As my Aunty Sochelle has put it, this planet needs a cure for this disease called “Stupid by Choice.”
Common names for this affliction are “willful ignorance” and “narcadoodle.”
For now, I just choose to write about that crap and hopefully bring non-ignoramuses some laughs.
“You love to have a conniption right before going on family trips! Sometimes you even sabotage them! Sonya is gone now, having never understood what we all went thru. I will never forgive you for what you did to us!” bog witch Bernadette Moran Cacca yells at her mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture, self-righteous narcadoodle and sterile supply clerk Carla Moran who puts the rage into rage-cleaning.
“You know that guy Greg Schneissder you used to romance on the side?”
“Don’t bother telling Peppi, he ain’t gonna care!”
“Well, I also fooled around with Undead Greg.”
It’s the early 80s. faux wood paneling painted black, dark green shag carpeting and brown floral sofa with matching loveseat.
Carla and Greg are watching “The Aaant! & Ding! Show.” Greg hands Carla his empty cup, his entitled mindset expects Carla to not only read his mind — but also do whatever the feck he wants with that stupid cup that he could have done himself.
Carla gets the clicker — a literal clicking remote control with 14 loud plastic buttons, attached to the television set with a curly telephone cord — and tries to change the channel. The two lovebirds get into a pecking match over the TV show and then Greg complains about Carla having spent 19 cents on a can of beans. Roll that beautiful bean footage!
Carla storms outside to smoke a cigarette.
Greg whistles at Carla like he’s calling a dog in an attempt to get her back inside, however she flies the coop, never to return.
Greg’s flashbacks continue to haunt him all the way through the smokey black tunnels until his descent terminates, wrinkly butthole to the cold rocky floor. He is greeted by a 69 foot creature with glowing red eyes, surrounded by flames.
“I see you made it back. GET IN LINE!”
Undead Greg arrives at the back of the 666 mile long of other newly damned. “Hey, you look familiar,” Greg calls out through the echoey halls to intake clerk Lucy Furr.
“Since I’ve been here before, can’t I jump the line?”
“No. There are millions of other people ahead of you. Your visit is important to us. Please continue to hold.”
“I want the manager then.”
“Satan’s busy now.”
Undead Greg stirs up the other condemned souls, egging them on, trying to take over Hell like countless evil souls before him.”
“You rang?” Hell Incorporated Chief Executive Officer Satan says over the intercom from his basement C-Suite.
“Just let me jump ahead. You know me.” the dead-again zombie and once-corporal narcopath demands.
“Nooooooooooooooooooo!”
Satan’s voice echoes throughout Hell’s entrance chamber, his corporal-stench-morning-breath mixes with the rotten-egg aroma blasting from his massive bum, instantly blowing Greg to the back of the line.
Satan makes some of his employees — usually megalomaniac world leaders and billionaire CEOs with a history of subjugating human beings — work every day without a break in the boiler-room call center, kind of like the one at CRASS but worse.. Sometimes he just throws in regular morons like Undead Greg, Demanda Broccoli and Smokey Ashe to work along side the snooty rich suckers like slumlord Sonya Marie Smith Moran. The call center is always open because the gates never close; neither does the country club.
Half the floor makes calls interrupting people’s suppers asking dumb survey questions and selling them crap they don’t want; the other half makes calls to medical patients hounding them in a recursive loop about the same appointment at least six days in a row, even if the people expressly ask them to stop calling because they don’t consent.
A lot of people block the 666 area code to stop the incessant calls. The autodialer uses Artificial Idiocracy (AI) to spoof the number on the caller ID so the damned bother as many people as possible. Every day those souls are randomly assigned to one call center branch or the other, so they never know which one they’re going to get.
The recent arrival, Divided Healthcare CEO snobbily complains to Satan: “I don’t like this job. Put me somewhere else. Don’t you know who I am?”
“No. Does your daddy?” Satan replies.
“Get me out of this job. I’m too good for this work. I’m in charge of a trillion dollar corporation you know!”
“No, I’m in charge of you now, ya doofus!”
“I quit!”
“I don’t want any freeloaders around here! You should be thankful you’re not out on the street starving in the cold! There are so many people worse off than you!” Satan gaslights, behaving like a typical toddler-minded narcissist.
Hell Incorporated call center staff continue to complain to the CEO.
