Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Accounting Chief Konrad “Kon” Teirant is having trouble balancing the assets against the liabilities, even after having cooked the books to a carbonized mess.
Mack E. Avelli
Chief Executive Officer Mack. E. Avelli calls in Konrad to hold a meeting.
“Kon, if we cannot make ourselves look good to our investors, we are going to fail as a company. I don’t need you to be honest about it, I need you to make us some more money. Just get it done.”
“I’ll think up something. You won’t be disappointed.”
“Good,” the fifty-something Mack says to Konrad and starts texting his 22-year-old wife Judithann, who ignores his message because she is too busy flirting with daemons.
It is midnight here in Kankakee.
The fire alarm sounds for the third time this week at the Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments, complete with strobe lights, sirens and a man’s voice repeating the same message over and over again.
As the residents of this sorry apartment building wake up and use the washroom, Moronic Half-Assets (MHA) takes the elevator up to each floor in the tower.
“It is midnight and you know what time that is! Come on, guys, let’s all dance! Didn’t you see that four-page flyer we left on all of your doors telling you to exercise more? We knocked on your doors because we had nothing better to do! Resident deejay Konrad is on the ones and twos!” exclaims property manager, narcadoodle and Vaudeville clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant.
DJ Konrad Teirant picks some records out of his crate, and begins spinning and scratching, rapping over the music.
Resident Tyrell Fowler — out in the hall wondering what the racket is about — explains to Konrad “dude, you cannot scratch 1950s love songs,” and walks back into his unit.
“Let’s get out the glowsticks everybody!” Madeline says as she pulls them from the fire-hose compartment on the wall.
Robbie sings Elvis tunes as he dances away, doing moronic martial arts moves on the in-between.
Robbie Hulrbutt
The MHA troupe packs up their party-gear and heads upstairs to the next floor in the tower.
When the crew are all done waking up their residents, they head downstairs to the office and turn off the alarms. Finally those poor residents can get some sleep.
“Here is your check, Kon. We will write it off as a business expense here at the complex.”
“Great, I will bring it to CRASS tomorrow,” Kon tells his wife Madeline and they head home in Robbie’s clown car. Elvis has left the building.
“Oh good, I got it,” a resident says sitting in her bed, as she reviews the video she recorded on her phone.
Konrad Teirant heads into the CRASS office, strutting along the halls with a turd-eating-grin across his face as he makes his way over to the office of his supervisor, Mack E. Avelli.
“Kon! You have a great smile! You should smile more often.”
Kon hands Mack the knife…errrr…check.
“Oh good! Now you can keep your job!” Mack tells his subordinate Konrad.
Kon says nothing and heads back into his office to cook more books.
Meanwhile, the CRASS phones light up like a Christmas tree. However the increased call volume is not from debtors calling back the CRASS collectors.
“I saw that video on the news, your accounting dude and his buddies woke some poor folks up in the middle of the night hosting some hokey rave party? What were you thinking?”
Beep.
“Hey, this Trisha Cobb, better known as Gothic Diana Ross. You know, from The Midnight Supremes? We saw what you did when we watched the news. That’s not cool.”
Beep.
“Hello, this message is for Mr. Avelli. I am Geoff, an auditor with the firm Deltoid & Tush. We were asked to contact you about your accounting records. We are stopping by in an hour.”
“Kon, how do we cook the books now? Ya better cook them good this time,” Mack shouts to an empty room. Since he was up half the night, Kon took the rest of the day off to go home and now he is fast asleep, sawing a forest.
“Business is really crappy! I do SO MUCH for Manteno and Kankakee County, yet NOBODY cares. Why didn’t I get the Citizen of the Year Award this year? I taught a lion to poop in a litter box at the Kankakee Petting Zoo!” communal narcadoodle Bernadette Moran Cacca brags, embellishes.
“I know, let’s hold a pooping contest!” Aunt Sonya Moran exclaims to the Poopy Groupies. “It will be a great way to promote regular business! I’m just waiting for the log to emerge…” fan club president Sonya announces, as she strains on the crapper of the Manteno Optimal Club washroom at their monthly meeting. She makes sure to get out the most important information.
“You’re awesome!” Bernadette gushes.
“No, YOU!” Aunt Sonya replies.
Sonya Moran, slumlord, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and president of Bernadette Cacca’s fan-club The Poopy Groupies hears her phone jingle, ringtone singing the bathroom blues of The Mentors.
“This is Sonya”
“Hey, this is—“
“Oh great to hear from you, I’m just getting done with a call on my other phone. I am so excited about this event coming up at the Manteno Optimal Club! My OWN NIECE Bernadette is—“
“Excuse me, may I interrupt for a second? I only have a minute.”
