Sybil Kibble unveils the new “Enigma” computers for her debt collection team at Credit Recovery Associates in Kankakee, known better by their acronym CRASS.
“How do you get on the Internet?” asks a quizzical Dale Davis.
“Just type “INTERNET” and then “RUN.”
“How do you load the Collect-o-matic 2000?” a wary Judy Avelli asks.
“Just hook the machine up to a parakeet cage and type away.”
Try these on bill collectors, too!
(From my 2002 listicle which went viral)
– Ask them if they’ve got beer.
– Start speaking in tongues.
– Tell them that person doesn’t live there anymore. Give them the number of an adult service and tell them that it is their new number.
– Tell them that you’re not there right now.
– Ask them if they accept coupons.
– Start selling them something else.
– If someone calls soliciting donations, tell them you’re poor and ask for money instead.
– Start preaching your religion to them.
– Pretend you’re a recording and say “The number you have reached is not in service. Please check the number and dial again, or talk to your operator for assistance. Recording A4.” Extra points for imitating the 3 rising tones at the beginning.
– Try to hypnotise the caller.
– Play a recording of a busy signal.
– Put on some really annoying music and put your phone up to the stereo.
– Ask the caller if they are single. Then try hitting on them. Be sure to mention your various medical problems, your fascination with odd smells and your shrine to the Lawrence Welk Show.
– Use a voice changer to disguise your voice.
– Rap all your replies to the caller’s questions.
– Ask the caller if they mind if you talk to them on the toilet. Then take a plastic Heinz ketchup bottle and squeeze out ketchup repeatedly. (If you’ve ever used this kind of ketchup, you’ll know what kind of sound this makes!!!!!)
– Speak in ragga chant.
– Try to rhyme with everything the caller says.
– Tell the caller that the person they are trying to reach is a victim of black magic and was turned into a poodle.
– Tell the caller that the person they are trying to reach has passed away, and that you’re the ghost of them.
– Sell them on the “value of high colonics”. Explain your “dedication to good health” in your most convincing, passionate voice.
See where this listicle was referenced by Kirk Cameron and his buddy Ray Comfort!
Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran calls her equally narcissistic daughter Bernadette, reads off names of colors, asking Bern to buy her some paint.
“So not Buttercream, not eggshell, but a few cans of the one in the middle.”
“Can you get me a swatch? You know, that strip with all the squares in the different shades you want?”
“I’m not looking for Cubism.”
“You want me to paint your entire house and buy the paint, with no paint chips? Yeah…no Ma.”
“Come home. I need you to come home.”
“I am home.”
“Come home, Bernadette. Live with me for awhile to save some money.”
“I have my own home to paint.”
Bernadette hangs up her smell phone. Her favorite G.G. Allin ringtone plays 20 seconds later. Bernadette rejects the call, butt of course!
“DON’T. YOU. HANG. UP. ON. ME. AGAIN. I’m trying to help you Bernadette, but YOU’RE not letting me help you,” gaslighter extraordinaire Carla projects onto her only daughter’s voicemail, meanwhile Bernie is busy ignoring her mother, dropping a deuce in her washroom and practicing her butt-trumpet solo.
Bernadette heads down to bog she inhabits to take a dip and spend time with her creepy dolls. After freshening up, she drives to the Manteno Cantina to hang out with her fan club, The Poopy Groupies. Bernie tinkles on the pot for a bit and then the ivories for an impromptu poop-up concert, only slightly less annoying than the pop-up ads spamming all over Kankakee County about her bar…erm…THE bar.
Poopy Groupie president, KaCo resident Wally Green videotapes the entire concert from beginning to end, gives a standing ovation along one with other patron, Pat Splatt.
“Hey there hottie! Gimme a kiss!” Pat Splatt catcalls Bernadette. The married entramanure hugs Pat in a deep embrace and the two briefly make out.
“I’d like to take you for a ride.”
Pat, Bernadette and Wally drive down to Carbondale in Bernadette’s poopmobile to learn what Artificial Idiocracy (AI) can do for them at a conference.
After discovering how much money he can make by using AI instead of hiring actual people to work for his Pantherware company, Pat invents a new AI program along with Bernadette’s input dumps.
Bernadette finishes mining some fresh Newly Formed Turds (N.F.Ts) in Pat’s washroom while Pat compiles his new CrapApp.
“You’re naming the new program after me, right honey?”
“No, Bernie, I’m naming it Ozzy.”
“I want you to name it after me! I made the cover of the Manteno Sentinel more than you! I care so much about this community and my friends! Did you see all the money I helped raise for—”
“Ozzy just died. Don’t you have any respect for the dead?“
“Wow, what incredible advice. What are you not understanding about what I’m saying?”
“You sound like the type of person who, during a tornado warning would go off looking for friends and family. Instead of, you know, following directions. It baffles me that Karens like you think the whole world should cater to them.”
“Yeah, you have absolutely no clue. Good luck with that.”
Pat ends up naming the program Pat-GPT and uses it to generate a 15 minute Deepfake of Bernadette cursing out her fans and mooning them, sourcing Wally Green’s footage. The video goes viral, angering the bog witch enough to seek narcissistic supply elsewhere.
Carla is busy preening when she receives a surprise guest.
“Hey ma, I made something for you.”
“Well I can’t accept this.”
“I made it just for you because I’m your biggest fan!”
“Well now I’m your biggest fan ever since Aunt Sonya flew the coop. What is it?”
“AIR MAIL!” Bernadette exclaims with giggles as she flies the paper airplane at her mother.
“It looks just like you!”
“Talk to the wing!”
Why do people who are fun to talk with prefer texting, while the ones you wish would buzz off always seem to call?
