Bradley barista, narcadoodle and former wrestler known as “Calm Down” Jina Hansen badly projects her own insecurities onto her coffeehouse staff to try and puff herself up.
“How many more drinks will you spill this week?”
“Come over here. Look at this and tell me it’s done right.”
“Stop treating your staff like crap!” a regular tells Jina.
“Oh they are my friends, we are only joking,” the 40-something Jina gaslights, as she tapes a customer’s receipt to the forehead of her 17-year old trainee.
Jina drives home and cries, losing sleep over the shell of herself she has become, knowing she will never get to be as good as she wants to be in life because her standards for everyone — including herself — are impossible. Then she craps her pants.
“We need to increase our bottom line,” CRASS CEO Mack E. Avelli tells his entire staff in the board room.
“Size matters.”
Laughter fills the entire room.
“Our budget is only so big and we need to increase our revenue to exceed expenses. We could only give so much to the Optimal Club last year and we had to shortchange the Kankakee Medicine Pronouncing Competition, even though we had already committed. We need good ideas, only the best.
Dale raises his hand.
“I know. I have a really good idea. How about we do things the Dale way this year…”
Mr. Avelli sighs.
“No just listen up. I’m worth your time. How about we spend less money on charity? That way we will have more money for the things we need. It all makes sense. We can do things the way we have been doing them, or we can do things the Dale way.”
“That’s enough Dale. We need to look good for the community. Image is everything. Who will go next?”
“Maybe we can hire more people to cut back on overtime? I am swamped with purchase requests!” Linda Stay says.
“Nice idea, but work faster,” Mr. Avelli snarks.
Sybil raises her hand.
“Sybil Kibble! What is YOUR grand idea?”
“I know. How about we call up and say we are “Kristy” from Management. Ask the debtor to call us back. We have no Kristy working here. Block caller ID so the suckers will not know it is us!”
“Great idea Sybil! Change all scripts immediately and don’t forget to double down on every call, everybody!”
The collectors get to work.
Calls come in.
“I would like to talk to Crispy?”
“Crisco called. Hahahaha.”
“Is the Cisco kid? My router is stuck. Can you fix it?
“Yeah I hear I won a free trip to Frisco. When do I go?”
More calls roll in.
“Yeah I heard a manager called me. I wanna speak to the manager. This is Karen.”
Team Leader Sybil Kibble cannot keep up with the call volume. The Collections Representatives keep transferring all their calls to her because they keep asking for a manager. After all, the messages stated a manager called for them!
The phone system shuts down due to Denial of Service, in other words a system overload.
“What are we going to do?” CRASS CEO Mack E. Avelli asks Sybil Kibble in her office.
Art student, con-job and sociopath Pat Splatt is proud of his entourage of fake identities, many starting with “Al” for Alias. His pretend friends go online to bother marginalized groups, pretending he is one of them so he can try and make them feel excluded via cultural gatekeeping. Too bad Pat has so much time on his hands.
“He can come and do my laundry, fold it and put it away if he’s that bored!”
Kankakee slumlord, narcadoodle and Vaudeville clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant walks behind the strip mall, past the dumpsters, to hide from a client who turned her in for illegal activity at Kankakee’s Best Low Income Apartments, which she manages.
“Madwoman!” a male voice calls out.
“Who called me?” a terrified Madeline asks.
A slender, young, dirty-blonde male wearing shades, a hoodie, and ripped blue jeans walks up to Madeline.
“I am Brandon Dixon. I own Brandon’s Imbecile Machines in Kankakee. I hear you are a clown.”
“Ummm, yeah…”
Madeline shakes even more.
“I am one too. I would like to try out for your touring Vaudeville act.”
“Maybe I can use an understudy.”
“You bet. Call me.”
The two shake hands and part ways. Madeline heads back to work, Brandon home.
