Tag: fictional characters

MoronicArts Classics: Favorite Flicks of the Moroniverse

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Walter Augustine Green

Cigar-rolling B-rolls Wally finds oh so interesting.

Sybil Katrina Kibble

“Scooby-Doo: The Movie” Sybil watches for the Scooby Snacks.

JoAnn Kissane Kibble

“The Nut Job” is the favorite of Sybil’s ma JoAnn A/K/A “JK,” since she, Sybil and best friend PJ Hurlbutt love to go out squirrel-watching even though the neighbors think they are a little nuts.

Bernadette Moran Cacca

“The Wonderful World of Dung” Bern Cacca wishes she can see again (and again, and again), because she enjoys dropping a deuce. Her favorite part is watching the elephants pooping and peeing at the same time. Here she sits all broken hearted, tried to buy but only parted because the stupid thing is even not out on DVD.

Peppi Cacca

“Dude, Who Stole My Car?” is the only movie Peppi ever watched, because it’s the only dumb enough for him to understand.

Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt

“Batman Returns” is at the top of this narc-a-doodle neckbeard’s list. Damien feels bad for The Penguin because he identifies with him. He thinks the movie is all about him as he does everything else.

Robbie Roy Gary Hurlbutt

“Bubba Ho-Tep” Robbie Hurlbutt binges on repeat because he thinks he is the reincarnation of Elvis Presley. He leaves the building to watch it because his biggest fear is being locked in the washroom.

Konrad Teirant

“Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room” Kon watches on his smart-watch, so he can find timely recipes to cook the CRASS books.

Judy Avelli

“Scream” has Judi enticed because she has a thing for Ghostface.

Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran

Carla Moran (not to be confused with a different Carla Moran) watches “The Entity” in a recursive loop, when she can’t sleep. Then people tell her it’s all in her head…umm…beak.

Mack E. Avelli

“Battlefield Earth” is the beloved favorite movie of the CRASS chief. He thinks it is the best science fiction movie ever made and that it’s a true story.

All I Want For Christmas is Poo?

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

What do these bent carrots want now?

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

Violated.

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

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

The Bigger The Bird, The Bigger The Turd

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

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.

MoronicArts Classics: Damien Hurlbutt Thinks Excess Plastic is Fantastic

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

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.

That’s seven, seven full years! Ah, Ah, Ah.

~ Jen ~ 9 Comments

Lightning strikes again! Seven years and 500-some-odd short stories later, Kankakee’s best bathroom reader* is still recycling story fodder fed to – and digested by – some weird writer named Jen. Thanks for joining the moronic malarky of the Moroniverse in our mission to mock stupid human tricks carried out by dodgy pretend primates in this species called Homo sapiens.

*According to that fictional nitwit Bernadette Cacca from Manteno.

Excuses, Excuses.

~ Jen ~ 4 Comments

“Excuse me, excuse me sir, YOUR laundry is done!” shapeshifting humanoid turkey-vulture Carla Moran squawks at Konrad “Kon” Teirant who had fallen asleep at the Manteno mini-casino/laundromat “Spin-n-Sudz.”

“Yeah! I need a machine!” sister Sonya Moran says at the man who had ruffled her feathers in his sleep.

Carla continues to poke Konrad, who had spent the past week staying up late cooking the books into a mutated mystery-meat mess at the Kankakee bill-collection company Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS).

Carla shoves Kon into the slot-machine, causing it to spin into oblivion, make a racket and flash like a fire truck.

“I won the jackpot!” Konrad says in a startled haze.

“No, dude, that’s my jackpot!”

“It’s mine!”

The two avian sisters peck at each other over Konrad’s money, to which they think they are entitled. The love money more than Kon, and that is hard to beat.

The owner walks in. “Who let these stupid birds in? Don’t y’all know not to feed the animals?” she says as she scans her eyes across the mini-casino and bar. She picks up a broom.

“Shoo ladies! Shoo! Fly away and don’t come back now, y’hear.”

Konrad goes to collect his winnings, ignoring the warning screen right under his nose:

“TILT!”

“Sorry sir, malfunctions void all transactions. It says so right on the sign.”

“Wha–“

“It’s our policy.”

Konrad audibly shuffles his feet over to the laundromat to pick up his clothes, like a toddler ready to throw a tantrum.

“Sorry sir, we just closed. You’ll have to get your laundry tomorrow.”

A wild Konrad storms out the building into the Manteno parking lot looking for someone else to blame for his own mistake, because why take responsibility when you can just blame someone else? So goes the mind of a tyrant anyway.

“You stupid birds! You cost me my big bag!” Konrad yells into the Midwestern clouds at the vultures who had long flown away, like a wolf howling at the moon, or a pixellated coyote from a casino slot machine if you prefer.

