Tag: illinois

MoronicArts Classics: Nobody’s Home

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

After yet another long week calling up strangers at work, patients in hospitals and people just trying to cook supper for their families, Kankakee bill collector Sybil Kibble is feeling stressed and irritated. She works as the team leader collecting dubious debt for Kankakee’s most shady debt-collector Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), and she’s tired of people hanging up on her.

“Out of dog-food again! Dang, I just bought some at Schmucks! How did I eat all those Alpo cans so fast? They must be making them smaller now.”

Image: green-toned cartoon showing a blonde woman at a computer. Text on monitor reads "Collect-o-matic."

Needing someone with whom to vent, Miss Kibble goes over to visit her best friend and next-door neighbor, Mrs. Pearl Jo “PJ” Hulbutt who is busy meditating. Sybil barges right in and startles PJ who nearly bangs her head on the table, then tells her to “calm down!”

“Ah my boys have not come around lately. They don’t appreciate their mother and all I do for them! Have you seen that Kitty Bee lady? Her hair is pink now!”

PJ rambles on complaining about person after another. “Have you talked to your father?”

“I stopped talking to him years ago. You ask me that every time I come over. Why?”

“My father was not so nice. It says in the good book we should forgive people and pray for them to change.”

“He’s dead. His new wife was just as abusive, I hear she has an extra room. Why don’t you call her up? I am sure she would like the company. She’ll probably ask all kinds of questions about me! Go up to Chicago and spend a month or two to see what it’s like. Just call her after I leave.”

“No need to go overboard with your remarks. They are entitled to their beliefs as well. As a person with a daemon latched onto her body at the age of two that never leaves me alone, I understand fear and misunderstanding. I’ve been judged for my demeanor and nosey words my entire childhood but I still care and help others. I define me not other people.”

image: black and white cartoon of a blond woman outside a building, crows encircling her head as she screams.

Livid, Sybil Kibble stomps back to her home, and eats her last dog bone; much tastier than the word-salad her neighbor had spit out. Meanwhile, PJ hops on a bus to find more people to annoy:

“Why are all these people getting at the bus at once?” PJ Hurlbutt asks aloud to a bus full of strangers, looking around for someone that cares. An enquiring mind wants to know. PJ repeats her nosey nonsense and adds more crap to her routine. “Look at that lady with the green hair. Does she know those tattoos are permanent?”

“I’ll tell the mayor,” Dorian James deadpans, making a cheeky grin while adoring his boyfriend Ant’s half-sleeve.

Sybil calls a bunch of friends, hoping to hang out.

Pyramid-scheme-peddlers Doris and Leona Krabalsky’s phones go straight to voicemail.

Sybil drives her white Chrysler LeBaron to investigate why people are ignoring her calls and texts.

Slowing down through the I-57 underpass, she seeks the Kankakee troll Leona. Nope, she’s not home. 

Out of desperation, Ms. Kibble calls her hairdresser Lila Croule at her home-based salon, even though it’s a week too soon to get her face-frame cut, but sorry; more voicemail jail.

Sybil continues North toward Peotone to find her sharp-tongued stylist Lila Croule, hoping to trade barbs about moronic customers. After she parks her reliable box-mobile, she rings the doorbell at Lila’s front door. No answer. The RRRRRRGH of the lawn tractor stops and Sybil spots Lila trimming the edges of the grass using her $1000.00 hair shears, completely tuning out Ms. Kibble.

image: full-colour cartoon of a purple-haired woman riding a purple lawn-tractor, holding up a pair of shears. A blond woman peeks over the wooden fence.

“I hope these folks don’t visit my grave one day, since they don’t bother me while I’m alive! Hmmpf.”

As she drives back home to Kankakee, Sybil sees her subordinate Dale Davis jogging on the sidewalk, beeping his watch repeatedly. Dale waves to Sybil and beckons her to come hither so he can confess her love, and she just drives on by. Her stomach turns. She then drives to Major’s Supermarket to buy her favorite meals: buys 50 cans of Alpo, with which she drowns her worries at home, glad to be away from the rest of the Moroniverse.

image: yellow, black and white cartoon of a blonde woman wearing glasses, eating dog food.

