Press your buttons and land on one of these great prizes. But don’t land on Lizzie Borden, she’ll put an axe to all your winnings!
Coming November 31st to The Manteno Optimal Club
Let us hear, hear from our donors!
“I donated a whole buttload of freshly mined craptocoins because I’m so generous like that! I even designed the game board! You can win a date with yours truly, also! Free admission, with just a two drink minimum. Tip generously or I’ll shove the gratuities jar in your face!” — Bernadette M. Cacca, owner of Peppi’s Portapotties and (very) part-time actor.
“I donated this trip to Gary, Indiana to let everyone know that was where my dear boy Robbie was conceived!” — PJ Hurlbutt, retiree
“Ma, shut the heck up!” — Robbie Hurlbutt, clerk at Wally Green’s
“No, Sonya, we need you to keep filing these intake forms of the newly damned.”
“But boss?”
“Don’t talk back to me. Now get to work!”
Sonya files for another 666 hours until the bell rings. “I wanna ring the bell, I wanna ring the bell, why can’t I ring the bell?” Sonya screams as she throws a childish tantrum because she’s not getting her way, much to the annoyance of Hell’s CEO Satan.
“Sonya, you can do your externship on Earth for up to 12 hours, then you’re to be summoned back to Hell.
“Hot dawg!” Sonya exclaims.
Poof! Sonya immediately manifests her apparition in Kitty Bee’s bedroom.
“Why don’t you talk to me? Why don’t you ask me? Why did you report me to the feds?” Sonya-Daemon says to her former tenant to try and intimidate her. It’s 5:00 AM.
“Be gone in the name of the Light! With this your soul I smite!” Kitty grabs her can of D-Mon-Con and sprays beaucoup sage all over Sonya-Daemon.
“And may it be smote.”
“I’m glad I bought two of these. They were buy one, get one half-off at Wally Green’s. Now with extra sage, nice!”
“Wow, that’s a record!”
“Say what now boss?”
“You lasted two minutes and you’re back to Hell already. Now get to work! I need you to do 13 files a minute. Go now! Byyyeeeeeee.”
Satan disappears to mind another department of Hell.
Bernadette Cacca, her husband Peppi and Demanda Broccoli all have one thing in common: Ennui.
“I saw this broad over here, had to go around her…Hi, I’m Demanda, I’m a friend of Mexico, he’s my brother,” she says to Bernadette, extending her hand to shake, holding a beer in the other. Bernadette pauses…then clarifies:
“You mean you’re a friend of Peppi’s.”
“I don’t have no friends. I tell a secret, three people know then I gotta kill both of them,” Kankakee debt-collector and humanoid vegetable Demanda Broccoli tells communal narc-a-doodle Bernadette Cacca, before walking over to her secret lover/sociopath Peppi Cacca, while they’re all sitting outside the Cacca’s Manteno homestead drinking and smoking skunkweed.
“Does Mexico have the Spanish flag?”
“No, they have their own flag, Demanda.”
“Who has the Spanish flag?”
“Umm…Spain”
“Where is Spain?” Demanda asks, guzzles even more beer from her plastic cup and then steals some moonshine from Peppi’s flask.
“Dude, you stank!” Demanda makes fun of her side piece.
“Time to burn some poopies, honey!” Not to be out-stinkified, Bernadette plays a sour note on her butt-trumpet, then lights a match.
BOOOM!
Demanda gets so blown away, her florets, stem chunks and crown make a mess all over the Cacca’s front lawn.
“Mmmmmm! Veggies for supper! I will sure done get regular now!” the bog witch cackles as she picks up the pieces of Demanda.
Psychic vampyre rabbit Missy Hey works at Wally Green’s collecting blood in their lab after dark, before the sun comes up.
A customer runs up to the counter near the drawing station to complain.
“I pulled in at the stroke of midnight. It’s now 2:00 AM. Do you know where your patients are?”
“Heyyyy! Guess what? I have a bone to pick with you. There’s no way you’ve been waiting two hours, I saw you coming before you got here.”
“You may be psychic but you don‘t know everything!” the customer understandably reacts to Missy’s dismissal of his concerns.
