Tag: manteno

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

MoronicMerch helps pay the Moron bill.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

We here at MoronicArts need to pay monthly to help feed, clothe and water the denizens of the Moroniverse. If you like these idiots well enough to wear them on your sleeve, please consider buying one of official MoronicArts.com shirts:

https://www.teepublic.com/user/moronicarts

“Great gift idea!”
— Sybil Kibble, Kankakee

Or maybe buy some mixed moronic arts? (Not the Scary Barry type) https://jenxmusic.bandcamp.com/

Only 1.50 a pop — CHEAP!

The Moroniverse thanks you!

Opinions Are Like Buttholes, Bernadette.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Business is crappy at Peppi’s Portapotties and there has been a brownout at the spectacle known as the Manteno Optimal Club. Despite offering “free tickets” to Robbie Hurlbutt, Madeline Topolla-Teirant, Konrad Teriant, Judi Avelli, her mother Carla and the Cheshire Cat, nobody’s falling for the “two drink minimum” scam anymore.

Needing take make extra dough, bog witch, communal narcadoodle and entramanure Bernadette Moran Cacca applies for a job at Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), the company at which nearly all of Kankakee County has worked at one time. She is so good at annoying people that Clio Bersola hires her right on the spot.

“Would you like take a survey?” Bernadette asks her first caller. “You have been specially selected because your opinion matters!”

“Would you like take a survey?”

“Would you like take a survey?”

“You have been specially selected.”

“Your opinion matters!”

Instead of hounding people for money or craptocoin tips, the wrestler once known as The Manteno Wonder haunts CRASS debtors and creditors with survey spam.

The calls go on and on.

“Is she that weird lady who works down at that Manteno port-o-dump facility?” Dale asks Polly.

“Oh yeah, I see her on TV all the time. Those ads drive me crazy!”

“Just another day in Kank!”

The collectors share a chuckle.

“Good job, keep it up. You’re the only person who applied for this job, so we hired you. What’s your name again?” Sybil says.

“Don’t you know who I am?” the show-tune cover queen and portapotty empress Bernie asks her boss.

“Um…no. That’s why I asked you.”

“I do the charity gigs at the Manteno Optimal Club! I sing showtunes, play piano and blow vuvuzela horn.”

“Well don’t blow this job.”

Sybil goes to Schmucks a few days later to stock up on her Alpo meals. Not finding good deals on her favorite food, she walks across the street to the Wally Green’s and gets one can at regular price and another for half-off (but never free). While browsing the Sleevies, StrangleTangles and Turd Machine Deluxes, her new employee runs up to her as if to hug her, unfortunately.

“Hi there, my fabulous boss!”

“I’m busy.”

“Let me drive you home.”

“No thanks, my car is a block away from here.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have to drive in the rain.”

Not wanting to isolate her new hire, Sybil reluctantly wheels her doggie bags to the trunk of Bernie’s poopmobile and gets in front. Before she has a chance to close the car door, let alone don her seat belt, Bernadette peels out of the Wally Green’s parking lot.

“Slow down there…Nelly.”

“My name’s not Nelly.”

“OK, just drop me off at Schmucks. I took the preggers parking spot. Nobody’s gonna look inside my womb to verify.”

Bernadette loads the heavy cans into Sybil’s car.

“Call me if you need anything, pal!”

“Yeah sure, thanks!”

Sybil drives her white Chrysler LeBaron home, makes sure the oil is not low, and carries her suppers inside. While munching on some milk bones, Sybil checks her voicemail.

“This is a reminder call for: Sybil Kibble. You have a colonoscopy scheduled in three weeks. Please call us back to confirm your appointment. Be sure to have a driver because you cannot legally drive the day of your procedure.”

“Oh crap. I forgot about that.”

Trying to find someone to bring you to a procedure is as bad as finding people to help you move.

Sybil calls down to her mother and asks if she can bring her.

“No, I’m playing Bingo with the girls that day,” JK yells up to her daughter from her basement apartment’s air vent.

