Sybil Kibble unveils the new “Enigma” computers for her debt collection team at Credit Recovery Associates in Kankakee, known better by their acronym CRASS.
“How do you get on the Internet?” asks a quizzical Dale Davis.
“Just type “INTERNET” and then “RUN.”
“How do you load the Collect-o-matic 2000?” a wary Judy Avelli asks.
“Just hook the machine up to a parakeet cage and type away.”
Ennui fills the mind of Kleptomaniac Rebecca “Becca” Frickfrick as she foams at the mouth craving the next thing to rip off. After failed attempts to steal lawn ornaments, she’s now a free bird roaming the Moroniverse.
Kankakee bill collector and dog-food enthusiast Sybil Kibble is busy taking supervisor calls and reviewing debtor files at Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS).
“I need a calculator, Miss Sybil” collector Pamela Frickfrick asks her boss.
Sybil opens up a couple drawers from the supply cabinet.
“You have your choice of this silver solar-powered one one or this green one with extra large numbers.”
“Nope, I need a graphing calculator.”
“For what?”
“My math homework.”
Before Sybil could shake her head, she spies Pamela’s twin sister Becca Frickfrick across the way knocking down company flyers, raiding the fridge and scratching her butt in the lunchroom.
“Oh heck no. Not my dog chow!” Sybil exclaims.
“Becca, go home for the rest of the week.”
“But I need the money!”
“Just go home and shut up.”
Sybil Kibble is busy loading groceries into her Chrysler LeBaron at the Schmucks Supermarket parking lot. As Sybil turns her back, Becca Frickfrick helps herself to random things from Sybil’s shopping cart.
“What are you doing?” Sybil asks.
“This is mine, this is mine, this is mine too…”
With one hand, Sybil swings the swiped staples back into her possession.
“Do you know who I am?” Becca stupidly asks her boss.
“An idiot. Now go home.”
Sybil climbs into her passenger seat to finish putting the grocery sacks into the talking car. Mrs. Frickfrick opens the driver’s side door, swipes the keys out of Sybil’s left coat-pocket, and begins to steal her car. Ten feet and one turn later, Miss Kibble successfully wrestles the grabbity hands off the stealing wheel, puts her car into park and shoves the thief onto the pavement.
“You can’t do this to me! I started this town! I AM KANKAKEE!” Becca cries out.
“You’re fired.”
“Eeeeeeeeeee!” Becca lets out a perfect high C like a teeny baby, cries in the pouring rain as Sybil drives home.
Back at work, it’s Friday and Sybil can’t wait for the weekend. Neither can the rest of the CRASS staff.
Collector Mary Grr walks up to Sybil’s supervisor cubicle.
“Where did all headset foamies go? I went to buy some out of the vending machine and it was empty!”
“I’ll look into it,” Sybil assures her.
Fellow collector Dale Davis beeps his watch repeatedly while marching in place to the tune of his last call.
“Gates are closed everybody!” Operations Manager Mikey Phillips announces.
The entire call center cheers and logs off their collective workstations.
A couple of staff embers make a beeline for the washroom while others make their ways to the break-room, only to discover a certain Becca Frickfrick emptying the vending machines after she had jury-rigged them to give her free stuff.
“You know, there’s a better way to do that…” Dale deadpans.
“If these things all fall out, I get to keep them, right?”
Sybil Kibble grabs Rebecca by the ear, lifts her up and and hoists her out the window.
“YEEEET!”
Sybil waves at the former CRASS collector and laughs.
“How did she even get in here?” Dale asks.
“We have no security here at CRASS because our wonderful owner Mack. E Avelli fired our guards during COVID, to save money of course.”
“Of…course.” Dale agrees with his superior as Mack is in the back counting up this week’s profits.
The petless portapotty princess, part-time bog witch and communal narcadoodle known as Bernadette Moran Cacca struts into the local veterinary clinic looking for new fans, kicks and giggles, since attendance at the Manteno Optimal Club has been dwindling.
