Opposites attract, smells repel, unless you’re Bernadette and Peppi Cacca.

Bernadette Moran Cacca, Manteno, Illinois’ very own entramanure, communal narc-a-doodle and self-proclaimed “Queen of the Plastic Throne” comes back to the shack which she co-habitates with her drunken husband, Peppi.

Her mouth once wide open enough to catch a fly (or two), now sports a look of contempt after having headed home from the widely-attended Chicago “Hands Off” protest.

“A whole bunch of people walked by, and not one person, not even once, took a single video or picture of ME!”

“That’s that dang liberal protest, right?” Peppi asks.

“Yeah.”

“I told ya to vote for that other guy. Let’s go Brandon!” exclaims the bald, squat, beady-eyed, 70-something geezer, reeking of skunky weed made extra skunky, from rolling in the port-a-pee after he had finished a port-a-job.

“They got plenty of video of other people and their signs, some even made the Chicago news! The national news, too! Why not ME? Ever since Aunt Sonya left, people forget how talented I am, how much I do for the world, how much I poop. I have not gotten a single gig since she flew the coop!”

“She’s just busy I’m sure. Sit down with me, relax, we’ll watch The Wonderful World of Dung together.”

“The original or the remake?”

“The remake is streaming now…”

“Oh I hate the remake!”

Bernadette storms up the stairs, into the best room in the house to sit, poop and play accordion.

Her mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran flies into town, rams into the Cacca home once again.

“Maaa!”

“I did a fly-by earlier and you weren’t home!”

“I was at the protest up in Chicago! Didnt you know? I can’t wait to tell you how much I did for America! It’s really good for my image–”

“Not now honey, family’s coming over.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Nobody told me about it!”

“I did, you just forgot.” Carla gaslights.

“No you didn’t.”

“Okay, okay, okay, drop it. Just get ready. Take YOUR shower!”

Bernadette continues to poop as her mother sets up the uninvited picnic tables and other crap out back. A committee of shapeshifting humanoid turkey vultures fly on down to the House of Cacca to party on down, and pee on her lawn.

“My daughter has a beautiful voice!” Carla brags about her daughter to her family who had just flown in from the next town over to enjoy a feast of freshly squashed roadkill. Her cold heart shines bright in the face of company.

“Where’s Sonya?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s awful rude of her not to come down. I kept calling, she never answered. Did she get the presents I sent her?”

“Why do you even bother?”

“Shall I sing for you guys?” Bernadette interrupts. “I just tuned my accordion and vuvuzela horn! How about a tune?”

“Not now. Maybe later. I’ve got something to show you!” Carla’s evil grin begins to creep over her face.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a surprise. Come with us.”

They peck, umm, pack into the van like a band of mad clowns and drive over to the hospital in Kankakee.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“We’re going to the hospital!”

“Did somebody die?”

“No.”

“Get hurt, have a heart attack? I wanna know.”

“No, Bernadette.”

The Morans park their van and then walk down into the basement of the hospital, towards a sign marked “Central Sterile Supply.”

“I’m giving you a tour.”

“Of the hospital basement?”

“Yeah. I used to work here when you were little. Time for you to get a real job!”

Bernadette runs away as fast as she can, screaming, cursing and singing show-tunes.

“They, they—they do vivisection in here!” Bernadette exclaims madly as she busts on out the door.

A few locals shake their collective heads at the sight. Just another day in Kankakee.

The port-a-dump proprietor is eventually rounded up and taken in for an evaluation, just not the occupational kind.

After a few hours, Bernadette’s drug test comes back negative and the nurse sends her home. She calls her husband on her smell-phone and of course he does not answer, so she walks home.

A few Kankakee County residents spot Bernadette walking down the road, point and laugh.

“Don’t make fun of me or I will find you attractive!”

“Say what?”

“We saw you on TV!”

“TV? What?” asks a puzzled Mrs. Cacca.

Bernadette begins to grin a bit, visions of people praising her for holding up social justice signs fill her mind, even though she only does it just to look good on the outside.

“Yeah, you ran out of the hospital screaming like a looney bird! You’re a meme now!”

“I MEME AM WHAT?”

“OMG It’s the meme girl! I want a picture with her!”

Bernadette crawls into a nearby bog and takes a massive dump. It smells like someone died over there, or maybe it was just her ego.