I hope your days are number one!
Tag: music
Moron of the Week: Bored Youtube Troll
“When I grow up I wanna be a Youtube commenter.”
– Nobody
We have all seen them, the Internet trolls, the lost souls of the World Wide Web. These hobby-less wonders sit in their mother’s basements and type crap nobody cares about, hoping to upset someone or two.
Ennui clearly got to the best of this bored tool. A lone kid behind a keyboard and a monitor, with nothing better to do than leave moronic comments on independent musicians’ remixes, he probably thinks he is the only person who ever made a song before. Or maybe he just wants to bother strangers because he has no life. Maybe both?
How does he get his housework done? If he is that bored, he can come over and clean my cat’s litter-box, and then do my laundry, putting it all away after he folds it. I will not mind.
When translated, the troll’s drivel roughly says this:
The self-proclaimed musical genius could have just scrolled by and found a song he liked better, listening to that instead.
Sadly, used his idle hands to become the Moron of the Week. This is a clear example of how he wasted his time.
Enjoy your award, dude. You earned it.
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Moron of the Week – Karaoke Creeper
I make many things: drawings, stories, songs. The way to my heart is through a love of my talents. If you don’t like my stuff, cool. Move on and scroll past. I am too busy, you know, creating things.
Meet Robert Arwyn Jones, A/K/A “Jones” on Youtube. He started commenting on my music. I liked what I heard and commented back. A mutual exchange, right? No, not in his mind; he was thinking with his other head.
That moron mistook my kindness for lust when we took our conversation to email.
When I told him I bond with people who like me for my talents, the karaoke king took the low road by gaslighting.
But wait — there’s more! My lack of mutual lust had gotten this moron so butt-hurt, he made the choice to hurl insults. Ahhh, the average schoolyard bully.
What a prize! For pretending to care about me as a creator just to try and lure me into bed, I award Robert Arwyn Jones Moron of the Week. Enjoy your award Robert, you’re a real winner.
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Butt, Is It Art?
Forty-something communal narcadoodle, show-tunes singer for charity and poopyburner Bern Moran Cacca made a TakTik video confessing her love for fellow pooper GG Allin, hoping to send it to him in private, only to realize he has been dead since 1993.
#PoopingForBernadette
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Bern Cacca Has The Party Poops
What are you listening to on the radio?
Manteno communal narcissist and entremanure Bern Cacca is listening to “Party Poops” as she peels out her driveway, thinking she is really drifting, when she is just a crappy driver.
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Robbie’s Number One Video
Kankakee Elvis impersonator, covert narcissist and little stinker Robbie Hurlbutt sees a lot of himself in Robbie Rotten. After all, he is Number One!
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Moron of the Week – Fool on the Hill
Oh man, the douchenozzle I encountered on yet another medical trip surely wanted to have his way! He rode all the way on his high horse from Toledo to the seats occupied by a nice lady who boarded a few stops earlier in Indiana, and tired me who got on at Chicago.
Like Charlie with his golden ticket, this bunghole headed to Buffalo huffed and puffed because someone else was sitting in seat number 10. No, he did not move to another vacant seat, because that made too much sense. Instead, he made demands that the nice social worker next to me get up from HIS seat.
After the nice lady moved out of sight and mind from this moron, that ennui-consumed piece of work sat down next to me and made demands I plug in his charger. No please, no thank-you, he did not even ask.
I told the bumbling tool he did not have to sit there. After all, if he moved to another seat it would be the exact same thing, just somewhere else on the train. He would even get to his destination. Nope — the dope started calling me names like a schoolyard bully.
But wait — there’s more! The beligerant gentleman made sure to mansplain to me that there is one outlet per passenger. Naaaaw.
I took the high road and found another seat, the fool chose to die on that hill. Good for him — I bet he wants a prize.
Here you go, Fool on the Hill: I award you Moron of the Week! Now go sit down and do your homework. If you are good, you won’t get detention.
Medical trips really suck. Jen wants to travel for fun. Buy her a ko-fi (or just say “hi.”)
The Beatles Rock!
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A Very Moronic Concert
“Ma, would you like a dog food wrap?”
“No thanks, Sybil. I’ll take a raincheck.”
“I wrapped them up in toilet paper, Mother!”
JK shakes her silvery coiffe.
“Are there squirrels along the boardwalk?” JK asks her daughter, who is busy munching away at her doggy bag.
“Mmmnnnpf” a hungry, occupied Sybil replies in the negative.
“Speaking of squirrels, where are our tickets to the squirrel petting zoo?” JK inquires.
Sybil digs around her black-and-white striped purse, and pulls out the envelope Robbie gave her.
“Coupons? I thought they were comping us. These only give us a dollar off! The admission is $20 a pop! And where are our hotel keys? They said they were getting that, too!”
“Ummmm…” JK’s jaw just hangs.
“I have a plan.”
“Are we still going to the show?”
“Aw yeah, we are going early, in fact.”
6:00 PM rolls around and Sybil has already gotten to the bar with her mom, JK. The two were a bit delayed by their detour to the novelty store.
“Where is the ladies’ room?”
The bartender points in the general direction.
Sybil and JK each take a stall and begin blowing up the inflatable women. Sybil applies makeup, a blonde wig and readers to hers and JK applies a short, gray wig and round glasses to her doll. They walk out the restroom and place their dolls in two seats toward the back of the bar.
