Tag: cartoon

Sonya Runs For Albion Mayor, Fails to Understand the Assignment

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“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.”

Scary Barry Eats His Words

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Read some press regarding the main inspiration behind this story: https://www.mlive.com/news/jackson/2021/09/petition-seeks-removal-of-albion-college-president-for-alleged-bullying-racism.html

“This is Kitty Bee reporting live here in Albion, Indiana. I am here at the MASSIVE mansion of the now former college president of the Dr. Mathew B. Johnson School of Intrepid Arts, Mister Barry Reynolds. What do you have to say about the corruption at the college?” the reporter asks Barry as he eats his lunch in his massive kitchen.

“These appliances are dated…” Barry replies as he continues to eat out his designer bowl.

“Your appliances look brand new…I wish I had a kitchen this fancy. Speaking of kitchens, how many cooks are in that kitchen over at Intrepid?”

“If you buy this record, you like poopyburners” Barry replies.

“Ah. Since we’re on record, where is your wife Terry? Is she planning new construction projects for the school now that you ran it into the ground?”

“Back in 1991, Greg Snyder saw someone going down the road who owned one.”

“All hail the great Greg Snyder, that must have been some event. Now that it’s 2021, what on earth are you eating?” she asks Barry as he pours more alphabet soup atop his lettuce, tomatoes and parsnips.

“Word salad.”

To read more about the real-life word salad bowl, kindly visit this blog.

“CONSTRUTION”

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Sanctioned founder of the now defunct Mathew B. Johnson College of Intrepid Arts, Scary Barry Reynolds sees an ad for Peppi’s Portapotties on TV.

Thinking the gas stinking up his pet construction project in Albion is from a massive dump — residents pooping on the street — he calls on them for help, both practical and sinister.

“Peppi’s Portapotties, King and Queen of the Throne, the national poop treasure Bern Cacca speaking. What can we doo-doo for you today?”

“Do you know anything about gas?”

“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.”

Barry snickers.

An hour later, someone rings the doorbell outside the gate of Barry and Terry’s McMansion.

“Who’s this?”

“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.”

“Git!”

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.

Sybil Kibble, Ghost Host

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Hello Sybil, welcome home. How was your day?”

“Oh hey ma, I’m a ghost host now. This nice ghostie followed me home from Buckstars today. She’s really cool. I met her in the bathroom three years ago. I was just sittin’ down minding my own business when she went right through me.”

“Oh cool! What did it feel like?”

“Very breezy and soothing, like a natural muscle relaxer.”

“You mean supernatural.”

Caccas Burning, Stomachs Turning

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Image: a full-colour cartoon of a black lady with big hair holding her head in her hand the foreground, looking out the window at a house with a smelly bonfire.

Poor Gothic Diana Ross. All she wants to do is lie down in her silky black sheets and take a nap after a long day practicing with her bandmates, Gothic Mary and Gothic Flo in her Manteno home. Nope. Next-door neighbors Bernadette “Bern” Cacca and her husband Peppi are burning port-a-poop again in a backyard bonfire after a job as Bern claps and sings, interspersed by random kazoo sounds. They sure love to farty.

Solitaire

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Deerfield, Illinois-born drugstore chief, wacky inventor and barfly Wally Green is playing solitaire at The Gaslight after the nice lady in heels rejected his moves. Apparently his tall tales about wrongly losing the deed to Manhattan Island – after pirates had stolen it from his ancestors – was too much for her to handle. I wonder what she thinks of the air-horn inside his nose which blares whenever he blows it.

In Lieu-Au Fun

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Manteno’s self-proclaimed “giver extraordinaire” who performs accordion covers of pop-tunes to raise money for the photo opportunity, Bernadette Cacca holds a kitschy, Hawaiian-themed shindig to thank her enablers, the Poopy Groupies. She really wants them to know she just loves their continued excellence in bum-kissing and useless-drama creation.

