Tag: manteno
A Very Moronic Make-Under
It’s Sixth Grade Graduation time in Manteno sometime during the early 1990s.
Gothic Diana Ross’ mother starts a feud with her, because she had watched a few too many talk shows and wishes her gothic daughter would wear boring basic clothes like her.
“Why don’t you dress like all the other girls?”
“I am not the other girls. I am me.”
“Why are you wearing THAT? Why don’t you wear your NICE shirt?”
“I could go naked…”
“You’re not helping!”
“Whaddya mean I’m not helping?”
“You’re not going to Sixth Grade Graduation looking like THAT!
Wanting a chance to look good on film, Mrs. Diana calls up the Morans next door at 810 Kant Street and asks if Diana can borrow Bernadette’s clothes. They end up needing a massive hem, so Mrs Diana safety-pins the blue gingham dress and sends Diana out against her will wearing Bern’s massive un-gothic clothes. Bern goes to sling her arm around Di for the photo, and the rightfully embarrassed Diana shoves Bern’s arm away. Not to be dismayed from getting her way, the spoiled little brat Bernadette sneaks behind Diana and rests her arm on her right as Mrs. Ross snaps the photo.
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Carla & The Candy Factory
“I am so tired of sticking my beak up animal butts to slurp out all the entrails. I want some chocolate! Why does everyone else get to have THEIR ice cream?”
Shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran hatches a plan and flies down to the swamp where her love-child, bog witch extraordinaire Bernadette Moran Cacca swims and devours the living when she’s not burning port-a-poops nor doing charity cover songs just to look good.
“Hey, do you want to go with me to the Egon Spangler Candy Factory in Ohio? That’s where they keep all the dum-dums.”
“No, it’s not nice to call people a dum-dum…” the holier-than-thou Bernadette Cacca snarks as she rejects her mother’s offer and bites the head off a man whom she just ate for supper.
“Fine. Don’t come to ME when YOU want a favor!” Carla squawks as she flies away.
“What an idiot. First Sonya breaks into my apartment, moves some stuff around, then she pees on my bed. Last year she posted a nastygram on my door accusing me of stinking up the floor from cat pee. The litter-box had just been scooped and there was no smell. If she poops out another fake lease violation, I am going to scream. Then I’m gone done report her to the Illinois Fair Housing Department. I’m done with her shenanigans.”
So go the postings on Manteno People and Places. Albion Places and People. Musings Around South Bend. This is not her first rodeo. She owns apartment complexes all across Northern Illinois and Indiana.
“Yeah, last year when the guys came in to do the bug inspection, they broke my shower-head. Then Sonya had gone and issued ME a violation!”
Complaints continue to pour in.
“Come in” Sonya Marie Smith Moran says, beckons, then gets up to close the door.
“Yeah I’m here to pay my rent.”
“Name and apartment number?”
“Edith Smith, apartment B240.”
The tall, slender, shapeshifting humanoid vulture taps away at the keyboard with her talons.
Edith can see from the angle at which she is standing in the tiny, closed office that there is a flash-note on her account.
Sonya’s assistant, JB the Turd Burglar comes over and looks at Sonya’s screen, craving Evansville brains after a long day stealing turds.
“You’re late.”
“I just got the bill Friday and it’s due today.”
Sonya’s eyes get really big.
“OK I am just gonna stand here and watch this interaction to make sure it’s copacetic.”
“Here is my check. I’d like my receipt.”
“You overpaid.”
“I would like my receipt.” Sonya prints her receipt and Edith walks out the door.
“She did not seem as biligerant and obnoxious as it says on the computer.”
“If it’s who I think it is, she made my last assistant cry,” Sonya projects.
Edith cracks the door back open pokes her head back in. “No that was two assistants ago. That was Erick, and he’s an idiot. He deserves it.”
“Put in that she eavesdrops too.”
Edith walks away, lets the door hang, and laughs in Twiddle-Dee and Twiddle-Dumbs’ faces. “You guys are morons. You need to get better hobbies! Maybe you’d sleep better!” she cries out sarcastically, then looks away, strutting her stuff like she’s living her best life — because she is.
“What’s this?” JB asks as he holds up a blue and white winter hat with the words “Be Nice” embroidered all over it.
“It fell off a truck,” Sonya snarks as she puts the hot hat onto her hard head.
“Time you asked for a refund!” JB jokes as he points at his boss, who does not look pleased to say the least.
