Bernadette: Don’t watch that, watch this!

This is the heavy-heavy bog witch sound…on Pootube.

Not watching the Superbowl? Neither is Bernadette Moran Cacca. Instead, the communal narcadoodle, bog witch and portable washroom empress is hosting a watch party with her Poopy Groupies at the Manteno Optimal Club:

Unfortunately, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture, Ferengi-loving landlord, and fan-club president Aunt Sonya won’t be there. She flew the poop coop.

Sucks to be Sonya.

Sonya Goes to Market

Part 1: https://moronicarts.com/2024/11/24/get-lost-sonya/

Part 2: https://moronicarts.com/2024/12/21/violated/

“What we’re about to do with you, Sonya, is take that farm-to-table approach.” Dr. Jen Jenner explains to her shackled subject, multi-millionaire malignant-narcadoodle landlord, Sonya Marie Smith Moran.

“WAT?” Sonya squawks.

“Restrain that chick!” The good doctor orders the Security Treatment Aides of Area 51.

“Are you sure that thing is safe to eat?” Jen’s assistant Sam asks.

“I’ll call in an expert. I have a buddy of mine on another planet.”

The wall-to-wall screen displays a conference call window. 

“Call Quark.” Dr. Jenner dictates into her Communicator unit.

The Ferengi overlord’s face flashes upon the screen. Sonya freezes in fear.

“You’re—you’re—“

“This is the dumbest acquisition you ever made. Where did you get that thing, and why? There is no profit to be made in shape-shifting humanoid turkey vultures! How did your boss sign off on that Purchase Request and Commitment? And why? What was the bona fide need?” Quark explains to the genius Dr. Jen Jenner who speaks 777 languages. 

“Quark, you’re my idol! I learned everything I know about business from YOU! Why don’t you speak to ME? Communicate with ME! I love you! Will you marry me?”

The Ferengi leader gives the fluttering feathered fool the evil eye.

“Don’t you speak English? I thought they spoke it on every planet!” the xenophobic turd complains to the foreign friend of the Area known as 51.

“Self-reflection is scary, but necessary.”

“What did he say?” Sonya asks the crew.

“He says he doesn’t like you. Get over it.”

Sonya’s cold, bleak heart fails instantly; the sheer pain of her crush’s rejection sends her beak straight into to the concrete floor, creating a small crack from the impact. Then she poops.

The doors bust open.

“Vitals!”

“Time of death 7:30 AM.”

“Oops, nevermind.” 

The technician leaves the room to go wake up someone else.

“We got a stiff! What are we gonna do with this thing?”

“I dunno, get it outta here, bury it somewhere in Indiana.” Dr. Jen Jenner shrugs slightly and moves onto her next task. Life is good.

THE END

All I Want For Christmas is Poo?

What do these bent carrots want now?

Seasons Yeetings from the Moroniverse! Yeet that 2024 to the Moon, Alice!

Violated.

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

Moronic Martial Arts: Self-Defense Against Stupid Birds

Gothic Diana Ross FINALLY discovered how to fend off their annoying neighbor Bernadette’s relatives, narcadoodles and shapeshifting humanoid turkey vultures Sonya and Carla Moran!

Hopefully Diana and her sisters-in-singing won’t have to flip the bird again, should Carla fly in, or Sonya hatch an escape plan from Area 51.

The Bigger The Bird, The Bigger The Turd

Manteno portable-waste-recepticle empress, communal narcadoodle and bog witch Bernadette Moran Cacca read this Turkey Day card from her reluctant mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran, which she had dropped off during a flyover.

Methinks we know from whom Bernadette learned to polish her turds.

“Ma, you ARE a bird! Cannibal!” Bernadette exclaims from the bog, to her mother who swooped on down later that evening.

Speaking with her mouth full, she tries to chase away her equally dysfunctional mother, in-between bites of yet another unsuspecting male suitor she had nommed for supper. Then she poops.

Happy Thanksgiving from MoronicArts! May your family dinner more fun and not so dysfunctional.

Kibble Envy

Kankakee bill-collector, basic babe and dog-food enthusiast Sybil Kibble wishes she could be as cool as this guy. Yum!