“Well I tell ya what. We have positions open in the jagged rocks and boiling excrement pits…
The former health insurance CEO sighs…”I’ll take the bubbling poopoo pits.”
Kankakee pharmacy clerk, vulnerable narcissist and Elvis impersonator Robert Roy Gary Hurlbutt uses a Waluigi board to summon a single woman while hanging out at his mother PJ’s house. Minutes later, someone walks in.
“I forgot my phone, don’t know where I would be without it,” says next-door-neighbor JoAnn Kissane Kibble, mother of PJ’s best friend, 65-year-old Sybil Kibble.
Hear this story here:
Part 1: https://moronicarts.com/2024/11/24/get-lost-sonya/
“Hey Sonya, we’re having you for supper! Come with us!” Area 51 Prinicpal Instigator and Pain Tolerance Department Manager Dr. Jen Jenner tells the shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and malignant narcadoodle Sonya Marie Smith Moran, who has been pecking back and forth with her cellmate, narc of the communal kind Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt.
“Hot Dawg!”
“No wieners or winners, just you for supper. Sonya, your hair is a rat’s nest. Violation! Clean your cage, there are bird turds everywhere, even in your water dish! Violation!”
“What? MY cage? YOU put me here!”
“Yes, this is your home now and you’re coming with us!”
“Knock it off!” Sonya says to the raptor-captors at Area 51.
“We can smell your bum-waste clear cross the High Desert. Violation! You freeloaders trash this place that your tax dollars pay for! Violation! Cha-cha-cha. Violation! Cha-cha-cha.” the guards scold the Midwestern scumlord and malignant narcissist as they read from the Code of Federal Regulations.
Sonya hisses at the guards surrounding Dr. Jenner, flaps her wings, taking a defensive stand.
“Violation! Haha. Alright, imma carve this turkey!”
The guards rush toward Ms. Moran, with chainsaw in tow, and yank the caged lady from her cell.
“Oh yum. I can’t wait for turkey dinner. I’ve had nothing but corn and corn-derivatives since I got here two years ago,” says her cellmate and fellow narcadoodle Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt, as he rubs his hands together. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh b–“
“I’m a dang vulture, not a turkey, you stupid neckbeard!” Sonya screams as she gets hauled away to a deep, dark crevice hidden within the bowels of the dry lake known as Groom.
TO BE CONTINUED
Hear this story here!
2. Sonya Moran flew the coop.
4. Wally’s machines go beep and boop.
5. Sybil Kibble loves to eat.
6. Damien Hurtbutt sure loves feet.
7. Shapeshifting vultures hate defeat.
8. Let’s go Brandon to the lifted truck meet.
9. Barry Reynolds plays his tricks.
10. All these nitwits make me sick.
Welcome to the Moroniverse!
Wife of Brandon Dixon – owner of Brandon’s Imbecile Machine – and mother to his kids; Pris Dixon is highly nosy, butts into strangers’ business out of pure ennui. She had been best friends with shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Sonya Marie Smith Moran, until she had flown the coop.
She needs to get better hobbies.
Pris works as a Medical Office Assistant for her father-in-law Kankakee Ears, Nose, and Throat specialist Dr. Eddie Dixon, and as a store clerk at Archangel’s Craft Stores. She has a reputation for gaslighting patients and customers just to confuse them.
Police refuse to let her victims press charges, save for once, stating Pris “is just mentally ill.” Yes, acting like a sociopath is a mental problem, which causes her victims to seek treatment.
“You’re crazy, the only one on the bus whoever starts problems!”
— Pris Dixon gaslighting her verbal and physical abuse targets
Pris proudly drives a green imbecile machine given to her by Brandon, branded with “You just got passed by a girl” decals.
Pris was raised by wealthy parents who gave her everything she wanted. Pris feels that, because she is a parent, she should cut in line at the cafes and burger joints. She dislikes the child-free by choice and gets her kicks by invalidating their feelings. Pris feels that only parents can make a valid point, and that life does not begin until you become a mother or father.
Methinks she needs a reality check.
“You don’t need to emerge from nothing.”
— Fischerspooner
This week’s Golden Moron Award is bestowed upon a rather passive-aggressive, windbag, trailer-trash joke of a neighbor who refuses to behave. Instead of learning from her booboos after she was reported yet again for waking people up in the middle of the night with her loud music choices, she chose to act like a moron again. She’s not very bright.
