MoronicArts Classics: Where There’s Smokey…

“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.”

Don’t Make the Mistake of Driving People Batty

Bernadette Cacca has the voice of an angel and the soul of the devil.

Peppi Cacca has the voice of a daemonic troll.

“I got a new gig! And it’s a national one!” Manteno communal narcissist Bern Cacca exclaims to her sociopathic husband and entremanure Peppi, mouth wide open as if to catch a fly.

“Lemme guess…your aunt got you on the front page of the Kankakee Sentinel again.”

Nope.

“More charity shows to make you look good, pretending to care while you don’t? You’re a really good actress,” Peppi emphatically tells his wife.

“Yeah, I know. Not this time.”

“Another recurring walk-on role for a show you can only see on one certain app?”

“Nope. This one is bigger!”

“I don’t care but tell me anyway, I have skunk-weed to smoke after my date with the bottle. Then I have to go harass our next-door neighbors.”

“Out of Warranty Experience hired me for their robocalls! Everybody in the nation will hear wonderful ME tell them their car is out of warranty!” Bern says with glee, then rips a fart. “Mmmmmmm. I love that smell.”

The sun has just gone down. Peppi pounds on the air vent cover to remove his dope from the stash he hides in the duct, rolls up a skunky joint and crawls outside.

“Git-git-git-git-git-git” the clowny Peppiwise calls from the manhole down in front of The Midnight Supremes’ black Victorian Gothic home next door.

“No thanks, you can keep your candy” says Gothic Diana Ross toward the sound coming from the gutter as she completes her late-night stroll.

A skunky stench emerges from the drain, but not from poop. This is a water drain.

“Git-git-git-git-git-git.”

“Do you have something better to do? I’m not interested and never will be.”

Peppi’s ego deflates as Gothic Diana continues to ignore his plea for attention and goes inside and starts band practice.

Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes get ready to play, beginning with the number “Stop in the Name of Death.”

“Check-check, 1-2-1-2. Six Six. Why is this mic not working?” a frustrated Gothic Diana asks her cover band.

Diana opens up the battery cover. “Dead as a doornail.”

“Why don’t you bury them?” Gothic Flo jokes.

“We should have a funeral,” deadpans Miss Gothic Mary.

As the trio begins the dead batteries’ funeral rites, their ceremony gets interrupted by a phone call.

“Hey” answers Gothic Diana, putting her phone on speaker, hoping the band is getting called about a new gig.

“Don’t make the mistake of driving without a warranty…” the robocall commands. “This is the final call before we close the file. Press one to speak”

Click.

“I’ll press you, stupid moron!” Gothic Diana exclaims.

“She sounds familiar. Who is that?” Gothic Flo asks.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Diana replies.

“Hey, methinks it’s that actor lady next door…the one who owns a port-a-potty business with her husband. Hey Mary, what’s her name?”

“Bern Cacca. She burns poop in their fireplace.”

“Ohhh, that’s why we smell her crap. Does she think it does not stink?” Mary jokes as the girl group erupts in laughter.

Gothic Diana walks outside her home to go for a brisk walk. She hears a sound off in the distance: “git-git-git-git-git.” 

“Oh no, not Peppiwise again,” Diana says to herself as she passes by another rain gutter.

The 5’10”, slender beauty in the black dress gets another cell phone call.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make the mistake of going without a warranty…” 

Click.

“I’ll get a warrant alright, for her arrest!”

Gothic Diana walks over to the house of her Manteno neighbor Bern Cacca to give her a piece of her mind. However there is a line of angry neighbors queued around the street wanting to also have a word with Mrs. Cacca. They knock, to no avail.

“Git-git-git-git-git” emerges from the sewer drain.

“I don’t want to litter, however I have no choice” Diana says as she goes to drop the leaking, dead batteries from her microphone into the nearest gutter. Before she has a chance, Bern comes a-running.

“Git-git-git!” sounds Peppi’s mating call.

“Oh I am here, honey!” an attracted Bern Cacca says as she runs to her hubby hiding out in the sewer, jumps in and continues persuit.

Plop. “Oops did I do that?” Gothic Diana thinks out loud as she drops the dead AA Imbecells into the drain.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Peppi exclaims, barely dodging the battery acid.

Needless to say, Bern and Peppi’s romantic moment was ruined.

The crestfallen Caccas retire to their shack, but don’t bother to shower of course. After all, the couple that stinks together, stays together. As the King and Queen of the plastic throne drift off to sleep, sirens grow louder, and a knock is heard at their entrance…

MoronicArts Classics: Favorite Flicks of the Moroniverse

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?

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

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.

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.

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

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.

“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.

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!”