Carla Moran’s wish list.
The Moroniverse wishes the Midwestern sterile supply clerk, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and self-righteous narcadoodle known as Carla Moran a very happy hatch day! We hope you and your flock have your carrion/steak meatballs, and burp them up too. Yum!
“Anything that gives me good poops so I can burn them later”
– Bern M. Cacca, Bog witch and port-a-potty empress
“Carrion usually, but I will fly great distances to get the best filet mignon.”
– Carla Moran, Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and sterile supply technician
I wanna suck your blood…I mean eat some rabbit pellets. They come out the same way they go in. Whatever you do, keep the garlic away. If you lie and tell me there’s no garlic in your blood I’ll know cuz I have ESP and PMS. I’m a witch who knows it ALL. You can have that one for free. Next customer!
– Missy Rabbit, Psychic Vampyre
“Dog food, any kind, but I prefer Alpo.. Never Brand X though, I can’t stand Elon Musk.”
– Sybil Kibble, Debt collector
“Anything but corn”
– Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt, Area 51 test subject
“We’re all carnivores”
– Tomato Karen & The Haggs
“Brains, brains, branes, braiiiiinnnnz…or poopies.”
– Undead Greg Schneissder
Slumlord, malignant narcissist and shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Sonya Marie Smith Moran squawks and lets loose the gasp of her ego’s death after finding out that the tenants in one of her buildings have organized and formed an association. After all, they’ve got that right, but Sonya does not want them to have it because she’s a moron.
Even though not doing the damage is, you know, cheaper and more effective than damage control, she attempts to ban her tenants’ meeting by arguing and flapping her wings out of retaliation.
Her song and dance fails to make an impression on a single, rightfully-fed up resident. The maladapted personality — whose empathy cells fell out her brain aeons ago — starts casing her tenants across Northern Illinois and Indiana looking for drugs to steal when they are not at home. After all, she has the master key, so why not (so she thinks, anyway).
Sonya gets mixed up along the way, lost in flight across the Midwest and out toward California.
Hoping to get high after watching some Breaking Bad, she makes a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Oops! Not anticipating consequences just like any other run of the mill narcadoodle, Sonya soars into the airspace at Groom Lake and gets shot down.
After captured, the Area 51 folks run experiments on the shapeshifting humanoid vulture known as Sonya Moran. They don’t know what they are dealing with, so they draw blood, run her through an MRI machine and slide a scope through her beak to identify the creepy cryptid. Then she poops.
Sonya gets arrested for FUI (flying under the influence), her blood chock full of all that Adderal she sniffed chasing the dragon up and down. Then she gets thrown into the cage of fellow test subject, neckbeard Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt. Damien gives her the bedroom eyes, a gaze she quickly returns.
“Hello, M’lady, Madame!”
“Oh no, that thing is gonna mate! Quick, yeet her!”
“No wait, this could be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for!” the fellow biologist tells her superior, as the two caged crooks enjoy their conjugal visit.
Meanwhile, Area 51 researchers compare Sonya’s DNA results against the cells-interlinked forensic database. “She’s no angel.” It’s the tip of the iceberg, leading authorities to discover Sonya’s secrets and perhaps the literal skeletons in her closet.
Sonya gets put in restraints and through a series of experiments in the Pain Tolerance Department. A technician force-feeds Sonya 50 hotdogs. Then she pukes them up. Next, a team of scientists slowly play Katy Perry music louder and louder, almost to the volume of a chain-restaurant washroom. Lastly, they bring in an exorcist to pay Sonya a visit.
“Self-reflection is hard, but important Sonya. Have you ever, in one moment, considered that YOU are the problem?”
“Grfhdihfowehfwfhwufthouwofghuwgt!!!”
“I cast thee out in the name of Jesus!”
Sonya pukes up more of those darned hotdogs.
Not knowing what to do with their newly discovered cryptid, the biology team put her back in the cell with Damien.
TO BE CONTINUED
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.