Metal music replaced with children’s music due to Kopywrong goons (and for giggles):
Awww poor Cheryl, you petulant child had a conniption. It sucks to be you, all stuck and stupid. Here, have an award. Now set the world on fire! Yeee-haw, get ’em Hoss and your kissin’ cousins too! GOBBLESSSSSS!
“Hey Diana! Check out this big, beautiful picture my Peppi smoked up for me!” Manteno entramanure, bog witch and communal narcadoodle Bernadette Cacca brags about the huge printout containing her likeness surrounded her bootlickers, to her neighbors Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes.
“You’re holding it upside down.”
“What?”
“I saw Smokey Ashe, Undead Greg waiting in Hell’s in-processing line during my last internship. Lucy Furr was checking them in.”
“You’re not God, you know honey…” Gothic Mary smirks. The Midnight Supremes collectively snap their fingers, break into song and dance their way back to their Gothic Victorian home next door to the Caccas on Kant Street.
Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran drops by for a visit. She flies into a tree again, then plops to the grass.
“Oh hi Mom! Look what Peppi made for my birthday month!”
“Oh-kay. Why are you pretending to be Jesus?”
“I know. I know. It’s really me using a Vulcan mind meld on aunt Sonya. I have not gotten a gig since she had flown the coop. I’m trying to revive my career!”
“You don’t even like Star Trek.”
“Yeah I do. I really love that Dr. Spock guy and his Jedi mind tricks,” a very confidently incorrect Bernadette plainly spits her alternative facts.
The Midnight Supremes share a giggle at Bernadette’s newest gaffe, Bernadette’s loud mouth wide open to catch a fly shrinks down to a shriveled grimace.
Then she farts.
Who would want to hang out with this band of fools?
Unlike the real Midwest, where I had lived for five-and-a-half-years, this fictional version is kind of like the dystopian Little Dark Age we’re living in — but goofier.
Although I must say, I would love to hang out with Gothic Diana Ross & The Midnight Supremes. Can you blame me?
Psychic Vampyre Missy Rabbit is busy checking the emails sent to Scary Barry’s School of Mixed Moronic Arts in Albion, Indiana.
“Hey Barry. Elen is complaining that you’re not accommodating her in your classes. Something about a disability.”
“I. Don’t. Like. That.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Just shoot her an email.”
“I’m not good at writing.”
“Use AI then. I can’t have another liability.”
Missy looks for AI programs on the internet. As she learns more, she is interrupted by a commercial, because of course!
New at your neighborhood corner Wally’s! Attach this Turd Gauge to your Turd Machines and Turd Machine Deluxe to count your turd supply. When your machine runs low on poopies, the ghost of a Chrysler LeBaron will tell you “more turds are needed” every 30 seconds.
Buy one, get one half off (butt never free)
Try our new Artificial Idiocracy (AI) program: Cat-GPT! Just let your cat walk over the keyboard and Cat-GPT will do the rest!
Missy Rabbit calls over to Wally Green’s after seeing his commercial on the internet. Of course, nobody answers the phone and she is sent into the on-hold abyss. Deciding not to wait, she contacts Pantherware after reading some examples on the company web site:
Want to discriminate against your employees while making it look like you care? Try Pat-GPT! Here are some example messages generated for our satisfied customers!
I’d like to confirm that, after reviewing the situation, the only other store we are able to offer at the moment is similar in size to the one you have previously worked. Therefore, transferring would not result in a smaller store.
You would, however, be very welcome to have a private conversation with me before joining, so that any concerns can be discussed and expectations set clearly for everyone in advance. We are more than happy to arrange this.
However, it is important for me to be clear about one point: your previous supervisor has already made adjustments that go beyond what is considered reasonable within business needs. Unfortunately, it is not possible to offer additional adjustments without significantly impacting profit and production.
If you would like to discuss anything further or explore alternative options, please feel free to get in touch.
Regards,
Wally Green
Thank you for your messages. I appreciate your honesty and the personal context you shared. I want to confirm that we have discussed the matter with Sybil Kibble and have had a conversation about the situation you raised.
We work in line with the terms and conditions of Credit Recovery Associates, which are available on our website. These terms emphasize the need to maintain a positive and safe working environment for everyone, ensuring fairness for the whole group as well as considering individual needs.