JB leaves his job for the day and drives his Turdmobile over to his favourite singer’s house. No not Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes, thankfully for them.
“Bernadette!”
“JB!”
“Hey I got something for ya, honey puddin’!”
JB shows Bernadette the hat his malignant narcissist boss ripped off a tenant and puts it on his communal narcadoodle lover’s head as he walks in the door.
As the two sit on the couch to chill, JB’s former boss – and Bog Witch Bernadette’s other lover – Undead Greg Schneissder emerges from the washroom. Bernadette, the self-proclaimed “piano dominatrix” gets up and gives Greg a stern look. Hey poopy-brown eyes say it all.
“I flushed this time!”
“Did you wash your hands?”
“Don’t nag me, lady.”
Undead Greg spies his employee JB sitting in his seat. “Hey, wanna go over to Evansville and eat some friends? I mean some fried brands. Brains. Excuse me, I’ve had too much of your spicy fecal matter again.”
“I’ll do anything to get out of Manteno.”
After losing all but two dollars in the local mini-casino, Carla soars over to the factory in Northwest Ohio hoping to satisfy her sweet-tooth, only to discover they don’t even make chocolate there.
Hanging her beak in disappointment, she tries to raid a mini-mall ice-cream shop in Sandusky, only to be chased out by the customers grossed out at the sight of a vulture with a six-foot wingspan invading their space.
After doing some fluffy sky donuts across Ohio and Indiana, Carla goes looking for a vending machine. Sadly the only ones she could find take CryptidCoin — not to be confused with Craptocoin.
The shapeshifting humanoid vulture busts the door open of a highway convenience store down in southwest Indiana. “Ah finally, some chocolate ice cream with peaches, licorice and oatmeal raisin cookies! My favorite kind!” Carla thinks to herself as she wolfs down the entire half-gallon. She savors her last bite, only to puke it all up outside.
“Get away bird, or I will call the cops! Stop stealing our crap!” the clerk demands of the bird-brained thief. Carla had tossed her cookies and ice cream out of fear. That’s what you do if you’re a vulture.
Undead Greg and his buddy-pal JB have just got their fried brains at the annual festival in Evansville, Indiana. JB chows down when suddenly Greg’s plate is swiped by an unseen force. He slams down his fists and starts making off-color remarks.
A certain vulture can be seen in her natural habitat, eating dead stuff off a plate.
“Wow, that’s the weirdest thing I’ve seen all day,” Cierra Glitchmore says to her wife.
“You’re surrounded by people eating brains,” April Fool-Glitchmore deadpans.
Then Sonya empties all over the ground and her feet the caustic waste of her previous day’s feast.
“Have that lady arrested!”
Sonya causes a public freakout, cameras naturally rolling, including those of the Evansville television station covering the brainy event.
“I pee freely. I poop freely. I’m a bird. I go wherever I want to. You can’t discriminate against humanoid shapeshifting vultures! Do you know who my niece is?”
“Umm, never heard of her,” Kitty Bee reports.
“Carla? What are you doing here?”
“And this is history in the making. As you just saw this…umm…human vulture thing just…well…make a mess where she probably should have not gone. Evansville police have got the woman, bird person in custody. Man, it’s been a day. Reporting live for Evansville TV, this is Kitty Bee.”
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Five Things Bernadette Cacca is Good At
Nevermind me – let’s talk about the Manteno, Illinois’ very own Bernadette Moran Cacca – a communal narc-a-doodle.
She sings with the voice of an angel and has the soul of the Devil.
A proverbial wolf-in-sheep clothing, looks are deceiving.
Bernadette does charity work, pretending she cares, just for the photo opportunity.
A port-a-potty proprietor, she burns the port-a-poopies in the fireplace after lighting her farts to spark the fire. She excels at gaslighting in more than one way, because you know, she’s a narcissist.
She is great at pooping and does it a lot.
A master of her domain, she is a swamp witch who is great at luring in unsuspecting men so she can have a Donner dinner party for one.
She excels in annoying her next-door neighbors Gothic Diana Ross & the Midnight Supremes burning poops and practicing her kazoo cover tunes. She is secretly pathologically envious of her neighbors because they are talented and beautiful. Meanwhile she continues to pump out sludge like this:
Bernadette M Cacca
YOU’RE THE BEST, Undead Greg! Great to see you!!!
Undead Greg:
Oh my! This is so much fun. Bernadette Cacca is a goddess. We’re taking over this joint! Thank you for all the great music Miss Bern.
