Tag: kankakee

Becca Frickfrick is gone in 60 seconds.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Ennui fills the mind of Kleptomaniac Rebecca “Becca” Frickfrick as she foams at the mouth craving the next thing to rip off. After failed attempts to steal lawn ornaments, she’s now a free bird roaming the Moroniverse.

Kankakee bill collector and dog-food enthusiast Sybil Kibble is busy taking supervisor calls and reviewing debtor files at Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS).

“I need a calculator, Miss Sybil” collector Pamela Frickfrick asks her boss.

Sybil opens up a couple drawers from the supply cabinet.

“You have your choice of this silver solar-powered one one or this green one with extra large numbers.”

“Nope, I need a graphing calculator.”

“For what?”

“My math homework.”

Before Sybil could shake her head, she spies Pamela’s twin sister Becca Frickfrick across the way knocking down company flyers, raiding the fridge and scratching her butt in the lunchroom.

“Oh heck no. Not my dog chow!” Sybil exclaims.

“Becca, go home for the rest of the week.”

“But I need the money!”

“Just go home and shut up.”

Sybil Kibble is busy loading groceries into her Chrysler LeBaron at the Schmucks Supermarket parking lot. As Sybil turns her back, Becca Frickfrick helps herself to random things from Sybil’s shopping cart.

“What are you doing?” Sybil asks.

“This is mine, this is mine, this is mine too…”

With one hand, Sybil swings the swiped staples back into her possession.

“Do you know who I am?” Becca stupidly asks her boss.

“An idiot. Now go home.”

Sybil climbs into her passenger seat to finish putting the grocery sacks into the talking car. Mrs. Frickfrick opens the driver’s side door, swipes the keys out of Sybil’s left coat-pocket, and begins to steal her car. Ten feet and one turn later, Miss Kibble successfully wrestles the grabbity hands off the stealing wheel, puts her car into park and shoves the thief onto the pavement.

“You can’t do this to me! I started this town! I AM KANKAKEE!” Becca cries out.

“You’re fired.”

“Eeeeeeeeeee!” Becca lets out a perfect high C like a teeny baby, cries in the pouring rain as Sybil drives home.

Back at work, it’s Friday and Sybil can’t wait for the weekend. Neither can the rest of the CRASS staff.

Collector Mary Grr walks up to Sybil’s supervisor cubicle.

“Where did all headset foamies go? I went to buy some out of the vending machine and it was empty!”

“I’ll look into it,” Sybil assures her.

Fellow collector Dale Davis beeps his watch repeatedly while marching in place to the tune of his last call.

“Gates are closed everybody!” Operations Manager Mikey Phillips announces.

The entire call center cheers and logs off their collective workstations.

A couple of staff embers make a beeline for the washroom while others make their ways to the break-room, only to discover a certain Becca Frickfrick emptying the vending machines after she had jury-rigged them to give her free stuff.

“You know, there’s a better way to do that…” Dale deadpans.

“If these things all fall out, I get to keep them, right?”

Sybil Kibble grabs Rebecca by the ear, lifts her up and and hoists her out the window.

“YEEEET!”

Sybil waves at the former CRASS collector and laughs.

“How did she even get in here?” Dale asks.

“We have no security here at CRASS because our wonderful owner Mack. E Avelli fired our guards during COVID, to save money of course.”

“Of…course.” Dale agrees with his superior as Mack is in the back counting up this week’s profits.

MoronicArts Classics: Sybil’s Spit Machine, Bees & Lawnmower-Race Woes

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment

Kankakee bill-collector and dog-chow diner Sybil Katrina Kibble had left her lawn sprinkler spit-spit-spitting, too lazy to care about water conservation, while she drove her Chrysler LeBaron all the way to Chillicothe to buy herself a sit-down lawnmower right before the race. Sybil insisted on winning the Annual Lawnmower Race.

Sadly, silly-billy Sybil lost the lawnmower race because she was too loopy from inhaling helium.

Too lazy to drive, Sybil wished to hang glide back home to Kankakee. However, she could not fly because she was too scared. This idea never got off the ground.

Meanwhile, Sybil’s spit machine went awry, flooding her entire lawn and that of neighbor Kitty Bee’s too!

Adding insult to injury, Sybil then she got chased by a swarm of angry kitties and bees! Poor Sybil.

She then left compete in Fire Truck racing with her Ma JoAnn! Ooh, what fun!!!

404: Dog Food Not Found

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Kankakee bill-collector Sybil Kibble loves the taste of dog food so much, she eats it on her breaks and for supper.

Because of the shipping delays, Sybil cannot find her beloved Alpo online to buy.