“Oh you’re not bothering me. What’s going on?”
“I can’t make the event, my brother passed away.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry to hear! What was his name? What happened? Where was he?”
“Thank you for your condolences. I just found out Friday night.”
“Oh man, I was really hoping to hang out with you Tuesday and get to know you! It’s gonna be a real hootenanny! Did you lose any money from the event tickets? I hope you didn’t.”
Awkward silence passes.
“Hello?”
“I’m good.”
“Can you hear me? It sounds like you’re in a loading zone. I’ll pick up some mementos from the event and give them to you.”
“When?”
“Didn’t you see the schedule? There’s an Optimal Club meeting at the end of the month.”
“No, I just lost my brother. Gotta run. Maybe I’ll see you in a month or two. We’ll see.”
Sonya gets back on the horn with her other call:
“So yeah, Bernadette, you star are sure gonna shine! Get out there and done hand out those free tickets. Hot dawg!”
“Woooooooooot!” Bernadette replies to Sonya.
Sonya ends the Zuum meeting and flushes the washroom toilet.
Entramanure and Queen of the Plastic Throne Bernadette Cacca hits the streets of Kankakee County handing out “free tickets” to her event:
“September 31 – Join us for a protest party in the basement of the Manteno Optimal Club! Stop our commie mayor from bringing in the Gotion plant! Two drink minimum. Over 21 only!”
The big day arrives (or does it?)
Emcee Konrad Teirant of the Moronic Half Assets (MHA) gets ready to provide all the entertainment with half the budget.
“OK Kids, it’s time to put on your Gotion!”
The crowd goes wild with chants of “Go Gotion Go! Go Gotion Go!” mixed in with “Stop our commie mayor!”
“And now we have a surprise for you! A contest — But it’s a secret. Shhhh. It’s our last event, so sign up now! There are prizes but they are secret, too. We don’t want to ruin the Sur-Prize! Get it, Sir, Prize, yuk, yuk, yuk…”
The quiet crowd just rolls their collective eyes.
“But first on the agenda, Crabby Crafting with Bernadette!”
“Crabby Crap Thing?”
“No!” Bernadette exclaims.
“Crabby patties?”
“Nope, Crabby crafting. Today I will introduce you all to the art of the paper-craft. Construction paper, glue and crayons generously supplied by Peppi’s Portapotties! Look for my face on the sign.”
“Mine too, Bernadette,” a plastered Peppi calls over to his wife and co-crap-tain of the plastic portable john business.
The patrons begin to make signs using Bernadette’s instructions, chatting as they craft.
“That Gothic Diana Ross, she’s a schizophrenic who does drugs! She never had that brain injury that she talks about, she just makes up things for sympathy. Oh and she’s violent! That makeup, those clothes, those piercings, oh my God, who would dress like THAT?” Carla Moran gossips at the table.
“Oh and, her mom was never a nurse practitioner. She was a housewife like every other woman back then.”
“So…what’s the deal with the Gotion plant? Are they gonna build it?
“Our commie mayor wants to spend our tax dollars to bring in a company from China.”
“You’re gonna have to speak Chinese just to apply there. Who in Manteno does that?” xenophobe Bernadette replies with her usual turd-eating grin.
“Rock, paper, scissors anyone? Speaking of rock, let’s give it up for the king!”
Subdued voices in the crowd can be heard:
“When are we going to protest?”
“This is Emcee KT bringing you the best of Elvis, he is in the HOUUUUSE!”
“Heh-heh. I’m just his groovy reincarnation,” Robbie Hurlbutt self-proclaims.
“Will you sing Jailhouse Rock?”
“Yeah, throw the mayor in jail! Go Gotion Go! Go Gotion Go!” the crowd chants.
Robbie sings, as Dumpster Clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant does her usual act juggling bowling balls and chainsaws from inside her dumpster shoved on-stage by a group of unseen stage-hands.
“Look at my wife, she’s such a clown.” Konrad says, points at Madwoman, attempts to make the crowd laugh. “I just went for the juggler.”
Groans are heard from the impatient crowd.
Konrad reaches down to a stranger and pretends to grab their nose.
“Got your nose! Without that you can’t smell Elvis Parsley.”
The embarrassed spectator melts into a puddle of embarrassment.
The MHA bow as they finish their three-ring circus act.
“Thank you everyone! Now it’s karaoke time. We only have one sign-up, everyone give it up for Wally Green!”
Half the crowd gets ready to exit, they’ve had enough.