“That’s so bad!” Bernadette says as Peppi leaves the party. “He just came for the food and did not stay. All I do for him! All I do for the world! He just left me here to die alone!”

“He left for the washroom, Bern. I would too if I ate pineapple on pizza,” JB the Turd-Burglar tells his crush, the Manteno Wonder herself, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca.

Checkmate

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“We Are CRASS” is the corporate slogan for Kankakee debt-collection firm Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), LLC.

CRASS CEO Mack E. Avelli loves to find new ways to make money for the company. Because he is running out of fresh ideas, he decides to hold a meeting with the entire staff.

“Anything to get some time off the phones, eh?” Dale Davis giggles to Linda Stay, as they walk into the room. Sybil is seated in front with a cheesy grin on her face. Art Director and Sybil Kibble’s number-one crush Dorian James is slumped in the very back row, hand running through his wavy, auburn hair. Sybil stares at her crush, who has made it clear to her many times he is not interested, and prefers the company of men. Accounts Receivable Chief Tara Bull is seated upright and uptight near Lead Debt Collector Sybil Kibble. Mikey Philips works his way into the room, along with Konrad Teirant, who is tired from having to resolve a conflict last night at his megaplex.

Mr. Avelli makes his presence in the room and the chatter subsides, eyes on the CEO.

Mack E. Avelli

“Good morning. It is 11:00. We have an hour to come up with the best ways to maximize revenue for our facility. The most creative ideas will be chosen. Give me your best and brightest ways to bring more income to our company. Who will go first?”

Sybil’s arm darts up.

“Anyone?”

“I’ve got an idea,” Sybil exclaims.

“We can advertise,” Dale suggests.

“Not a bad idea. Advertising takes out of our bottom line and can take away from our profits if it does not provide a return on investment. Who else has an idea?”

“Oohh, oooh!” Sybil gasps as she gets more excited about her idea.

“We can go on the news and talk about our services. Some companies use a public relations firm to pitch advertising stories as news. It might be a lot cheaper than advertising.” Tara Bull mentions.

“That is considered yellow journalism and thus unethical…not a bad idea. I will consider it.”

“Pick me, pick me!”

“Yes, Sybil…” Mack sighs to Ms. Kibble.

“I have an idea that will certainly make us money! Since we are debt collectors and we mail people collections letters that people just throw out, why don’t we disguise the Dunning letters as checks and people will open them instead!”

“That’s brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that before?” Mack E. Avelli boasts as he thanks Sybil for her idea.

The letters, which were designed by the CRASS Art Department have been mailed out to the debtors.

Calls come in, but not the ones Sybil was expecting.

“Hi Sybil? Yes, I’d like to order a pizza.”

“Is this Credit Recovery? I heard you were offering me some money! I am sure broke and can use it!”

“I like blondes. Are you single?”

Unbeknownst to Sybil, her name and photo were used on the letters! Leave it to her rival and crush, Dorian James, to pull a fancy trick like that.

Maybe disguising collections letters as checks is not such a great idea, after all.

Sybil goes home and drowns her troubles in a big bowl of Alpo.

MoronicArts Classics: Security is a Good Thing

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Dale Francis Davis moved to Kankakee, IL from Snowflake, AZ to seek work after his relationship with Juli-Irma went sour.

His two year engagement with his dear poopiehead, and fellow Snowflake, Juli-Irma went downhill rather quickly when Miss Juli figured out dear Dale’s tablet and mobile telephone password, “password.” In a fit of jealous rage, she discovered that he had one contact other than his mother and his buddies from the town saloon, a Sybil Kibble, and blocked her promptly.

She then destroyed both devices by throwing them in the toilet, perplexed why they did not go down the bowl when she flushed.

A few days later, Dale hit the road to interview for his new position as a Collections Representative at Collections Recovery Associates (CRASS) in Kankakee, IL. He pulled out his new phone and confirmed the time. Today was the first day of the rest of his life.


Dale thanked Ms. Sybil Kibble for the offer, shook her hand and gladly accepted the job.