Don’t Make the Mistake of Driving People Batty

Bernadette Cacca has the voice of an angel and the soul of the devil.

Peppi Cacca has the voice of a daemonic troll.

“I got a new gig! And it’s a national one!” Manteno communal narcissist Bern Cacca exclaims to her sociopathic husband and entremanure Peppi, mouth wide open as if to catch a fly.

“Lemme guess…your aunt got you on the front page of the Kankakee Sentinel again.”

Nope.

“More charity shows to make you look good, pretending to care while you don’t? You’re a really good actress,” Peppi emphatically tells his wife.

“Yeah, I know. Not this time.”

“Another recurring walk-on role for a show you can only see on one certain app?”

“Nope. This one is bigger!”

“I don’t care but tell me anyway, I have skunk-weed to smoke after my date with the bottle. Then I have to go harass our next-door neighbors.”

“Out of Warranty Experience hired me for their robocalls! Everybody in the nation will hear wonderful ME tell them their car is out of warranty!” Bern says with glee, then rips a fart. “Mmmmmmm. I love that smell.”

Peppi pounds on the air vent cover to remove his dope from the stash he hides in the duct, rolls up a skunky joint and crawls outside.

“Git-git-git-git-git-git” the clowny Peppiwise calls from the manhole down in front of The Midnight Supremes’ black Victorian Gothic home next door.

“No thanks, you can keep your candy” says Gothic Diana Ross toward the sound coming from the gutter.

A skunky stench emerges from the drain, but not from poop. This is a water drain.

“Git-git-git-git-git-git.”

“Do you have something better to do? I’m not interested and never will be.”

Peppi’s ego deflates as Gothic Diana continues to ignore his plea for attention and goes inside and starts band practice.

Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes get ready to play, beginning with the number “Stop in the Name of Death.”

“Check-check, 1-2-1-2. Six Six. Why is this mic not working?” a frustrated Gothic Diana asks her cover band.

Diana opens up the battery cover. “Dead as a doornail.”

“Why don’t you bury them?” Gothic Flo jokes.

“We should have a funeral,” deadpans Miss Gothic Mary.

As the trio begins the dead batteries’ funeral rites, their ceremony gets interrupted by a phone call.

“Hey” answers Gothic Diana, putting her phone on speaker, hoping the band is getting called about a new gig.

“Don’t make the mistake of driving without a warranty…” the robocall commands. “This is the final call before we close the file. Press one to speak”

Click.

“I’ll press you, stupid moron!” Gothic Diana exclaims.

“She sounds familiar. Who is that?” Gothic Flo asks.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Diana replies.

“Hey, methinks it’s that actor lady next door…the one who owns a port-a-potty business with her husband. Hey Mary, what’s her name?”

“Bern Cacca. She burns poop in their fireplace.”

“Ohhh, that’s why we smell her crap. Does she think it does not stink?” Mary jokes as the girl group erupts in laughter.

Gothic Diana walks outside her home to go for a brisk walk. She hears a sound off in the distance: “git-git-git-git-git.” 

“Oh no, not Peppiwise again,” Diana says to herself as she passes by another rain gutter.

The 5’10”, slender beauty in the black dress gets another cell phone call.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make the mistake of going without a warranty…” 

Click.

“I’ll get a warrant alright, for her arrest!”

Gothic Diana walks over to the house of her Manteno neighbor Bern Cacca to give her a piece of her mind. However there is a line of angry neighbors queued around the street wanting to also have a word with Mrs. Cacca. They knock, to no avail.

“Git-git-git-git-git” emerges from the sewer drain.

“I don’t want to litter, however I have no choice” Diana says as she goes to drop the leaking, dead batteries from her microphone into the nearest gutter. Before she has a chance, Bern comes a-running.

“Git-git-git!” sounds Peppi’s mating call.

“Oh I am here, honey!” an attracted Bern Cacca says as she runs to her hubby hiding out in the sewer.

Plop. “Oops did I do that?” Gothic Diana thinks out loud as she drops the dead AA Imbecells into the drain.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Peppi exclaims, barely dodging the battery acid.

Needless to say, Bern and Peppi’s romantic moment was ruined.

The crestfallen Caccas retire to their shack next-door to the Midnight Supremes.

As they drift off to sleep, sirens grow louder, and a knock is heard at the Caccas’ entrance.

“Hee-hee” Gothic Diana says as she fist-bumps The Midnight Supremes.

Moronic Half-Assets Sounds the Alarm

Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Accounting Chief Konrad Teirant is having trouble balancing the assets against the liabilities, even after having cooked the books to a carbonized mess.

Chief Executive Officer Mack. E. Avelli calls in Konrad to hold a meeting.

“Kon, if we cannot make ourselves look good to our investors, we are going to fail as a company. I don’t need you to be honest about it, I need you to make us some more money. Just get it done.”

