“Hey Diana! Check out this big, beautiful picture my Peppi smoked up for me!” Manteno entramanure, bog witch and communal narcadoodle Bernadette Cacca brags about the huge printout containing her likeness surrounded her bootlickers, to her neighbors Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes.
“You’re holding it upside down.”
“What?”
“I saw Smokey Ashe, Undead Greg waiting in Hell’s in-processing line during my last internship. Lucy Furr was checking them in.”
“You’re not God, you know honey…” Gothic Mary smirks. The Midnight Supremes collectively snap their fingers, break into song and dance their way back to their Gothic Victorian home next door to the Caccas on Kant Street.
Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran drops by for a visit. She flies into a tree again, then plops to the grass.
“Oh hi Mom! Look what Peppi made for my birthday month!”
“Oh-kay. Why are you pretending to be Jesus?”
“I know. I know. It’s really me using a Vulcan mind meld on aunt Sonya. I have not gotten a gig since she had flown the coop. I’m trying to revive my career!”
“You don’t even like Star Trek.”
“Yeah I do. I really love that Dr. Spock guy and his Jedi mind tricks,” a very confidently incorrect Bernadette plainly spits her alternative facts.
The Midnight Supremes share a giggle at Bernadette’s newest gaffe, Bernadette’s loud mouth wide open to catch a fly shrinks down to a shriveled grimace.
Psychic Vampyre Missy Rabbit is busy checking the emails sent to Scary Barry’s School of Mixed Moronic Arts in Albion, Indiana.
“Hey Barry. Elen is complaining that you’re not accommodating her in your classes. Something about a disability.”
“I. Don’t. Like. That.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Just shoot her an email.”
“I’m not good at writing.”
“Use AI then. I can’t have another liability.”
Missy looks for AI programs on the internet. As she learns more, she is interrupted by a commercial, because of course!
New at your neighborhood corner Wally’s! Attach this Turd Gauge to your Turd Machines and Turd Machine Deluxe to count your turd supply. When your machine runs low on poopies, the ghost of a Chrysler LeBaron will tell you “more turds are needed” every 30 seconds.
Buy one, get one half off (butt never free)
Try our new Artificial Idiocracy (AI) program: Cat-GPT! Just let your cat walk over the keyboard and Cat-GPT will do the rest!
Missy Rabbit calls over to Wally Green’s after seeing his commercial on the internet. Of course, nobody answers the phone and she is sent into the on-hold abyss. Deciding not to wait, she contacts Pantherware after reading some examples on the company web site:
Want to discriminate against your employees while making it look like you care? Try Pat-GPT! Here are some example messages generated for our satisfied customers!
I’d like to confirm that, after reviewing the situation, the only other store we are able to offer at the moment is similar in size to the one you have previously worked. Therefore, transferring would not result in a smaller store.
You would, however, be very welcome to have a private conversation with me before joining, so that any concerns can be discussed and expectations set clearly for everyone in advance. We are more than happy to arrange this.
However, it is important for me to be clear about one point: your previous supervisor has already made adjustments that go beyond what is considered reasonable within business needs. Unfortunately, it is not possible to offer additional adjustments without significantly impacting profit and production.
If you would like to discuss anything further or explore alternative options, please feel free to get in touch. Regards, Wally Green
Thank you for your messages. I appreciate your honesty and the personal context you shared. I want to confirm that we have discussed the matter with Sybil Kibble and have had a conversation about the situation you raised.
We work in line with the terms and conditions of Credit Recovery Associates, which are available on our website. These terms emphasize the need to maintain a positive and safe working environment for everyone, ensuring fairness for the whole group as well as considering individual needs.
I fully understand that the personal situation you’ve described is very difficult, and I sympathize with the stress and uncertainty you’re experiencing. However, it’s important to be clear and fair: our company cannot provide the level of individual support you outlined—such as being taken aside during a personal crisis or being allowed to use the washroom outside of planned breaks. Collectors must maintain the flow of receivables and ensure the wellbeing of the whole company, and sometimes that means taking quick action, such as muting a microphone when needed, to keep the debtor on the phone.
We do our best to offer reasonable adjustments where practical, but we naturally have our limitations. As a result, this position may not offer the personal support or the direct, immediate intervention you are looking for. This would also be the case if we were to transfer you to another department.
I hope this explains the situation in a fair and honest way.
Missy downloads Pat-GPT and prompts it to barf up this email:
Thank you for your e-mails and I’m sorry to have missed your calls yesterday. I’m more than happy to talk to you over the phone, but I’m not sure what else I can do to help at the moment as I can only assist with general questions and unable to resolve this for you. I’m sure you can appreciate from Barry’s email, he has been apologetic and she is trying his utmost to find a positive outcome and to ensure your feelings are considered in order to move forward.
