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.
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
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!”
“Oh my gawd, JB, stop holding your fork like a shovel. You look like someone from the backwoods,” Manteno’s very own Bernadette Moran Cacca berates her Poopy Groupy and secret lover JB the neighborhood turd burglar right in front of her husband and co-entremanure of their portable washroom business.
“Now why are you eating that with your hands?”
“Two words, “Finger foods.”
“D’aaah-is it made from real fingers?” Fellow Poopy Groupy Undead Greg Schneissder asks Bernadette as he slithers over to the table.
“No, horses’ ovaries. That’s what hors d’oeuvres means in English,” Bernadette claps back.
“That’s not true!” JB argues.
“Yes it is!” the confidently incorrect Bernadette argues with the turd burglar in a recursive loop. The family that poops together, stays together.
Yet, communal narcadoodle Bernadette graces the cover of the Manteno Sentinel again for her charity work playing accordion and kazoo show-tunes at the Manteno Optimal Club. Her aunt, slumlord, and shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Sonya Moran helped get her the press about some upcoming event crap. No wonder people want to yeet her.
Prepare the trebuchet!
YEET-O-MATIC!
Kankakee squirrel watcher, candy-crusher and school-bus-parts collector JoAnn Kibble was hand-picked by her daughter Sybil to judge the annual Squirrelympics!
Brought to this community every year, the event is sponsored by Sybil Kibble’s employer: bill-collection-factory Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), because they are here for you, and only for you!
“We don’t just take your money, we give it back, too!”
— Mack E. Avelli, Chief Crook and and Money Launderer, CRASS
How best to get out the vote, than to contaminate your rivals’ food? Like a frat-girl prank, a group of girls are reported as having resorted to tainting the food of another.
What a great way to advance your cause, ladies? For emptying the contents of their brains into strangers just minding their own business eating, they have been specially selected to receive this collective Golden Moron Award! Now bring it home ladies, show it off to your friends!
Former wrestler, entramanure and charity show-tunes do-gooder-just-for-the-photo-op Bernadette Moran Cacca is busy slurping down her breakfast burritos at the Manteno Cantina, as part of her personal campaign to promote regularity. Last week she bragged to her fan club, the Poopy Groupies, about her constipation.
“Did you know they re-made ‘Yo Mama’s House’ into a full-length feature film?” Bernadette asks the random stranger seated at the table next to her.
“Huh?”
“You betcha. And I’m in it!”
JB the Turd Burglar walks in with Poopy Groupies club president, Aunt Sonya Moran, and Bern’s drunken husband Peppi.
“You’re a national treasure, Bernadette!” JB exclaims.
“Bernadette for president! Feel the Bern!” screeches her aunt Sonya, a shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture.
“You’re no Bernie Sanders!” chuckled a stranger from across the cantina.
Konrad Teirant is foaming at the mouth at his Bourbonnais business.
“This guy is a hot mess. Our janitor called in again! Imma gonna done post his job alrighty.” Konrad Teirant, mad that he can’t keep good cleaning staff, prints out a help-wanted sign to be posted on his Cinema-13 multiplex:
“Now hiring cleaners. $7.50 an hour, experience preferred.”
“Kids these days don’t wanna work!” Konrad whinges as he hangs the signs all over his cinema property and at bill-collection company Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) in Kankakee where he is in charge of cooking the books, err, working as their Controller.
Bernadette Cacca can’t wait to see her face on every silver screen in the county. She buys tickets for every showing of “Yo Mama’s House,” in every single movie house, excited for the opportunity to take selfies at every single showing, so she can brag “I’m on every screen” in her Fakebook feed.
It’s opening night at Cinema-13. Bernadette sits down in the row right up front so she can see her mug grow as big as her ego.
A rumble takes over her belly.
“Oh crap.”
Bernadette tries her best to hold it.
More rumbles make waves through her intestines, heaving her flesh increasingly as the minutes pass. She can’t wait any longer, so she runs for the washroom.
“It smells like rotten eggs and death over there,” box office clerk Bratley Teirant says as he points toward the ladies’ washroom at his father’s business. “I’m expecting a mushroom cloud to emerge any second.” Bratley ducks and covers.
Bernadette causes a cinema-wide brown-out at the spectacle, courtesy of her overflow error. The raw sewage floods well beyond yonder and into the electrical system powering the projector, sound system and the point-of-sale software.
Konrad has to think fast and on his feet. He dons his waders and books it to the ladies’ washroom to do doo clean-up dooty.
Mr. Teirant emerges from his outdated washroom carrying a big bag alright – just not full of money.
“What are you doing in there? Can’t you get things right? You childish little man!” his wife, 7 foot tall dumpster clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant shouts at her 5’4” hubby.
“Ha-ha!” Bratley laughs and points at the people who gave him his genes. He’s not very bright either.
Manteno entramanure, communal narc-a-doodle and Og-on-the-Bog Bernadette Cacca has been wanting to turbo her Turd Machines she had bought from Wally Green’s.
Now’s her chance!
As if her crappy ritual burning her company’s port-a-poops in her backyard has not been enough to irritate her next door neighbors Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes, basic Bern eyes a bigger one.
Like the lady from the insurance commercial, Kankakee basement dweller JoAnn “JK” Kibble loves crushing her candy game, when she’s not watching 500 Left Turns or chasing squirrels.
Bog witch extraordinaire and port-a-potty proprietor Bernadette Moran Cacca is out walking while taking a break from burning the portable poo from Peppi’s Portapotties in her fireplace. Looking forward to her accordion and vuvuzela gig at the new Manteno Cantina, she gets interrupted by her mom, shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Moran:
“Why are you wearing THAT? You need to wear your NICE shirt.”
“This shirt is nice!” Bern replies to her mother who is wearing a moo-moo outside, perched atop a tree stump.
“You know what I mean. Wear your pretty shirt! Don’t you want to look good in front of your audience?”
“Maaa, I can see your cloaca.“
“That’s it! I’m calling Aunt Sonya! You are NOT to show up tonight. WE will handle it.”
Birds of a feather Carla and Sonya Moran team up to go on stage at the Manteno Cantina, located in the basement of the Optimal Club.
“Where’s your makeup?” Sonya demands of her sister and bandmate.
“I dunno — where’s your dress? Are going to stand up here looking like THAT?”
“I am my costume. My body is covered in paint. Nobody will know I am not wearing any clothes.”
The Morans belch out a few tunes.
Food is thrown onto stage including chicken wing bones, the two vultures nom it up and fly over the crowd, pooping.
Then they fly off stage-right.
“And now for our next guest, Wally Green, the Karaoke Machine!”
The bulbous 60-something drugstore owner, barfly and wacky inventor walks over to center stage, a slow clap is heard.
He takes the mic:
“Fart your birds, fart your parakeets, gimme all your budgies, hope your birds are real.
Don’t try to fly,
Don’t try and tweet.
Gimme all your budgies!
Fart your parrrrakkeeeeets.”
MoronicArts 
You must be logged in to post a comment.