Frustrated with repeated bouts with the Spinning Cheerio of Death, she opts for Brand X instead, reluctantly.

MoronicArts Classics: MHA Sounds the Alarm

~ Jen ~ 3 Comments
Kon Teirant

Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Accounting Chief Konrad “Kon” Teirant is having trouble balancing the assets against the liabilities, even after having cooked the books to a carbonized mess.

Mack E. Avelli

Chief Executive Officer Mack. E. Avelli calls in Konrad to hold a meeting.

“Kon, if we cannot make ourselves look good to our investors, we are going to fail as a company. I don’t need you to be honest about it, I need you to make us some more money. Just get it done.”

“I’ll think up something. You won’t be disappointed.”

“Good,” the fifty-something Mack says to Konrad and starts texting his 22-year-old wife Judithann, who ignores his message because she is too busy flirting with daemons.

It is midnight here in Kankakee.  

The fire alarm sounds for the third time this week at the Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments, complete with strobe lights, sirens and a man’s voice repeating the same message over and over again.

As the residents of this sorry apartment building wake up and use the washroom, Moronic Half-Assets (MHA) takes the elevator up to each floor in the tower. 

“It is midnight and you know what time that is! Come on, guys, let’s all dance! Didn’t you see that four-page flyer we left on all of your doors telling you to exercise more? We knocked on your doors because we had nothing better to do! Resident deejay Konrad is on the ones and twos!” exclaims property manager, narcadoodle and Vaudeville clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant.

DJ Konrad Teirant picks some records out of his crate, and begins spinning and scratching, rapping over the music.

Resident Tyrell Fowler — out in the hall wondering what the racket is about — explains to Konrad “dude, you cannot scratch 1950s love songs,” and walks back into his unit.

“Let’s get out the glowsticks everybody!” Madeline says as she pulls them from the fire-hose compartment on the wall.

Robbie sings Elvis tunes as he dances away, doing moronic martial arts moves on the in-between.

Robbie Hulrbutt

The MHA troupe packs up their party-gear and heads upstairs to the next floor in the tower.

When the crew are all done waking up their residents, they head downstairs to the office and turn off the alarms. Finally those poor residents can get some sleep.

“Here is your check, Kon. We will write it off as a business expense here at the complex.”

“Great, I will bring it to CRASS tomorrow,” Kon tells his wife Madeline and they head home in Robbie’s clown car. Elvis has left the building.

“Oh good, I got it,” a resident says sitting in her bed, as she reviews the video she recorded on her phone.

Konrad Teirant heads into the CRASS office, strutting along the halls with a turd-eating-grin across his face as he makes his way over to the office of his supervisor, Mack E. Avelli.

“Kon! You have a great smile! You should smile more often.”

Kon hands Mack the knife…errrr…check.

“Oh good! Now you can keep your job!” Mack tells his subordinate Konrad.

Kon says nothing and heads back into his office to cook more books.

Meanwhile, the CRASS phones light up like a Christmas tree. However the increased call volume is not from debtors calling back the CRASS collectors.

“I saw that video on the news, your accounting dude and his buddies woke some poor folks up in the middle of the night hosting some hokey rave party? What were you thinking?” 

Beep.

“Hey, this Trisha Cobb, better known as Gothic Diana Ross. You know, from The Midnight Supremes? We saw what you did when we watched the news. That’s not cool.”

Beep.

“Hello, this message is for Mr. Avelli. I am Geoff, an auditor with the firm Deltoid & Tush. We were asked to contact you about your accounting records. We are stopping by in an hour.”

“Kon, how do we cook the books now? Ya better cook them good this time,” Mack shouts to an empty room. Since he was up half the night, Kon took the rest of the day off to go home and now he is fast asleep, sawing a forest. 

Sybil Kibble’s Tough Decision: The Blue Pill or The Yellow Pill? A video

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment
Daily writing prompt
What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make? Why?
View all responses

Sixty-five year old Kankakee bill collector and dog food connoisseur Sybil Kibble wants an even thinner body than she already has, so she calls to order some supposed suppositories, so she thinks.

Sybil asks the customer care rep lots of questions, happy to be on the other side of the headset for a change.

“Do I take the blue pill or the yellow pill? Can I get my package marked? Can I take them with dog bones or do I have to have an empty stomach? Do they make them in blueberry? Lemon? How do these pills work, do they go from my butt to my mouth or the other way around?”

Then she orders a skid.

“Just don’t take the red pill,” JoAnn Kibble advises her daughter Sybil after she hangs up.

Happy Birthday Robbie Hurlbutt!

