Bourbonnais cinema clerk, neckbeard and communal narcadoodle Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt was last seen near Area 51.
While cleaning out his ex-employee’s desk, Teirant Cinema-13 owner Konrad Teirant found Damien’s scribbled-on evaluation forms. Behold, the work of a master-moron!
For Bourbonnais cinema clerk, communal narcadoodle, and neckbeard Damien Hurlbutt, invalidation of others’ feelings has always been one heck of a drug.
”Hey Damien? Why does Buckstars wrap all their plastic utensils in even more plastic?”
”Well actually, Lori…I was watching the Angery Game Nerd Show on PooTube and the host gets mad there is not enough packaging. After all, plastics makers need to make money too…“ Damien the self-proclaimed “nice guy” said to his ex wife at their former home in Champaign. Lori Brown – whom Damien calls “Grimace” – has been happily divorced from the Bourbonnais cinema clerk who sent her doctors lunacy letters, thinking he knew more about psychology than…um…an actual psychologist?
Have you known someone like Damien? I hope not. Lori would not wish his abuse on her worst enemy.
“Business is really crappy! I do SO MUCH for Manteno and Kankakee County, yet NOBODY cares. Why didn’t I get the Citizen of the Year Award this year? I taught a lion to poop in a litter box at the Kankakee Petting Zoo!” communal narcadoodle Bernadette Moran Cacca brags, embellishes.
“I know, let’s hold a pooping contest!” Aunt Sonya Moran exclaims to the Poopy Groupies. “It will be a great way to promote regular business! I’m just waiting for the log to emerge…” fan club president Sonya announces, as she strains on the crapper of the Manteno Optimal Club washroom at their monthly meeting. She makes sure to get out the most important information.
“You’re awesome!” Bernadette gushes.
“No, YOU!” Aunt Sonya replies.
Sonya Moran, slumlord, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and president of Bernadette Cacca’s fan-club The Poopy Groupies hears her phone jingle, ringtone singing the bathroom blues of The Mentors.
“This is Sonya”
“Hey, this is—“
“Oh great to hear from you, I’m just getting done with a call on my other phone. I am so excited about this event coming up at the Manteno Optimal Club! My OWN NIECE Bernadette is—“
“Excuse me, may I interrupt for a second? I only have a minute.”
“Oh you’re not bothering me. What’s going on?”
“I can’t make the event, my brother passed away.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry to hear! What was his name? What happened? Where was he?”
“Thank you for your condolences. I just found out Friday night.”
“Oh man, I was really hoping to hang out with you Tuesday and get to know you! It’s gonna be a real hootenanny! Did you lose any money from the event tickets? I hope you didn’t.”
Awkward silence passes.
“Hello?”
“I’m good.”
“Can you hear me? It sounds like you’re in a loading zone. I’ll pick up some mementos from the event and give them to you.”
“When?”
“Didn’t you see the schedule? There’s an Optimal Club meeting at the end of the month.”
“No, I just lost my brother. Gotta run. Maybe I’ll see you in a month or two. We’ll see.”
Sonya gets back on the horn with her other call:
“So yeah, Bernadette, you star are sure gonna shine! Get out there and done hand out those free tickets. Hot dawg!”
“Woooooooooot!” Bernadette replies to Sonya.
Sonya ends the Zuum meeting and flushes the washroom toilet.
Entramanure and Queen of the Plastic Throne Bernadette Cacca hits the streets of Kankakee County handing out “free tickets” to her event:
“September 31 – Join us for a protest party in the basement of the Manteno Optimal Club! Stop our commie mayor from bringing in the Gotion plant! Two drink minimum. Over 21 only!”
The big day arrives (or does it?)
Emcee Konrad Teirant of the Moronic Half Assets (MHA) gets ready to provide all the entertainment with half the budget.
“OK Kids, it’s time to put on your Gotion!”
The crowd goes wild with chants of “Go Gotion Go! Go Gotion Go!” mixed in with “Stop our commie mayor!”
“And now we have a surprise for you! A contest — But it’s a secret. Shhhh. It’s our last event, so sign up now! There are prizes but they are secret, too. We don’t want to ruin the Sur-Prize! Get it, Sir, Prize, yuk, yuk, yuk…”
The quiet crowd just rolls their collective eyes.
