“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.
“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.
“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?”
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.
“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
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.
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:
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.
Some 500-some-odd silly stories later, we are still pooping up these pretend stories featuring our fake bent carrots.
Unlike ElectronicArts, MoronicArts has not been sold to any private equity firm. We are still made in the USA from recycled electrons, used tissues and hydrogen sulfide.
Bernadette Cacca, her husband Peppi and Demanda Broccoli all have one thing in common: Ennui.
“I saw this broad over here, had to go around her…Hi, I’m Demanda, I’m a friend of Mexico, he’s my brother,” she says to Bernadette, extending her hand to shake, holding a beer in the other. Bernadette pauses…then clarifies:
“You mean you’re a friend of Peppi’s.”
“I don’t have no friends. I tell a secret, three people know then I gotta kill both of them,” Kankakee debt-collector and humanoid vegetable Demanda Broccoli tells communal narc-a-doodle Bernadette Cacca, before walking over to her secret lover/sociopath Peppi Cacca, while they’re all sitting outside the Cacca’s Manteno homestead drinking and smoking skunkweed.
“Does Mexico have the Spanish flag?”
“No, they have their own flag, Demanda.”
“Who has the Spanish flag?”
“Umm…Spain”
“Where is Spain?” Demanda asks, guzzles even more beer from her plastic cup and then steals some moonshine from Peppi’s flask.
“Dude, you stank!” Demanda makes fun of her side piece.
“Time to burn some poopies, honey!” Not to be out-stinkified, Bernadette plays a sour note on her butt-trumpet, then lights a match.
BOOOM!
Demanda gets so blown away, her florets, stem chunks and crown make a mess all over the Cacca’s front lawn.
“Mmmmmm! Veggies for supper! I will sure done get regular now!” the bog witch cackles as she picks up the pieces of Demanda.
The dusk is hitting Manteno, Illinois. Before she has a chance to slither into her bog, a certain village trustee gets into it with a disabled veteran. Having no shame, she will do anything to put others down. The swamp witch emerges from seemingly nowhere.
“Why are you taking pictures?” Bernadette Moran Cacca bothers someone minding their own business, enjoying the sunset. Ennui and lack of narcissistic supply has given her the cravings for attention of any kind, good or bad.
“I live here. Nice night.. Nice to meet you. I’m Shanna.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s me, Bernadette, I went to school with you.”
“Oh hey, you’re still in Manteno?”
“Now you see the real me! I don’t like you. Now keep on walking.”
“Now if you disagree with the fascist council member that also runs the Optimal Club, you will be shut down and shut up,” Gothic Mary, member of the Midnight Supremes tells Shanna.
“Oh hey, I remember you Mary, what’s up?”
“She used to get mad at my sonic sneezes that I cannot control and then peel out her driveway yelling the N-word. I had told our classmates but nobody would believe me. She was much more prejudiced than I thought but pretended to be an ally who cared about other cultures, and people in general. She actually had said she got a better ‘gold star bisexual’ to taunt me into taking her back, thinking I’d get jealous. First she was bragging on about how perfect things were going between them, that I was ‘too sensitive’ to give her what she wanted, and how she will change and mold everyone in town into something special. This town has always been great and would be even better without her and her Craptocoins.
“Who’s that smelly dude over there in the baggy clothes? Is he a meth-head?”
“Hey Greg! I hear they sell fried brains down in Evansville, Indiana,” Shanna yells out. Gothic Diana Ross joins Mary and Flo in giggling.
“Okayyyyy…In America there are three mountains in regions where it snows on top of the river and in other regions it is 180 degrees because mountains control temperatures backward towards chemtrails. Unless we make inflatable artificial bounce mountains on the face of the Moon base to control the weather, we will always have these weather problems which can be changed in five minutes. Brains? Brains branes brainnnnnnz…”
Undead Greg Schneissder wanders down to Indiana to find himself one…if only.
