Bernadette “Bern” Cacca has driven to Okanagan, British Columbia, Canada to seek out the last known copy of “The Wonderful World of Dung.”
Sidetracked, Bernadette goes on a Monster Quest: to find Ogopogo. Bern is hoping to mine some Craptocoin from its poop to make a special variety of Cryptidcoin called CraptoCryptidCoin.
“I totally have to get a selfie with this monster.”
Hours pass, no sign of the legendary sea monster Ogopogo.
“Hey, anybody got some Ogopogo poop? I want to make a sculpture outta it. I’m a famous content creator and influencer from Illinois!”
“Who?”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
The locals visiting the lake roll their eyes from one side to another, slowly.
A group of offended Canadians hoist the relentless Bernadette into a cannon and very politely yeet her from the premises. Bernadette is good at getting yeeted.
“Sorry,” the crowd chants as Bernadette flies far far away, and then they slow-clap for her performance.
“What was that thing?”
“Swamp witch?” The man scratches his head and the crowd disperses.
Bernadette calls the bootleg tape seller, Gary, on her smell-phone and meets up with him at a local poutine shop.
“No, sorry, only cash. That’s how you pay for stuff, eh?”
Bernadette checks her pockets which come up empty.
Penniless and disappointed, the entramanure drives back home to Manteno, Illinois in the U S of A. She and her husband Peppi burn some poopies from the portapotties which Peppi had brought home from a job and emptied into a bonfire out back.
While watching the poopies gleam, Bernadette looks over at her stoner husband Peppi laughing his bum off at a video he is watching online using his phone.
“Git!”
“Oh honey, not now. Maybe later on.” Bern declines Peppi’s mating call.
“What are you watching?”
Bernadette looks over Peppi’s shoulder to read his PooTube screen: “The Wonderful World of Dung.” It had been posted a year ago.
It is the year 1997, in the month of May, day the first at the Bradley Amateur Wrestling League (BrAWL).
“In this corner, standing at 5’4”, weighing 250 lbs is Bernadette Moran, the “Manteno Wonder!'”
“In the other corner is her opponent, 240 pound 5’6” ‘Calm Down’ Jina Hansen!
“You beat me last time, kiss your beeehind goodbye!” Bernadette shouts.
“Calm down, calm down!” Jina gaslights.
“I’ll give you calm!”
The two Kankakee County wrestlers go at it.
Stagehands wheel a couple of beds into the ring and the ladies start to jump like five-year-old children. The crowd boos Jina and throws tomatoes, peaches, eggplant, radishes, and ranch dressing into the ring at her which make a sloppy mess over her bed.
Jina picks up the salad ingredients and shoves them onto Bernadette’s bed.
“Clean it up!”
“I’ll clean YOU up!”
“Calm down! Calm down!” Gina gives her familiar line which makes The Manteno Wonder anything but calm.
Bern knocks the crap off her bed and chucks it crap at Jina, who slips on the dressing spilled across the ring.
Bernadette pins Jina with her bum. Then she farts.
“One, two, three!” the referee chants as they beat the floor and the two jump up, Bernadette’s hand raised in victory by the ref, Jina’s farty head reeling from the stench, stomach about to retch.
It is the last time Jina ever wrestles. She is disappointed to find out it is all an act and goes back to her old job harassing customers at a local donut shop.
“Don’t come to see me at my grave if you don’t visit me when I’m alive!” shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Moran passive-aggressively demands of her sister Sonya Moran.
“I’m just going to McD’s.”
“Carrion is all I eat. I am so tired of eating the same dead meat. Carrion, carrion, carrion. You know what, sis? I’m gonna get me some filet mignon and you’re NOT getting any at all. I will eat it myself. You’re not welcome.”
Sonya flies away and gets herself a decent, cheap meal; but more importantly, some peace of mind. For now….
After Sonya enjoys her burgers, fries and nuggets, she leaves the fast-food-joint in Manteno hoping to avoid her idiot sister who had flown in from Albion, Indiana. Think again.