“May I help you?” the receptionist Flo says with a smile.
“This may be the most important question I’ll ever ask.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What’s going on with your pet?”
“I have to show you something.” Bernadette hands Mary a flyer.
“Why are you supporting a Bradley business. Are you coming to Bradley?”
“No. If you read the sign, we’re in Manteno, we’re a vet clinic. We treat sick animals and give them routine care.”
“Why are you helping a dog group then?”
“We help a different rescue every month.”
“I need more information.”
“Read the sign, make an appointment, call the groomer. We just put the sign up to help the business out plus the dog charity.”
“Why is it in Bradley? It’s so far away. You’re a Manteno group.”
“We serve all of Kankakee County.”
“You should help all animals, not just dogs. Humans too. Even extraterrestrials. You shouldn’t exclude humans from animal spaces! Make like a tree and go get me the manager!”
“She’s busy.”
“You’re so stupid. I just had a dementia test and I aced it! I had a CAT scan and it was perfect! You’re a low IQ. You take the test, see how you do, then you go get some tigers, elephants, giraffes…See, I know my animals!”
“What a jackass…” customer Jen says softly as she cuddles her cat, chortles at Bernadette’s word salad.
“I’m not a donkey I’m a human! What are you looking at? Hello!”
Bernadette doesn’t get her way, so she just drags her feet across the floor then stares at the wall.
Manager Trish Cobb, better known as Gothic Diana Ross, walks out to help de-escalate the unnecessary monkeying around which seemingly emerged from nowhere at all — just Bernadette’s bum.
“I got a perfect mark-up which you would be incapable of doo-doo-doing. You need to get your marks up! You need to get your marks up!”
“Goodbye Barney!
“It’s Bernie!”
“Who?”
“You know me.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m your neighbor, Manteno’s very best do-gooder of charity. I raised $1000 for—“
“I’ll take first name and last name for $1000, Alex.”
“Bernadette Cacca!”
“A little louder please. For the camera.” Gothic Diana cups her ear.
“I’M BERNADETTE MORAN CACCA!” Bern’s stinky breath blows into Diana’s face, right before Bernadette’s own face turns beet red from getting caught, not from realizing she had just caused a scene for no good reason whatsoever, butt of course.
“Goodbye! You, and you and you guys too!” Bernadette sternly screams as storms out the door, to go start trouble somewhere else. Like a dog licking its nads, she does it because she can.
After yet another long week calling up strangers at work, patients in hospitals and people just trying to cook supper for their families, Kankakee bill collector Sybil Kibble is feeling stressed and irritated. She works as the team leader collecting dubious debt for Kankakee’s most shady debt-collector Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), and she’s tired of people hanging up on her.
“Out of dog-food again! Dang, I just bought some at Schmucks! How did I eat all those Alpo cans so fast? They must be making them smaller now.”
Needing someone with whom to vent, Miss Kibble goes over to visit her best friend and next-door neighbor, Mrs. Pearl Jo “PJ” Hulbutt who is busy meditating. Sybil barges right in and startles PJ who nearly bangs her head on the table, then tells her to “calm down!”
“Ah my boys have not come around lately. They don’t appreciate their mother and all I do for them! Have you seen that Kitty Bee lady? Her hair is pink now!”
PJ rambles on complaining about person after another. “Have you talked to your father?”
“I stopped talking to him years ago. You ask me that every time I come over. Why?”
“My father was not so nice. It says in the good book we should forgive people and pray for them to change.”
“He’s dead. His new wife was just as abusive, I hear she has an extra room. Why don’t you call her up? I am sure she would like the company. She’ll probably ask all kinds of questions about me! Go up to Chicago and spend a month or two to see what it’s like. Just call her after I leave.”
“No need to go overboard with your remarks. They are entitled to their beliefs as well. As a person with a daemon latched onto her body at the age of two that never leaves me alone, I understand fear and misunderstanding. I’ve been judged for my demeanor and nosey words my entire childhood but I still care and help others. I define me not other people.”