She reluctantly calls Dale Davis, even though she’s the object of his unwanted affection.

“No boss, I have to work that day. You scheduled me, remember?”

Out of options, The Kibbler texts The Manteno Wonder.

“Oh yeah, I will take the day off just for you.” Bernadette replies, then she poops.

Bernadette repeatedly texts Sybil daily to ask if she needs any supplies, toilet paper or liquids. However, Sybil says no thanks to the offers, except for the dog food one.

“My two favorite words, free food!” Sybil tells Mrs. Cacca.

“You’re the best!”

Something does not feel right about her newly found friend (not to be confused with Newly Formed Turds). “How can someone be so fond of me, so quickly?” Sybil writes in her diary. “I walk away from her with a funny taste in my mouth but I cannot quite put my finger on it.”

The weather has cooled off a bit in the two-and-a-half weeks which have passed. It’s Friday night after a long, stressful week at work, and Sybil is happy to be back at her Kankakee home.

“Can you come over and check to see if I locked my door?” Bernadette texts, asking about her shack up in Manteno.

Sybil plays The Crushing Candy Game for an hour and then texts Bernie back, “yeah, it’s locked” before going back to her phone, then watches some Unsolved Mysteries.

Sybil texts Bernie to ask for some toilet paper, however she gets no reply.

She shoots another text: “I’ll give you a ten.”

Another hour passes, so she sends out her ma to get the TP instead.

It’s the Sunday before her procedure. Between potty runs, Sybil texts Bernadette to confirm the time tomorrow. An hour passes, no answer. She calls Bernie, who answers after the third try.

“What do you want?” Bernadette snarks.

“I’m just calling to confirm the time you’re come getting me.”

“Just have them call me when you’re ready. I’m not going in.”

“You ARE bringing me TO and FROM my procedure right?”

“I have to meet someone by 9:30 for a portapotty job.

“OK, just pick me up at 8:45.”

“That’s fine. But I’m not signing any paperwork.”

After a very long, sore night, it’s now the bottom of the hour on colonoscopy day.

Bernadette peels onto Sybil Lane and into Ms. Kibble’s driveway.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’ve been going all night!”

Awkward silence passes.

Bern Cacca — the proud G.G. Allin fan and craptocoin miner — does not even flinch at Sybil’s poop joke.

“Just give me directions.”

Despite looking so good on the outside by giving her a lift, the charity-side-show-queen Bernadette does not even bother to ask Sybil how she’s feeling.

“Just have them call me. But, I’m not signing any papers.”

“What do you mean by not signing papers, if you don’t mind I ask?”

“I don’t want to sign anything I don’t know what I’m signing up for.”

“They might need you to sign a discharge paper, to say you are picking me up, that’s it.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll have them call you.”

Bernadette still does not even ask Sybil how she’s feeling, and instead pulls away. Sybil enters the outpatient facility to bravely face the her anal probe alone.

The procedure goes well. Sybil enjoys the best 10 minutes of sleep ever, and then awakens in the recovery room full of people fart-fart-farting away.

“Good news, Ms. Kibble. I circled Uranus and found no Klingons.”

“Great news doc. Have you got ahold of my ride?”

“We’ll have the nurse keep trying.”

Eventually Bernadette pulls into the outpatient facility.

“Slow down!” the guard warns her.

Sybil Kibble gets wheeled to Bernie’s car and she gets in. “How’d it go?” Bernie asks Sybil.

“It went well. No abnormalities.”

“Did they use real anesthesia?”

“No…just the Fisher Price kind.” Sybil deadpans.

“Great, let’s get you home.”

Bernadette spends the whole ride home complaining about “the sky poop” and her online battles with people who “don’t get her revolutionary ideas,” because “it must be that Manteno water,” while explaining in detail every little chore she has done for CRASS, The Poopy Groupies and The Manteno Optimal Club.

