Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes sing a number during their “Stop in the Name of Death” tour. Diana tosses a feather boa into the audience. Her obsessed fan and vulnerable narcadoodle Robbie Hurlbutt knocks over a bunch of people to try and catch it, only for it to land in the hands of someone else: Robbie’s boss Wally Green.
“The sillies are manufactured in my brain, roll off the conveyor belt, out my hands and onto the paper.”
PS: “Moron” is the Welsh word for carrot.
PPS: Jen makes MixedMoronicArts, too.
A wild Peppi Cacca in his natural Manteno habitat utters his mating call.
“Git, git, git” he cries, hoping to mount an approaching Bernadette. Displaying the power of his fragile male ego, the Peppi channels his inner Pepe LePew and tries to kiss the bog witch Bernadette, who runs like a cheetah, hiding; plotting her revenge.
Kankakee bill collector Sybil Katrina Kibble got mad at her Chrysler LeBaron because it stopped talking to her, and headed out on the bus to grab a treat. Seated ahead of her was Undead Greg Schneissder. “Do you know you’re a zombie?” Sybil asked Mr. Schneissder. Thankfully she kept her brain, because Greg eats poopies to stay alive, he likes the taste better.
Sybil’s ma JoAnn treated her to a Puppacino and she saved the bone for last.
Life is too short for morons, and Gothic Diana Ross knows it. All she wants to do is ride the bus to go shopping, and leave the driving someone else. Barely catching the bus — and her breath — in this 90-degree Fakeout Summer day in October, the last thing Di needs is a lecture.
“You need to be at the stop when I pull up. I am behind schedule…” the Kankakee bus driver rambles on, blaming his tardiness on his customer again. The bald driver motions toward the slender black beauty, leader of The Midnight Supremes to sit down. She takes off her headphones briefly, asks the driver, “Do I have to pay?”
“You can pay me later.” Diana dons her headset and blasts herself some more Cold Cave.
“You were ten feet from the bus stop sign. You should really listen to my instructions when you board the bus…” the driver continues his tantrum, hoping to blame his customer yet again, or pick a fight, who knows.
“They’re coming to get you…Diana,” Undead Greg Schneissder mockingly says to the unfettered Diana who has heard none of the malarky, rightfully ignoring the nitwit just like she does the moron in the driver’s seat who is supposed to be helping people get from Point A to Point B.
Life is too short to argue with fools who complain to their customers, failing to realize all that wasted time wind-bagging could have been better spent, you know, driving the freaking bus.
“Bernadette, your teeth look awful. If you don’t brush them to my standards, you are going to get Pie-o-rrhea.”
“If you DON’T brush and floss 8 times a day, you could get an infection that could give you a heart attack.”
“East or North?”
“I’m only telling you this because I lost all my teeth.”
“Vultures have no teeth.”
“Don’t talk back to me!” the toothless, shapeshifting, humanoid vulture gaslights her daughter.
Bernadette rips a huge fart and lights it, aims the gas blast toward her evil mother’s face, letting her butt do the talking. She has a bad case of Pyro-hhea.
We made it another year around the Sun. Thank you readers for ingesting these tall tales of the Moroniverse. Yum.
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.
“Calm Down” Jina Vs The Manteno Wonder
It is the year 1997, in the month of May, day the first at the Bradley Amateur Wrestling League (BrAWL).
“In this corner, standing at 5’4”, weighing 250 lbs is Bernadette Moran, the “Manteno Wonder!'”
“In the other corner is her opponent, 240 pound 5’6” ‘Calm Down’ Jina Hansen!
“You beat me last time, kiss your beeehind goodbye!” Bernadette shouts.
“Calm down, calm down!” Jina gaslights.
“I’ll give you calm!”
The two Kankakee County wrestlers go at it.
Stagehands wheel a couple of beds into the ring and the ladies start to jump like five-year-old children. The crowd boos Jina and throws tomatoes, peaches, eggplant, radishes, and ranch dressing into the ring at her which make a sloppy mess over her bed.
Jina picks up the salad ingredients and shoves them onto Bernadette’s bed.
“Clean it up!”
“I’ll clean YOU up!”
“Calm down! Calm down!” Gina gives her familiar line which makes The Manteno Wonder anything but calm.
Bern knocks the crap off her bed and chucks it crap at Jina, who slips on the dressing spilled across the ring.
Bernadette pins Jina with her bum. Then she farts.
“One, two, three!” the referee chants as they beat the floor and the two jump up, Bernadette’s hand raised in victory by the ref, Jina’s farty head reeling from the stench, stomach about to retch.
It is the last time Jina ever wrestles. She is disappointed to find out it is all an act and goes back to her old job harassing customers at a local donut shop.
Listen to Dale leave a message for a debtor based after Sybil Kibble barfed up this silly idea:
MoronicArts 
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