? NOW I DON’T HAVE A PLACE TO LIVE. YOU SHOULD BE THANKFUL FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME AND RESPECT YOUR ELDERS!”

“I’ll show you respect!” Gothic Diana Ross knocks the angry bird straight into the ground with a single punch, Carla’s long, pointy beak stuck straight into the grass. The inverted bird’s long, dark tail sticks straight up with her cloaca for all the neighbors to see.

The ladies share a deep belly laugh, and beckon their next-door-neighbor, the equally moronic Bernadette Moran Cacca to pick up her mother.

Robbie Hurlbutt is a Bad Piggie

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“All that birdie-birdie-birdie, chirp chirp cheer those cardinals sing in their mating calls, it is so repetitive,” drugstore clerk, vulnerable narc-a-doodle and Elvis impersonator Robert Roy Gary Hurlbutt complains in his mother PJ’s Kankakee backyard.

“Umm, Robbie, I feel pretty confident Red is not looking to mate with you,” Sybil Kibble explains to the son of her neighbor and best friend PJ Hurlbutt with a smile as she plays the Angry Birds game on her phone.