What doesn’t Bernadette do? Ask Sybil how she’s feeling, of course. Instead she peels into the Kibble homestead’s driveway, dumps Sybil on her doorstep like a turd, peels out and waves, evil grin showing off the barely good deed she did for a fellow citizen. She cannot wait to brag about this all over Fakebook and Instaspam!

Mrs. Cacca shows up for work at CRASS the next day, walks in the door bright and cheery, mouth wide open as if to catch a fly, eyes as cold as always to hide her daily fear and self-loathing. She struts right by Sybil’s cubicle, and toward Marketing until Sybil calls her name at the top of her lungs:

“B. M. Cacca, come to my cubicle now!” The call center floor giggles.

Bernadette sits down at her desk in Marketing, defying her boss’ orders.

“Bern Cacca, please see Sybil Kibble immediately,” Accounts Receivable Chief Tara Bull calls over the intercom.

Bernadette chooses to ignore the page, so Sybil walks over to her instead, stack of papers in hand.

Sybil faces Bernadette.

“Your position has been eliminated due to lack of business needs. Resign immediately or be terminated.”

“I told you, I’m not signing anything!”

“OK. You’re fired. You have a 30 minute window to clean out your desk before Security escorts you out the door.”

“I WANT to SPEAK to the MANAGER!”

“I AM the manager.”

“No, YOUR MANAGER!” Karen — err — Bernadette, cries, throwing a toddler-tantrum.

“I’m giving you five minutes to leave,” a tall, fit, medium skinned woman wearing box braids demands.

“Do you know who I am?” Bernadette asks.

“No, do you know who I am?”

“I need the manager STAT!”

“I AM the manager. Leave now before we prepare the trebuchet.”

“Can I go to the washroom first?

“That’s it!”

A tiny violin is heard over the intercom, then Sybil’s voice commands: “YEET!”

The entire company cheers as Bernadette gets flung to lawd-only-knows-where.

“I wonder how she is feeling now?” Ms. Kibble giggles to herself before taking another supervisor call.

Demanda Broccoli Gets Chopped!

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

Bernadette Cacca, her husband Peppi and Demanda Broccoli all have one thing in common: Ennui.

“I saw this broad over here, had to go around her…Hi, I’m Demanda, I’m a friend of Mexico, he’s my brother,” she says to Bernadette, extending her hand to shake, holding a beer in the other. Bernadette pauses…then clarifies:

“You mean you’re a friend of Peppi’s.”

“I don’t have no friends. I tell a secret, three people know then I gotta kill both of them,” Kankakee debt-collector and humanoid vegetable Demanda Broccoli tells communal narc-a-doodle Bernadette Cacca, before walking over to her secret lover/sociopath Peppi Cacca, while they’re all sitting outside the Cacca’s Manteno homestead drinking and smoking skunkweed.

“Does Mexico have the Spanish flag?”

“No, they have their own flag, Demanda.”

“Who has the Spanish flag?”

“Umm…Spain”

“Where is Spain?” Demanda asks, guzzles even more beer from her plastic cup and then steals some moonshine from Peppi’s flask.

“Dude, you stank!” Demanda makes fun of her side piece.

“Time to burn some poopies, honey!” Not to be out-stinkified, Bernadette plays a sour note on her butt-trumpet, then lights a match.

BOOOM!

Demanda gets so blown away, her florets, stem chunks and crown make a mess all over the Cacca’s front lawn.

“Mmmmmm! Veggies for supper! I will sure done get regular now!” the bog witch cackles as she picks up the pieces of Demanda.

Undead Greg Invades Evansville

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

The dusk is hitting Manteno, Illinois. Before she has a chance to slither into her bog, a certain village trustee gets into it with a disabled veteran. Having no shame, she will do anything to put others down. The swamp witch emerges from seemingly nowhere.

“Why are you taking pictures?” Bernadette Moran Cacca bothers someone minding their own business, enjoying the sunset. Ennui and lack of narcissistic supply has given her the cravings for attention of any kind, good or bad.

“I live here. Nice night.. Nice to meet you. I’m Shanna.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s me, Bernadette, I went to school with you.”