“I’ve been working here 38 nights! I know every vampire in town. I’ve been in this job longer than any one else in Kankakee County! Don’t I know you from the refuge?”
“What refuge? Do you mean the homeless shelter? That was 8 years ago.”
“No the refuge.”
“The refugee center? I have been volunteering there but it’s been awhile since they needed me.”
Wally’s getting fed up with his lab tech. “I’m giving you a written warning, Missy, you’re not making production because you talk too much with the patients. We are losing a lot of money and that’s why I opened this business, to make as much as possible. Just get your work done or you’re fired!”
Feeling the heat from her write-up, Missy applies to work for “Scary” Barry Reynolds at his new School of Mixed Moronic Arts in a strip mall in Noble County Indiana so she can annoy people over there instead. “I love to talk” is listed in her unique set of qualifications along with a set of bowling scores on her “psychic vampyre” resume.
Feeling so impressed by her credentials, Barry unexpectedly hires her after asking only two interview questions from his office near the Northeast border of Indiana and Ohio.
Barry immediately puts Missy to work as his new secretary, working evening shifts.
”Hey! This is Missy from Barry’s School of Mixed Moronic Arts. Call me back to confirm your class or we will have to cancel.”
She makes calls to bother customers four times nightly to “confirm” their appointments, hound them about their bills and missed classes, even after they ask her to stop calling.
“Hey! I’m Missy calling to remind you that you’ve not been to Mixed Moronic Arts in 30 days. You need to keep coming in to keep your membership active. We are open from 7:30 PM till 3:00 AM every week from Monday through Friday. Thankies!”
Message deleted.
“You have a sexy voice, I bet you’re handsome!”
Click.
“Why is that same blue van here? It’s blocking my view. Its registration expired four years ago, it’s such an eyesore…” Missy bothers her boss.
“It’s from the guy that was squatting next door and hoarding. He had done got it removed two weeks ago. Don’t it smell better over yonder now?”
“I went bowling and got a 99 in two games!”
Missy hounds a new student who had just walked in the door. “Why are you wearing THAT? It looks terrible.”
“Missy, just ask them to change into their uniform and remove their shoes.” Barry commands.
She then walks over to the audio room near the dojo and attempts to mix CDs like records on a turntable.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m a deejay!”
Barry — and his students — have had enough of Missy’s antics.
Barry her puts her in the dojo for others spar, accidentally forgetting on purpose to tell them that Missy has no scythe-fencing skills, nor psychic-self-defense, just plenty of offense. He watches from his washroom while eating popcorn., practicing his defensive pooping.
“Come here, I need to show you something…” shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran hisses from the atop her daughter Bernadette M. Cacca’s Manteno home where she is busy playing kazoo pop covers as she burns the port-a-potty waste in her washroom.
“I’m busy.” Bernadette begins to play harder/faster/bigger/stronger into her toy instrument.
“Bernadette, I have some projects for you to do!”
“I’m all pooped out.”
The vulture takes flight and makes air donuts around the Caccas’ property.
“I’ll smack some sense into you if you don’t—”
“BOOOM!”
Carla’s extra-long, pointy beak slams into a tree, creating a large crack in its bark, tail-feathers shaking as the creepy craptor wiggles her entire body around trying to break free from her own self-imposed prison.
But not for long with our new Polt-R-Gone! Spray that spectre with our patented sage blend!
Got a witch in your bog? Hasten that hag’s hustle away from your hedgerow!
Get out the ghouls, daemons too with our maximum-strength, pure sage D-M’n-CON!
But wait, there’s more! Don’t wait another 28 weeks or another 28 days: Prepare yourself for the apocalypse now with our new Zombie Zapper! The undead will just walk right into it…eventually!
Buy one, get one half off (but never free) at your local Wally Green’s! (Not valid in Manteno, sorry!)
Kankakee pyramid schemer Doris Krabalsky and Bourbonnais communal narc-a-doodle Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt both arrive at Hell’s in-processing department at the same time.
“Sign the register” says Hell’s in-processing clerk and former Medical Office Assistant, Lucy Furr, who was notorious for bullying her roommate on their college trip to Italy. Meanwhile, Doris and Damien try to take over.