“Make sure to throw money in the tip jar” a looming bog witch Bernadette says as she guards one exit.
“It’s a two-drink minimum, so get back in there, it’s for a good cause!” JB says as he guards the other door.
Wally finishes his own rendition of “Magnet and Steel” to a slow clap from a disappointed crowd, wishing they could up and leave already.
“I’m single and ready to mingle at the bar!” Wally proudly announces.
The crowd erupts in boos.
“That’s right, head over to the bar and our wonderful bartenders will be sure to serve you. Remember our two-drink minimum helps raise money for The Manteno Optimal Club! Your dollars go to an awesome cause! And now the moment you’ve been waiting for, our accordion empress and kazoo cover queen, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca!
Emcee Konrad turns off his mic and the talented Bernadette plays her usual two-hour set, covering show-tunes on piano, accordion and vuvuzela horn. All requests denied and then she bows, showing off her poop emoji dress.
“Everybody give it up for Illinois’ Number One piano empress and entramanure, the queen of the plastic throne herself, Mrs. Bernadette Cacca!”
Bernadette’s fan club — The Poopy Groupies and some other morons give their favorite nitwit a standing ovation, drowning out the people at their tables talking on their cell phones, playing games and ranting about the proposed Gotion plant.
She bows again, exits the stage and heads downstairs to poop, because, gotta mine those craptocoins the old fashioned way.
“Free balloons for everyone!” announces Poopy Groupy and turd burglar JB as he hands them out to the contestants for the pooping contest.
“We ran out…”
“Oh, just blow these up, but don’t inhale,” Bernadette says as she pulls out a box of condoms and hands it JB, who is manning the helium station.
“Did you pick that guy off the mountain?” Sonya says, making fun of the contestants in her typical narcadoodle fashion.
“Huh?”
“I bet you picked a whole bouquet of mountain climbers, you like them so much.”
“Oh, the mountain you climbed in your jammies?”
“No, in Switzerland. They use Oreos there.”
“Wait, what?”
“For money right?”
“I think you mean Euros.” JB replies to his idiot boss, scumlord Sonya.
“I think you have been smoking some of that governmental illegal substance again…” Sonya projects.
“And now our top-secret contest is about to be revealed by our guest announcer, one true Illinois treasure: Bernadette Cacca! Lift the curtain and reveal the fun surprise!” Konrad announces.
A row of seated contestants are slowly revealed as the curtain rises.
“Whoever poops the most wins! On your pot, get ready, GO GO GO GO!” Emcee Bernadette Cacca announces.
Bernadette closes all the portapotty doors, “Peppi’s Portapotties” logos decorating complete with the owners’s cheesy smiling mugs.
Undead Greg Schneissder, Wally Green, Pat Splatt, JB “Turd Burglar” Powers, Sonya’s aunt Sonya Moran, and Peppi Cacca all aim their bums to please, meanwhile Bernadette Cacca plays the butt trumpet. “Any requests?”
“Yeah, tell us what the feck is going on?”
The dookie starts to add up.
All toilets flush except for Greg’s – he was constipated. Must be that Slow-Burn Virus he got on his Undeath Day. Bernadette goes into each portable toilet bowl with yardstick in hand, carefully measuring each poo-pile.
“We have a weiner! Pat Splatt has pinched the biggest loaf! It’s a foot-long! Now come up to the stage and collect your prize, Pat!”
“What did I win?”
“A bag full o’ Craptocoins, mined the old-fashioned way!”
“WAT? I don’t want that crap. What’s the real prize?”
“I’ll have it!” Undead Greg says has he grabs the big bag off the stage, poring the Newly Formed Turds (NFTs) into his mouth, gobbling every single one.
“MMM! So much better than brains, brains brains, brains…”
“AAAAAAAARGGGH” the crowd screams bloody-murder and escapes, people nearly trampling each other to avoid the looming Zombie Apocalypse.
People gather in the parking lot, dumbfounded over the dim-bulb nitwit tomfoolery that just happened, thankfully having avoided the zombie inside.
“So…what were we gon’ done-protesting in that here place again?”
Good news from the Moroniverse: Out of the kindness of their hearts, Midwestern slumlords Sonya Moran and Madeline Topolla-Teirant are giving away free rent for life! Read this note issued to their tenants:
“Self-reflection is scary but important. We are sorry we verbally abused you, woke you up in the middle of the night with frivolous fire-alarms, and issued false lease violations. You can stay in our mansions rent-free, because we are so sorry we lived rent-free in your heads.”
“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.