“Oh hey, you’re still in Manteno?”

“Now you see the real me! I don’t like you. Now keep on walking.”

“Walk do not run, Bernie. The Village of Manteno has turned on its citizens,” Gothic Mary of the Midnight Supremes tells the Queen of the Porcelain Throne, narc-a-doodle-doo and washed up former wrestler formerly known as The Manteno Wonder.

“Now if you disagree with the fascist council member that also runs the Optimal Club, you will be shut down and shut up,” Gothic Mary, member of the Midnight Supremes tells Shanna.

“Oh hey, I remember you Mary, what’s up?”

“She used to get mad at my sonic sneezes that I cannot control and then peel out her driveway yelling the N-word. I had told our classmates but nobody would believe me. She was much more prejudiced than I thought but pretended to be an ally who cared about other cultures, and people in general. She actually had said she got a better ‘gold star bisexual’ to taunt me into taking her back, thinking I’d get jealous. First she was bragging on about how perfect things were going between them, that I was ‘too sensitive’ to give her what she wanted, and how she will change and mold everyone in town into something special. This town has always been great and would be even better without her and her Craptocoins.

“Who’s that smelly dude over there in the baggy clothes? Is he a meth-head?”

“No, that’s our resident zombie Greg. He used to own a sewer business until Bernadette had him for supper down in the bog. Then he got re-animated.

“Hey Greg! I hear they sell fried brains down in Evansville, Indiana,” Shanna yells out. Gothic Diana Ross joins Mary and Flo in giggling.

“Okayyyyy…In America there are three mountains in regions where it snows on top of the river and in other regions it is 180 degrees because mountains control temperatures backward towards chemtrails. Unless we make inflatable artificial bounce mountains on the face of the Moon base to control the weather, we will always have these weather problems which can be changed in five minutes. Brains? Brains branes brainnnnnnz…”

Undead Greg Schneissder wanders down to Indiana to find himself one…if only.

Greg heads to a truck stop to make a pit stop so he can empty out his toxic waste and then immediately refuel. While browsing the store, Greg shouts over to a man microwaving a packaged sandwich, “Don’t open that microwave until after it stops beeping!” The trucker just shakes his head and begins to pry the plastic upon plastic from his late night meal. “You’ll get radiation poisoning if you open it too soon. It’s in the manual.”

Greg comes up empty and eats some poopies instead, left behind some man who didn’t flush down the brown.

Ragged and scrawny as ever, Greg continues walking down to Evansville, after hitching a ride on a manure truck and sleeping in the back.

Night falls upon Evansville after the driver has delivered his business and Greg wanders toward a certain restaurant which specializes in fried brain sandwiches.

“Closed for rest and reset? What’s that?” Greg says aloud as he pounds on the window, breaking the glass. The burglar alarm goes off immediately as Greg climbs in, loiters around the restaurant looking for a seat.

“Doooooes this TV get the Aaant & Ding Show?

Undead Greg walks toward the basement to look for the cooler full of chilled brains only to fall down the stairs, crumpling into a bag of bones, a waft of dust smelling oddly like cheese puffs fills the building. Yum.

Carla Moran’s Ticket to Fly

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“You have a wake to attend.” Undead Greg Schneissder tells his lover, the communal narcadoodle and bog-witch known as Bernadette Moran Cacca.

“What?”

“There’s some dude out there photographing a dead bird.”

“Oh that’s that millionaire from Kankakee.”

“Millionaires in Kank? They exist?”

“Well yeah, duh! His name is Mack, he owns some debt collection firm there.”

“We should start a band called The Dead Fledglings,” the undead sociopath suggests, before waking into a wall.

“That’s so uncouth!” Bernadette’s ringer starts playing a GG Allin Medley.

“Hi Mom! I see you got my Craptocoins! I just mined them fresh myself!” Bernie flushes the toilet.

“Bernadette, take YOUR shower!” the shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture demands.

“Mom?”

“C’mon, we’re going on a little outing.”

