After hearing Manteno entramanure, communal narcadoodle and bog witch Bernadette Cacca’s kazoo showtune covers on her husband Brandon’s phone, Pris Dixon tells Bernadette she is her biggest fan and wants to join her fan club, the Poopy Groupies.

After reading the fan message Mrs. Dixon had delightfully shoved into Bern’s inbox, BM Cacca reads this message posted to her Fakebook wall:

“You have been pre-approved to join the Illuminati! Have fun gaining wealth, power and glory in this secret society! Just pay a $19.99 convenience fee to start!

Text “JOIN” to 23

Or contact Emperor Norton to unsubscribe.

Fnord”

Bernadette of course falls for the scamvertisement, and brags at her next Manteno Optimal Club Charity Concert for Tips and Giggles that she had become the world’s newest Illuminatus. Then she blows some more cover tunes out her butt-trumpet.

Pris Dixon interrupts the gig to deliver a special news bulletin, special only in her mind. She complains she did not get her welcome letter, membership card and poop emoji decal. Bernadette farts in her face and keeps on playing, not missing a butt…umm…beat.

“I need to talk to the manager!”

“OK Karen!” one of Bern’s bumlickers heckles Mrs. Dixon.

Sonya Moran, President of The Poopy Groupies pulls Pris Dixon aside.

“Prius, did you pay in Craptocoin?”

“It’s Pris, short for Priscilla. No, I paid cash. Cash is king ya know?”

“We only accept Craptocoin.”

Pris storms out Manteno Optimal Club and calls her hubs, Brandon Dixon, to pick her up.

Brandon pulls his imbecile machine into the middle of the lot, and realizes his biggest crush is inside singing.

The dysfunctional Dixons have a spat and Brandon runs inside to hopefully get an autograph from his steaming hot crush, Bernadette Cacca from the car auto warranty messages. Pris sits alone inside Brandon’s overly lifted shiny white truck, decorated in sexist decals and MAGAt stickers, and rips a huge fart. Of course, she does not roll down the windows because she loves the smell of her own noxious waste.

“Is this…Bernadette…KaCo?”

“It’s Cacca.”

“Hello Mrs. Cankles. This is Mephisto Smith from the Illuminati. Your application got rejected due to insufficient funds.”

“Oh I have plenty of fun. I just met this AWESOME man here at my—“

“Funds. Your transaction failed. We cannot extend you our exclusive fame and fortune unless you pay us first.”

“Oh, let me whip up another batch of NFTs.”

“Mrs. Cocky, I said NSF. In-suff-icient FUNDS.”

“Newly formed turds! I mine my craptocoin the old fashioned way.”

“You need to wire me 19.99 plus a $23 dollar inconvenience fee, or we will reject your application.”

“What’s going on, beautiful lady, Manteno’s very own national treasure?” Brandon Dixon asks the steaming mad pile of crap Bernadette.

Bernadette storms out and slithers her way into the swamp for the night, putting the extra in bog-witch-extraordinaire.

“Honk honk! A-you-ga!” Brandon’s imbecile machine cat-calls as Pris lays on the horn. Brandon reluctantly drives his wife home and barely makes it. Pris of course was running its engine the whole time, because you know, it’s cold?