Livid, Sybil Kibble stomps back to her home, and eats her last dog bone; much tastier than the word-salad her neighbor had spit out. Meanwhile, PJ hops on a bus to find more people to annoy:
“Why are all these people getting at the bus at once?” PJ Hurlbutt asks aloud to a bus full of strangers, looking around for someone that cares. An enquiring mind wants to know. PJ repeats her nosey nonsense and adds more crap to her routine. “Look at that lady with the green hair. Does she know those tattoos are permanent?”
“I’ll tell the mayor,” Dorian James deadpans, making a cheeky grin while adoring his boyfriend Ant’s half-sleeve.
Sybil calls a bunch of friends, hoping to hang out.
Pyramid-scheme-peddlers Doris and Leona Krabalsky’s phones go straight to voicemail.
Sybil drives her white Chrysler LeBaron to investigate why people are ignoring her calls and texts.
Slowing down through the I-57 underpass, she seeks the Kankakee troll Leona. Nope, she’s not home.
Out of desperation, Ms. Kibble calls her hairdresser Lila Croule at her home-based salon, even though it’s a week too soon to get her face-frame cut, but sorry; more voicemail jail.
Sybil continues North toward Peotone to find her sharp-tongued stylist Lila Croule, hoping to trade barbs about moronic customers. After she parks her reliable box-mobile, she rings the doorbell at Lila’s front door. No answer. The RRRRRRGH of the lawn tractor stops and Sybil spots Lila trimming the edges of the grass using her $1000.00 hair shears, completely tuning out Ms. Kibble.
“I hope these folks don’t visit my grave one day, since they don’t bother me while I’m alive! Hmmpf.”
As she drives back home to Kankakee, Sybil sees her subordinate Dale Davis jogging on the sidewalk, beeping his watch repeatedly. Dale waves to Sybil and beckons her to come hither so he can confess her love, and she just drives on by. Her stomach turns. She then drives to Major’s Supermarket to buy her favorite meals: buys 50 cans of Alpo, with which she drowns her worries at home, glad to be away from the rest of the Moroniverse.
“Since that party last week in the break room set the sprinkler system off, the ventilation system is all jacked up. We need to do some work ‘round here and move some people”, CRASS Maintenance Manager Mikey Philips tells Collections Team Lead Sybil Kibble.
Head-pounding bangs and fart-like drills are heard, making it hard to get calls made. A smoke-like, horse-manure stench emerges from a cubicle near Sybil’s. Sybil gets up to investigate.
“Smokey? Why are you smoking? Go outside. I do not want to smell that.”
“Oh, they moved me due to the construction going on. I sit near you now. Nice boots, Ms. Kibble!”
“Get on the phones and put your butt out now!”
Sybil walks away and reads the posted sign: “CONSTRUTION – WATCH YOU’RE STEP”
“Yeah, they construe things around here: spelling and grammar!” Sybil wisecracks and steps back to her cube.
Sybil calls a few debtors and logs off the autodialer. The poopy stench continues to waft her way. Sybil clogs her way over to Smokey again.
“Smokey? You have not made a single call!”
“Oh, just one more puff!”
“Get to work! This is a verbal warning!” Sybil sternly tells Smokey.
Sybil grimaces at the loud pounding and drilling, as well as the tobacco clouds eminating from Smokey’s cube. She logs onto her autodialer and collects more debts from her clients’ numbers.
After a particularly stressful escalated call, Sybil logs off the phones and puts her head down. Tired and hangry, she smells the crappy smoke. “I bet she is still horsing around.”
Sybil approaches Smokey, who is slouched down in her chair, her ear in her mobile phone. She is clearly not calling her debtors!
“That’s the witch. Blonde hair, reading glasses, black and white outfit with heeled boots.”
“Come into my office, NOW!” Sybil orders Smokey.
