Don’t Get Ego on Your Face, Becca.

Ennui fills the home of the bill collector and and banjo player for The Haggs, Becca Frickfrick.

Since her twin sister Pamela got arrested for leaving her young grandkids alone to go out stealing lawn ornaments, the desire to seek get revenge has boiled over. Instead of, you know, getting a hobby, Becca chooses to bother people instead.

“It’s all them kids fault. They never work, they sit around on their phones and they broke our Frickfrick towers that we made ourselves from their LEGOs! Dang kids don’t respect their elders. Imma gon’ done teach them pert near a lesson!”

“Ma’am, this is a Buckstars.”

Becca seats herself while waiting for her pumpkin spice latte, and starts talking at Wally Green who is busy dumbing down his newest Artificial Stupidity Robot.

“I hear that Gothic Diana Ross has been stealing lawn ornaments. I’ve been doing an investigation. You know what that is right?”

Wally continues tuning out Becca, searching for the perfect computer voice, so it can to answer his pharmacy chain’s calls instead of paying humans to do it.

“Hello! Hello! Can you hear me?”

Desperate for attention, Mrs. Frickfrick takes her index finger to Wally Green and repeatedly pokes him in the back until he looks up.

“Oh hey lady, why don’t you smile more? I’m Wally, and very single by the way. Did you know our family almost inherited Manhattan Island? The pirates stole the deed from—“

“Nevermind.”

“Read it on the internet. Trust me, it’s true!”

Becca walks over the sinks to wash her hands, a wild bog witch Bernadette Cacca appears.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“6pm”

Thanks!

“No, it’s only 4pm,” the self-righteous narcadoodle, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran says to her daughter Bernadette as she sits down at the table to drink her coffee.

“It’s 6pm, look at my watch.”

“You watch is broke, that’s why you’re always late.”

“Look up there!” Bernadette points to the coffeehouse clock.

“I’m sorry if I offended you. I was only trying to help.” Carla gaslights her own daughter.

In walks a slender blonde woman wearing white-and-purple leggings and a purple-grey shirt.

“Ah, someone new to harass!” Becca thinks to herself.

The woman gets her cake slice and sits in front of Becca, back facing her.

“Hey, did you hear about those missing lawn ornaments, Gothic Diana Ross and her sisters been going round stealing.”

Sybil Kibble turns around.

“Oh hi boss!” Becca sinks back into her seat.

“Why didn’t you come into work today?”

“You have no right to ask me that. Our investigation will be brought forth. You will be in trouble for stealing lawn ornaments. Anybody who stands in the way of what we want to get will be punished.”

”That’s nice.”

“If you want to get right with us, you have to do what we say.”

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Your contract is up this month. Go back to work. This is your final warning.”

Mrs. Frickfrick starts slamming her arms on the coffeehouse tables, slides her feet on the echo-y concrete, pirouhettes her way out the door shouting “I’m not coming baaack! Byyyyeeeeeeeee!”

“This is not an airport, no need to announce your departure,” Sybil Kibble deadpans.

The customers shake their heads and giggle.

A minute later, one of the baristas puts a hot coffee drink up onto the bar.

“Pumpkin Spice for Becca?”

Sybil just rolls her eyes and goes back to her paperwork.

Moronic Racing is a Drag

“Would you like to hear the good news about our religion?” asks the elderly gentleman, sporting a “JC is the Man” tee shirt.

“No, would you like to hear the good news about the Flying Spaghetti Monster?” quips Diana.

“If you don’t join our religion, you will not go to paradise when you die.”

“I’ve died and come back three times and I am in the Rush University Journal of Medicine. When people talk about tunnels and light, I know they’re lying.”

Diana slams the door and gets ready to rehearse with Gothic Mary and Gothic Flo.

A knock is heard at the door.

“Go jump into Manteno Lake” yells Diana.

The knocking persists until the person holds down the doorbell.

Furious, Miss Ross heads out to chase her unwanted visitor.

Miss Ross opens the door.

“Oh hi Deeanna.”

“Di.”

“Is that a threat? Because I can call police–“

“No, you dimwit, that’s my name. Bernadette, you have been calling me by the wrong name since we were in third grade together.” Diana tells her next-door neighbor, communal narcissist and portapotty proprietor Bernadette Moran Cacca.

“Oh. I just wanted to tell you I have been doing these gigs to support the Manteno Optimal Club. I sing showtunes and play accordion. I am collecting donations if you want to chip in, since I know you love music, and it’s going to great cause because I love the community so much…” Bernadette rambles, not realizing Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes are slow clapping to insult Bernadette’s lame attempt at asking for money.

“Oh I am so glad you want to help! How much are you going to give?”

“A blow to the head if you don’t exit.”

Diana closes the door.

Bernadette Cacca walks home and tests the crank on her window-mounted Turd Machine. “Pep, did you forget to oil the turd machine hanging in the living-room window?”

