Kankakee drugstore clerk, Elvis impersonator and vulnerable narc-a-doodle Robbie Hurlbutt turns 47 today! We hope his birthday is number one.
Robbie sells selfies on the street.
Happy Birthday Robbie Hurlbutt!
Tag: narcadoodles
Damien’s desperate Dreamland letter to Donnie
Tired of eating corn for his hot and getting yanked from his cot, captured trespasser, communal narcadoodle and neckbeard nincompoop Damien Hurlbutt asks if he can write a letter.
“You can only send inter-departmental mail here.”
“I know, I know, I know, I know…”
“Stop acting like a clown and get back in your cell.”
“Hooo!”
“I don’t know who. You’re the one who asked, fool.”
The guard slams the door, then the world’s largest source of natural gas starts scrawling, before he gets hauled away for his thrice daily flatulence testing. After returning to his cell in the Alternative Fuels Division at Dreamland Resort, Damien finishes his letter to President Turnip (no relation to Jamie Turnip), then gives it to the staff to type up so he can sign it.
The letter is put into inter-office mail and sent forth to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, DC.
Bored with inventing new recipes for covfefe to barf up all over social media, the president reads the mail with his tiny hands and aging mental acuity. A couple hours later, Donnie reads Damien’s desperate cry for help.
After giggling, Turnip divides up the letter into strips, chucks it into the fireplace along with his other mail and proceeds to fall fast asleep in his chair, dreaming about how to bigly cheat at golf.
Then he poops.
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Don’t Get Ego on Your Face, Becca.
Ennui fills the home of the bill collector and and banjo player for The Haggs, Becca Frickfrick.
Since her twin sister Pamela got arrested for leaving her young grandkids alone to go out stealing lawn ornaments, the desire to seek get revenge has boiled over. Instead of, you know, getting a hobby, Becca chooses to bother people instead.
“It’s all them kids fault. They never work, they sit around on their phones and they broke our Frickfrick towers that we made ourselves from their LEGOs! Dang kids don’t respect their elders. Imma gon’ done teach them pert near a lesson!”
“Ma’am, this is a Buckstars.”
Becca seats herself while waiting for her pumpkin spice latte, and starts talking at Wally Green who is busy dumbing down his newest Artificial Stupidity Robot.
“I hear that Gothic Diana Ross has been stealing lawn ornaments. I’ve been doing an investigation. You know what that is right?”
Wally continues tuning out Becca, searching for the perfect computer voice, so it can to answer his pharmacy chain’s calls instead of paying humans to do it.
“Hello! Hello! Can you hear me?”
Desperate for attention, Mrs. Frickfrick takes her index finger to Wally Green and repeatedly pokes him in the back until he looks up.
“Oh hey lady, why don’t you smile more? I’m Wally, and very single by the way. Did you know our family almost inherited Manhattan Island? The pirates stole the deed from—“
“Nevermind.”
“Read it on the internet. Trust me, it’s true!”
Becca walks over the sinks to wash her hands, a wild bog witch Bernadette Cacca appears.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“6pm”
Thanks!
“No, it’s only 4pm,” the self-righteous narcadoodle, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran says to her daughter Bernadette as she sits down at the table to drink her coffee.
“It’s 6pm, look at my watch.”
“You watch is broke, that’s why you’re always late.”
“Look up there!” Bernadette points to the coffeehouse clock.
“I’m sorry if I offended you. I was only trying to help.” Carla gaslights her own daughter.
In walks a slender blonde woman wearing white-and-purple leggings and a purple-grey shirt.
“Ah, someone new to harass!” Becca thinks to herself.
The woman gets her cake slice and sits in front of Becca, back facing her.
“Hey, did you hear about those missing lawn ornaments, Gothic Diana Ross and her sisters been going round stealing.”
Sybil Kibble turns around.
“Oh hi boss!” Becca sinks back into her seat.
“Why didn’t you come into work today?”