“No! I do what I want!” Smokey shouts at Sybil and continues her mobile phone conversation.
Sybil storms over to her cube to devise a plan.
Smokey leaves for lunch, and to buy more cigarettes, of course.
Sybil goes to Smokey’s cube and takes her ashtrays, goes out back and tosses them into the dumpster. She thoroughly checks her cubicle for any other ashtrays. Sybil then takes her trashcan and moves it to her own cubicle, stopping to dump any butts onto Smokey’s desk. “Since she is not doing any work, she does not need this, hahaha.” Sybil hides the trashcan behind her desk. Sybil then takes all the cups out of the break room and hides them in her cubicle, in case Smokey wants to use them for her butts.
Smokey returns for “work” and plops her bum down in her chair. “Dang, where my ashtray go?”
Smokey begins to pace around the office. She looks up and down the office for an ashtray.
“Dale, handsome fella, got an ashtray?”
“Nope. Do some work.”
“Linda, got an ashtray, my sweet friend?”
“No!”
“Mikey! Hey my cool dude! Got an ashtray?”
“I am trying to do some work here.”
Smokey spends the entire day pacing around the office bothering people.
“Hey Smokey!”
“Mr. Avelli! Oh, Mack, you look so handsome! Hey, do you have a—“
“Yes, I have your termination papers right here. Now go clean out your desk. You’re fired. You have thirty minutes to gather your belongings. We will mail your final paycheck, minus today’s payday as you did not do any work.”
“Man, that cigarette smoke smells like horse manure! I am getting sick to my stomach!” How does she get away with it? I keep reporting Smokey Ashe to security and she keeps on smoking in her cubicle. I feel like I am going to heave!” an upset CRASS, LLC bill collector Dale Davis tells his team leader, Sybil Kibble in their Kankakee office.
“There is nothing I can do. I do not want to get in the middle.” Sybil tells Dale.
Dale tromps over angrily to Smokey’s workstation.
“Smokey, why don’t you go outside and smoke? The smell is making me sick!” Dale yells at Smokey.
“What are you going to do about it?” Smokey snarkily asks.
“Just go outside with that crap.”
“Let’s take it outside. I will fight you now.”
“Grow up. You are so childish. I am calling security to report your threats.” Dale tells Smokey.
Dale calls Low Cost Security, or L-C, CRASS’s security contractor to report Smokey’s threats. Of course, his call goes straight to voicemail. Dale leaves a detailed message.
Dale never gets a return call so he heads to Mikey Philips, Building Manager.
“Yes?”
“I need help with something important.” Dale tells Mike Philips.
“I am very busy.”
I need to report a security violation.
“Did you call security?” Mike asks, nose buried in his PC.
“Yes, call went to voicemail. Smokey Ashe threatened me after I asked her to stop smoking inside.”
“Nothing I can do.”
“So what are you going to about Ms. Ashe smoking in her cube? It is making me physically ill.” Dale asks.
“I see nothing in the security logs from L-C.”
Mikey moves the Queen of Hearts to the top pile. “I am winning!” he says with a grin.
“What?”
“Oh, I am using my peripheral dexterity enhancement tool. This on the job training application is designed specially for the mouse,” Mikey explains.
“Uh-huh.”
Smokey butts into Mikey’s office. “Are you coming to the baby shower?” Smokey asks with a grin.
“No, I have a sock drawer to rearrange.”
“Dale, my handsome buddy?” Smokey places her hand on his shoulder.
“No, I have to go home and clip my toenails. Busy night.”
Smokey goes to Sybil Kibble’s supervisor cube and interrupts her.
“Hey there, my lovely lady! How about coming to my baby shower tonight! It is for my granddaughter! There will be games!”
“No thanks, I am looking forward to my Alpo tonight.” Sybil logs on the phones.
Smokey walks over to Tara Bull’s manager suite.
“Hey Tara! You look great!”
“Go back to work, Smokey. Not interested.”