Then it begins to rain.

At Least Sonya Did Not Chop Off The Giblets and Send Carla the Bill.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Shapeshifting humanoid vulture and Midwestern slumlord Sonya Moran was busy minding her own business, taking a break from chowing down on a carrion score found on the streets of Manteno, Illinois. Her bored sister Carla thought it would be cute to bother her sister for no reason whatsoever, other than to get a rise out of her. Ennui filled the creature with rage. After all, she only looks good on the outside.

“”When is the last time you cut your hair? It looks awful!” the self-righteous narcadoodle Carla berated her histrionic sister Sonya.

“I’ll clip YOUR wings!” Sonya lunged back, massive shears in tow.

“Oh no, not the blood feathers!”

Manteno Cantina Madness

~ Jen ~ 3 Comments

Bog witch extraordinaire and port-a-potty proprietor Bernadette Moran Cacca is out walking while taking a break from burning the portable poo from Peppi’s Portapotties in her fireplace. Looking forward to her accordion and vuvuzela gig at the new Manteno Cantina, she gets interrupted by her mom, shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Moran:

“Why are you wearing THAT? You need to wear your NICE shirt.”

“This shirt is nice!” Bern replies to her mother who is wearing a moo-moo outside, perched atop a tree stump.

“You know what I mean. Wear your pretty shirt! Don’t you want to look good in front of your audience?”

“Maaa, I can see your cloaca.“

“That’s it! I’m calling Aunt Sonya! You are NOT to show up tonight. WE will handle it.”

Birds of a feather Carla and Sonya Moran team up to go on stage at the Manteno Cantina, located in the basement of the Optimal Club.

“Where’s your makeup?” Sonya demands of her sister and bandmate.

“I dunno — where’s your dress? Are going to stand up here looking like THAT?”

“I am my costume. My body is covered in paint. Nobody will know I am not wearing any clothes.”

The Morans belch out a few tunes.

Food is thrown onto stage including chicken wing bones, the two vultures nom it up and fly over the crowd, pooping.

Then they fly off stage-right.

“And now for our next guest, Wally Green, the Karaoke Machine!”

The bulbous 60-something drugstore owner, barfly and wacky inventor walks over to center stage, a slow clap is heard.

He takes the mic:

“Fart your birds, fart your parakeets, gimme all your budgies, hope your birds are real.

Don’t try to fly,

Don’t try and tweet.

Gimme all your budgies!

Fart your parrrrakkeeeeets.”

Somebirdy Needs Better Hobbies.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“Why are you wearing THAT? What is that thing in your nose? That looks awful!” a creepy – yet familiar – voice echoes throughout the the eaves of Gothic Diana Ross & The Midnight Supremes’ Manteno home, annoying the poor ladies who are just sitting down on their patent leather chairs minding their own business. Their stalker is back.

Wanting to find the source of their pest, the trio of slender black beauties climb atop the roof of their slate Gothic Victorian mansion, and briefly take in the view of their town. Illinois is full of small towns. This is one of them.

“Why is that stupid vulture asking us dumb questions and pooping all over her claws?” Gothic Diana Ross asks her bandmates about the bird trespassing on their grass.

“It flew into our wall today. Twice.” Gothic Mary deadpans.

A large nest is spotted, hidden inside one of the spires.

The shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture hurls more insults at the talented sisters.

“Your hair is full of rats’ nests! You need a wax! When’s the last time you had a shower?”

“That looks like Bernadette’s mom!” Gothic Flo tells the Ross siblings.

Gothic Diana has had enough. She looks Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran dead in the eye, only for the stupid bird to go into defensive mode. Carla pukes up all over the Ross sisters’ lawn. Feeling egged on, Mrs. Moran tries to make herself look bigger by extending and flapping her wings as if they were fists ready for a fight. She looks like a confused chicken.

“Here’s your rat’s nest!” Gothic Flo says as she chucks Carla’s second home clear across Kant Street into next Tuesday. The ladies don’t like squatters.

Carla flies up onto the roof, and starts making demands. She clearly has no concept of boundaries.

“NOW I CAME HERE TO TEACH YOU GUYS A LESSON! SEE WHAT YOU DID? NOW I DON’T HAVE A PLACE TO LIVE. YOU SHOULD BE THANKFUL FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME AND RESPECT YOUR ELDERS!”

“I’ll show you respect!” Gothic Diana Ross knocks the angry bird straight into the ground with a single punch, Carla’s long, pointy beak stuck straight into the grass. The inverted bird’s long, dark tail sticks straight up with her cloaca for all the neighbors to see.

The ladies share a deep belly laugh, and beckon their next-door-neighbor, the equally moronic Bernadette Moran Cacca to pick up her mother.