Bernadette M Cacca
You’re the GOAT!!!
Undead Greg:
NO YOU!
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Two Halves of the Same Moron
“And now for our next act, two Bernadette Caccas in a trenchcoat!” barks the ringleader Konrad Teirant at Moronic Half-Assets Three Ring Circus in Manteno.
“Oh look, that’s the shapeshifting humanoid vultures Sonya and Carla Moran flying above! Look out, they just might poop on ya!”
The crowd covers their heads.
“Splat” goes the bird doo right atop Kankakee County’s number one Elvis impersonator:
“I wish I wore a hat…” Robbie Hurlbutt moans as the Undead Greg next to him munches his turd sandwich. He eats poopies to stay undead.
“Next up, flying monkeys! Oh my, oh my!”
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Peppi Wants a New Drug
“Been drinkin’ again?” Manteno narcissist Bernadette Cacca asks her husband, sociopath and portapotty co-proprietor Peppi Cacca.
“Can you blame me?” Peppi replies as he takes another moonshine swig from a jug marked “XXX”.
“I want a new drug,” Peppi thinks to himself, “one that won’t make me heave.”
Peppi Cacca knows crap is king, after all he and Bern own a portopotty business. Bored with binge-watching the Crap Me Outside Girl rapping on TakTik, Peppi starts looking for videos on how to get high on uTube. After scrolling through pages of unpredictable results, Peppi sits through a four minute commercial and watches a video filmed at Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.
“Plutonium tastes sweet” the presenter announces.
Intrigued, Peppi asks YooHoo Answers in their Qanonsense section if Queue can tell him if snorting Plutonium can get him high. After all, Peppi believes everything he reads on the Internet.
Peppi goes to Wally Green’s and Bucketheads looking for plutonium to buy, but comes up empty. No 11 per cent off sale for him, no buy one, get one 50 per cent off (but never free) either.
Driving home, Peppi gets stuck at a light at the intersection underneath the I-57 interchange. Under the bridge he spots a wild Leona Krabalsky, the Kankakee town troll.
Peppi drives his crapmobile to the underpass, going through the red stoplight because he thinks the laws do not apply to him. Peppi rolls his window down and yells his mating call “git, git, git” to Leona.
“I don’t want you and I am not for sale!” the elderly hag growls.
“You got some anything good?” Peppi clarifies wearing his turd-eating grin.
“I just might. What’s your pleasure?”
Peppi and Leona shake hands and Peppi peels out after chucking the brown paper bag into his backseat. Peppi rushes back home to meet wife Bernadette at their Manteno shack for dinner.
Bernadette and Peppi sit in their bedrooms, eat their Hardlees burgers and fries and belch a bunch of times. Bern lifts her leg and farts.
“Ahhh, that was a good one,” Bernadette says with glee.
Peppi takes his newly discovered rocks out the paper bag he bought from Leona.
“Mmmmmmmmm…this is sweet” Peppi thinks out loud as he munches on the pebbles.
Then Peppi pukes up his dinner since he was drunk.
Bernadette walks in on Peppi tossing his cookies in their washroom.
“Hey, what’s up?” a nosey Bern asks her beloved Pep.
“Blecccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhh” Peppi repies into the toilet.
“What were those cat turds doing in your bedroom? I need to burn them. Let me light a fart first to spark the flames and then I will watch them burn in the fireplace.”
Bern watches the glisten and pop, all aglow, gleaming like a twinkle in Bern’s eye. “Ooooh, that smell.”
Disgusted that Leona sold him fake Plutonium, Pep cooks up a way to make some cash.
Bern and Pep team up to make a mumble rap video. Pep raps and plays a single snare drum which fell off a truck, while Bern sings show-tunes while playing her accordion she uses to trick people on the internet into thinking she cares about charities.
The video fails to get monetized.
Bern makes a TakTik viral video lighting her farts and burning poopies in her fireplace which her fans adore. Then Bern runs out of poops because the neighborhood turd-burglar JB Martin stole them all.
Bern makes a collection of her own poops to burn since she needed more, and makes more TakTik videos, becoming an “influencer.” Companies offer to mail Bern free toilet paper in return for her becoming their brand ambassador.
As Bern logs into accept the free toilet paper, the Caccas’ fire alarm goes off from the unattended poopies burning in her fireplace.
The Manteno Fire Department rushes over to the Caccas’ house.