“But first on the agenda, Crabby Crafting with Bernadette!”
“Crabby Crap Thing?”
“No!” Bernadette exclaims.
“Crabby patties?”
“Nope, Crabby crafting. Today I will introduce you all to the art of the paper-craft. Construction paper, glue and crayons generously supplied by Peppi’s Portapotties! Look for my face on the sign.”
“Mine too, Bernadette,” a plastered Peppi calls over to his wife and co-crap-tain of the plastic portable john business.
The patrons begin to make signs using Bernadette’s instructions, chatting as they craft.
“That Gothic Diana Ross, she’s a schizophrenic who does drugs! She never had that brain injury that she talks about, she just makes up things for sympathy. Oh and she’s violent! That makeup, those clothes, those piercings, oh my God, who would dress like THAT?” Carla Moran gossips at the table.
“Oh and, her mom was never a nurse practitioner. She was a housewife like every other woman back then.”
“So…what’s the deal with the Gotion plant? Are they gonna build it?
“Our commie mayor wants to spend our tax dollars to bring in a company from China.”
“You’re gonna have to speak Chinese just to apply there. Who in Manteno does that?” xenophobe Bernadette replies with her usual turd-eating grin.
“Rock, paper, scissors anyone? Speaking of rock, let’s give it up for the king!”
Subdued voices in the crowd can be heard:
“When are we going to protest?”
“This is Emcee KT bringing you the best of Elvis, he is in the HOUUUUSE!”
“Heh-heh. I’m just his groovy reincarnation,” Robbie Hurlbutt self-proclaims.
“Will you sing Jailhouse Rock?”
“Yeah, throw the mayor in jail! Go Gotion Go! Go Gotion Go!” the crowd chants.
Robbie sings, as Dumpster Clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant does her usual act juggling bowling balls and chainsaws from inside her dumpster shoved on-stage by a group of unseen stage-hands.
“Look at my wife, she’s such a clown.” Konrad says, points at Madwoman, attempts to make the crowd laugh. “I just went for the juggler.”
Groans are heard from the impatient crowd.
Konrad reaches down to a stranger and pretends to grab their nose.
“Got your nose! Without that you can’t smell Elvis Parsley.”
The embarrassed spectator melts into a puddle of embarrassment.
The MHA bow as they finish their three-ring circus act.
“Thank you everyone! Now it’s karaoke time. We only have one sign-up, everyone give it up for Wally Green!”
Half the crowd gets ready to exit, they’ve had enough.
“Make sure to throw money in the tip jar” a looming bog witch Bernadette says as she guards one exit.
“It’s a two-drink minimum, so get back in there, it’s for a good cause!” JB says as he guards the other door.
Wally finishes his own rendition of “Magnet and Steel” to a slow clap from a disappointed crowd, wishing they could up and leave already.
“I’m single and ready to mingle at the bar!” Wally proudly announces.
The crowd erupts in boos.
“That’s right, head over to the bar and our wonderful bartenders will be sure to serve you. Remember our two-drink minimum helps raise money for The Manteno Optimal Club! Your dollars go to an awesome cause! And now the moment you’ve been waiting for, our accordion empress and kazoo cover queen, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca!
Emcee Konrad turns off his mic and the talented Bernadette plays her usual two-hour set, covering show-tunes on piano, accordion and vuvuzela horn. All requests denied and then she bows, showing off her poop emoji dress.
“Everybody give it up for Illinois’ Number One piano empress and entramanure, the queen of the plastic throne herself, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca!”
Bernadette’s fan club — The Poopy Groupies and some other morons give their favorite nitwit a standing ovation, drowning out the people at their tables talking on their cell phones, playing games and ranting about the proposed Gotion plant.
She bows again, exits the stage and heads downstairs to poop, because, gotta mine those craptocoins the old fashioned way.
“Free balloons for everyone!” announces Poopy Groupy and turd burglar JB as he hands them out to the contestants for the pooping contest.
“We ran out…”
“Oh, just blow these up, but don’t inhale,” Bernadette says as she pulls out a box of condoms and hands it JB, who is manning the helium station.
“Did you pick that guy off the mountain?” Sonya says, making fun of the contestants in her typical narcadoodle fashion.