Neighborhood turd-burglar and assistant property manager JB Powers takes over Moran Properties after Sonya disappears, hoping to take over, helping himself to the skims of the profits (and maybe some turds too). Marty the Mailer-Daemon comes into the office with mail, JB freaks out.
“You’re that scary mailman from my childhood with that daemonic voice!”
“No, I’m just a daemon now. A mailer-daemon. The dead letter office transferred me here after I got my fork in the road message.”
JB runs out the office screaming, computer unlocked. Marty glides on over to have a look-see.
“Shall I format, see colon? Naaah, let’s look for buried treasure. Ahh! Oooh, there are some skeletons in these here file closets. Tenant files, ashes of former co-workers, dead bodies? These remains to be seen!” Marty thinks out loud as he sighs and takes a moment to process the newly uncovered data in his inter-dimensional mind.
Satan wants to have a word with his intake clerk, Lucy Furr. He takes the elevator up from his basement C-Suite to pay her a visit at the desk, where she reads the rules and regulations to the long line of newly damned souls, after they have signed their lives away.
“Why did you assign a Sonya Marie Smith Moran to the pale yellow isolation lair? It says right here that she’s to go directly into the jagged rock and bubbling excrement pits!” Hell’s CEO and owner demands of his underling, who had bullied a young autistic lady on a school trip to Italy, before working as a receptionist at many a doctor’s office on Earth.
“I’ve been doing this job for more than ten years–“
“Lucy, I don’t need a resume. I already know your entire life’s history, you’re not going anywhere.”
Business is slow on a typical Sunday at the Manteno Optimal Club.
“Aunt Sonya’s been gone a long time. Who’s gonna run the show around here, and promote my wonderful gas…I mean this fantabulous venue?” Craptoqueen Bernadette belts.
Manteno Optimal Club barista-bartender Ant D. Yu just shrugs.
“I know honey, let’s have a contest,” bartender Dorian James suggests.
“You’re the GOAT!”
“No, YOU!”
Later that evening, the show goes on.
“It’s Sunday and YOU KNOW what THAT means!” orates emcee Konrad Teirant, 1/3 of traveling Vaudeville troupe Moronic Half-Assets.
“Drinks on the hoousssse!!!!” a patron heckles.
“No, silly goose. Do you want to do this job for me?”
“Of course!”
“Not if my wife has her way!” Konrad giggles, gives a snarky grin.
Eight-foot dumpster clown Madeline “Madwoman” Topolla-Teirant emerges and drags the former member by his…er…um…hair.
“It’s talent show time! The winner of this battle of the bands will take over as the brand spankin’ new president of the Poopy Groupies! Let’s have a hand for our first contestant, Wally Green!”
A slow clap echoes throughout the hall of the most Optimal Club in the Northern Illinois town known as Manteno.
“I invented my own version of this here 90s R&B song by Jade, I call it, ‘Don’t Walk Away From This Offer.’
I’ve got craptocoins
Waiting just for you
Made one hundred percent
of some Port-a-poo
Come on, get some new
From the doo-doo-doo
Get them from her dookie vault
Before she Bern’s them all!
I really like your art
This is coming from my heart
It smells just like my farts
From the cheeks that I did part
How will I get in touch
Do you use Whasapp much?
You will make ten grand
From this craptocoin plan!
NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way
NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way
Disarm the turd-machines
Guarding Bern’s turd vault
If you feel kinda funny,
It’s not your fault
They smell really bad
But they’re really cool
Sliding from her bum
Into your inbox!
I really like your art
This is coming from my heart
It smells just like my farts
From the cheeks that I did part
How will I get in touch
Do you use Whasapp much?
You will make ten grand
From this craptocoin plan!
NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way
NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way
Stop all this confusion
Pardon the intrusion
I really like your art
This is coming from my heart
It smells just like my farts
From my cheeks that I did part
How will I get in touch
Do you use Whasapp much?
You will make ten grand
From this craptocoin plan!
(Wally beat-boxes out his butt)
This is all for you, no money down!