“You have no right to ask me that. Our investigation will be brought forth. You will be in trouble for stealing lawn ornaments. Anybody who stands in the way of what we want to get will be punished.”
”That’s nice.”
“If you want to get right with us, you have to do what we say.”
“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Your contract is up this month. Go back to work. This is your final warning.”
Mrs. Frickfrick starts slamming her arms on the coffeehouse tables, slides her feet on the echo-y concrete, pirouhettes her way out the door shouting “I’m not coming baaack! Byyyyeeeeeeeee!”
“This is not an airport, no need to announce your departure,” Sybil Kibble deadpans.
The customers shake their heads and giggle.
A minute later, one of the baristas puts a hot coffee drink up onto the bar.
“Pumpkin Spice for Becca?”
Sybil just rolls her eyes and goes back to her paperwork.
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MoronicArts Classics: Robbie’s Singing the Bathroom Blues
Kankakee, Illinois’ number one Elvis impersonator, Wally Green’s drugstore clerk and vulnerable narcadoodle Robbie Hurlbutt has a huge crush on Midnight Supremes lead singer Gothic Diana Ross who isn’t remotely attracted to him, plus she has a boyfriend. He wants to make a huge impression on her because he does not understand the word “no.”
She has a gig coming up soon and he is scheming to find a way to connive his boss, store owner Wally Green into letting him hang up her show poster at work to promote her music as he thinks it will somehow make her like him.
”Hey Robbie, have a look at these paper towels I invented just for my store: Half the size, twice the cost. All the frustration when you go to rip off a sheet, thanks to me!” boasts a balding, squat, rotund Wally Green as he tips his fishing cap.
“I know, boss, let’s put them on a groovy display table near the front of the store so the suckers — I mean customers — will think they are getting them on sale.”
“Great idea! I am glad I thought of it!” Wally exclaims with glee, throwing his stubby arms into the air.
“Well…now that I, boss, thought of such a splendid idea, I have a favor to ask. This band is really a gas and I want to hang up their poster for their upcoming show at the store,” Robbie says to his superior with bedroom eyes, dreaming of Miss Gothic Diana Ross, the only Boss he could ever want.
“Naw. Get back to work. I need you to make production metrics this time. Start selling people some pills they don’t need.”
Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Lead Debt Collector Sybil Kibble comes into Wally Green’s Drugstore to buy an iced coffee and a bag of dog biscuits for lunch as she forgot hers at home.
“Ehh. Out of order again. Must be that half ply toilet paper,” Sybil thinks out loud.
“The washroom is on the blink?” Robbie asks, aghast.
“Yeah and I am in a hurry!” Sybil shouts as she makes her way over toward the men’s room.
“Do not go in there!” Robbie commands Sybil.
Sybil walks by Gothic Diana Ross in the men’s room, who is looking in the mirror, applying her jet-black eyeliner. She pinches a huge loaf in the stall next to Wally Green, who is busy whizzing away in the urinal. Sybil flushes but does not clean up the mess on the seat, flinging the door wide open with her arm. She makes a beeline for the sink and spots Diana sarcastically chortling away at the Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes poster on washroom wall.
A befuddled Robbie struts into the men’s room.
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME IN HERE!” Robbie shouts at the women. “THIS IS THE MEN’S ROOM.”
“Get back to work, Robbie, the ladies’ room is closed. Take down this poster while you are at it and apologize to our customers.” Wally Green tells his employee Robbie.
“I am sorry IF I offended you.” Robbie smirks.
“Get lost!” Diana and Sybil chant in unison at his non-apology as they leave the bathroom.
Sybil buys her lunch and drives back to work.
Wally sells loads of paper towels and Robbie is put on temporary janitorial duty until he improves his customer service skills. But don’t lock him in the bathroom. He thinks he is Elvis.
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MoronicMerch helps pay the Moron bill.
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!
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Demanda Broccoli Gets Chopped!
