MoronicArts Classics: Aim High

“Oh man, I want to see the new movie Aim High but the tickets are all sold out. It opens this Friday, you know, the one based on the newest Nora Roberts book?” Dorian James rambles.

“Never heard of it.” Sybil tells Dorian in the CRASS cafeteria as she crunches her dog biscuits.

“I want to see it when it comes out, but the tickets are sold out because it is a Valentine’s Day movie.”

Sybil has a few extra minutes before she logs onto the phones, so she searches OKStupid for potential dates, reacting to herself as she reads through the personal ads.

“41 year old man in Chicago seeks female. Must be 18-25 and love sports.”

Nope.

“Do you like big trucks? 21 year old guy, loves beer, weed, works hard and plays hard, no games.”

Naw, I like the occasional backgammon.

“Rare frog, last of his species, seeks woman of any age to give him a kiss. Very polite tender-heart. Age 48. Bourbonnais.”

Just a photo of his feet? A bit odd, but I can try I guess.

Before Sybil has a chance to message the stinky feet from Bourbonnais, they email her.

Sybil and the mystery man email back and forth. They hit it off right away. The divorced man complains a lot about his ex-wife, which Sybil tunes out. Sybil talks about her love of lawnmowers and dog food, which the guy ignores only to interrupt her about his “poop elves” story.

It’s a Valentines Day in Kankakee. The birds are chirping and Sybil is tweeting online about how excited she is about her new man and the mystery gifts he keeps teasing her about. Could he be the next Robert Stack?

It is 11:30 and Sybil is on the phone trying to double down on debt. Operations Manager Mike Philips comes by with a delivery.

“Flowers for Sybil!”

Sybil hangs upon the debtor and immediately logs off the telephones. The long, green and cream box, sealed with packing tape, came from New Jersey. Sybil gets out her scissors. She struggles for 20 minutes and finally opens the box. Inside are 12 longstemmed roses individually attached to the box by hard plastic fasteners.

Sybil’s frustration grows as her scissors are not enough to loosen the delicate roses from their restraints, so she grabs a set of pliers from her drawer after five minutes of searching.

Finally, the flowers are out. Thankfully, the potential suitor included a vase. Sybil goes to the ladies’ washroom, fills the vase with water from the sink, and puts the haphazard bouquet on her desk.

Sybil calls her mystery man to thank him.

“You just won Valentine’ Day!” he says to her.

“I did?” Sybil sighs.

“Well, did anyone else get as much as you today?” He asks.

“I do not know. I did not look…and I am not that impressed by gifts. I am more of an acts of service person. I like when people do stuff for me,” Sybil tells the gentleman.

“Look in the box, Sybil.”

She looks in the box. She uncovers a movie ticket.

“You and I can go to the opening of Aim High tonight! I cannot wait to meet you!” he says.

“You sound familiar. What is your name, mine is Sybil.”

“Damien.”

“Oh, you’re PJ’s son. I remember you.” Sybil tells Damien, remembering the terror that communal narcissist Damien caused by mentally abusing his former wife, Lori.

“I know, I know, I know…I will meet you tonight at the show, M’lady Madame. I have long red hair, an orange neckbeard and I wear a black fedora.”

“Right. See ya.” Sybil says to Damien hangs up the phone and laughs.

Sybil dials Dorian James.

“Yup.”

“I got a movie ticket for you. Aim High. Tonight’s the opening night. It is all yours. Have fun!” Sybil tells Dorian.

“Allll-right! Be right over.”

The Bigger The Bird, The Bigger The Turd

Manteno portable-waste-recepticle empress, communal narcadoodle and bog witch Bernadette Moran Cacca read this Turkey Day card from her reluctant mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran, which she had dropped off during a flyover.

Methinks we know from whom Bernadette learned to polish her turds.

“Ma, you ARE a bird! Cannibal!” Bernadette exclaims from the bog, to her mother who swooped on down later that evening.

Speaking with her mouth full, she tries to chase away her equally dysfunctional mother, in-between bites of yet another unsuspecting male suitor she had nommed for supper. Then she poops.

Happy Thanksgiving from MoronicArts! May your family dinner more fun and not so dysfunctional.

Robbie Makes Billboard

Kankakee Elvis impersonator and vulnerable narcadoodle Robbie Hurlbutt thinks he is Elvis. He posted this billboard to hopefully bring in some birthday cheer from the single ladies. Do you think it will work? Don’t lock him in the bathroom!