~ Jen ~ 4 Comments

Kankakee drugstore clerk, Elvis impersonator and vulnerable narc-a-doodle Robbie Hurlbutt turns 47 today! We hope his birthday is number one.

Robbie sells selfies on the street.

Toxic College-y

~ Jen ~ 11 Comments

[ Sign the petition inspired by this story and read about what inspired me to write it! ]

Scary Barry Reynolds gets fired from his job as a road-test proctor for the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles, and starts his own college called “Dr. Mathew B. Johnson School of Intrepid Arts” in Albion, Indiana, teaching martial arts and telekinesis, a school he named after his favorite academic leader and best friend. 

Gothic Diana Ross gives her TV the side-eye

“Become as powerful as the Dragonball Y characters you see on TV! Develop your real life martial-arts skills, and when you get to your senior year, you’ll become a PSI-ball master!” 

“Not this ad again…” Gothic Diana Ross says across the Indiana border in Manteno, Illinois at the slate Victorian home where she and her bandmates reside. “Who wants to go to Indiana anyway?”

“Indiana wants us, but we can’t go back there.” Gothic Flo retorts and The Midnight Supremes all giggle.

Classes begin at the School of Intrepid Arts in Albion. Students practice basic self-defense, mixed martial arts and fencing.

“A new life awaits you at the School of Intrepid Arts” a flashing, talking blimp advertises as it flies over Northern Indiana and Illinois, spending a rather long time over Chicago, until someone begins to fire at it.

“Pop! Pop!” is heard as the floating advertisement-machine is gunned down somewhere on the Southside. 

A scholar gets harassed in his dorm, racial remarks litter his marker board. One moron, Pat Splatt, writes “KKK” on an empty pizza box and drops it outside his dorm room.

Protests are held by multiple school groups which make the local news.

Barry and Terry Reynolds respond to the media from the comfort of their own home.

“I will answer that later. Come back.” President Reynolds tells the news, and does not return their calls.

The scholar tries to learn to make “PSI Balls” on the internet and learns that it is fake. Meanwhile President Reynolds uses school money to pay for pet construction projects so he can hire his wife Terry’s company to do all the work.

Barry and Terry make the classes so hard, it is impossible to pass. Barry and Terry love seeing the disappointed faces of aspiring martial-arts students receive their report cards littered with Fs. 

President Barry Reynolds sends out a memo to his wife Terry using negative humor, snarking she should bulldoze “trash and idiots who live on minimum wage.” Barry accidentally copies the entire college on the email.

Oopsie!

Students start creating memes and Fakebook groups. President Barry reports them to Fakebook owner Emperor Zucc who shuts them all down. 

Students take to the news to expose the corruption.

The scholar is interviewed, and talks about his brother — also a student — who died when trying to defend a bully using “PSI Balls.”

“If President Reynolds wants to create chaos and censor those who rise up against his regime, then maybe he should move to North Korea. I bet he would feel right at home.”

Barry and Terry visit Bern Cacca bathing in the bog near Manteno, Illinois, for public-relations advice hoping to clean up their image, since Bern is so good at maintaining her squeaky clean image while doing dirty those closest to her. Oh, and she burns poopies.

Bern Cacca bathes in the bog

“Bern Cacca? We have an important message. We need your help.”

Bog Witch Bern keeps on swimming.

“Bern? We have something to tell you.”

Bern continues to ignore the looming Terry and Barry.

“Bern? We want to know how you keep your image so clean while you do others dirty.”

“Can’t you see I am taking a bath?” an angered Bern yells back, hoping to be left alone.

“Oh you are so…RUDE!” Terry snarks at Bern. 

“I am busy. Go away.”

“God hates ugly people! I am calling the manager!” Terry says out of desperation and fear.

“I am the manager.” Bern replies as she shoos away Terry and Barry. 

“I wish my hearing aids were broken.” Peppi Cacca says to his wife Bern and the Reynolds couple leaves.

The Indiana Attorney General investigates and shuts the school down, and the story makes television headlines.

“Oh good, we no longer have to see those annoying ads.” Gothic Flo says to Gothic Diana and then turns off her TV.

Running From Morons Like These.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite form of physical exercise?
View all responses

“Pooping…it’s great for the body! Everyone let’s get REGULAR!”
— Bernadette Moran Cacca, Manteno

“Flying, well yeah!”
— Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran, Albion Indiana

“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

MoronicArts Classics: Robbie’s Singing the Bathroom Blues

~ Jen ~ 5 Comments

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.

Putting the Gary in Robert Roy Gary Hurlbutt

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment

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.