“You forgot your shake!” Grimace exclaims as he runs to hand Sonya her dessert. Though Carla had been making air donuts the whole time Sonya was inside having her McMeal, she swoops down too late to miss Grimace handing back Sonya’s order.
Carla smacks into the ground beak-first. Sonya points, laughs, and does a little dance.
“I have a headache…”
“Good. Mine’s gone now!” Sonya says as she swoops into the air, away from her McMoron sister who really only came to stir up trouble.
“The Lifft driver you get sure makes a difference. It was like getting upgraded from Undead Greg Schneissder to Gothic Diana Ross!” Sybil Kibble tells her ma JoAnn “JK” Kibble as she sets down her phone.
“The LeBaron done broke down again? Why don’t you trade that thing in?”
“I’d probably have to pay THEM to take it off my hands.”
Sybil exits the house, waving to her mom whose bum is parked square in front of the television in her basement apartment, decorated with her school-bus parts collection. Sybil cares naught about her mother’s decor, as long as her rent check made out to Sybil does not bounce she’s cool.
The blonde, bespectacled 60-something collections supervisor goes to rage mow, she takes pride in having the greenest lawn in Kankakee. Two angry birds circle above her, arguing as they do donuts in the sky, taking a massive dump on Sybil’s head before she has a chance to cut the grass.
“It’s stalking season!” shapeshifting humanoid vulture says to her wingding sister Sonya, and then they fly over to a certain house in Manteno.
“An absolutely epic weekend in Bradley. Had the ENORMOUS pleasure of reading a terrifically colorful role in a nearly sold-out benefit reading of dear old friend JB’s wonderful play, HOW TO STEAL TURDS, along with a stellar cast (including BRILLIANT CARLA MORAN as my mom) and many visits to the ER for my rear with friends from far and near. Wow. Here’s to—“
“Hi daring!” Carla calls out to her daughter loudly bragging about lawd-only-knows-what to her drunken, sleeping husband Peppi, empty jug marked “XXX” just beyond the reach of his flopped out arm.
“No thanks, honey. Not now. Did you wax your chin yet?”
“I’ll go! I wanna ring the bell! I wanna ring the bell! Can I ring the bell?”
“Of course Aunt Sonya. Come on over to my charity auction down at Kankakee’s Best and hear me play kazoo covers of OKLAHOMA!”
“How dawg! Ooooooooooh!” Sonya sings, poorly.
“AND, I am donating an autographed picture of ME to the charity auction!”
“Ooooooooooh!”
“Does this lipstick make my beak look big?” Carla’s bird-brain wants to know. “Just be honest.”
“Maybe they will auction off something to help you with your Mamma McRageFace. Come on DOWN! We’ll have a BLASSSST,” Bernadette exclaims with her tongue hanging out her mouth wide open as if to catch a fly. Then she farts.
JB the nighborhood turd burglar and his lover Bernadette Cacca are swinging their interdigital clasp as they walk down the aisles of Big Deal electronics store.
“I miss the days when I could just type “format see colon” to wipe out a store’s computer.”
“You can format my colon any day, Justin,”
“That’s Jay.”
“Let’s go find some crap to get into,” Bern says to JB, one of many tools she has on her side.
CRASS Chief Cooker of Books, multiplex owner and Emcee of Moronic Half Assets (MHA) Konrad Teirant begins the bidding for the charity auction. Of course, bog witch Bernadette Cacca had to show up, as she will do anything to look good and cover up her real-life lack of empathy.
“What is that, a TV?” a citizen asks Emcee Konrad.
“Noooo, that’s a signed photo of Bernadette Cacca!”
“Who?”
“I signed it myself!” Mrs. Cacca brags.
“I’m sure you did. Now don’t panic, don’t be alarmed. This here car alarm was done been donated by Mr. Brandon Dixon, owner of Brandon’s Imbecile Machines! Let’s go! Get those bids in!”
“Now here’s a steaming pile of something, this mystery bag was donated by JB!”
Bernadette’s nose wiggles with interest.
“And here, how clever! A bottle of dehydrated water donated by Mr. Wally Green himself! I bet it has no calories!”
Awkward silence fills the room. Very awkward.
