Forty-something communal narcadoodle, show-tunes singer for charity and poopyburner Bern Moran Cacca made a TakTik video confessing her love for fellow pooper GG Allin, hoping to send it to him in private, only to realize he has been dead since 1993.
#PoopingForBernadette
What are you listening to on the radio?
Manteno communal narcissist and entremanure Bern Cacca is listening to “Party Poops” as she peels out her driveway, thinking she is really drifting, when she is just a crappy driver.
“Aw, man. I have these diet coffee beans for sale and nobody wants to buy them. All I get are panhandlers asking for money and free coffee. Got any ideas, Pat?” Kankakee street schemer Doris Krabalsky asks local spammer, Pat Splatt.
“Let me introduce your idea on social media! I have a proven strategy that will certainly win for both of us!”
“This bossbabe is in to win it!”
“I will get cookin”. Pat logs on Instaphoto and begins to look for accounts with thousands of followers or more.
“Look at this account. Lots of videos, but the most liked ones are so weird. The hot videos not so much. Oh, look at this account! Sterling Heights with no culture. I will keep looking” Pat says at a local cafe, as he combs the accounts to target with messages like this:
“Diet coffee colon cleanse – new product to promote gut health! No calories! Ask me how!”
Pat can be heard on the phone with Doris. As Pat puts his phone on speakerphone, a cafe customer catches on to what he is doing and plays the Monty Python Spam song out loud from her tablet. “Where are you?” Doris asks Pat.
“I plan on making big money here. We can make lots together. I can hire people, get them credit and then fire them, not planning on keeping them anyway.” Doris and Pat share a chortle.
Pat looks for Instaccounts to spam inbetween his looking at girls on the dating site Tindling. “She’s not too hot. Swipe left. Ooh look at this Insta account. It has 100k followers.” Pat calls people who did not reply back to his oodles of spams ableist slurs and homophobic slurs as insults. Doris thinks it is funny. The cafe patrons share dirty looks aimed in his direction.
Pat’s Sixerr and Paybuddy accounts keep getting declined. Pat cannot seem to figure out why. He thinks the internet is for spam and that he should be able to help his customers make money under his influence over people.
“It is all good. Don’t worry. It will all work, Doris. Gotta run.”
Pat checks his Instaphoto account. A message pops up: “your account has been terminated for illegal activity.”
“Oh crap! I will just create another account.”
Pat logs onto Instaphoto. “Please enter a credit card.”
Pat tries all his cards. Declined.
The wheel starts spinning. He cannot log on. A young lady approaches him.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“No.”
“Drink, then?”
“No.”
“We have detected via our IP that you have been perfoming illegal activity. The police are on their way.” The barista informs Pat.
“You, you WOMAN!”
“No use trying to leave, our nice tall ladies guarding the door will stop you. Oh good, police came fast! Yayyyyyy!” The barista claps her hands and the entire cafe erupts in laughter and applause, except for Pat Splatt.
“School bus parts! Sybil, let’s pull over and get some of those!” JoAnn Kibble exclaims to her daughter Sybil as she drives past a school.
“It says School Bus Parking, silly” Sybil corrects tells her ma.
“School bus party?
“Parking!” Sybil screams.
“Oh darn.”
JoAnn Kibble, her daughter Sybil Kibble and JoAnn’s bestie PJ Hurlbutt are joined by a hungry visitor.
Damien Hurlbutt, movie clerk for Teirant Cinema-13, stars in their new TV commercial. Can you feel his enthusiasm?
“I know.”
— Damien.
Illinois neckbeard, communal narcissist and movie theater clerk Damien Hurlbutt went off the deep end when his then-wife, Lori, stopped tolerating his verbal abuse and rightfully left him.
He sent this letter to her psychologist and her psychiatrist after she separated from him. Apparently, this ticket clerk thought he knew more about psychology than the licensed clinicians who practice. The latter provider called it a “lunacy letter.” The former said she had never seen anything like it in all her years practicing.
Who makes up this stuff?
Oh yeah, people with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD).
“I drove all the way from Manteno just to play Running in the 90s and it’s broke. Get me the manager!” demands the entitled 43-year old Bern Cacca, throwing a fit like a bratty kid at a Schmucks grocery store.
“I am the manager,” says Brenda who walks away and laughs at Karen, I mean Bern.
Bern says “I should get a free game” as she storms out the store and peels away in her white sedan, thinking she is in a drag race with the other customers.
Oh man, the douchenozzle I encountered on yet another medical trip surely wanted to have his way! He rode all the way on his high horse from Toledo to the seats occupied by a nice lady who boarded a few stops earlier in Indiana, and tired me who got on at Chicago.
Like Charlie with his golden ticket, this bunghole headed to Buffalo huffed and puffed because someone else was sitting in seat number 10. No, he did not move to another vacant seat, because that made too much sense. Instead, he made demands that the nice social worker next to me get up from HIS seat.
After the nice lady moved out of sight and mind from this moron, that ennui-consumed piece of work sat down next to me and made demands I plug in his charger. No please, no thank-you, he did not even ask.
I told the bumbling tool he did not have to sit there. After all, if he moved to another seat it would be the exact same thing, just somewhere else on the train. He would even get to his destination. Nope — the dope started calling me names like a schoolyard bully.
But wait — there’s more! The beligerant gentleman made sure to mansplain to me that there is one outlet per passenger. Naaaaw.
I took the high road and found another seat, the fool chose to die on that hill. Good for him — I bet he wants a prize.
Here you go, Fool on the Hill: I award you Moron of the Week! Now go sit down and do your homework. If you are good, you won’t get detention.
Medical trips really suck. Jen wants to travel for fun. Buy her a ko-fi (or just say “hi.”)
The Beatles Rock!
A few years from now, Communal narcissist and poopyburner Bern Cacca, who wanted to be everybody’s friend, but only to use them finds herself forced out of Manteno and into the pits of Hell.
“Satan, why am I here?”
“But I did all those favors! I played accordion for the Optimal Club! I gave people rides! I–“
“Did you do those things to help, or to make yourself look good?”
“Uhhh…”
“And how many times did you admit you did something wrong. Count them. I will wait. So will my visiting intern Gothic Diana Ross. She will take you to your cell. Do you prefer jagged rocks or bubbling excrement?”
MoronicArts 
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