“No, Bern, it’s out of turds.”

“Oh. Where did they go?”

“Little lady, you burned them last night in the fireplace. Don’t you remember?”

“No, I had too much moonshine.”

Diana outside the Cacca homestead

Gothic Diana Ross looks out the arched windows of her home to see if the coast is clear, hoping to dodge any Caccas, and heads outside to board the bus.

Since her turd machine collections are out of turds, Bern devises another way to annoy Diana.

As Diana is just standing there waiting for a bus, Bern starts spamming her with unsolicited, incorrect information.

“Deeanna. This bus is not coming for an hour.”

Diana ignores Bern, enjoying her New Beat mix through her headset.

“Deeanna, it’s raining out. Where’s your umbrella?”

“Do you need to borrow one?” Diana sarcastically replies.

“See, Dee — I can drive you to where you’re going. I love to drive because I am a good person who helps the community.”

Diana continues to enjoy her music.

As Diana sees the bus approach, she takes off her headset so she can communicate with the driver, waving so they can see her.

“You know, Diana, you don’t have to flag the bus down. It will show up anyway,” Bern advertises her unsolicited advice.

Diana boards the bus, pays the fare and sits down in the back. Bern sits a few seats away, since the one next to Diana is already occupied by another passenger.

Diana exits the bus in front of a building near the garage where she dropped off her black 1988 Chrysler Conquest to get repaired, stopping to pause and gather her thoughts.

“That business is closed. Can’t you read the sign?” Bern nags Diana.

Bern Cacca’s turd-eating grin

“Don’t you have a pool to crap in?” the 5’11” Diana says, turns away and makes big strides using her long, slender legs toward the repair shop.

The rotund, 5’4″ Bern gives up as she has run out of ideas, for now.

“What can I do ya fer?” asks the mechanic behind the counter.

“I am her to pick up my ’88 Chrysler Conquest.”

“She’s not done yet. Give ‘er a couple more hours.”

Diana falls asleep in the chair while listening to music on her phone, the playlist changed to heavy metal and experimental noise.

She restfully dreams, drifting off to outer space, not a soul around to ask nosey questions. The beautiful goth queen and the boss of herself snores every so slightly, lightly. As Gothic Diana enjoys her peaceful rest away from her batty neighbors, she is starkly awakened.

“Diana? Diana?”

“Yeah…” a sleepy Miss Ross replies.

“Your car is good as new. She’s all fixed up. You owe us $1991.”

Diana reluctantly swipes her card, and drives onto the highway. It is getting dark on this cold Illinois night.

“Glad to have her back,” Gothic Diana thinks out loud.

Bernadette Cacca pulls up beside Diana in the lane to the left.

“But not her…” Diana also thinks out loud.

“Come on Diana, I’ll race you.”

“Get lost!” Diana exclaims, wishing the pest that is Bernadette Cacca would leave her be.

“Chicken! Bok-bok-bok-bok” the narcissistic Bern eggs on the unwavering Diana.

“Beep! Beep!”

The angered motorist behind Diana driving the white 1980s Toyota is in a hurry. Diana moves ahead.

“Yeahhhh!” an excited Bernadette exclaims as she burns rubber.

Diana and Bern race up and down the highway. Diana drifts as she tries to make her way very far from the trailing Bernadette. All she wants to do is go home.

The two arrive at their Manteno block, Diana first, Bern second.

Parked in Bern Cacca’s driveway is the white 1980s Toyota AE86.

A young man exits the Toyota and asks the approaching drivers.

“Did someone order tofu?”

Bernadette grabs her food and runs upstairs to eat because she cannot wait to poop again. She loves to poop.

An exhausted Diana enters her Gothic Victorian home and hits the silky black pillow atop her wrought-iron bed, falling asleep as soon as she lays down.

Running From Morons Like These.

Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite form of physical exercise?

“Pooping…it’s great for the body! Everyone let’s get REGULAR!”
— Bernadette Moran Cacca, Manteno

“Flying, well yeah!”
— Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran, Albion Indiana

“Martial arts kicks, dancin’, anything to impress a groovy girl well enough to date this Elvis impersonator. I want to find the Yoko to his John.”
— Robbie R. G. Hurlbutt, Kankakee

“Anything I can do to break free from this cell already, m’lady madame.”
— Damien U. Hulrbutt, Area 51

Duhhhhh…I’m just vertical, roaming the free earth forrrr brains brainzz branesssss!
— Undead Greg Schneissder, Kankakee

A Bird Outta Hell

Dead slumlord, malignant narc-a-doodle and shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Sonya Mare Smith Moran wants out of Hell. “Boss, can I enter the new externship you announced?”

“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.