Kankakee slumlord, narcadoodle and Vaudeville clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant walks behind the strip mall, past the dumpsters, to hide from a client who turned her in for illegal activity at Kankakee’s Best Low Income Apartments, which she manages.
“Madwoman!” a male voice calls out.
“Who called me?” a terrified Madeline asks.
A slender, young, dirty-blonde male wearing shades, a hoodie, and ripped blue jeans walks up to Madeline.
“I am Brandon Dixon. I own Brandon’s Imbecile Machines in Kankakee. I hear you are a clown.”
“Ummm, yeah…”
Madeline shakes even more.
“I am one too. I would like to try out for your touring Vaudeville act.”
“Maybe I can use an understudy.”
“You bet. Call me.”
The two shake hands and part ways. Madeline heads back to work, Brandon home.
“Hi, is this Wally Green?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Madeline Topolla-Teirant. I need to order a case of some half-ply toilet paper. That’s the kind that breaks off one square at a time right? I need some really cheap supplies for our community centers here at our low income complexes and I am not going to pay a lot. Ohh, hold on I have a beep.”
Madeline switches calls.
“Robbie?”
“Hey babe. Moronic Half-Assets has a gig coming up tomorrow in Gary, Indiana. I was totally thinkin’ I would rock the joint as Roy Orbinson.”
“You’re just an Elvis impersonator and not a very good one,” Madeline insults Robbie.
“Well honey, I can also pull off a crazy cool Mike Mesmith.”
“Get outta here with that.”
“Peter Tork? “Johnny Cash?”
“NO!”
Madeline slams down the phone.
“Riiiiiing!”
“Yes.”
“This is Wally. You wanted to order toilet paper?”
Madeline sighs…
The next afternoon, a Wally Green’s truck shows up to the low income housing complex where Madeline works.
“Beep beep beep beep.” The truck backs in.
“A whole case of half-ply toilet paper, just like you ordered. Just sign here on the sticker.”
Madeline scrawls her name.
“Here you go!”
“Ouch!”
“Whoopsie!” says the driver.
“You dropped the box on my foot. I think you broke it!”
Madeline drives over to the nearest 30 Second Clinic.
“It’s a bit bruised but you will be fine. Just ice it for two days while you are at home. You can go back to work now.”
“But doctor?”
“Your thirty seconds are up. We have other patients out there in the waiting room. Our medical office assistant will walk you out and take your copay.”
An angry Madeline begrudgingly pays her bill and heads home. There is no way she can make the gig tonight.
Madeline gets on her mobile phone.
“Hey Brandon, this is Madeline. I know this is short notice. I have a clown gig tonight I cannot make. You see I broke—“
“I’ll do it!” Brandon says with a smirk only he can see on his face, as he is looking at himself in the mirror.
“Gary, Indiana. Lapolla Theater.”
“Oh, I will be there, makeup and all.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
“Thanks.”
Madeline hangs up her phone and takes a nap.
Hours pass and Madeline thinks about how happy she is that she has another clown. Deep down inside she really does not want to do that gig in Gary. She falls asleep while thinking up a scheme to get out of paying Brandon.
A series of dings wakes a sound asleep Madeline.
From: Konrad
“I did not know you were sending us a juggalo. The crowds booed us! What were you thinking, Mad?”
From: Robbie
“Man this clown is weird and he looks funny. He reminds me of people my father hung out with. He keeps asking me to buy him Faygo. Our gig sucked because of him, not because of me. Just saying.”
A series of photos came in of Brandon, Konrad and Robbie on stage.
Needless to say, Madeline was up all night, and it was not because of her foot hurting.
“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.
Join Kankakee’s newest Vaudeville act, MHA – Moronic Half Assets, across the USA! Kankakee theatre owner and comedian Konrad Teirant joins his dumpster-clown wife, Madeline, in Elvis impersonator Robbie Hurlbutt’s clownmobile as they tour the country! See them before they leave their stop in Utica, New York!
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.
Kankakee sociopath, slumlord and dumpster clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant gets a call from a loan shark scamvertising some kind of crap, hoping to take her up on the offer. That heat source, though…
These tiny twin sisters sing about breaking crap in their new single “Broken” from their album “Broken,” coming soon from Broken Records. Not coming to a store near you. Be sure to see them open up for Vaudeville troupe Moronic Half-Assets (MHA) who bring you all the entertainment with half the budget.
Their favorite hobby is talking to each other in the washroom stalls, making sure to flush repeatedly, pretending to whizz while other ladies line up because they have to actually use the facilities. Bern Cacca would be proud.
MoronicArts 
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