“I’ll think up something. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Good,” the fifty-something Mack says to Konrad and starts texting his 22-year-old wife Judithann.

It is midnight here in Kankakee.  

The fire alarm sounds for the third time this week at the low-income housing complex, complete with strobe lights, sirens and a man’s voice repeating the same message over and over again.

As the residents of this sorry apartment building wake up and use the bathroom, Moronic Half-Assets (MHA) takes the elevator up to each floor in the tower. 

“It is midnight and you know what time that is! Come on, guys, let’s all dance! Didn’t you see that four-page flyer we left on all of your doors telling you to exercise more? We knocked on your doors because we had nothing better to do! Resident deejay Konrad is on the ones and twos!” exclaims property manager, half-wit and overt narcissist Madeline Topolla-Teirant.

DJ Konrad Teirant picks some records out of his crate, and begins spinning and scratching, rapping over the music.

Resident Tyrell Fowler — out in the hall wondering what the racket is about — explains to Konrad “dude, you cannot scratch 1950s love songs,” and walks back into his unit.

“Let’s get out the glowsticks everybody!” Madeline says as she pulls them from the fire-hose compartment on the wall.

Robbie sings Elvis tunes as he dances away, doing moronic martial arts moves on the in-between.

The MHA troupe packs up their party-gear and heads upstairs to the next floor in the tower.

When the crew are all done waking up their residents, they head downstairs to the office and turn off the alarms. Finally those poor residents can get some sleep.

“Here is your check, Kon. We will write it off as a business expense here at the complex.”

“Great, I will bring it to CRASS tomorrow,” Kon tells his wife and they head home.

“Oh good, I got it,” a resident says sitting in her bed, as she reviews the video she recorded on her phone.

Konrad Teirant heads into the CRASS office, strutting along the halls with a turd-eating-grin across his face as he makes his way over to the office of his supervisor, Mack E. Avelli.

“Kon! You have a great smile! You should smile more often.”

Kon hands Mack the check.

“Oh good! Now you can keep your job!” Mack tells his subordinate Konrad.

Kon says nothing and heads back into his office to cook more books.

Meanwhile, the CRASS phones light up like a Christmas tree. However the increased call volume is not from debtors calling back the CRASS collectors.

“I saw that video on the news, your accounting dude and his buddies woke some poor folks up in the middle of the night hosting some hokey rave party? What were you thinking?” 

Beep.

“Hey, this Trisha Cobb, better known as Gothic Diana Ross. You know, from The Midnight Supremes? We saw what you did when we watched the news. That’s not cool.”

Beep.

“Hello, this message is for Mr. Avelli. I am Geoff, an auditor with the firm Deltoid & Tush. We were asked to contact you about your accounting records. We are stopping by in an hour.”

“Kon, how do we cook the books now? Ya better cook them good this time,” Mack shouts to an empty room. Since he was up half the night, Kon took the rest of the day off to go home and now he is fast asleep, sawing a forest. 

How to Avenge Scammers and Telemarketers (Updated Version)

– 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!

Can I Talk To Sybil? I’m at the Beach.

A black-and-white image of two people on a video conference.

Kankakee bill collector Sybil Kibble and I had trouble connecting over Zuum, so she went to her local PetMart to buy some dog-food dinner.

Since her favorite — Alpo — was not on sale, she bought this doggie doobie hoping to get high.

Sybil did not get the buzz she wanted after working a long, hard day interrupting strangers’ meals, so she gave it to her ma JoAnn who rents her basement, because JoAnn loves squirrel-watching. What a doozy.

A colour photograph of a squirrel-shaped dog toy. Text reads: "Dog toys and treats crafted with naturally calming doggnip".

[ EYES ONLY: What’s a virtual tip jar? Find out here. Or just look at stuff, that’s okay too. ]

If social media platforms had dating profiles…

Youtube

Location: San Bruno, California

Politically I am:

The copyright police. Wooo-wooo, don’t go to jail now!

About me:

Due process, what’s that?

I am good at:

Kissing up to the MPAA and RIAA, altering statistics for the heck of it

I am known for:

Knocking down content based off accusations alone; installing annoying commercials with cranked up sound effects and bad, bouncy, boingity music before as many videos as possible. I am not attractive among most of my peers, nor most people on the planet.

Twitter

Location: San Francisco, California

About me:

Tweet tweet!

I am good at:

Saying things very quickly. See, that was fast!

I am known for:

The 45th President of the USA and his tiny hands. He is my best customer!

Facebook

Location: Menlo Park, California

Politically I am:

Extremely conservative

About me:

I will tell you only what I want you to know. Shrouded in mystery, I have no support system and I am not good at answering messages.

I am good at:

Giving you updates on stuff you don’t want and not giving you the updates you want.

I am known for:

Useless changes and telling you the same story over and over again. I do not like nudity. Violence is okay.