“Hi, is this Wally Green?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Madeline Topolla-Teirant. I need to order a case of some half-ply toilet paper. That’s the kind that breaks off one square at a time right? I need some really cheap supplies for our community centers here at our low income complexes and I am not going to pay a lot. Ohh, hold on I have a beep.”
Madeline switches calls.
“Robbie?”
“Hey babe. Moronic Half-Assets has a gig coming up tomorrow in Gary, Indiana. I was totally thinkin’ I would rock the joint as Roy Orbinson.”
“You’re just an Elvis impersonator and not a very good one,” Madeline insults Robbie.
“Well honey, I can also pull off a crazy cool Mike Mesmith.”
“Get outta here with that.”
“Peter Tork? “Johnny Cash?”
“NO!”
Madeline slams down the phone.
“Riiiiiing!”
“Yes.”
“This is Wally. You wanted to order toilet paper?”
Madeline sighs…
The next afternoon, a Wally Green’s truck shows up to the low income housing complex where Madeline works.
“Beep beep beep beep.” The truck backs in.
“A whole case of half-ply toilet paper, just like you ordered. Just sign here on the sticker.”
Madeline scrawls her name.
“Here you go!”
“Ouch!”
“Whoopsie!” says the driver.
“You dropped the box on my foot. I think you broke it!”
Madeline drives over to the nearest 30 Second Clinic.
“It’s a bit bruised but you will be fine. Just ice it for two days while you are at home. You can go back to work now.”
“But doctor?”
“Your thirty seconds are up. We have other patients out there in the waiting room. Our medical office assistant will walk you out and take your copay.”
An angry Madeline begrudgingly pays her bill and heads home. There is no way she can make the gig tonight.
Madeline gets on her mobile phone.
“Hey Brandon, this is Madeline. I know this is short notice. I have a clown gig tonight I cannot make. You see I broke—“
“I’ll do it!” Brandon says with a smirk only he can see on his face, as he is looking at himself in the mirror.
“Gary, Indiana. Lapolla Theater.”
“Oh, I will be there, makeup and all.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
“Thanks.”
Madeline hangs up her phone and takes a nap.
Hours pass and Madeline thinks about how happy she is that she has another clown. Deep down inside she really does not want to do that gig in Gary. She falls asleep while thinking up a scheme to get out of paying Brandon.
A series of dings wakes a sound asleep Madeline.
From: Konrad
“I did not know you were sending us a juggalo. The crowds booed us! What were you thinking, Mad?”
From: Robbie
“Man this clown is weird and he looks funny. He reminds me of people my father hung out with. He keeps asking me to buy him Faygo. Our gig sucked because of him, not because of me. Just saying.”
A series of photos came in of Brandon, Konrad and Robbie on stage.
Needless to say, Madeline was up all night, and it was not because of her foot hurting.
A fan-made video was made starring these idiots. Youtube ads are yucky. If you use an adblocker, log out of PooTube to work around the glitch. The Moroniverse will thank you.
Bourbonnais cinema clerk, neckbeard and communal narc-a-doodle Damien Hurlbutt does the fart dance when he goes to rip one. The only thing he loves more than his hoard is the smell of his own gas blasts.
Kankakee bill collector Sybil Kibble got excited to see these dog bowls full of food samples. She loves to eat dog chow on her breaks from calling people at home and work to bother them about dubious debt and wanted to take some back to munch and offer to co-workers.
Sadly, Sybil’s heart sunk when she learned they were full of human food instead of doggie food. Oh, darn.
Turn your Turd Machine Deluxe into a word-salad shooter with this new adapter from Wally Green’s!
Take aim at your enemies from the comfort of your own phone and blast them with wooden letters, magnetic poetry and plastic kindergarten ABCs using Wally’s patented remote CrapApp!
Get the word-salad variety pack: regular, tactile and super-sized, only available at your corner Wally Green’s drugstore! Buy one, get one half off (but never free).
No vegetables were harmed in the making of this story.
MoronicArts 
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