I fully understand that the personal situation you’ve described is very difficult, and I sympathize with the stress and uncertainty you’re experiencing. However, it’s important to be clear and fair: our company cannot provide the level of individual support you outlined—such as being taken aside during a personal crisis or being allowed to use the washroom outside of planned breaks. Collectors must maintain the flow of receivables and ensure the wellbeing of the whole company, and sometimes that means taking quick action, such as muting a microphone when needed, to keep the debtor on the phone.
We do our best to offer reasonable adjustments where practical, but we naturally have our limitations. As a result, this position may not offer the personal support or the direct, immediate intervention you are looking for. This would also be the case if we were to transfer you to another department.
I hope this explains the situation in a fair and honest way.
Regards,
Ciara Glitchmore
Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS)
Kankakee, Illinois 60901
Missy downloads Pat-GPT and prompts it to barf up this email:
Thank you for your e-mails and I’m sorry to have missed your calls yesterday. I’m more than happy to talk to you over the phone, but I’m not sure what else I can do to help at the moment as I can only assist with general questions and unable to resolve this for you. I’m sure you can appreciate from Barry’s email, he has been apologetic and she is trying his utmost to find a positive outcome and to ensure your feelings are considered in order to move forward.
As previously mentioned, moving to a different course provider may prove difficult due to class numbers and availability. Joining a new class at this late stage may also cause you additional stress which we would want to avoid.
Postponing your learning for the rest of this term and start afresh with a different course provider in September may be the best option forward. If you were to do this, I do have to emphasize that the class structure would be pretty much be the same as what you experienced with Scary Barry’s School of Mixed MoronicArts – this decision will be entirely yours to consider. We be starting new classes at our Noble County dojo here in September.
Regards,
Barry Reynolds
Owner, Scary Barry’s School of Mixed MoronicArts
Albion, Indiana 46701
Needless to say, the student isn’t happy. Elen files a discrimination complaint with the Indiana Education Bureau. She then makes a video complaint on Utube which goes viral, catching media attention.
Sybil Kibble also notices, since her name is on one of the messages she had never sent. She calls Wally Green to clarify, however her calls keep going to voicemail jail. Wally Green ignores his phone because he is busy singing crappy karaoke at the Manteno Optimal Club:
You can dookie in the morning
You can dookie in the night
You can dookie in the toilet
You can dookie in the box
If you drop one in the toilet
Then you gotta wipe your butt
If you poopie in the cat box
Then ya gotta scoop it up
Dookie, baby!
Dookie, baby
(Dookie! Dookie!)
Dookie, baby!
Dookie, baby
(Dookie! Dookie!)
Drop that deuce!
In walks Sybil Kibble.
“Wally, great job singing. Now what’s the deal with your AI slop program?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“No, not you? Someone has been using AI to send messages pretending to be me!”
Sybil displays the video on her phone to Wally.
“I sell Cat-GPT. That was Pat-GPT. Call Pat Splatt. Nevermind, I will call him myself since he had false personated me too!”
Wally calls Pat, who of course does not answer. He’s too busy taking a steamy bath with his pool toy friends.
A news van with Indiana tags pulls up to the Manteno Optimal Club.
“Hello, Kitty Bee news reporter here doing a story on education discrimination. May I have a word with you?”
“Hey Kitty. Why is my name on some crappy web site email thingy?”
“You tell me.”
“I didn’t write that email.”
“Neither did I!” exclaims Wally Green.
“Do you know how it got there?” Kitty asks.
“Ask Pat Splatt over at that Pantherware computer company down on Lois Street in Kankakee.”
Missy Rabbit is watching the news at her Albion, Indiana apartment.
“Hey! That’s me! I wrote that email! Then I went bowling last night and got a 69 in two games!”
Missy calls the news to tell them all about it, bowling game and all.
“Hey Mr. Jones, you have a sexy voice.”
‘Okay, Missy. Thank you for the tip.”
Missy rambles on as the newsroom staff writer hangs up the phone.
Within days, a new news story emerges at 10:00 PM:
“Local martial arts instructor sanctioned and ordered to shut down due to discrimination complaint! Once again, disgraced former educator and former State of Indiana BMV test proctor Barry Reynolds ordered to shutter his school due to misconduct.”
Missy points at the screen, yells at her TV:
“Hey! When are they going to mention my bowling game scores?”
You must be logged in to post a comment.