MoronicArts Classics: Robbie’s Singing the Bathroom Blues

Kankakee, Illinois’ number one Elvis impersonator, Wally Green’s drugstore clerk and vulnerable narcadoodle Robbie Hurlbutt has a huge crush on Midnight Supremes lead singer Gothic Diana Ross who isn’t remotely attracted to him, plus she has a boyfriend. He wants to make a huge impression on her because he does not understand the word “no.”

She has a gig coming up soon and he is scheming to find a way to connive his boss, store owner Wally Green into letting him hang up her show poster at work to promote her music as he thinks it will somehow make her like him. 

”Hey Robbie, have a look at these paper towels I invented just for my store: Half the size, twice the cost. All the frustration when you go to rip off a sheet, thanks to me!” boasts a balding, squat, rotund Wally Green as he tips his fishing cap.

“I know, boss, let’s put them on a groovy display table near the front of the store so the suckers — I mean customers — will think they are getting them on sale.”

“Great idea! I am glad I thought of it!” Wally exclaims with glee, throwing his stubby arms into the air.

“Well…now that I, boss, thought of such a splendid idea, I have a favor to ask. This band is really a gas and I want to hang up their poster for their upcoming show at the store,” Robbie says to his superior with bedroom eyes, dreaming of Miss Gothic Diana Ross, the only Boss he could ever want.

“Naw. Get back to work. I need you to make production metrics this time. Start selling people some pills they don’t need.”

Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Lead Debt Collector Sybil Kibble comes into Wally Green’s Drugstore to buy an iced coffee and a bag of dog biscuits for lunch as she forgot hers at home.

“Ehh. Out of order again. Must be that half ply toilet paper,” Sybil thinks out loud.

“The washroom is on the blink?” Robbie asks, aghast.

“Yeah and I am in a hurry!” Sybil shouts as she makes her way over toward the men’s room.

“Do not go in there!” Robbie commands Sybil.

Sybil walks by Gothic Diana Ross in the men’s room, who is looking in the mirror, applying her jet-black eyeliner. She pinches a huge loaf in the stall next to Wally Green, who is busy whizzing away in the urinal. Sybil flushes but does not clean up the mess on the seat, flinging the door wide open with her arm. She makes a beeline for the sink and spots Diana sarcastically chortling away at the Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes poster on washroom wall.

A befuddled Robbie struts into the men’s room. 

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME IN HERE!” Robbie shouts at the women. “THIS IS THE MEN’S ROOM.”

“Get back to work, Robbie, the ladies’ room is closed. Take down this poster while you are at it and apologize to our customers.” Wally Green tells his employee Robbie.

“I am sorry IF I offended you.” Robbie smirks.

“Get lost!” Diana and Sybil chant in unison at his non-apology as they leave the bathroom.

Sybil buys her lunch and drives back to work.

Wally sells loads of paper towels and Robbie is put on temporary janitorial duty until he improves his customer service skills. But don’t lock him in the bathroom. He thinks he is Elvis.

MoronicMerch helps pay the Moron bill.

We here at MoronicArts need to pay monthly to help feed, clothe and water the denizens of the Moroniverse. If you like these idiots well enough to wear them on your sleeve, please consider buying one of official MoronicArts.com shirts:

https://www.teepublic.com/user/moronicarts

“Great gift idea!”
— Sybil Kibble, Kankakee

Or maybe buy some mixed moronic arts? (Not the Scary Barry type) https://jenxmusic.bandcamp.com/

Only 1.50 a pop — CHEAP!

The Moroniverse thanks you!

Paul Atreides Uses the Weirding Way to Break Fakebook

He who controls the spice, controls the Metaverse.

And now for someone completely different…

“Sybil, when did you start playing ball?”

“Ma, that’s not me!” Sybil Kibble replies to her mother JoAnn, while watching the Georgetown game. “His name is Jimmy.”

“Kimmy? Why did you change your name, sunshine?”

“My name is not Sunshine.”

Putting the Gary in Robert Roy Gary Hurlbutt

Ever want to know where wannabe ladies’ man, covert narcadoodle, and Kankakee’s Number One Elvis impersonator Robert Roy Gary Hurlbutt was conceived?

Neither does he. Robbie’s mother PJ Hurlbutt loves to remind her son where she got one of his two middle names in front of his boss, customers and potential girlfriends the groovy time she and his father N. Ron had one night in early 1978.

Not aiming a Turd Machine at the people next door

Wally Green’s word-salad adapter for the Turd Machine Deluxe.

Daily writing prompt
What makes a good neighbor?

Twelve turd machines left. Someone stole eight of them!”  Bernadette growls angrily and proceeds to mount not one but four turd machines, including one she aims out her kitchen window directly at Gothic Diana Ross’ slate Victorian house.

The next day, Gothic Diana Ross briefly steps outdoors to check her mail.

“Bang bang, you’re dead, fifty bullets in the head” Bernadette sings as she cranks the turd machine, firing at Diana and missing every shot. Diana makes it inside, unscathed but angry.

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