“What is this? I bet it’s essential, that’s right a bottle of essential snake oil donated by the Krabalsky sisters Doris and Leona!”
“And last, but not least, two tickets to see a matinee of your choice here at Teirant Cinema-13! Remember this goes to a really good cause! The big bags you help raise will help the manager of Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments get a raise!” Emcee Konrad points over to his wife and dumpster-clown, Madeline “Madwoman” Topolla-Teirant.
“I mean you got to have solid leadership, and she is really solid! Yuk Yuk Yuk.”
The seven-foot, 350 pound clown is not impressed.
Bernadette begins to sing and play accordion.
Sybil Kibble has been hanging out at a certain coffeehouse on the regular. A month or two ago she had overseen shift manager Carla Rachella Amanda Medici Moran verbally abusing her staff, making fun of them for spilling drinks so she decided to leave a review:
“I spoke to the staff and told them I have their back and that if she does it again, everybody should get together and ask Carla how would she feel if she spilled a drink and we all made fun of her.
A couple of weeks ago I saw Carla put her hands on a staff member while she was using negative humor making fun of them. I let the staff know that I had their back but this time this woman seem to be more aware of by standing up for them because she waited on me right afterwards.
Well tonight it happened again. I wanted to complain about it but Carla was the only one on staff who was in charge. Oh my God all she did was argue with me. She said she would hand my comments to Kankakee Police and I would be prosecuted for ‘defrimation of character.’ Nobody should abuse their staff like that. Don’t go there if Carla is working, she’s the shapeshifting vulture with the blonde hair.”
Konrad Teirant tries his best to hustle the donated hunks of junk.
“Last chance to bid on this lovely bottle of dehydrated water, generously donated by Mr. Wally Green himself! Did you know that he was born in Deerfield? It’s their loss because Kankakee is lucky to have him!”
More awkward silence fills the room.
“And sold, to absolutely nobody because nobody bid. Last we have this mystery bag, what is this? If I said then it would not be a secret right? Yuk yuk yuk. I’ll start the bidding at ten dollars. Just ten smackeroos will get you this brown bag of fun!”
“Two thousand dollars to Greg. Going once, going twice…sold!”
Bernadette raises her arm again.
“It’s too late. Sold to the zombie dude. Now get this thing outta here.”
Undead Greg takes the bag of poo and chows it down. He eats turds to stay alive instead of brains.
“Now pay the lady $2000.”
“Buurrrp.”
Shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Moran is busy filling out an order form for Quack Valley Cosmetics, using her beak and blood from a recent carrion meal.
“Hey, you’re getting blood all over it. You just wasted a perfectly good order form, now you should be ashamed of yourself,” Carla’s bird of a feather and fellow shapeshifting vulture Sonya guilt-trips her sister.
“Nevermind!” Carla exclaims with the wrath of Satan. She stirs up a hornets’ nest which attracts the local murder of crows.
Sybil Kibble stops on Kant Street to text, right out front the Cacca homestead where mother Carla and aunt Sonya are bickering on the lawn like three-year-old children.
The massive flock of crows poop all over Carla and Sonya as they caw, caw, caw.
“Now look what you done!”
“Look what you done!”
“I gotta go to work tonight and now I have to shower all over again.”
Sybil Kibble laughs her bum off watching the bird-brains argue who is the biggest moron, then she drives away in her newly-repaired LeBaron giggling and feeling giddy that the nasty coffeehouse supervisor finally got some crap handed to her, errr, dumped all over her.
“You spilled poop all over your shirt! Now go clean that up!” Sybil shouts out the window and then drives away to her home in Kankakee, looking forward to that rage-mow.
Shapeshifting humanoid vulture Carla Moran does sky donuts over Manteno.
“Why fly when you can drive?” her bog-witch daughter and portapotty empress Bernadette Cacca asks as she dreams up new ways to con people with her craptocoins after getting out of jail the second time.
“Because it’s cheep-er!”
The two go back and forth arguing. Carla flew in just to bother Bern. Methinks they both need better hobbies.