As previously mentioned, moving to a different course provider may prove difficult due to class numbers and availability. Joining a new class at this late stage may also cause you additional stress which we would want to avoid.
Postponing your learning for the rest of this term and start afresh with a different course provider in September may be the best option forward. If you were to do this, I do have to emphasize that the class structure would be pretty much be the same as what you experienced with Scary Barry’s School of Mixed MoronicArts – this decision will be entirely yours to consider. We be starting new classes at our Noble County dojo here in September.
Regards, Barry Reynolds Owner, Scary Barry’s School of Mixed MoronicArts Albion, Indiana 46701
Needless to say, the student isn’t happy. Elen files a discrimination complaint with the Indiana Education Bureau. She then makes a video complaint on Utube which goes viral, catching media attention.
Sybil Kibble also notices, since her name is on one of the messages she had never sent. She calls Wally Green to clarify, however her calls keep going to voicemail jail. Wally Green ignores his phone because he is busy singing crappy karaoke at the Manteno Optimal Club:
You can dookie in the morning You can dookie in the night You can dookie in the toilet You can dookie in the box
If you drop one in the toilet Then you gotta wipe your butt If you poopie in the cat box Then ya gotta scoop it up
Dookie, baby! Dookie, baby (Dookie! Dookie!)
Dookie, baby! Dookie, baby (Dookie! Dookie!)
Drop that deuce!
In walks Sybil Kibble.
“Wally, great job singing. Now what’s the deal with your AI slop program?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“No, not you? Someone has been using AI to send messages pretending to be me!”
Sybil displays the video on her phone to Wally.
“I sell Cat-GPT. That was Pat-GPT. Call Pat Splatt. Nevermind, I will call him myself since he had false personated me too!”
Wally calls Pat, who of course does not answer. He’s too busy taking a steamy bath with his pool toy friends.
A news van with Indiana tags pulls up to the Manteno Optimal Club.
“Hello, Kitty Bee news reporter here doing a story on education discrimination. May I have a word with you?”
“Hey Kitty. Why is my name on some crappy web site email thingy?”
“You tell me.”
“I didn’t write that email.”
“Neither did I!” exclaims Wally Green.
“Do you know how it got there?” Kitty asks.
“Ask Pat Splatt over at that Pantherware computer company down on Lois Street in Kankakee.”
Missy Rabbit is watching the news at her Albion, Indiana apartment.
“Hey! That’s me! I wrote that email! Then I went bowling last night and got a 69 in two games!”
Missy calls the news to tell them all about it, bowling game and all.
“Hey Mr. Jones, you have a sexy voice.”
‘Okay, Missy. Thank you for the tip.”
Missy rambles on as the newsroom staff writer hangs up the phone.
Within days, a new news story emerges at 10:00 PM:
“Come and get your commemorative Craptocoins, mined the old-fashioned way! One side will feature his bigly buttcrack, the other will be adorned by a tiny mushroom surrounded by a bunch of bent carrots. Celebrate my birthday month in style with these wonderful works o ‘fart!”
— Bernadette Moran Cacca, portapotty empress, narcadoodle and swamp witch
“Here I sit all broken-hearted, tried to crap but only farted,” a forlorn Bernadette “Bern” Cacca sings on her porcelain throne, practicing kazoo and accordion. She lights a fart, burns her doodoo in the fireplace, then makes a call to a Northwestern Illinois bar on her smell phone.
“Poopy’s.”
“Hi, my name is Bernadette Cacca. I’m a famous singer near Chicago.”
The bartender giggles.
“I have a wonderful offer to make your bar.”
“May…I take your order?”
“I would like to open a Poopy’s here in Manteno.”
“I thought you were from Chicago!”
The bartender continues to giggle as he hangs up on Bern.
To increase her bottom line of attention, money and bootlickers, communal narc-a-doodle Bernadette offers to sing and play her accordion cover songs at a charity event to raise money for the victims of the Russian war against Ukraine. She dreams about all the praise, awards and photo opportunities she can gain from making it look like she cares. She does not raise money for this or any other cause because she feels concerned about the efforts of living beings trying to stay alive, fighting or fleeing a psychopath trying to take over their beautiful country. She just loves to pretend.
Bern heads home from a long day working her and her husbands’ business Peppi’s Portapotties, excited to burn the porta-poopies in her fireplace, only to be interrupted by a phone call.
“Hi, Bernadette…ummm…Cake-Uh?”
“Cacca.”
“Yeah, I am calling about your gig at the Gaslight Bar tomorrow night.”