Bern screams with excitement when the Waaaaaah Machines wail and fart as the firefighters rush to their house to put out the fire, clapping as they arrive.
“Hi guys, I really love those fart noises your fire engines make. Can I get one of those keen blow-horns for my house? I think they will go great with my accordion routine I do for charity and the Turd machine I mounted on the side of the shack to shoot at Gothic Diana Ross.”
“Shut up and leave, your house is on fire,” the firefighter warns Bern as the two Caccas walk away and watch their house burn, along with the poopies.
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Bernadette Cacca Joins The Illuminati?
After hearing Manteno entramanure, communal narcadoodle and bog witch Bernadette Cacca’s kazoo showtune covers on her husband Brandon’s phone, Pris Dixon tells Bernadette she is her biggest fan and wants to join her fan club, the Poopy Groupies.
After reading the fan message Mrs. Dixon had delightfully shoved into Bern’s inbox, BM Cacca reads this message posted to her Fakebook wall:
“You have been pre-approved to join the Illuminati! Have fun gaining wealth, power and glory in this secret society! Just pay a $19.99 convenience fee to start!
Text “JOIN” to 23
Or contact Emperor Norton to unsubscribe.
Fnord”
Bernadette of course falls for the scamvertisement, and brags at her next Manteno Optimal Club Charity Concert for Tips and Giggles that she had become the world’s newest Illuminatus. Then she blows some more cover tunes out her butt-trumpet.
Pris Dixon interrupts the gig to deliver a special news bulletin, special only in her mind. She complains she did not get her welcome letter, membership card and poop emoji decal. Bernadette farts in her face and keeps on playing, not missing a butt…umm…beat.
“I need to talk to the manager!”
“OK Karen!” one of Bern’s bumlickers heckles Mrs. Dixon.
Sonya Moran, President of The Poopy Groupies pulls Pris Dixon aside.
“Prius, did you pay in Craptocoin?”
“It’s Pris, short for Priscilla. No, I paid cash. Cash is king ya know?”
“We only accept Craptocoin.”
Pris storms out Manteno Optimal Club and calls her hubs, Brandon Dixon, to pick her up.
Brandon pulls his imbecile machine into the middle of the lot, and realizes his biggest crush is inside singing.
The dysfunctional Dixons have a spat and Brandon runs inside to hopefully get an autograph from his steaming hot crush, Bernadette Cacca from the car auto warranty messages. Pris sits alone inside Brandon’s overly lifted shiny white truck, decorated in sexist decals and MAGAt stickers, and rips a huge fart. Of course, she does not roll down the windows because she loves the smell of her own noxious waste.
“Is this…Bernadette…KaCo?”
“It’s Cacca.”
“Hello Mrs. Cankles. This is Mephisto Smith from the Illuminati. Your application got rejected due to insufficient funds.”
“Oh I have plenty of fun. I just met this AWESOME man here at my—“
“Funds. Your transaction failed. We cannot extend you our exclusive fame and fortune unless you pay us first.”
“Oh, let me whip up another batch of NFTs.”
“Mrs. Cocky, I said NSF. In-suff-icient FUNDS.”
“Newly formed turds! I mine my craptocoin the old fashioned way.”
“You need to wire me 19.99 plus a $23 dollar inconvenience fee, or we will reject your application.”
“What’s going on, beautiful lady, Manteno’s very own national treasure?” Brandon Dixon asks the steaming mad pile of crap Bernadette.
Bernadette storms out and slithers her way into the swamp for the night, putting the extra in bog-witch-extraordinaire.
“Honk honk! A-you-ga!” Brandon’s imbecile machine cat-calls as Pris lays on the horn. Brandon reluctantly drives his wife home and barely makes it. Pris of course was running its engine the whole time, because you know, it’s cold?
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Peppi, Bern & The Act of Mating
A wild Peppi Cacca in his natural Manteno habitat utters his mating call.
“Git, git, git” he cries, hoping to mount an approaching Bernadette. Displaying the power of his fragile male ego, the Peppi channels his inner Pepe LePew and tries to kiss the bog witch Bernadette, who runs like a cheetah, hiding; plotting her revenge.
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Bernadette Cacca Blames The Poopy Groupies For Her Bad Driving
Manteno’s very own Bernadette Cacca, Queen of the Porcelain Throne and communal narcadoodle brags and boasts about everything whether people want to read it — or not.
“I am on my way to Chicago now to do a potty job! I have only been there once and I have lived in Illinois my ENTIRE LIFE!”