The world’s largest source of natural gas, Mr. Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt, was captured trying to break into Area 51 while running from the law for a crime he committed in Illinois. Instead of digging a desert hole, the camo dudes brought the bulbous neckbeard narcadoodle to the Alternative Fuels Division for daily flatulence testing.
“Security! Come quick! These bats are crapping all over my cell!” Damien exclaims to guard Becky Konkan.
“Don’t get so worked up, Damien. These are your new friends. Try and get to know them.”
“I’m gonna get rabies!”
“Nope, their testing all came back negative. They’re going to hang around us for awhile.”
“I don’t want them watching me poop…” Damien says as he waves the bats away and they retreat to the ceiling rafters above the cell block, then sits down to pinch a loaf. “Phheeeewwwwww” Damien brags. “Look at the size of that log. Peeew! Peeeew! Peeew!”
“Oh boy oh boy oh boy!” Bourbonnais multiplex clerk, fedora-sporting neckbeard and communal narcadoodle, Damien Hurlbutt exclaims when he gets a link to a message bearing the subject “thank you Damien Hurbutt–old soul and tender-heart.” It has arrived from one of his favourite puppeteers on Fakebook, whom he has been stalking, mailing weekly postcards to her home address.
Damien hems and haws, not used to getting the praise to which he feels entitled. He clicks the link, which leads to a “You Are An Idiot” video, complete with Fakebook comments section on the female performer’s page rightfully poking fun at his narcissistic behavior.
Damien rages due to his narcissistic injury, ego deflated to the size of a pea. He throws his computer out the window, hitting an older lady on the head, instantly killing her.
Bored and fearful he will be locked away forever, without a chance for narcissistic supply, Damien hoovers his ex-wife Lori. Ennui gets the best of him: Damien emerges from nothing by false flagging Lori’s social media content, hoping to get her into Fakebook jail. Instead, Damien goes to real jail – Kankakee County jail – as he awaits his trial for manslaughter and stalking.
Damien’s enabler, fellow communal narcadoodle, and fart-enthusiast Bern Cacca posts bail. Damien goes home, assuming he will get the acquittal to which he feels entitled.
Think again.
A bounty hunter is sent out to sniff out Damien; Bern’s transaction failed because she paid in Craptocoin and burned it all…in her fireplace.
“The only thing I like better than mining Craptocoin, is burning it…” Mrs. Cacca says as she cooks her books at the Manteno shack she shares with her husband Peppi.
Damien pursues Bernadette, who is not home, nor at work. Damien heads over to the bog she inhabits, which she uses as a bathtub and and slow-cooker for devouring the living. Unfortunately for fugitive Damien, the sign at Bern’s Bog reads “the bog witch is out.”
Damien gets a “fake news” tip sent to his flip-phone by Pat Splatt that Bern went to Area 51 for a toxic secret flatulence experiment. Keep flames away from butts.
Damien tries to sneak into Area 51 after taking pictures of the “Photography Prohibited” Area 51 “No Trespassing” sign.
Damien heads toward the once-secret base nicknamed “Dreamland” and gets rightfully arrested by the military police.
The officers, tired of shooting people on sight and patrolling the same remote corner of Nevada, decide to bring Damien in and question him. Damien sits down at a metal table, glances down at the floor, all by his lonesome. Out of seemingly nowhere, a group of five military personnel materialize in the room, all facing the bulbous neckbeard. ”Face to Face” by Daft Punk plays over the public address system, beat-matched into a remix of ”Paris 400” by SebastiAn. Area 51’s DJ really likes French House Music.
“Nice floor tiles you have, M’Lady!” Damien smirks, hoping to impress the leader with his negative humor.
Obviously not impressed, the Area 51 security team haul Mr. Hurlbutt into a solitary cell in the top-secret experimentation wing, where human and extraterrestrial scientists work to develop a “super-soldier” performing experiments like turning humans into giant spiders and installing amplifiers into cyborgs to blast Katy Scary music to scare away terrorists.
Damien makes his one phone call to Pat Splatt, asking where Bernadette had gone.
“Bern is at Area 21, not 51”
“Why did you text me she was at Area 51 then?”
“Umm…typo?”
“Ma, what are you doing here?” Manteno communal narcadoodle, bog witch and Queen of the Plastic Throne Bernadette Moran Cacca asks her mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and narcadoodle of the self-righteous kind, Carla Moran.
“Why don’t you dress like the other girls? Don’t you want to be in style? That dress looks terrible!”
“Why the heck are you wearing a French Maid costume?”
“Your place is a pig sty! I’m going to clean it up!”
I just may have been interviewed on a really cool comedy show called “The Aunty Sochelle Hour-Ish Show” about the Moroniverse and shapeshifting humanoid turkey vultures like Carla Moran. Maybe. Methinks a wee little birdy told me that the star of this show had performed with Second City and at The Comedy Store.
I may have just talked about them on the radio too…something something creature something…with a witch that’s really nice, who does not inhabit a bog (unlike Bernadette Cacca).
On one cold Manteno day of many back in 1989, young bog witch Bernadette thought it would be cute to annoy her teacher one too many times by drawing all over the inside of her math book, so the teacher scolded her.
“Stop drawing in your math textbook!” Mrs. Dickinson commanded.
“Okay, I’ll just draw on the outside cover instead!” Bernadette smirked before getting sent to the principal’s office.
Manteno’s very own bog witch, entramanure and communal narcadoodle Bernadette M Cacca loves her Turd Machines so much, she mounted one on each wall and windowsill.
“Gotta get rid of that Gothic Diana Ross!”
— Bernadette Moran Cacca, Manteno
She even guards her basement turd vault, full of craptocoins and Newly Formed Turds (N.F.T.s) with one Turd Machine Deluxe on each side.
Poop only, please.
MoronicArts 
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