MoronicArts Classics: Konrad Teirant Cleans House

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment
Image: a bald, stocky male with shoulder length orange hair and an orange beard clenches his jaw and looks to the left. Text: shirt reads "World's largest source of natural gas."

Bourbonnais cinema clerk, neckbeard and communal narcadoodle Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt was last seen near Area 51.

While cleaning out his ex-employee’s desk, Teirant Cinema-13 owner Konrad Teirant found Damien’s scribbled-on evaluation forms. Behold, the work of a master-moron!

To The Moon, Bernadette!

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment

What better a place to yeet Manteno’s biggest communal narc-a-doodle, ex-wrestler and self-proclaimed queen of the porcelain throne herself, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca?

Just think, she could have that whole lonely moon, err, planet to herself. What a waste NOT to send her on a rocket there! (Or a trebuchet, her neighbors are not picky).

https://news.sky.com/story/nearby-exoplanet-stinks-of-rotten-eggs-scientists-discover-13175259

A Hunka-hunka burnin’ junk

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Kankakee bill collector, Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Glee Club member and self-righteous narcadoodle Pam Frickfrick is such a huge Elvis fan, she bought up every single dancing Elvis bear she could find. Her favorites have built-in sensors to start singing, dancing and farting on her co-workers every time they walk by.

“You know, I wrote a book, actually seven. I know something about money. Let me tell you about–“

“I just want to speak to your supervisor.”

Before Pam has a chance to talk the guy out of escalating the call, Lead Debt Collector Sybil Kibble walks up to her cube, chomping on a dog biscuit.

“You know, Pam, we are losing money because of you.”

As Pam continues to ignore her supervisor and instead bothers the person about his dubious debt, her harmonica collection, alphabetized, and her obsession with stealing lawn ornaments, the robot bears sing and danc to a garbled recording of “Burnin’ Love.”

“Hey Pam, I think we have our new on-hold music!”

“Just wait a sec–“

Sybil knocks down all the android ursids into a big box and yoinks them from her subordinate. “Get back to work!” Miss Kibble commands to Pam, taking the cacaphony chorus line to Operations Manager Mikey Philips for a little dissection and maybe some vivisection, too.

Pam begins to smell smoke, gets up, stares across the office.

“Who’s got the cigarette?”

“Go back to work Pam!” the entire collections team chants in unison, shaking their collective heads.

Thankfully the smoke alarm stays silent for a change. Sybil hates farty horns.

Manteno Mayoral Meeting Madness!

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

The Manteno Optimal Club joins the village in congratulating its new mayor.

Wally Green, drugstore owner, wacky inventor and newly elected president of Bernadette M. Cacca’s fan-club sits and waits his turn to talk about opprtunities to sell more CrapStraps, StrangleTangles and Sleevies in Manteno.

Other Poopy Groupies Peppi Cacca and Dorian James wait in the hall, as the room is overflowing. Kankakee debt-collector Sybil Kibble tries to talk the village into letting Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) build a second location there. After all, what’s better than one collection agency to hound you about unpaid medical bills, than two?

A very desperate-for-dookie-downloads Bernadette Cacca burps, then bursts into the room, belting her newly formed tune:

“Buy Craptocoins, they are good for you, made from 100 per cent, recycled port-a-poo!”

“Mrs. Cacca, you need to add yourself to the agenda first before taking the podium.”

“No, I don’t need any immodium, I’m regular now!”

The new mayor waves Bern away like the waft of stench she brought in.

“Where have I heard that song before?” Wally Green thinks aloud, then blows his nose into one of his monogrammed hankies.

“Who brought the bullhorn?”

Gothic Flo of The Midnight Supremes just shakes her head and enjoys the popcorn.

Bernadette’s idea gone, like a fart in the wind.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment
90 Day Fiance star who made £38,000 a week selling farts in a jar hospitalised: ‘I thought it was a stroke’

Manteno port-o-dump proprietor extraordinaire, communal narc-a-doodle and turd-machine operator Bern Cacca wanted to sell her bottled farts, butt dang it, someone beat her to it.

Sulking, she lights her gas blasts to spark the poopy-burning flames instead.