Greg heads to a truck stop to make a pit stop so he can empty out his toxic waste and then immediately refuel. While browsing the store, Greg shouts over to a man microwaving a packaged sandwich, “Don’t open that microwave until after it stops beeping!” The trucker just shakes his head and begins to pry the plastic upon plastic from his late night meal. “You’ll get radiation poisoning if you open it too soon. It’s in the manual.”
Greg comes up empty and eats some poopies instead, left behind some man who didn’t flush down the brown.
Ragged and scrawny as ever, Greg continues walking down to Evansville, after hitching a ride on a manure truck and sleeping in the back.
“Closed for rest and reset? What’s that?” Greg says aloud as he pounds on the window, breaking the glass. The burglar alarm goes off immediately as Greg climbs in, loiters around the restaurant looking for a seat.
“Doooooes this TV get the Aaant & Ding Show?
Undead Greg walks toward the basement to look for the cooler full of chilled brains only to fall down the stairs, crumpling into a bag of bones, a waft of dust smelling oddly like cheese puffs fills the building. Yum.
Psychic vampyre rabbit Missy Hey works at Wally Green’s collecting blood in their lab after dark, before the sun comes up.
A customer runs up to the counter near the drawing station to complain.
“I pulled in at the stroke of midnight. It’s now 2:00 AM. Do you know where your patients are?”
“Heyyyy! Guess what? I have a bone to pick with you. There’s no way you’ve been waiting two hours, I saw you coming before you got here.”
“You may be psychic but you don‘t know everything!” the customer understandably reacts to Missy’s dismissal of his concerns.
“I’ve been working here 38 nights! I know every vampire in town. I’ve been in this job longer than any one else in Kankakee County! Don’t I know you from the refuge?”
“What refuge? Do you mean the homeless shelter? That was 8 years ago.”
“No the refuge.”
“The refugee center? I have been volunteering there but it’s been awhile since they needed me.”
Wally’s getting fed up with his lab tech. “I’m giving you a written warning, Missy, you’re not making production because you talk too much with the patients. We are losing a lot of money and that’s why I opened this business, to make as much as possible. Just get your work done or you’re fired!”
Feeling the heat from her write-up, Missy applies to work for “Scary” Barry Reynolds at his new School of Mixed Moronic Arts in a strip mall in Noble County Indiana so she can annoy people over there instead. “I love to talk” is listed in her unique set of qualifications along with a set of bowling scores on her “psychic vampyre” resume.
Feeling so impressed by her credentials, Barry unexpectedly hires her after asking only two interview questions from his office near the Northeast border of Indiana and Ohio.
Barry immediately puts Missy to work as his new secretary, working evening shifts.
”Hey! This is Missy from Barry’s School of Mixed Moronic Arts. Call me back to confirm your class or we will have to cancel.”
She makes calls to bother customers four times nightly to “confirm” their appointments, hound them about their bills and missed classes, even after they ask her to stop calling.
“Hey! I’m Missy calling to remind you that you’ve not been to Mixed Moronic Arts in 30 days. You need to keep coming in to keep your membership active. We are open from 7:30 PM till 3:00 AM every week from Monday through Friday. Thankies!”
Message deleted.
“You have a sexy voice, I bet you’re handsome!”
Click.
“Why is that same blue van here? It’s blocking my view. Its registration expired four years ago, it’s such an eyesore…” Missy bothers her boss.
“It’s from the guy that was squatting next door and hoarding. He had done got it removed two weeks ago. Don’t it smell better over yonder now?”
“I went bowling and got a 99 in two games!”
Missy hounds a new student who had just walked in the door. “Why are you wearing THAT? It looks terrible.”
“Missy, just ask them to change into their uniform and remove their shoes.” Barry commands.
She then walks over to the audio room near the dojo and attempts to mix CDs like records on a turntable.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m a deejay!”
Barry — and his students — have had enough of Missy’s antics.
Barry her puts her in the dojo for others spar, accidentally forgetting on purpose to tell them that Missy has no scythe-fencing skills, nor psychic-self-defense, just plenty of offense. He watches from his washroom while eating popcorn., practicing his defensive pooping.
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