“Oh hiiii! I am THRILLED about playing this extraordinary gig at 7:00 tomorrow night.”
“Good. We are calling to tell you about a slight time change. Due to staffing shortages, we need to move your gig back an hour.”
“I am a pillar of the community and a national treasure! Your tone is not appropriate for someone doing business. I would get used to people like me.”
“So are you coming or not? We have other guests who want to play and help—“
“Okay, okay, see you tomorrow. Don’t forget it!”
Bern teams up with local cybercrook Pat Splatt to develop her pretend money Craptocoin. The bum-waste-bin overlord thinks it is cute to sell Craptocoin at the charity event and decides she will solicit tips using her funny money.
“Hello Manteno! Thank you all for coming! Let’s raise some money! Gimme your requests! CraptoCoin only, my handle is @BMCacca! Maybe you already doing it, and that’s awesome!
ALSO, a shout-out to my extraordinary hairdresser @lilacroule from Croule, Young and Lovely who keep me lookin’ good! AND, my makeup by fabulous @marigoldyoung! So much love to their salon. Practices are things done more than one time regularly, and I have been practicing hard for tonight’s fundraiser! That’s why I call them practices!”
“And…without further ado, give it up for the Manteno Wonder herself, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca!”
A slow clap is heard, mixed in with hoots and hollers from Bern’s obsessed fanboys.
After finishing her last accordion cover tune for the first half of her set, “My Fart Goes Boom”, Bern runs to the washroom, humming “Let’s all go to the restroom” as she poops and farts.
Mrs. Cacca emerges, approached by a Chicago television reporter.
“Hi Bern. I would like to interview you. We got a press release—“
“Not now, after.”
“I have other stories to cover. Let’s do this now.”
“The show must go on.”
“I am from Ukraine and have family there.”
“Fair enough, let’s do this interview up on stage. We will both look awesome up there!” Bernadette gushes.
The Chicago TV reporter enters stage right, Bernadette stage left. Reporter Elena Emm stops to remember her questions so she can begin her interview.
An impatient Bernadette sighs loudly, whistles and hums.
“Why are you staring off into space? Are you in a fantasy world?” Bern snarks, snickers, thinking only Elena can hear her.
“I am blind,” the reporter advises the oblivious Bernadette, unaware a camera operator is filming the entire interview.
“Here let me touch your face,” the ableist and ignorant Bern belittles the Chicago TV news reporter, reaching for her face.
Elena knocks Bernadette unconscious with a single blow to her piehole, then proceeds to yeet her into the crowd of bootlickers.
“This show is getting entertaining” Gothic Diana Ross says to her bandmates, The Midnight Supremes, who are waiting in the wings.
“I may be visually impaired, but I’m not stupid” Elena Emm says to the crowd who had poured in to find out where their entertainer Bernadette had gone, only to have that communal narcadoodle chucked right into a pile of them, knocking the fanboys over like a set of bowling pins. Strike!
Happy she got a scoop on the poop-mistress extraordinaire, Elena and the news team head back to Chicago to produce their segment for the next morning’s newscast.
“Next up, give a hand for these lovely ladies, Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes!” announces the emcee, who had called the Manteno girl group last minute to replace their annoying neighbor Bern Cacca on the bill.
“Dog bones, water, washrooms” – Sybil Kibble, Bill Collector, Kankakee
”Life, death and everything in-between” – Gothic Diana Ross, Singer and Vet Tech, Manteno
”Showers, fedoras and food that’s not corn…preferably cheeseburgers and fries…M’lady.“ – Damien Hurlbutt, Area 51 test subject (Formerly of Bourbonnais and Champaign
”Elvis records, blue suede shoes and fine women!” – Robbie Hurlbutt, singer and pharmacy clerk, Kankakee
“Poop, poop and more poop” – Bernadette M. Cacca, entramanure, Manteno
Crapstraps, Turd Machines and Mr. Plopsy Canes. I should know, I invented them myself!” – Wally Green, Pharmacy chain owner, Bradley (Formerly of Deerfield)
Let the gleaming forces of entropy work for you…we mean us of course!
Are you disabled with an incurable brain disease and have trouble getting out to buy your your urgent lifesaving medications? Try Wally Green’s patented new Ghastlighting medication delivery alert program! This crappy idea was inspired by a certain pharmacy chain named after the Parkway in Utica. We might show up with your drugs, we might not and then say we did anyway! If you die, who cares? Call our confidently incorrect pharmacy technicians, we will just groupthink-lie and say you were not at home – like a dog licking its nads – because we can.
Wally asks, why use empathy, honestly and compassion when it’s easier to be a greedy, spineless moron instead?
