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.
As much as Bourbonnais communal narcissist and fedora-sporting neckbeard Damien Hurlbutt wanted to attend his big birthday bash, he could not make it because he got stuck on the toilet.
Instead, we bring you these important words from Squirrely Dan.
Owned and operated by Kankakee’s own good ol’ boy Brandon Dixon, Brandon’s sells used compensationmobiles, offering free roses for the ladies. Coming Soon: Crotch Rockets! BURRRRRRRRRPPPFAAAAAAARRRRRTTTTTTTPPHHHLPTTTTT!
Lori Brown, the former wife of communal narcissist Damien Hurlbutt, regrets her decision to get back with her ex. She has been waiting over an hour for him to finish showering so she can use the washroom. At least he closed the door this time.
Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), LLC buys up useless debt like they do penny stocks. The face of bill collector extraordinaire and dog food connoisseur Sybil Kibble lit up, grinning ear-to-ear when she got this coupon in the mail at her Kankakee McMansion. She bought them to have on her lunch break from interrupting the meals of strangers begging for money whether or not they owe it. Bone Appetit!
Ennui has taken over narcissistic abuser and sociopath Damien Hurlbutt as he sits alone in his Bourbonnais neckbeard-nest. He wants to stir up trouble and call attention to himself because he is addicted to creating chaos. His last supplier of attention, Rachel Shelley, has run off with Kankakee smack addict Leon Peeonne. Sitting on his lone piece of bedroom furniture, a metal folding chair, he tries to email his former wife Lori Brown — who he calls “Grimace”:
To: “Lori T. Brown” [OhLorT16@fmail.cannes]
From: “Damien U. Hurlbutt” [connivingpimp@hautemail.con]
Wednesday, November 4, 2020
Subject: breakfast, lunch, smunch
Hi Honey Puddin’!
This week has been a keystone for an avalanche. I have a stitch in my side. I want to see you, make me feel better, puddin’. 🙂
Moments later, he gets a message from Marty the Mailer-Daemon:
To: “Damien U. Hurlbutt” [connivingpimp@hautemail.con]
From: Mail Delivery Subsystem
Wednesday, November 4, 2020
Subject: Failure Notice
Sorry, we were unable to deliver your message to the following address.
Unable to deliver message after multiple retries. Giving up, not dying trying.
Yours,
Mailer-Daemon
“Come now!” Damien exclaims out of narcissistic rage. He then re-sends the email to Marty the Mailer-Daemon, only to get get blocked by him as well.
CRASS CEO Mack. E. Avelli holds a staff meeting to gather ideas to increase their bottom line.
“Maybe we can invest in having some CRASS masks printed up, and give them away in Wally Green’s drugstores to help advertise our business?” Art Director Dorian James suggests.
“That will cost us money. We take money here at CRASS, not give it away.”
Operation Director Mikey Philips’ hand goes up.
“Let us pray to the bill collector gods to make it rain.”
The room erupts in laughter.
Sybil Kibble raises her hand and waves it in excitement.
“How about we add random people on Fakebook? We can sell our services to the suckers who accept. And we might find some of the debtors who have been hanging up!”
“It’s a game-changer Sybil. Your idea will add CRASS synergy. We are CRASS, and so are you.”
Lead Debt Collector Sybil makes herself busy adding wealthy folks all over Fakebook, hoping some people will bite. Meanwhile Damien Hurlbutt is also up to no-good.
“I am going to look for a clump of people on cBay,” Damien thinks aloud. His frown turns upside down, becoming his trademark evil grin.
“Oh kids. Ohhhh kidssss.” Damien puts in a high bid for an item listed by Lori.
An hour later, Damien logs onto cBay to check on the item.
“My little and dainty ex blocked me. I know…hee hee. I will add her under a sock account on Fakebook.”
Damien strokes his orange, straggly beard, dons his black fedora and heads over to the apartment of petty-criminal Pat Splatt.
“La di da di da. Look at all the people who accepted my friend requests!” Sybil Kibble says to herself. She begins telling them all about CRASS and how they can “help you recover Accounts Receivables.”
She calls her mother, JoAnn, and invites her for a dog-food dinner.
“Can you take a raincheck? I need to rearrange my bus-parts collection.”
Sybil downs her dog food, and logs or her remote laptop to hopefully double down on debt.
“Why is my computer asking for money?” Sybil asks out loud, eyes glazing over as she glares at the ransomware screen featuring a slender, bespectacled, long-haired guy, his face covered in black stubble.
Damien pounds on Pat Splatt’s door, jiggles the knob a bunch of times and the bulbous neckbeard gets let in.
Damien peers over to 47-year old college student and gallery janitor Pat, kicked back in his office chair, feet plopped atop his computer desk. Heavy metal can be heard blaring from his massive sound system.
“Heck, Damien. I have been busy.”
“Oh really?”
“Do you see this screen?”
Pat swivels his desktop computer monitor ever-so-slightly over toward Damien.
“Ahhhh.”
“I did the deed. I infected her machine.”
“I know, I know. Now get me her details.”
“Oh, that will cost you a convenience fee. Go home, log on to your Fakebook. I will slide the deets into your box.”
Damien rushes home, driving like a maniac, despite his car’s gas gauge reading almost empty.
Damien enters his email, password and logs on. He immediately checks his instant message from Pat. Damien’s screen locks up, displaying a drawing of Pat dressed in a pirate costume with a black skull-and-bones flag composited into the background, along with a message asking for money to unlock his computer.
“Well doesn’t that put poop in my soup?”
Damien heads back to Pat’s house, his car running on fumes.
As Damien confronts Pat, sirens are heard, growing louder as the seconds drag by. “Sit down Damien.” A loud pound is heard on Pat’s door.
Sybil and the CRASS crew now are happy their computers are working again, despite their accounts having been banned from Fakebook. They create new accounts and start over. All is well in the Moroniverse.
Communal narcissist Bernadette Cacca loves all the attention she is getting at the Manteno High School awards ceremony all students were forced to attend, complaining she might have to move closer to the aisle because she keeps getting up to receive buttloads of awards. Pat Splatt, meanwhile is bored out of his skull and Gothic Diana Ross is pleading to her homeroom teacher to take her out of her misery.
Town troll Leona Krabalsky runs from under her bridge between Kankakee and Bourbonnais after Manteno sociopath and port-a-potty entremanure Peppi Cacca confronts her for selling fake drugs. Peppi brags he has “ARI: Armed Redneck Insurance.”
Manteno sociopath Peppi Cacca and his communal narcissist wife Bernadette wish to advertise their business Peppi’s Portopotties on television. Bernadette plays accordion while her husband raps about how they are king and queen of the throne. Look for their new track on AudioCumulus.
MoronicArts 
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