Listen to Dale leave a message for a debtor based after Sybil Kibble barfed up this silly idea:
Tag: kankakee
I Wanna Speak To The Manager
“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.
“Act more ethically next time?”
They share a laugh.”
“Carrier pigeons,” Mr. Avelli smirks.
It is CRASS business as usual.
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MoronicArts Classics: The Many Faces of Pat Splatt
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!”
— Sybil Kibble, Kankakee
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Moronic Half-Assets Sounds the Alarm
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.
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.
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.
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Tears of a Clown
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.
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MoronicArts are the “Colour of Life”
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.
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MoronicArts Classics: Damien Hurlbutt Does The Fart Dance
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.
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Sybil & The Kibble Bowls
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.
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Not Robbie Hurlbutt
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Wally Green’s New Word Salad Adapter!
Turn this:
Into this:
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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