Wacky Kankakee inventor and pharmacy chain owner Wally Green is busy hosting his live infomercial advertising his newest invention, the Turd Machine: “Just turn the crank, and shoot the stank! But wait there’s more!”
Communal narcissist Bernadette Moran loves all the attention she is getting at the Manteno High School awards ceremony all students were forced to attend, complaining she might have to move closer to the aisle because she keeps getting up to receive buttloads of awards. Pat Splatt, meanwhile is bored out of his skull and Gothic Diana Ross is pleading to her homeroom teacher to take her out of her misery.
WORDS AND ART BY JENX Good cheese is like a fine wine (or coffee if you’re like me and don’t drink.) I would not suggest putting it in your glass. You do you, though. We all have guilty pleasures, methinks. Take cheesy music, for example. Some of us even make secret play lists for our…
Hey, sis, Bernadette’s enabler aunt almost ran me over tonight!
Carla Moran and her closet alcoholic sister have made it a habit to eat dinner over at Bernadette and Peppi Cacca’s house next door. You know, those loud stinky idiots who complain about our music. Those shapeshifting vultures rarely used to come here to visit the bog-witch except on occasion at holidays. Carla and Sonya flew in from Albion, Indiana, after doing sky donuts looking for carrion, I’m sure.
Tonight when I was halfway through the street, the aunt of that stupid communal narcadoodle Bernadette made a left out of Bern’s parking lot and nearly hit me. I waved at the driver, to alert her to wait. Nope, stupid moron kept beeping at me.
I screamed at her, and then flipped the bird once I had safely crossed. Her family is chock fulla enablers and I wish someone had taken the aunt’s keys away by now. Stupid fool drinks wine by the box! Hey, I’m no angel however I am in recovery and it’s daily, hard work. Ya know what? I do it.
Diana
“Hey, I am almost to the bank, I’ll text you later.”
–Sonya
k
— sent from a jpay phone
Hey, my dahling niece Bernadette. The bank is closed. I ran all the way there only for them to close on me! Their ATM is broken. Sorry I cannot bail you out. When is your trial?
–Sonya
Not soon enough. I cannot believe this community allowed this to happen to me. I do so much for you, I do so much for them. I am an Actor/musician/writer/piano bar empress who raises money for charity. I paid to heal 1000 blind men on TakTik all with craptocoins straight from my bum! I am God, and in prison, about to be hung from a cross. This is all their fault!
— sent from a jpay phone
Diana is fed up with the Caccas’ and Morans’ shenangians:
Hello sir:
May I please submit a tip to you regarding a drunk driver? I almost got hit by her Friday around 7:15PM at the intersection of Kant Street and Utica Ave in Manteno, Illinois. Her name is Sonya Moran and she lives at 1304 O’Brien Ave, Albion, IN. She is a closet alcoholic and usually starts drinking around 4:30 PM daily.
Can the police please keep an eye on that area? I don’t want her to hit anybody. It almost happened to me. I think she drives a white crossover of some sort.
I want no drama, just want to keep people safe.
Sincerely,
Trisha Cobb (Gothic Diana Ross)
Bernadette gets desperate for bail money by leaving fake reviews using her jpay mobile phone, which she loaded with craptocoin:
Bernadette Cacca recommends Black Kow Manure
I met a recommendation by someone on this page writing how Mr Pat Splatt helped her earn $10,000 with $700 weekly on forex and craptocoin trading, wow I’m happy to let you know that it’s so real contact him now to know how its works and start making profit on craptocoin trades. Whatsapp: +1(815) 555-1896
“Success doesn’t come to you, You go to it… I’m not the one to call you to invest and have a bright financial situation. If you know what’s right, you’re supposed to contact him now and start trading ASAP”
Stylish interior
Tasting menus
Curbside Pickup
— sent from a jpay phone
“Come on Bernadette, we’re letting you go home.”
“Bail reform in my favor?”
“No, your farts are a safety hazard and pose a security risk to the other inmates.”
“Woo-hoo! I’m free!” Manteno’s favorite fake-do-gooder, communal narcadoodle and entramanure does a little happy dance, gyrating her hips like she’s pouring soft-serve from her bum.