MoronicArts Classics: Silly Billy Sybil

Kankakee debt collector and big moron Sybil Kibble went up to Chicago this past Monday. She visited the LaSalle Street Buckstars where Damien Hurlbutt got kicked out a few months ago for going batty on the staff when they politely asked him to wear a mask.

Thankfully, Damien was not inside. However, the barista making Sybil’s drink misspelled her name.

MoronicArts Classics: Double Down on Dog Food Instead!

Tara Bull, Accounts Receivable Manager at Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) in Kankakee, IL holds a strategy meeting with the chief cooker of books, Konrad “Big Bag” Teirant and Chief Executive Officer Mack E. Avelli. Tara thinks CRASS can increase their bottom line by using their synergetic mindset to implement the new increased production metrics.

“By making our staff work harder for the same pay, we will move the goalposts,” Tara insists.

Ms. Bull is Sybil Kibble’s supervisor. She asks her Lead Collections Representative Sybil Kibble how her team would best achieve those metrics. “My double-down tactic always works,” Sybil advises her superior as she munches on dog biscuits. “By telling our debtors to pay twice as much as they can afford, they will always pay more.”

“Get ‘er done” Ms. Tara Bull tells Sybil. “I do not care how it gets done. The ends justify the means.” A hovering Mack. E. Avelli flashes an evil grin and a thumbs-up gesture.

Sybil and her team spend the eight hour work day making the calls, even skipping breaks at Tara’s insistence. Dale none too happy, runs in place at his cubicle to kill the stress, checking his heart rate on his beeping wristwatch. Mikey does his usual cleaning, making the toilets clean and sparkly at his own pace. However, something does not get done.

“Sybil! Get over here now!”

Sybil hangs up on her angry caller and works her way over to Ms. Bull’s office.

“Yes?”

“You all are not making the metrics!” growls a livid Tara Bull as she chucks a pile of papers at Sybil. “Bring in the bucks or I will fire you all!”

Dale decides to try a different approach. He offers payment plans, and goes around Sybil and Ms. Bull’s hard rules. He finds his stress levels decrease as he is able to help his customers pay their bills and empathizes with them at the same time, as Dale was once down and out himself.

Sybil tries her might and cannot not double down to make her double bonus/Form 4 and metrics. She thinks to herself that if she could go home and work, she could call people around suppertime and reach more people. After all, it works for telemarketers, right?

Sybil drives her white Chrysler LeBaron home, logs into her computer and starts making calls. Not long after 5:30 PM, Sybil hears a knock at the door.

“Who can this be, dag-nammit?” Sybil thinks to herself.

Sybil opens the front door to her rather oversized house. “Hi Sybil. I am sorry to bother you. My cat Holly is missing and I am terrified. Have you–“

“Your cat is not here, Kitty, go away,” barks Sybil as she goes back to her typing and calling.

As Kitty Bee searches high and low for her dearest Holly-Cotton all over Kankakee and Bradley, Sybil’s Form 4s pile up. “I am winning! I am getting my Form 4’s! Gimme my Form 4’s!”

Sybil is so excited to collect all that money and make bonuses as a result via the Form 4 bonus and hopefully please her boss, Ms. Tara Bull.

“Man, I gotta pinch a loaf,” Sybil says aloud as she gets up, after her last debtor hangs up on her.

Meanwhile, a certain Miss Holly-Cotton, who has been hiding out in Sybil’s rather large house, needs a place to go herself. She hops up on Sybil’s messy desk and starts sniffing around. She locates a certain pile of papers and jumps on top of it, highlighting the entire stack.

Sybil exits the washroom after dropping off some kids at the pool. She immediately spots Kitty’s cat Holly on top of what used to be a pile of Form 4’s.

“Oh my gawd, get the heck out of here you little brat-cat!” Sybil shouts at poor Miss Holly-Cotton as if she had done something wrong.

Holly gladly exits the house of Sybil and enters the loving arms of Ms. Kitty, who is waiting outside after having searched all Kankakee County for her long lost fur-baby. Meanwhile, Sybil returns to a useless pile of forms, formerly known as Four. She has lost out on her bonus.

Sybil doubles down on her nightly dish of comfort food, a bowl of Alpo. Yum!

MoronicArts Classics: Damien Hurlbutt Thinks Excess Plastic is Fantastic

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.