It is 5:00 PM. Smokey, her daughter and granddaughter are gathered in the break room, all decorated in yellow, pink and blue. Smokey is puffing away, wondering where her coworkers are.
“How many people did you invite?” Smokey’s daughter asks.
“The entire company.”
Two hours pass by. Nobody shows. Dale drives by CRASS and pulls in.
“Oh hey there my dapper Dale! You remembered!”
“Yeah, my watch. I cannot believe I left it at work.” Dale dons his watch and gets into his pickup truck, pulls out the parking lot and heads home.
“I cannot believe nobody showed” Smokey says as she fills the air with her stinky smoke.
“AAAAAAANT! AAAAAAANT!”
“What’s that?” Smokey’s grandaughter asks.
“That’s the fire alarm.”
The fire trucks’ sirens are heard in the background. Meanwhile the company sprinklers rain down on Smokey and her family, showering the entire party.
CRASS Debt Collector Dale Davis is all by his lonesome in his Kankakee apartment, wishing his boss Sybil Kibble would come there to kiss him, so they could get married and make dollars and cents together.
“I’m worth your time.”
– Dale Francis Davis
Listen to Dale leave a message for a debtor based after Sybil Kibble barfed up this silly idea:
“We need to increase our bottom line,” CRASS CEO Mack E. Avelli tells his entire staff in the board room.
“Size matters.”
Laughter fills the entire room.
“Our budget is only so big and we need to increase our revenue to exceed expenses. We could only give so much to the Optimal Club last year and we had to shortchange the Kankakee Medicine Pronouncing Competition, even though we had already committed. We need good ideas, only the best.
Dale raises his hand.
“I know. I have a really good idea. How about we do things the Dale way this year…”
Mr. Avelli sighs.
“No just listen up. I’m worth your time. How about we spend less money on charity? That way we will have more money for the things we need. It all makes sense. We can do things the way we have been doing them, or we can do things the Dale way.”
“That’s enough Dale. We need to look good for the community. Image is everything. Who will go next?”
“Maybe we can hire more people to cut back on overtime? I am swamped with purchase requests!” Linda Stay says.
“Nice idea, but work faster,” Mr. Avelli snarks.
Sybil raises her hand.
“Sybil Kibble! What is YOUR grand idea?”
“I know. How about we call up and say we are “Kristy” from Management. Ask the debtor to call us back. We have no Kristy working here. Block caller ID so the suckers will not know it is us!”
“Great idea Sybil! Change all scripts immediately and don’t forget to double down on every call, everybody!”
The collectors get to work.
Calls come in.
“I would like to talk to Crispy?”
“Crisco called. Hahahaha.”
“Is the Cisco kid? My router is stuck. Can you fix it?
“Yeah I hear I won a free trip to Frisco. When do I go?”
More calls roll in.
“Yeah I heard a manager called me. I wanna speak to the manager. This is Karen.”
Team Leader Sybil Kibble cannot keep up with the call volume. The Collections Representatives keep transferring all their calls to her because they keep asking for a manager. After all, the messages stated a manager called for them!
The phone system shuts down due to Denial of Service, in other words a system overload.
“What are we going to do?” CRASS CEO Mack E. Avelli asks Sybil Kibble in her office.
“Act more ethically next time?”
They share a laugh.”
“Carrier pigeons,” Mr. Avelli smirks.
It is CRASS business as usual.
Linda walked into a Kankakee bar to get a drink, not knowing all the single men would take notice. Who will she choose?
Pharmacy clerk, vulnerable narcissist and Elvis impersonator Robbie Hurlbutt?
Cinema clerk, neckbeard and communal narc-a-doodle Damien Hurlbutt?
Wacky inventor, drugstore owner and sadist Wally Green?
CRASS Bill collector, and desperate hillbilly Dale Davis?
So many bottom-feeders, so little time.
“Dating is like shooting a bunch of arrows and missing the target every time.”
– Linda Stay
MoronicArts 
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