Bernadette is in such a hurry to become irregular that she nearly runs over one of the regulars at the coffeehouse. She is a crappy driver.
She wants to get the runs, Gotta mine that craptocoin and those NFTs: newly-formed turds for her charity singing and kazoo playing which she does only for the photo opportunity. Looks are deceiving because she makes a good dog-and-pony poop show pretending she cares.
She only loves poop.
Bernadette calls her husband Peppi to let him know that she is free from jail. “We need a new jingle for our portable john business.”
“Like a hole in the head we do!” Peppi replies.
“How about we do a mashup of Lincolnshire Poacher and Funeral March for a Marionette and you rap over it? I’ll play the entire song on accordion and kazoo.”
“Mayyyybeee…” Peppi chortles as he takes a huge drag off his skunky joint. The Caccas love to smell bad.
Leona Krabalsky scowls at Sybil Kibble the whole time she is in her range of view at the Bourbonnais Buckstars. Leona’s evil gaze goes right through Sybil and she smiles wide intentionally, because she is living her best life and wants it to show. She cannot wait to taste that initial sip.
“Can I ask you something?” Leona asks Sybil, despire her body language giving off a glaring “no.”
Sybil makes her way back to her table to drink her iced mocha. Meanwhile Kankakee County troll Leona follows her to her table to spam her some more with her unsolicited advertisements of her nosey questions.
Sybil waves her arms to assert Leona “no,” however she asks anyway. “Where did you get that bag, I like that bag.”
“No means no!” Sybil chants, grabs her things and leaves. No Area 31 Bag sale for pyramid schemer and hag Leona.
Frustrated with her lack of business, Leona Krabalsky makes her way for home, the Exit 315 interchange. As she sulks, a mad driver squeals her brakes as she pulls over to Mrs. Krabalsky, nearly hitting her.
“Hey where did you get that bag?”
Stunned, Leona’s eye open up wide, her jaw drops.
“Area 31.”
“Did it come from outer space?”
“No, but I can get you a deal that is out of this world.”
The two morons shake hands, Sonya Moran peels away, her niece Bernadette Moran Cacca smiles with her tongue hanging out.
Sonya and Bernadette head toward Manteno and the Bradley police car makes his usual patrol up and down the main drag — or does he?
Happy to be free from jail Bernadette heads upstairs to the washroom and pinches a massive loaf, not even waving to her husband Peppi sitting on the rocking chair, drinking moonshine.
“Time to mine more craptocoin! My turd vault is fresh out.”
A siren heard in the background, gets louder, its doppler effect fading as the decibels rise.
“Ooh, party horns!” Bernadette jumps for joy.
Bernadette tells her aunt about her prison stay:
“I had an absolutely epic month in jail. Had the ENORMOUS pleasure of police reading my terrifically, bigly, colorful rights in a flashy car. Stellar food — included with cot are THREE HOTS and many visits with friends from far and near. Wow. Here’s to Kankakee County Jail.”
“What are you on, hon?” Peppi asks his wife Bernadette. “Can I get some of that?”
Bernadette’s smell phone rings but she does not answer, too busy gushing about her fun times behind bars and all the friends she made. “They are totally going to give me community service, I just KNOW it.”
Bernadettes phone continues to ring as she continues to ignore it.
“Darn it. I did not know these fools were going to pay in Craptocoin.” Leona says to her sister Doris. Leona makes a call to someone else.
January 14, 2023, was the last day I performed in person with other people. I was at The Manteno Optimal Club, and I re-live-streamed my shift because I honestly wanted to encourage people. I thought, “This will be an interesting experiment for a couple of months or however long they keep me in this silly prison cell.” ONE MONTH LATER, and a BIG thank you Aunt Sonya.”
“Wooo-hoo!” the histrionic Sonya screams as she runs and then jumps onto her man Bingle-Derry, spindly legs wrapped clear around his waist.
“Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Manteno Police. This is not a joke.”
Peppi opens the door, glad that his stash is well hidden.
“Are you Mr. Peepee…Cacca?”
“Peppi.”
“We need a word with your wife. Is she home?”