The Queen of the Plastic Throne enjoys watching the port-a-potty waste gleam in her fireplace, as she sits in her rocking chair, drinking root-beer while watching GG Allin videos.

image: color cartoon depicting cartoon poop emojis burning in the fireplace

Bern Cacca is #PoopingForKaitlin (and Stephanie).

Wally Green’s Turd Machines

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What are your favorite brands and why?
View all responses

“Of all the turd-machines I’ve bought, I love Wally Green’s the most! I get great deals on them, buy one/get one half off (but never free). The other brands just don’t measure up. I love my Turd Machine Deluxes because I can keep my vaults safe to mine Craptocoins the old fashioned way!”

— Bernadette Moran Cacca, Manteno

Wax on, Wax off.

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“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.

Bernadette Cacca Tries to Unload her Craptocoins.

~ Jen ~ 3 Comments

“Hey you forgot your smokes!” 

Still not aware of the kind stranger returning his ciggybutt cartons, a second person calls out:

“Hey Greg, you forgot your cigarettes.”

Greg grabs the two red packs on which he had been sitting. No longer able to drive, the newly undead Greg had taken the bus to meet up with his lover, Bernadette Cacca at the Manteno Optimal Club where she is performing charity pop covers just for the photo opportunity.

Bern drives Greg home after the gig. Both get lost, not just because someone told them to scram. Fighting over directions, Bern wags her finger and tells her Poopy Groupie “I told you so.”

“What am I going to do with all these NFTs?” asks a puzzled Bernadette.

“What’s an NFT?” the newly undead Greg asks his partner-in-stench.

“Newly formed turds, my turd vault is full! I want to burn them, however they will go bad by the time I burn them all! The craptcoin market is in the toilet!”

Greg gives Bern his trademark devilish grin.

“What about formaldehyde? Don’t you load that into your turd machines?”

Bern folds her arms, turns away from her lover Greg, and walks upstairs to crap.

“You sing like a dying cow!” Bern Cacca yells out her washroom door at her next-door-neighbours The Midnight Supremes, as she pinches a loaf and then burns it in her fireplace. She has unleashed The Kraken.

Enraged, Gothic Diana Ross directs her bandmates so crank their amps up and engage the Marshall Stacks.

Bern peels out her driveway.

Patrick Oswald Splatt is busy in his Kankakee basement, developing his newest useless invention, when a certain Manteno entramanure rings his bell.

“It’s my new killer-app. Siri-al-Killer.”

“Yeah, what can it do for me?”

“It is a virus, designed to mimic Siri. Only it is seriously plotting to kill you.”

“You’re awesome!”

“Thanks. I know.”

“Yeah. So am I, that’s why I want to hire YOU!”

“Young lady, what can I do ya fer?”

“I need to unload my Turd Vault.”

Awkward silence fills the room.

“Your…what?”

“My inventory’s getting stale. I use newly-formed-turds (NFTs) to create Craptcoin. The market really stinks right now and I need to clean out my product.

Pat giggles. It has been a long time and he feels good to laugh at someone else’s expense again.

Pat and Bernadette make a food baby together:

Pat’s junk email go into circular files across the globe. Meanwhile, the craptocoin market falls further into the bowels of the abyss.

Desperate, Bernadette sends out this flyer. She made it herself:

Bernadette slides into her shack, waves to her husband Peppi high off stinky skunkweed, and runs down her basement stairs, nearly falling down and smacking her big mouth on the concrete. She disarms the gate and the two Turd Machines guarding her massive Turd Vault, only to find her precious turd-collection missing.

“Oh no, where did they all go! I bet it was JB the Turd-Burglar, he stole my crap, I just know it.”

Bern’s smell-phone rings, playing her favorite GG Allin song.

Before she has a chance to answer, she spies Undead Greg sitting in a corner of her basement.

“Hey. My turds are gone, Greg!”

“That’s greeaaat.”

“How is that great?“

“They were delicious,” the undead Greg tells his fartner Bernadette. “These things keep me going. Unlike other zombies, I don’t neeeeed to eat rotting flesh. Recycled food is goooood-forrrr-yooooou and tastes better tooooo!”