“Huh?”
“I bet you picked a whole bouquet of mountain climbers, you like them so much.”
“Oh, the mountain you climbed in your jammies?”
“No, in Switzerland. They use Oreos there.”
“Wait, what?”
“For money right?”
“I think you mean Euros.” JB replies to his idiot boss, scumlord Sonya.
“I think you have been smoking some of that governmental illegal substance again…” Sonya projects.
“And now our top-secret contest is about to be revealed by our guest announcer, one true Illinois treasure: Bernadette Cacca! Lift the curtain and reveal the fun surprise!” Konrad announces.
A row of seated contestants are slowly revealed as the curtain rises.
“Whoever poops the most wins! On your pot, get ready, GO GO GO GO!” Emcee Bernadette Cacca announces.
Bernadette closes all the portapotty doors, “Peppi’s Portapotties” logos decorating complete with the owners’s cheesy smiling mugs.
Undead Greg Schneissder, Wally Green, Pat Splatt, JB “Turd Burglar” Powers, Sonya’s aunt Sonya Moran, and Peppi Cacca all aim their bums to please, meanwhile Bernadette Cacca plays the butt trumpet. “Any requests?”
“Yeah, tell us what the feck is going on?”
The dookie starts to add up.
All toilets flush except for Greg’s – he was constipated. Must be that Slow-Burn Virus he got on his Undeath Day. Bernadette goes into each portable toilet bowl with yardstick in hand, carefully measuring each poo-pile.
“We have a weiner! Pat Splatt has pinched the biggest loaf! It’s a foot-long! Now come up to the stage and collect your prize, Pat!”
“What did I win?”
“A bag full o’ Craptocoins, mined the old-fashioned way!”
“WAT? I don’t want that crap. What’s the real prize?”
“I’ll have it!” Undead Greg says has he grabs the big bag off the stage, poring the Newly Formed Turds (NFTs) into his mouth, gobbling every single one.
“MMM! So much better than brains, brains brains, brains…”
“AAAAAAAARGGGH” the crowd screams bloody-murder and escapes, people nearly trampling each other to avoid the looming Zombie Apocalypse.
People gather in the parking lot, dumbfounded over the dim-bulb nitwit tomfoolery that just happened, thankfully having avoided the zombie inside.
“So…what were we gon’ done-protesting in that here place again?”
“What just happened in there?”
“What?”
“Oh my gawd, JB, stop holding your fork like a shovel. You look like someone from the backwoods,” Manteno’s very own Bernadette Moran Cacca berates her Poopy Groupy and secret lover JB the neighborhood turd burglar right in front of her husband and co-entremanure of their portable washroom business.
“Now why are you eating that with your hands?”
“Two words, “Finger foods.”
“D’aaah-is it made from real fingers?” Fellow Poopy Groupy Undead Greg Schneissder asks Bernadette as he slithers over to the table.
“No, horses’ ovaries. That’s what hors d’oeuvres means in English,” Bernadette claps back.
“That’s not true!” JB argues.
“Yes it is!” the confidently incorrect Bernadette argues with the turd burglar in a recursive loop. The family that poops together, stays together.
Yet, communal narcadoodle Bernadette graces the cover of the Manteno Sentinel again for her charity work playing accordion and kazoo show-tunes at the Manteno Optimal Club. Her aunt, slumlord, and shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Sonya Moran helped get her the press about some upcoming event crap. No wonder people want to yeet her.
Prepare the trebuchet!
YEET-O-MATIC!
Manteno entramanure, communal narc-a-doodle and Og-on-the-Bog Bernadette Cacca has been wanting to turbo her Turd Machines she had bought from Wally Green’s.
Now’s her chance!
As if her crappy ritual burning her company’s port-a-poops in her backyard has not been enough to irritate her next door neighbors Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes, basic Bern eyes a bigger one.
Quoth the new advertising blitz on every app, social media and PooTube video:
“Your pharmacy products* will be delivered to your house within one hour of ordering, or Wally will deliver it himself! *Prescriptions excluded (because Wally is too cheap to hire enough pharmacy technicians)“
“Hey kids, it’s staff meeting time! Our pharmacy clerk Robbie got recently re-promoted from the sales floor! Everybody give him a round of applause!”