By the way, ladies, he’s single! 5/3 MAGAts approve this message.
We are doing CONSTRUTION in all our stores to tighten up our aisles so we can overwhelm our shelves with even more useless crap, so we can increase your chances of winning a blow to the head, a stubbed toe or just maybe some sleevies might plop into your cart!
If you’re even (un)luckier, the plop factor could follow you home to knock over your phone, lose your keys or spill your coffee all over the floor!
Coming soon to your local Wally’s: Cat-GPT!
Let your cat walk across the keyboard, and Cat-GPT will invent all kinds of new slop you never knew you wanted! Have your cat enter our competition to invent new nonsense for all our stores to sell. Buy one, get one half off (but never free).
Not valid in Manteno, sorry.
Close your eyes…imagine our new WallyCard offer, now with a 69% UFO! Ask Wally in person for a date and he might lower your rate! Maybe…
Kankakee town troll Leona Krabalsky runs from Manteno sociopath and port-a-potty entremanure Peppi Cacca confronts her for selling fake drugs down below the I-57 overpass.
The king of the porcelain throne drunkenly aims a hair-dryer out the passenger side of his poopmobile while his equally crappy wife Bernadette brags, “My AWESOME husband has “ARI: Armed Redneck Insurance!”
Make it rain with N.F.T.s – Newly Formed Turds! Craptocoin mined the old fashioned way! Ask Bern Cacca how.
“Oh boy oh boy oh boy!” Bourbonnais multiplex clerk, fedora-sporting neckbeard and communal narcadoodle, Damien Hurlbutt exclaims when he gets a link to a message bearing the subject “thank you Damien Hurbutt–old soul and tender-heart.” It has arrived from one of his favourite puppeteers on Fakebook, whom he has been stalking, mailing weekly postcards to her home address.
Damien hems and haws, not used to getting the praise to which he feels entitled. He clicks the link, which leads to a “You Are An Idiot” video, complete with Fakebook comments section on the female performer’s page rightfully poking fun at his narcissistic behavior.
Damien rages due to his narcissistic injury, ego deflated to the size of a pea. He throws his computer out the window, hitting an older lady on the head, instantly killing her.
Bored and fearful he will be locked away forever, without a chance for narcissistic supply, Damien hoovers his ex-wife Lori. Ennui gets the best of him: Damien emerges from nothing by false flagging Lori’s social media content, hoping to get her into Fakebook jail. Instead, Damien goes to real jail – Kankakee County jail – as he awaits his trial for manslaughter and stalking.
Damien’s enabler, fellow communal narcadoodle, and fart-enthusiast Bern Cacca posts bail. Damien goes home, assuming he will get the acquittal to which he feels entitled.
Think again.
A bounty hunter is sent out to sniff out Damien; Bern’s transaction failed because she paid in Craptocoin and burned it all…in her fireplace.
“The only thing I like better than mining Craptocoin, is burning it…” Mrs. Cacca says as she cooks her books at the Manteno shack she shares with her husband Peppi.
Damien pursues Bernadette, who is not home, nor at work. Damien heads over to the bog she inhabits, which she uses as a bathtub and and slow-cooker for devouring the living. Unfortunately for fugitive Damien, the sign at Bern’s Bog reads “the bog witch is out.”
Damien gets a “fake news” tip sent to his flip-phone by Pat Splatt that Bern went to Area 51 for a toxic secret flatulence experiment. Keep flames away from butts.
Artist’s rendering of secret experiment room
Damien tries to sneak into Area 51 after taking pictures of the “Photography Prohibited” Area 51 “No Trespassing” sign.
Damien heads toward the once-secret base nicknamed “Dreamland” and gets rightfully arrested by the military police.
The officers, tired of shooting people on sight and patrolling the same remote corner of Nevada, decide to bring Damien in and question him. Damien sits down at a metal table, glances down at the floor, all by his lonesome. Out of seemingly nowhere, a group of five military personnel materialize in the room, all facing the bulbous neckbeard. ”Face to Face” by Daft Punk plays over the public address system, beat-matched into a remix of ”Paris 400” by SebastiAn. Area 51’s DJ really likes French House Music.
“Nice floor tiles you have, M’Lady!” Damien smirks, hoping to impress the leader with his negative humor.
Obviously not impressed, the Area 51 security team haul Mr. Hurlbutt into a solitary cell in the top-secret experimentation wing, where human and extraterrestrial scientists work to develop a “super-soldier” performing experiments like turning humans into giant spiders and installing amplifiers into cyborgs to blast Katy Scary music to scare away terrorists.
Damien makes his one phone call to Pat Splatt, asking where Bernadette had gone.
MoronicArts 
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