“Where?”

“It will be a surprise.”

“I’m very busy burning the poops from last night’s port-a-potty job, raising money for the Manteno Optimal Club this weekend, and devouring unsuspecting gentleman callers next time I go to my swamp.”

“Get him out!” “Get him out!” Carla screams at the baseball game.

“Mom?”

“That didn’t even dawn on me. How about you and I take a little break, have some mother-daughter time, maybe we can do each other’s pedicures?”

“Eeeeew!”

“Don’t talk to me in that tone of voice!”

“Stop squawking at me!”

“No-wrong!”

“We always get into fights because you find that one thing about me to complain about.”

“You’re too sensitive, honey.” Carla gaslights.

“I have this awesome piano gig at the Manteno Cantina tonight. Wanna come see me play?”

“I know, I know, I know. So you’re not coming with me?”

“Yeah…no. That’s my final answer.”

“You mommy will miss you.”

“Good. Go have fun! Gotta run, because I got the runs!”

Bernadette hangs up her smell phone and flushes her washroom toilet again.

Carla of course calls Bernadette right back and leaves a voicemail:

“DON’T YOU HANG UP ON ME AGAIN! FINE! I will fly out to Groom Lake without YOU. We have all been wondering where your Aunt Sonya went but I guess you don’t care. When I find her, I will tell her how YOU mistreated me, and how little you’ve cared about her since she left town. You aunt cares an awful lot about you. And I love you an awful lot. Bye honey.”

Bernadette sees that she has one new voicemail from her mother, and immediately deletes it without listening. Then she poops.

Visions of vacationing in the desert by the lake, fill Carla’s grandiose head, devoid of vision. Lighthouses greet the boats passing in the night, scores of grey aliens cheer outside their ships of the space kind and wave at Ms. Moran, as she approaches the gate of the Dreamland ranch.

The next morning, Carla flies out from Indiana and Southwest toward Nevada, taking breaks to circle around with other vultures in the thermals to rest her wings. They land in Dulce, New Mexico helping themselves to a freshly dead cow, taking the back entrance and chowing down on as much carrion as they can after exiting. Within minutes, they fly away to some trees in the next town over to clean off their outstretched wings.

Carla then flies solo up toward Nevada looking for her Groom Lake vacation spot. Confused by the lack of water, beaches and boats, she stops at a diner in Rachel to ask directions.

“Dry Lake? What the heck is that?”

Disappointed by the lack of water in the Nye County surrounding area, Carla flies toward Homey Air Force Base to find her long lost sister Sonya where she was rumored to have last been seen.

Tired of flapping her wings, Carla walks over to the gate. Signs reading “No drones,” “Photograhy Prohibited,” and “Warning: US Military installation. Unauthorized entry strictly forbidden” are plain to see. She struts over to the guard shack and demands to be let in.

“Ma’am, did you read the sign?”

“My sister is locked inside and I need to rescue her.”

“Do you have ID, ma’am?”

“I have no idea where in there she is, no.”


“Do you have a driver’s license? Passport? Military identification?”

“Come here. COME HERE! I need to show you something.”

“If you don’t have proper identification, I will deny you entry.”

“I am Carla Moran. You DO know my sister, Sonya Moran, do you not?”

The camo dude just laughs.

“If you don’t leave the premises, I am going to have to call police.”

“OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK!”

“Back out the way you came, and head out. Where did you come from and where are you heading?”

“Inside to see my sister.”

“Alright, I’m calling police.”

Within a half hour, the sheriff shows up and take Ms. Moran into custody, issues her a $640 citation, and sends her home.

“Oh my god, my mom’s on TV! Wooooo! Look at this, JB!”

“What’s that honey?” her second-favorite lover Mr. Powers asks. Bernadette’s husband Peppi is out on another port-o-dump run.

Bernie points at the TV and spits out her beer.

“Indiana woman with ties to Kankakee County arrested for — get this — trying to break into Area 51. Reporter Elena Ess is on the scene.”