Taking a break from her shift in the boiling lava and bubbling excrement pits, newly damned malignant narcadoodle Sonya Marie Smith Moran decides that it’s time to take a break. She takes the elevator down to the food court and walks into a Buckstars.
The shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and narc-a-doodle walks up to place her order.
”Hi, I’d like an extra large, hot—“
“You can’t order here.”
“OK…where do I order?”
“You’ve been banned and not allowed to come back here.”
“Why? I’ve never even been here.”
“You’ve been banned,” the ogre robotically repeats, tag on her shirt reads “Jovaan.” “You’ve been banned and not allowed to come back here.”
This is not your typical Buckstars café.
“So, do you sell coffee here?”
“You’re being SO RUDE!” cries the customer ahead of her in line, a 40-something haggardly blonde banished to eternal darkness for breaking a man’s heart, harassing her employees and leaving a wave of destruction behind her everywhere she went.
“Who are YOU?”
“I’m someone who thinks you’re being rude. Very rude, lots of rude, you’re so rude rude rude rude–”
“I don’t even know ya lady!”
“I’m someone who thinks you’re being rude. Very rude, lots of rude, full of all the you’re so rude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruderuderuderude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rudity Rudy rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude–” cries the damned fool who thinks she runs the place, Jamie.
She’s not the first – nor the last – to try and take over Hell.
Kankakee art student, grifter and narc-a-doodle Pat Oswald Splattposts to Redditopixly begging for volunteers to help with his “nonprofit” app project that’s really for profit.
He interviews three people remotely – all three he rejects even though they were well-qualified – simply because he is a sadistic moron who gets a high off hurting people’s feelings. The empathy is small with this one. Size matters.
Taking a different approach, Pat posts to Fakebook and the X-Parrot begging for free art, a fancy computer and people to tell their friends about his new, non-existent gadget in the making.
After asking a bunch of people if “this is still available?” he starts to get a few replies from people who are a little too nice.
“Hi, you asked about the computer?”
“I don’t like that machine. Can you give me a bigger hard drive?”
“I’ll show you my hard-drive! Click.”
“Yes, the art is available! I’d like to help out.”
“That drawing will suit. Can you make it a little bigger?”
“If you want it, pick it up. Otherwise I will sell it.”
“Come on man, it’s for a good cause!”
“It’s already framed. I put a lot of time into that picture. Time is money and mine is valuable, yes mine. Waste my time again and I’ll send you a bill!”
A “This person is no longer available” message promptly appears at the bottom of the chat window.
Pat messages 89 more people, but his calls and texts go unanswered.
Undead Greg Schneissder walks by Pat’s house, pounds on his door, busts it down.
“Got anyyy braiiins?”
Pat gives Greg the stinkeye, waves him away with one hand.
“Poopies?”
Pat reaches for his shotgun, however the zombie walks away before the non-existent warning shot could be non-fired.
Greg wanders over to a neighbor’s apartment and stares into his window, fixated on the television game-show.
“We surveyed 100 women and asked them, what about men—“
“Farts!” the contestant answers after slamming her hand down onto the set-piece.
“What about men do women find most attractive? Let us seeee…FARTS!”
“AAAANT!”
A big-ol’ X covers the screen and Greg giggles at it, slowly pointing his left arm or finger, he doesn’t remember which.
As Mr. Splatt barricades his newly broken door to keep out zombies, a newly formed text appears on his phone (not to be confused with Newly Formed Turds).
“I thought I’d never hear from him!” Pat thinks aloud, as he makes a mad dash for the door.
After moving the heavy boxes, metal sculptures and broken computers, he opens the doorway to let in his delivery.
Too late!
“Heres your free crap!” the Fakebook freebie group member yells out to Mr. Splatt.
“What? Pat shouts as the dump-truck lowers a whole load of manure all over his front lawn – and him.
“What the truck? The landlord is going to freak out!” exclaims a neighbor.
“Yummm, turds!” Undead Greg cheers as he makes his way towards the pile o’ pig poo, sits down, takes out a fork and a spoon.
MoronicArts 
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