MoronicArts Classics: Silly Billy Sybil

Kankakee debt collector and big moron Sybil Kibble went up to Chicago this past Monday. She visited the LaSalle Street Buckstars where Damien Hurlbutt got kicked out a few months ago for going batty on the staff when they politely asked him to wear a mask.

Thankfully, Damien was not inside. However, the barista making Sybil’s drink misspelled her name.

MoronicArts Classics: Double Down on Dog Food Instead!

Tara Bull, Accounts Receivable Manager at Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) in Kankakee, IL holds a strategy meeting with the chief cooker of books, Konrad “Big Bag” Teirant and Chief Executive Officer Mack E. Avelli. Tara thinks CRASS can increase their bottom line by using their synergetic mindset to implement the new increased production metrics.

“By making our staff work harder for the same pay, we will move the goalposts,” Tara insists.

Ms. Bull is Sybil Kibble’s supervisor. She asks her Lead Collections Representative Sybil Kibble how her team would best achieve those metrics. “My double-down tactic always works,” Sybil advises her superior as she munches on dog biscuits. “By telling our debtors to pay twice as much as they can afford, they will always pay more.”

“Get ‘er done” Ms. Tara Bull tells Sybil. “I do not care how it gets done. The ends justify the means.” A hovering Mack. E. Avelli flashes an evil grin and a thumbs-up gesture.

Sybil and her team spend the eight hour work day making the calls, even skipping breaks at Tara’s insistence. Dale none too happy, runs in place at his cubicle to kill the stress, checking his heart rate on his beeping wristwatch. Mikey does his usual cleaning, making the toilets clean and sparkly at his own pace. However, something does not get done.

“Sybil! Get over here now!”

Sybil hangs up on her angry caller and works her way over to Ms. Bull’s office.

“Yes?”

“You all are not making the metrics!” growls a livid Tara Bull as she chucks a pile of papers at Sybil. “Bring in the bucks or I will fire you all!”

Dale decides to try a different approach. He offers payment plans, and goes around Sybil and Ms. Bull’s hard rules. He finds his stress levels decrease as he is able to help his customers pay their bills and empathizes with them at the same time, as Dale was once down and out himself.

Sybil tries her might and cannot not double down to make her double bonus/Form 4 and metrics. She thinks to herself that if she could go home and work, she could call people around suppertime and reach more people. After all, it works for telemarketers, right?

Sybil drives her white Chrysler LeBaron home, logs into her computer and starts making calls. Not long after 5:30 PM, Sybil hears a knock at the door.

“Who can this be, dag-nammit?” Sybil thinks to herself.

Sybil opens the front door to her rather oversized house. “Hi Sybil. I am sorry to bother you. My cat Holly is missing and I am terrified. Have you–“

“Your cat is not here, Kitty, go away,” barks Sybil as she goes back to her typing and calling.

As Kitty Bee searches high and low for her dearest Holly-Cotton all over Kankakee and Bradley, Sybil’s Form 4s pile up. “I am winning! I am getting my Form 4’s! Gimme my Form 4’s!”

Sybil is so excited to collect all that money and make bonuses as a result via the Form 4 bonus and hopefully please her boss, Ms. Tara Bull.

“Man, I gotta pinch a loaf,” Sybil says aloud as she gets up, after her last debtor hangs up on her.

Meanwhile, a certain Miss Holly-Cotton, who has been hiding out in Sybil’s rather large house, needs a place to go herself. She hops up on Sybil’s messy desk and starts sniffing around. She locates a certain pile of papers and jumps on top of it, highlighting the entire stack.

Sybil exits the washroom after dropping off some kids at the pool. She immediately spots Kitty’s cat Holly on top of what used to be a pile of Form 4’s.

“Oh my gawd, get the heck out of here you little brat-cat!” Sybil shouts at poor Miss Holly-Cotton as if she had done something wrong.

Holly gladly exits the house of Sybil and enters the loving arms of Ms. Kitty, who is waiting outside after having searched all Kankakee County for her long lost fur-baby. Meanwhile, Sybil returns to a useless pile of forms, formerly known as Four. She has lost out on her bonus.

Sybil doubles down on her nightly dish of comfort food, a bowl of Alpo. Yum!