Sybil and JK leave the bar, giggling as they exit. They head to a casino where they spend the night.
The Moronic Half-Assets (MHA) Vaudeville act begins. Konrad Teirant tells his awful puns, then his wife, Madeline Topolla-Teirant, the colorful clown, juggles and attempts to balance on a large ball. Robbie Hurlbutt, mediocre Elvis impersonator, sings and dances like the fool he is.
PJ Hurlbutt cheers on her son Robbie, who she thinks is the greatest singer, meanwhile Pat Splatt sits there in his seat texting.
The show ends and Robbie takes a head count.
“We’d like to thank our fans Pat, my Mom PJ, and our buddies Sybil and JK!”
“Encore! Encore! Encore!” the lone fan, PJ, shouts.
“Did you say encore? We aim to please. Robbie is going to serenade a special fan who came all the way from Kankakee, Illinois!” Konrad announces.
Robbie comes down from the stage, toward the back of the bar and begins to sing “Burnin’ Love”.
Robbie is in shock that the “person” to whom he is singing does not react, nor move at all. “She is not a sincere fan.” Robbie says into the microphone after his number.
“Robbie, you moron. That’s a blow-up doll!” Madeline shouts.
Robbie jumps back in sheer embarassment.
“Elvis has now left the building.” Konrad announces.
The Moronic Half-Assets pack up, ready to leave. “That was a bust. I got really flustered up there.” Robbie sighs.
“We did not return much on our investment, did we?” Konrad gripes.
“Time to pack up and leave. If we drive home in our clown car, and make it home without stopping, maybe we can make up for our losses. Time to go!”
Robbie is in the Men’s washroom, wizzing away.
“Robbie, why do you leave the door open? I tell you about that time and time again!” Madeline screams.
A loud slam is heard.
“Rrrrrrrrgh!”
“Robbie, you are not Elvis, and you are not going to die in there.”
The MHA members pack up their stuff, and Robbie follows them into his clown car.
“I wonder what act is up next?” Robbie asks.
“I guess we’ll never know. Step on it Robbie!”
An announcement is barely heard from the purple clownmobile as Robbie pulls away, and rolls up his window, Kankakee-bound:
“Next up, from Manteno, Illinois: Gothic Diana and the Midnight Supremes!”
“Rrrrrrgh—I love her! My dreamy—“
“Shut up and drive, childish little boy,” Madeline commands as the rain pours down and the moon shines down on the Moronic Half Assets.
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Moron of the Week – Obsessed Fanboy
This sad playboy — I am putting it nicely — got all butthurt when I messaged him looking for friendship. Yes, friends, as in getting to know each other better. When he replied to my intro question showing interest in his hobbies, all he said was he liked those things. I replied asking him what he would like to know about me and what was his response? Wait for it.
He said yes, go ahead. Confused by his comment, I replied with a simple question mark.
Since he was five hours ahead of me, I did not expect a reply, or even to see him online at that point. It was 8:50 PM my time, 1:50 AM his time.
This luser got all butthurt, saying I was interested in him and got rather cross because I asked him to tell me more about himself. You know, what humans do to get acquainted. Figuring he had something to hide, I blocked him. I wanted no more contact.
Today, ennui got the best of his soul, so he sent me this message right here on MoronicArts to try and mansplain dating, music, or whatever it was he thought I was trying to achieve when I wrote him, because my blog is chock-full o’ pretend and real-life morons like him.
Hmmm. Maybe he sees a little bit of Peppi Cacca and Pat Splatt in himself. Or maybe Damien Hurlbutt since Gareth’s Twitter handle “tungstenfedora” screams neckbeard. Why not get yourself an anime waifu like the other neckbeards, Gareth? Maybe he should get a hobby, I have things to do and am very busy.
Meanwhile, Gareth, enjoy your participation trophy, I mean Moron of the Week Award. Hold onto it really tightly, because I need it for the next moron.
This post brought to you by the letters #MotW.
Watch Carly Simon poke fun at neckbeards in her updated video to “You’re So Vain.”
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Sybil Can’t Fly.
It’s that time again.
Kankakee bill collector and dog-food connoisseur Sybil is so excited for the annual Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Retreat in Hoboken, New Jersey, she can almost wet herself. However, she cannot fly. She does not want to fly, actually. It is not that she is afraid to fly; she just WON’T.
“I would rather take the train. That is the way to travel.” Miss Kibble barks to Mack E. Avelli, CRASS Chief.
“Do what you want. It will save the company money,” replies Mr. Avelli.
“Oh, I cannot wait! This is going to be so fun!” Sybil bursts out loud, as she runs around the office with great excitement. “I wonder what city I will see first? “Gary? Cleveland? DeMoranville? This is going to be AWE-some!” Sybil brags, while the rest of the office shake their collective heads, and sigh.
Sybil has been on her train for 14 hours. She has not slept all night. The woman behind her has been snoring and her toddler has been wailing like a banshee for the past hour.
An assistant conductor walks by. “Excuse me, what time will we be to Hoboken?”
“This train does not go to Hoboken. Your ticket says Newark.”
“What time, then?” snaps Sybil.
“We are running five hours behind.”
The train eventually pulls into Newark, after driving backward through a muddy lake, slowing for eight freight trains and stopping for six.
Sybil misses her shindig by two hours and takes the lonely train home, and her bragging rights with her.
This post brought to you by Aeroplane and the letters AA.
MoronicArts 
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