Tag: humanoid

Chicken, nest egg, feather.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

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!”

Boundaries are important, Carla.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“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!”

Honestly, Carla…

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“What’s that noise? It sounds like a dying cow,” Manteno’s very own bog witch, communal narcadoodle and port-o-dump empress Bernadette Moran Cacca shouts at the voice sabotaging her recital practice:

“You’ve been out there and tried to mix with the animals. Then you meet me. And your whole world changes.”

“You wanna know why?”

“Cuz I’m a liar! Yeah I’m a liar! I’ll tear your mind out. I’ll burn your soul. I’ll turn you into me! I’ll turn you–“

“Mom? What the heck are you doing. You don’t even like Henry Rollins.”

“Just give me one more chance, I will never lie to you again…Hahahahahahah. Sucker!” shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and narcadoodle of the self-righteous kind Carla Moran continues to hiss at her daughter Bernadette, who runs upstairs to her washroom and starts playing accordion show-tunes again.

Not these shapeshifting humanoid turkey vultures

~ Jen ~ 5 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What are your favorite animals?
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Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vultures like Carla and Sonya Moran spend way too much time ruffling feathers and pecking at people. They also poop wherever they want. 0/10 would not pet.

I would create my own dictatorship: Carla Moran

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
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Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture, sterile supply technician and self-righteous narcadoodle Carla Moran is in one of her daily foul moods, plotting out loud her newest grandiose idea.

“In my kingdom, they won’t know how good they’ve got it. Rules are important and I will make sure everybody follows them:

“We will only have one language, English, because I don’t understand any others nor do I care to learn.

All cars will be silver, no exceptions, no decals either.

Everybody will be required to brush their teeth four times a day, use a water pick and report back to me.

Want to see a therapist? Good. All sessions will be recorded and sent to me to make sure you’re not complaining about the supreme leader. It’s MY kingdom, MY RULES.

Everybody will be required to wax the hair off their face. No exceptions.

Only baggy clothes will be worn by everyone.

People will only be allowed to collect practical things and read non-fiction.

We will have three national TV channels, nothing else: HGTV, Fox News and baseball.

Nobody will be allowed to wear underwear or stick their tongues out. In my world–“

“Lady, this is a handicapped spot.”

“I’m only gonna be here for a minute! Calm down!” Carla remarks to the traffic cop out her car window.

“Move your vehicle now or I’m writing you a citation.”

Carla slams her beak on the horn and peels away from the Bradley strip mall, then flies down I-57 hoping to not get caught because in her insecure little bird-brain nothing she does is ever wrong.

Moronic Munchies

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What are your favorite types of foods?
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“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

“Flying straight into solid objects” – Bernadette Cacca

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment
Daily writing prompt
What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?
View all responses

“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.

That poor tree.

“Get Lost, Sonya!”

~ Jen ~ 4 Comments

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

“Sonya’s Not Had Her Coffee, Yet.”

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment

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.

“Go away now! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE!“ cries the imbecile running the counter, waving her arm with an evil grin on her face.

“Okay, okay, okay, calm down you morons!”

Before Sonya could run to the coffee and donut shop across the hall, someone rather familiar pokes Sonya on the back.

“Mom?”

“Hey darlin’!”

“What brought YOU here?”

“Oh, just raising daughters just like you!”

The two humanoid raptors share an embrace.

“Grandpa’s holding a hot barbecue! We’re having a family reunion. Wanna come down?”

“Maybe. What are they grilling up?”

“Soylent Green.”

“I know. But, will they serve coffee?”

Mrs. Moran stands there shaking her head, feathers ruffled. Then she poops.

“Now get out of here, you rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruderudeRobloxRubixCube rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruderuderuderude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruminating rume rube rude ruderuderudeude ruderude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruderuderude rude ruderude rude rude ruderude rude rude rudity Rood Rudy Randy Rhodes rootin tootin’ rude rude rude rube!” goes the word-salad barfed up all over the coffee-shop floor, by their own barista.

The damned all think they’re hot…umm…stuff.

Wax on, Wax off.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“You should get waxed more often! Why don’t you wax your chin!” Carla Moran, Manteno narc-a-doodle, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture demands and gaslights her only daughter, Bernadette Moran Cacca.

“Do you like getting hair ripped straight out its roots, ma?”

“No, but I do it anyway. Shaving makes the hair grow back thicker.”

“Mind your own business!”

Carla turns up the gas on the lighting:

“You might have got that gig you wanted if you waxed! Don’t you care about your appearance?”

“I tell you what, go start a business waxing people for cash and giggles. People will pay a lot of money for that!”

“Go get a real job, do something with yourself Bernadette!”


“No serious, mom, people will pay you even more if you go to their houses and give them a Brazillian at home. Discretion is cool! Call it, ‘Have Wax, Will Travel.’ I can see your cloaca by the way. You might wanna do something about that. I gotta make a pitstop. Smell ya later!”

Bernadette runs for the washroom in the nearby McD’s, because she has the runs, butt of course!

Then Carla poops on a passing car, because she can. Stupid bird.