Bernadette retracts in fear, stunned she could possibly be in trouble. After all, she thinks she did nothing to deserve her jail sentence. Her mind races as she prepares excuses.
“We heard that you were dealing in some funny money.”
“Oh not her, she is a WONDERFUL person,” Sonya tells the cop.
“I am asking Bernadette.”
“Sir, we can talk about this. Here, how much do you need for your funding? Let me get you a coffee and–“
“Don’t bribe me unless you want arrested.”
The smell of Bernadette burning her turds overwhelms the cop, who coughs his way out the Cacca homestead.
“Oh hey officer, ya got a minute?” Gothic Diana Ross asks, gesturing for the cop to come over to her next-door home.
The gothic singer and the officer exchange information and a wandering Leona Krablasky slaps Di five.
Bernadette gets yeeted from her home and back into the clink where she belongs, along with her aunt Sonya who is thrown into the drunk tank.
Much to Bernadette’s dismay, and the delight of her fellow inmates, the jail chef changes the menu to a bland diet.
Tamika Euforia had enough of people giving her crap at Kankakee’s Best Low Income Apartments. It’s bad enough renting from owner Madeline Topolla-Teirant.
“I’ve got to tell you something funny. You won’t believe this. I went downstairs cuz I heard a noise and I thought maybe someone had left the fan on which upsets my next door neighbor who lives directly above the party room. It turned out somebody was vacuuming to set up for a party. I thought it was the monthly luncheon so I asked if it was a potluck. The adult banshee gave me attitude, sternly bellowing out ‘no this ain’t no damn potluck.’
”I said to her “all you need to do was be nice, it costs nothing,” but banshee did as banshees do: had a blow out about it. She called me crazy and told me to go to hell, shoving the door in my face. So I heard her and her banshee enablers talking trash about me as they set up their baby shower, all decked out in pink. I went in the other door and I told them to stop disrespecting me. She goes ‘I’m going to go tell my mama.’ Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!
”Turns out her mother’s a good friend of mine told the the three of them to shut up, three of them a kind. Her mother was married to a narcissist like I was. I knew she had some trauma history, so I said I said I am sorry you have to deal with all this. She was the same person who brought me to my procedure on Monday with my so-called best friend bailed on me at the last minute.I feel bad for the kid already and she’s not even born yet. I also laugh knowing that I will sleep well at night and she won’t because she’ll be waking up all the baby banshee screams.”
“Who’s the father?” asked her friend Darrell.
“I was told it’s some dude named Damien. He’s that orange neckbeard who works the ticket counter at Cinema-13, the one owned by our landlord’s husband. He offered m’ladies free movie tickets over at the cinema where he works. Apparently she took him up on his special offer!” Tamika said while giggling.
“Where’s he now?”
“Last I heard he was at Area 51. He went looking for someone, Bernadette from the port-a-crap company in Manteno. That bog witch who moonlights singing kazoo covers of show-tunes for charity.”
Wanting to find the deadbeat dad, the band of bad banshees went down after the party and wailed at the last known place where Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt was seen, the swamp where they all hung out. Nobody was home, not even the bog queen Bernadette.
There they encounter The Poopy Groupies.
The Poopy Groupies thought their iconic poop-emoji Bernadette was dead, so they call Albion, Indiana police.
Shapeshifting humanoid vulture and aunt to Bern, Sonya Moran cannot be reached so she becomes a moron of interest. She flew the coop.
Next-door neighbors Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes all have an alibi; they had held a concert up in Chicago at the time of Bern’s disappearance.
The Poopy Groupies joined the banshee queens after to hunt for the lost Bernadette and the baby daddy Damien.
Undead Greg Schneissder became the prime suspect in Bern’s disappearance, the cops too dumb to know that bog-witch Bernadette is also undead.
“Bern has been in jail, did you ever think to check your records?”
Nobody involved in the police investigation suspected Bern’s rose-scented bum to be behind bars.
Meanwhile baby-daddy Damien, the world’s largest source of natural gas, continued to be busy expelling wind at the Alternative Fuel Source Department down underground at Area 51.
MoronicArts 
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