MoronicArts Classics: Damien Hurlbutt Thinks Excess Plastic is Fantastic

For Bourbonnais cinema clerk, communal narcadoodle, and neckbeard Damien Hurlbutt, invalidation of others’ feelings has always been one heck of a drug.

”Hey Damien? Why does Buckstars wrap all their plastic utensils in even more plastic?”

”Well actually, Lori…I was watching the Angery Game Nerd Show on PooTube and the host gets mad there is not enough packaging. After all, plastics makers need to make money too…“ Damien the self-proclaimed “nice guy” said to his ex wife at their former home in Champaign. Lori Brown – whom Damien calls “Grimace” – has been happily divorced from the Bourbonnais cinema clerk who sent her doctors lunacy letters, thinking he knew more about psychology than…um…an actual psychologist?

Have you known someone like Damien? I hope not. Lori would not wish his abuse on her worst enemy.

Go, Bernadette!

“Oh no. Not her again. Hey, let’s sit down and hide out over there.” Before Gothic Diana Ross & The Midnight Supremes have a chance, their next-door neighbor Bernadette rips a big one, the sulphuric stench drowning out the delicious coffee aroma.

“Bernadette, you farted in my chair. That’s my favorite chair! Lick it clean.”

The three songbirds cackle in unison and wave her away, butt, the queen of the plastic throne Bern keeps her bum firmly planted in the fragrant coffeehouse chair, wishing she had a match.

Waiting by the barista bar for their iced caramel lattes, the Gothic Boss Ms. Ross and her sisters approached by a slender, 5’4”, 60-something blonde woman wearing cheater glasses.

“It’s smelly out there, take this.”

“Do I know you?” Diana asks the stranger.

“No, I’m Sybil Kibble. I’m in here every night and I got this picture from some weirdo named Jen. They said they liked your music and felt bad about some smelly morons next door to you. You’re from Manteno, right?”

“Thanks! This is nice for a change.”

“Jen said to keep it for good luck. Maybe it will ward off Barn-o-dette or whatever the heck her name is.”

After arriving home from the Bourbonnais Buckstars in their black 1988 Chrysler Conquest, the ladies go inside to practice their instruments. Gothic Diana Ross takes a break, walks outside to put out the waste bins, and spots her next door neighbor Mrs. Cacca standing nearby.

“Oh no. Eew. I hope she doesn’t bother me for the zillionth time,” Diana says to herself. She pulls out the talisman given to her by Sybil and puts it in her front jacket pocket.

Instead of running up the stairs of Diana’s slate Victorian house to verbally spam her about the Manteno Cantina charity crap only done to look good on the outside, the communal narcadoodle Bernadette instead waves at a bus passing by, hoping its smiling eyes would react to Bernadette’s wide open grin as if to catch a fly. 

In turn, the bus loudly “faaaaart-faaarts” like the truck from the American Freight commercials, one of the few things more annoying than Bernadette Moran Cacca.

Robbie Hurlbutt Thinks Gothic Diana is Supreme!

Gothic Diana Ross, lead singer of the Manteno band The Midnight Supremes, permanently yeeted her stalker Robbie Hurlbutt from her concerts. Since the self-proclaimed Number One Elvis impersonator Robbie Hurlbutt cannot creep his crush in person – or summon her using a Luigi Board) – he kisses her poster so hard slobber wets through the image of his wishful thinking, causing it to flop down onto his bedroom carpet.

I’m sure Diana doesn’t mind.

MoronicArts Classics: Dale Davis Drowns Himself in His Woes

CRASS Debt Collector Dale Davis is all by his lonesome in his Kankakee apartment, wishing his boss Sybil Kibble would come there to kiss him, so they could get married and make dollars and cents together.

“I’m worth your time.”

– Dale Francis Davis

At Least Sonya Did Not Chop Off The Giblets and Send Carla the Bill.

Shapeshifting humanoid vulture and Midwestern slumlord Sonya Moran was busy minding her own business, taking a break from chowing down on a carrion score found on the streets of Manteno, Illinois. Her bored sister Carla thought it would be cute to bother her sister for no reason whatsoever, other than to get a rise out of her. Ennui filled the creature with rage. After all, she only looks good on the outside.

“”When is the last time you cut your hair? It looks awful!” the self-righteous narcadoodle Carla berated her histrionic sister Sonya.

“I’ll clip YOUR wings!” Sonya lunged back, massive shears in tow.

“Oh no, not the blood feathers!”