Bernadette giggles like a giddy child on Christmas and grabs another bottle.

“Flying straight into solid objects” – Bernadette Cacca

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment
Daily writing prompt
What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?
View all responses

“Come here, I need to show you something…” shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran hisses from the atop her daughter Bernadette M. Cacca’s Manteno home where she is busy playing kazoo pop covers as she burns the port-a-potty waste in her washroom.

“I’m busy.” Bernadette begins to play harder/faster/bigger/stronger into her toy instrument.



 “Bernadette, I have some projects for you to do!”


“I’m all pooped out.”

The vulture takes flight and makes air donuts around the Caccas’ property.

“I’ll smack some sense into you if you don’t—”

“BOOOM!”

Carla’s extra-long, pointy beak slams into a tree, creating a large crack in its bark, tail-feathers shaking as the creepy craptor wiggles her entire body around trying to break free from her own self-imposed prison.

That poor tree.

What the Frickfrick?

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

“Where the heck has Sonya been?”

“Uhh, a little birdy told me she was last seen near Area 51 in Nevada.” Bog witch, entramanure and communal narcadoodle Bernadette Moran Cacca says to her shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and self-righteous narc mother Carla.

“Who? Was it my cousin Jackie? He flies by all the time but not once, even once, ever says hi.”

“Who’s that?”

“Oh you know him, you met him when you were five at grandma’s house.”

“I have no idea, it was just a rumor…”

“I’m picking up all this stuff here at her house…”

“Oh wow, ma, anything for me? Anything worth beaucoup bucks?”

“Nope. Everything I’m picking up I’m THROWING OUT!” the angry bird says with great pride (but not the good kind). Why couldn’t I get a free trip to Area 51?”

“Maybe she got a job there, I dunno…”

“I’ve applied there over and over, and heard nothing. Why does SHE get to go there but not ME? MUST BE NICE.”

Feathers ruffled, Carla Moran starts flapping her wings and cursing.

“Maa, y’know I have you on speakerphone.”

“Nevermind!”

“Why don’t you come down to the Manteno Optimal Club and compete in our poetry slam?”

“You know I hate poetry, and it’s a long way from Eastern Indiana”

“Oh come now, it’s for a good cause!”

“We’ll see…”

“I’d love to see my mother again. Won’t you do it just for me? You do love me right?” the hag gaslights.

“Okay! Okay! Okay! Enough!”

“Great see you Sunday.”

“Roger that!” Pamela Frickfrick laughs to her twin sister Becca who has been eavesdropping on her neighbors from across the block.

“Our newly installed Frickfrick towers are working pretty darned good I say. When are your grandkids coming over, Becca?”

“Today. Can you watch them?”

“I gotta work at Credit Recovery Associates. You know, that CRASS job I got a few months ago.”

“Isn’t it illegal for bill collectors to call on weekends? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“You’re a CRASS bill collector too, you should know!”

Pamela storms out the door of her Manteno home and wanders on over to see what kind of dookie she can stir up over at the house of Cacca.

Bernadette is sitting upstairs pooping and singing a song of stupidity, therefore Pamela seizes the opportunity to do something even crappier. After all, it’s all a competition for these bored bitties. “Oh look a bowling ball!” Pamela hoists the lawn ornament from Bernadette’s house over on Kant Street to hers on Ken Street so it can grow legs.

She rolls the ball, striking her garage wall, sparing her from having to buy one herself. Then she goes out on another Moronquest.

Pam spots the slate Victorian mansion of Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes. “Oh how handsome, a knight in shining armor. I think it fell off a truck,” Pamela thinks aloud as she hauls the decorative swordfighter over to her home to live instead. “Maybe I’ll dress him up to look like the king instead, the King of Rock and Roll!”

Pamela drives over to Wally Green’s to hopefully buy gaudy jewelry, a blue-black wig and fake sideburns to decorate her new man. Wandering around the store, two clerks circle around her asking eight times each if she needs help, despite her having said no the first time.