A slow clap is heard.
“Do I get more money, Mr. Green?”
“Nope, just more work.” Now we have this marketing blitz going on where our customers are guaranteed to get their things within an hour or I will deliver them myself. I order our staff to prioritize the men in the queue, so that the single ladies can score dates with us!” the desperate barfly and wacky inventor Walter Augustine Green orders his primarily straight and bisexual male drugstore staff.
“Are ya sure about that, boss?” Robbie Hurlbutt asks, and giggles. “Sounds like a groovy idea. Can I make the deliveries?”
“No Rob, we need you in the pharmacy.”
Robbie sings audibly some Elvis tunes, passive-aggressively, as his boss leaves to hopefully deliver some love to some Illinois ladies.
Desperate Wally will do anything hoping to score a date. Wally purposely makes the women’s deliveries late, so he can invite himself to all kinds of ladies’ homes.
Ding-dong.
“Hi, Rachel, I have your beers, just sign here.”
“Why are you so late? These should have been here two hours ago. You should be ashamed of yourself. I want a refund.”
“I’m worth a million dollars, let me inside and I will make you feel like even more!”
“I have a boyfriend! Plus you’re a gross old man!”
Rachel Shelley and Wally argue, because Wally won’t take “no” for an answer, until her boyfriend Leon Peeonne chases Wally off their property.
Next stop: Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments.
Wally calls rapper Tamika Euforia from his car.
“I have your contact lens solution, ma’am.”
Ms. Tamika buzzes Wally in. MC Lyte can be heard Cold Rocking a Party in her apartment.
Wally goes up to the second floor and knocks.
“Hi Tamika! Just sign here.”
The compact, medium skinned woman sporting a buzz-cut signs and goes to shut the door.
“Now wait a minute, lady. Wouldn’t you like to see me, now that you have your contacts?”
“See who?”
“Me. I think you’re cute.”
“Dude, I’m a lesbian.”
“Oh, I like Libyans!”
“It means I like girls, you moron!”
“Me too, why don’t you—“
SLAM!
Next stop, Manteno.
“Peppi’s Port-a-potties, king and queen of the throne.”
“Oh hi, honey. This is Wally Green! I have your stool softeners and fiber pills.”
“You’re awesome! I’ll be right out!”
Entramanure Bernadette Moran Cacca runs out the door, goes to hug Wally with her poopy hands, dirty from emptying out some port-a-loos as he delivers her pills (meanwhile bragging about charity crap she only does for the photo opportunity). Of course, she did not wash her hands.
“I’ll…just put these here.”
Wally sets the bag on the ground, runs to his delivery car and speeds away, almost getting pulled over by that one Bourbonnais cop who drives up and down same main-drag repeatedly.
“Robbie, you can make the deliveries from now on,” Wally tells his pharmacy clerk, and Kankakee’s number one Elvis impersonator.
The more things change at Wally Green’s, the more they stay the same.
Languages are cool, xenophobia is not. The MrBoast of Language Youtubers has announced his departure, and not even in an airport! Why, do you ask?
After studying a boatload of languages just enough to impress people — and make self-serving videos featuring his creepy mug bragging — this patron saint of goodbyes had blamed NYC “immigrants” for his move to New Jersey.
It costs nothing to not be prejudiced, yet here he is. Who goes to Jersey on purpose, let alone moves — or vacations there? To…get away from people who speak different languages…while making a language show?
We hope the door did not hit him on the way out.
The Philly suburbs would be great for him. Maybe he can get a job working for Virtua? This replicant would be a perfect fit, a great place for people who flunk the Voight-Kampff test.
For behaving like a complete and utter hypocrite, we award this random Youtuber the Golden Moron Award! We are glad your award-winning mask is crumbling and we can finally see your true self. Now get some better hobbies.
How can we yeet Kankakee County’s biggest fake do-gooder? Let us count the ways.
Manteno’s very own Bernadette Cacca, Queen of the Porcelain Throne and communal narcadoodle brags and boasts about everything whether people want to read it — or not.
“I am on my way to Chicago now to do a potty job! I have only been there once and I have lived in Illinois my ENTIRE LIFE!”