The one-time wrestler and dishonorably discharged soldier Bernadette peels out her Kant Street driveway, thinking she’s drifting, when she is really just a drifter.
“This traffic is crazy! I have never seen it this way!” Bernadette says as she makes her way up 57 toward 90/94, weaves in and out of traffic, nearly clipping an 18-wheeler. Pretty red, blue and yellow lights shine down from the heavens and illuminate the dazed and confused Cacca.
“Oh hi Officer! My name is Bernadette Cacca, you may know me from–“
“License and registration, ma’am.”
“I love your perfume. Are you having a baby?”
“No, I’m just fat. Do you know why I pulled you over?” the officer asks a befuddled Bern, trying to hide the frustration in his face of having just been misgendered.
“Pulled me over? Little old me? I’m a star you know. Here, have a sucker.”
“I’ll let that go for now. You were going 99 miles-per-hour and you nearly caused an accident.”
“Oh beautiful, come here. I will buy you a drink and comp you at my next show.”
“I am writing you a ticket for the speeding and issuing an appearance ticket for bribery.”
“Let me speak to your supervisor.”
“Slow down, Karen,” the cop orders Bernadette as he hands her two the tickets she had rightfully earned and safely merges back into traffic. Meanwhile, Bernadette pulls out her smell phone, texts and pulls away as she barfs up this monstrosity onto The Poopy Groupies Fakebook page and Instaspam:
Then she poops her pants. Gotta mine that Craptocoin the old-fashioned way: by making NFTs (Newly Formed Turds).
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Behind the Moroniverse: Peppi and Bernadette
Manteno’s own Peppi and Bernadette Cacca might seem like empty characters at first, however there is a much darker side to them. Like all my characters, the Caccas are inspired by a combination of real people.
I have known Bernadette’s main inspiration my entire life. She had lived next to my grandmother. As kids, she was the entitled brat who wanted things her way or the highway. I used to try and dodge her, running the other way because she annoyed me so much, but then she would not leave me alone.
I clearly remember her insisting on calling me my deadname, despite my pleas for her to stop. Bernadette hasn’t any concept of boundaries and neither does her main inspiration. She just pretends to care.
In high school, she had found a way to manipulate people into thinking she was a wonderful person. I had to ask her an urgent question for a design I was creating for a play in which she starred, right before I had to catch the bus to trade school to design it. Instead of turning around and answering me, the “stage manager extraordinaire” sitting atop a desk kept talking faster and louder to the other student, drowning me out.
To add insult to injury, the real-life communal narcissist tricked the teacher into making ME apologize to HER. I will never forgive her for that abuse.
The real-life communal narc had been working on an app-only HBO show of some sort and playing piano for an LGBTQIA+ charity. You read that right; the same person who deadnamed me repeatedly is raising money for an LGBTQIA+ cause. Hmmm…
Now she is gaslighting people into thinking she cares about the Russian invasion into Ukraine, singing at charity events to raise money, and course to get that almighty photo opportunity. My best friend and her husband have family in Ukraine; this is personal for me. I do not care about a moronic photo op when my friends and their family are fighting for their lives, running from a DIC-tator who wants to bring about the Apocalypse.
I read she yelled at a late-night television host for getting too close to her piano. This behavior does not surprise me, having come from a person who has a history displaying her sense of entitlement to those closest to her.
I created my character to help cope with a lifetime of abuse from a narcissist who tricks virtually everyone into seeing her mask, which I suspect has been crumbling. I hope it falls off for good and she slithers away into a life of obscurity, working by herself, abusing nobody. Or maybe she will live out her life in the bog, devouring the living like the character whom she had inspired, Bernadette Moran Cacca.
Have you known a person like this?
Peppi Cacca’s name came from a rabid doorman in Italy who sexually assaulted me. Character Peppi Cacca’s main inspiration is a toxic, former neighbor who had stunk up my apartment with skunky weed and sadly abused his cat. I had gotten the idea from Pepe LePew and used to call him Pepe LePuke as I heard him through the ceiling vomiting every morning while he was upstairs visiting his boyfriend with whom he was having an affair. I am so glad to be out of that apartment complex, and in a much quieter, cleaner place – waking up to birds in the trees, not skunk-weed stench.
Awhile back, I had overheard him on the bus bragging to the driver about his drinking, making the excuse “can you blame me?”
I blame him for his own behavior.
MoronicArts 
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