“Oh shoot-a-darn. I forgot to get my meds, where’s the pharmacy hun?”

The clerk points his arm toward the back of the store and a large cartoon of Wally’s silly grin.

After waiting in line for 25 minutes, Pamela finally makes it to the pickup window.

“Pamela Frickfrick”

“Sorry, we’re still working on it. Give us 20 minutes,” says her crush, Kankakee Elvis impersonator and pharmacy tech Robbie Hurlbutt.

Mrs. Frickfrick wanders around the store to buy some crap she does not need, only to circle back to her number one singer.

“We have a P and C at Pharmacy. Pharmacy, we have a P and C.”

“What’s that?” Pamela asks Robbie.

“Someone’s just dropping off a specimen over at the lab.”

“OK. Now tell me, do you have vaccines for FIV?”

“FIV? You mean HIV.”

“No. FIV. It’s a disease that cats can get and I don’t want to catch it.”

“Umm, we don’t have a vet clinic here, sorry ma’am.”

“It’s for me. You sell shots here right?”

“Of gin?”

“No, I don’t drink any darn alcohol. I just wanna shot so I don’t get FIV.”

“Lady, you can’t get FIV from cats!” a passerby shouts, then shakes her head as she walks away.

“Robbie, you are the sexiest man on earth. Don’t you know anything about what you sell? You are smart for your age.”

“Ummm, I am 47. I grow the same boogers as you.”

“You need to respect your elders! I am 74 and a lot older than you. Get me the manager now!”

“I AM the manager,” Robbie lies.

“Well imma gonna done call ICE and report you for being friendly to migrants when I go home. I am no longer your biggest fan!” Pamela breaks down and cries all the way across Kankakee County.

Meanwhile Keysha, Aaliyah and Cedric are playing in their gramma’s house. “Where did she get this bowling ball?” little Keysha asks her siblings as tries to lift it.

“I dunno, but let’s see how much damage it can do on this knight!” Cedric says, grabbing the 12 pound ball as he begins to throw strikes.

The two girls run into the backyard.

“Oooh, legos!” the kids cry, as they tear apart the red-and-white antenna array.

“A prize inside! Is this a radio?

“No, it’s just a dumb baby monitor.” Gothic Diana Ross tells the kids, having walked over looking for her missing lawn ornament.

“Hey kids, where’s your grandmother?”

“I dunno.”

“Is she home?”

“No.”

“Is anybody home?”

“Just us…”

Concerned about the thefts — and more importantly — the kids’ welfare, the Gothic Boss Ms. Ross calls the police.

The Kankakee police eventually locate Pam walking along the sidewalk somewhere in Bradley, carrying a red metal container.

“Are you Pamela Frickfrick?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Where are you headed, ma’am?”

“I had forgotten to fill my tank when the yellow light illuminated and I’m looking for a filling station.”

“Where did you get this bowling ball?” the cop asks as she shows her a photo from her phone.

“It rolled over one night when he had storms. Why?”

“And this metal knight?

“Oh he walked over to my house. I promise I did not steal him from his girl. I didn’t do anything.”

“Nope, you didn’t. We dispatched an officer to your home to find three children abandoned.”

“This is not fair! I’m a senior citizen who pays your salary! I know the mayor!”

“We know the mayor too,” the policewoman says as she handcuffs the town Frickfrick and reads her Miranda rights.

(This story dedicated to a special friend who loves cats).

A sister from another mother?

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

A year or so after Bernadette Moran Cacca had wandered her way into the Moroniverse, this other unpredictable Bernadette from nearby Joilet had made her debut on a much more famous and well-loved series: “The Big Leap.” Like Bernadette the kitten, Bernadette from HR is not a moron, nor an entramanure who sings show-tunes on the potty while playing accordion in the Manteno Optimal Club. This Bernadette likes to go where everybody knows your name.

She needs her own spin-off series. Maybe she can take over human resources dooties at Peppi’s Port-a-Potties or become the new president of The Poopy Groupies since Wally Green is getting annoyed.