The one-time wrestler and dishonorably discharged soldier Bernadette peels out her Kant Street driveway, thinking she’s drifting, when she is really just a drifter.
“This traffic is crazy! I have never seen it this way!” Bernadette says as she makes her way up 57 toward 90/94, weaves in and out of traffic, nearly clipping an 18-wheeler. Pretty red, blue and yellow lights shine down from the heavens and illuminate the dazed and confused Cacca.
“Oh hi Officer! My name is Bernadette Cacca, you may know me from–“
“License and registration, ma’am.”
“I love your perfume. Are you having a baby?”
“No, I’m just fat. Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asks a befuddled Bern, trying to hide the frustration in his face of having just been misgendered.
“Pulled me over? Little old me? I’m a star you know. Here, have a sucker.”
“I’ll let that go for now. You were going 99 miles-per-hour and you nearly caused an accident.”
“Oh beautiful, come here. I will buy you a drink and comp you at my next show.”
“I am writing you a ticket for the speeding and issuing an appearance ticket for bribery.”
“Let me speak to your supervisor.”
“Slow down, Karen,” the cop orders Bernadette as he hands her two the tickets she had rightfully earned and safely merges back into traffic. Meanwhile, Bernadette pulls out her smell phone, texts and pulls away as she barfs up this monstrosity onto The Poopy Groupies Fakebook page and Instaspam:
Then she poops her pants. Gotta mine that Craptocoin the old-fashioned way: by making NFTs (Newly Formed Turds).
Manteno’s own Peppi and Bernadette Cacca might seem like empty characters at first, however there is a much darker side to them. Like all my characters, the Caccas are inspired by a combination of real people.
I have known Bernadette’s main inspiration my entire life. She had lived next to my grandmother. As kids, she was the entitled brat who wanted things her way or the highway. I used to try and dodge her, running the other way because she annoyed me so much, but then she would not leave me alone.
I clearly remember her insisting on calling me my deadname, despite my pleas for her to stop. Bernadette hasn’t any concept of boundaries and neither does her main inspiration. She just pretends to care.
In high school, she had found a way to manipulate people into thinking she was a wonderful person. I had to ask her an urgent question for a design I was creating for a play in which she starred, right before I had to catch the bus to trade school to design it. Instead of turning around and answering me, the “stage manager extraordinaire” sitting atop a desk kept talking faster and louder to the other student, drowning me out.
To add insult to injury, the real-life communal narcissist tricked the teacher into making ME apologize to HER. I will never forgive her for that abuse.
The real-life communal narc had been working on an app-only HBO show of some sort and playing piano for an LGBTQIA+ charity. You read that right; the same person who deadnamed me repeatedly is raising money for an LGBTQIA+ cause. Hmmm…
Now she is gaslighting people into thinking she cares about the Russian invasion into Ukraine, singing at charity events to raise money, and course to get that almighty photo opportunity. My best friend and her husband have family in Ukraine; this is personal for me. I do not care about a moronic photo op when my friends and their family are fighting for their lives, running from a DIC-tator who wants to bring about the Apocalypse.
I read she yelled at a late-night television host for getting too close to her piano. This behavior does not surprise me, having come from a person who has a history displaying her sense of entitlement to those closest to her.
I created my character to help cope with a lifetime of abuse from a narcissist who tricks virtually everyone into seeing her mask, which I suspect has been crumbling. I hope it falls off for good and she slithers away into a life of obscurity, working by herself, abusing nobody. Or maybe she will live out her life in the bog, devouring the living like the character whom she had inspired, Bernadette Moran Cacca.
Have you known a person like this?
Peppi Cacca’s name came from a rabid doorman in Italy who sexually assaulted me. Character Peppi Cacca’s main inspiration is a toxic, former neighbor who had stunk up my apartment with skunky weed and sadly abused his cat. I had gotten the idea from Pepe LePew and used to call him Pepe LePuke as I heard him through the ceiling vomiting every morning while he was upstairs visiting his boyfriend with whom he was having an affair. I am so glad to be out of that apartment complex, and in a much quieter, cleaner place – waking up to birds in the trees, not skunk-weed stench.
Awhile back, I had overheard him on the bus bragging to the driver about his drinking, making the excuse “can you blame me?”
I blame him for his own behavior.
MoronicArts 
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