NFTs for sale
NFTs for sale
Hot and ready for you
NFTs For Sale
Hot and ready for you
From Bernadette’s cloaca
The old, old fashioned way
NFTs for sale!”
The bulbous 60-something takes off his fishing cap, bows, then tucks his gut back into his trousers.
“That…was…interesting! Wally Green you guys!” MC Konrad announces.
“Who’s our next contestant, competing to win the heart of the farty princess herself, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca?”
Crickets chirp.
“No-one? Now certainly we have some competition? After all, he does own Wally Green’s Drugstores! ALL OF THEM!”
Konrad’s growing frustration begins to show across his wrinkled face, eyes on him, all six of them.
“Going once…going twice…gone! We have a new president!”
The portapotty empress, queen of the throne Bernadette Moran Cacca, reluctantly crowns her new fan-club president, Mr. Wally Green. A few people clap, the rest, “Craaap!”
“Now you’re gonna work for ME!”
“You mean, I can’t just stare at your beautiful face? You should smile more often, honey!”
Lil Ms. Craptocoin Bernadette Cacca drags Wally by the ear, into the back room, to talk about her backside table of contents.
Part 1: https://moronicarts.com/2024/11/24/get-lost-sonya/
Part 2: https://moronicarts.com/2024/12/21/violated/
“What we’re about to do with you, Sonya, is take that farm-to-table approach.” Dr. Jen Jenner explains to her shackled subject, multi-millionaire malignant-narcadoodle landlord, Sonya Marie Smith Moran.
“WAT?” Sonya squawks.
“Restrain that chick!” The good doctor orders the Security Treatment Aides of Area 51.
“Are you sure that thing is safe to eat?” Jen’s assistant Sam asks.
“I’ll call in an expert. I have a buddy of mine on another planet.”
The wall-to-wall screen displays a conference call window.
“Call Quark.” Dr. Jenner dictates into her Communicator unit.
The Ferengi overlord’s face flashes upon the screen. Sonya freezes in fear.
“You’re—you’re—“
“This is the dumbest acquisition you ever made. Where did you get that thing, and why? There is no profit to be made in shape-shifting humanoid turkey vultures! How did your boss sign off on that Purchase Request and Commitment? And why? What was the bona fide need?” Quark explains to the genius Dr. Jen Jenner who speaks 777 languages.
“Quark, you’re my idol! I learned everything I know about business from YOU! Why don’t you speak to ME? Communicate with ME! I love you! Will you marry me?”
The Ferengi leader gives the fluttering feathered fool the evil eye.
“Don’t you speak English? I thought they spoke it on every planet!” the xenophobic turd complains to the foreign friend of the Area known as 51.
“Self-reflection is scary, but necessary.”
“What did he say?” Sonya asks the crew.
“He says he doesn’t like you. Get over it.”
Sonya’s cold, bleak heart fails instantly; the sheer pain of her crush’s rejection sends her beak straight into to the concrete floor, creating a small crack from the impact. Then she poops.
The doors bust open.
“Vitals!”
“Time of death 7:30 AM.”
“Oops, nevermind.”
The technician leaves the room to go wake up someone else.
“We got a stiff! What are we gonna do with this thing?”
“I dunno, get it outta here, bury it somewhere in Indiana.” Dr. Jen Jenner shrugs slightly and moves onto her next task. Life is good.
THE END
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
If you’re not Lizzie Borden, you’re not a life-hack, just an imposter.
YOUR MISSION, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT: DROP ALL NARCISSISTS INTO A VOLCANO AND VAPORIZE THEM SO THEY CANNOT MAKE MORE.
These morons will self-destruct in five seconds.
Drugstore-chain owner, wannabe ladies’ man, and wacky inventor Wally Green introduces a new service. Only available at night, he feels his customers will eternally benefit.
Now, at a Wally Green’s on a corner near you, get your blood taken by their new Vampyre Department! As an added bonus, Wally Green’s Vampyres will make sure to screw up your bill.
Wally Green’s regrets to inform our customers we temporarily suspended sales of garlic in our grocery department.
MoronicArts 
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