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.
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No, butt Bernadette does: Behind the Moroniverse
People ask me how I come up with my silly original characters and their absurd fictional stories.
Reality imitates art, or is it the other way around?
Here is my first concept drawing for the MoronicArts portapotty empress Bernadette Cacca from 1995, more than two decades before I met my former neighbor who shares her name in 2018. Apparently someone thought my blog was all about her. Does she burn her poopies too?
No, Bernadette, it’s not about you, it never was. My characters are fictional, as in pretend, fake, not real.
She does not even look the same, just shares the name because when I started developing her I wanted a woman’s name that could be shortened to “Bern.” I was torn between Bernice and Bernadette and I chose Bernadette, possibly rooted in the previous trauma caused by this person’s harassment in 2018 but at the end of the day I don’t really remember.
Tonight, I was minding my own business photographing the beautiful sunset silhouette by the trees, when one of my neighbors on the other side of the complex who is older than I — and should know better — egged me on.
Trying to mitigate whatever nonsense she was up to, I introduced myself and said “look at the pretty sky.” She mentioned she was Bernadette from next door when I had previously lived there in 2018 and had still a beef with me from when I had lived next to her SEVEN YEARS AGO. I did not even recognize her.
I had not seen her since I moved out. One would think she had matured by now, however she was the same 8-yr-old trapped in a 70-year-plus old body (or was it 80?). “Now you see the real me, I don’t like you. You told (the landlord) on me,” she said. What a dork.
“Mommy, she told on me!”
– Crybaby.
I told her that I handle things like an adult and asked her to stop harassing me. I talked to her neighbor down the hall while Bern was visiting someone else and she went from listening to me, to “Oh you better look out, Bernadette’s coming back.” I said, “so what? That was 8 years ago. I don’t care.”
Bernie cussed me out again as she walked past me back up the stairs, she and her sycophant put on a side show, complete with twerking the wooden fence attached to the apartment building. I kid you not. Then she pretended to dial 911 saying I was stalking her.
MMMMkay. I walked away from those circus freaks and told another neighbour from the same building about it and he cussed me out too!
What in the everlasting…I had no words.
It was a 3-ring circus now complete with flying monkeys and Spucklers. I thought the dude would be nice to me because we had mutuals, but nope, think again. Now he was also cussing me at me to “get the f*** away” like the other empathy-challenged humans putting on a show.
I got away from him, told all the tag team of all three bootlickers I wanted no contact with any of them, hand held up shaped like a big fat zero, as I emphatically said again – “ZERO CONTACT.”
I got to chat with some mature, non-screamy neighbors and had found out from one of them that Bernadettes’s a narc-a-doodle doo, just like my character, looking for supply but going about it differently. One of the maintenance men oversaw what went down, he advised me to call the landlord which I did. I left a voicemail for the him, after I sat down with a friend and opened up.
The landlord’s handling of Bernadette’s malarky with grace and dignity back in 2018 is precisely why I came back here: I needed a landlord whom I can trust.
And no, Bernadette, I still won’t take your crap.
Here’s another view of the imaginary Bern, not one of the real-life Bernies, let alone a famous one.
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MoronicArts Classics: Welcome to Hell
Kankakee pyramid schemer Doris Krabalsky and Bourbonnais communal narc-a-doodle Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt both arrive at Hell’s in-processing department at the same time.
“Sign the register” says Hell’s in-processing clerk and former Medical Office Assistant, Lucy Furr, who was notorious for bullying her roommate on their college trip to Italy. Meanwhile, Doris and Damien try to take over.
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Damien’s Easter Surprise!
Neckbeard, communal narcadoodle and Area 51 test subject Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt is busy dreaming up ways to escape his captors from his Dreamland cell.
“Hey Damien, we have an Easter surprise for you!” the guard says to the imprisoned moron who tried to storm the underground Nevada laboratory, thinking he could get away with it.
“Oh boy, oh boy! What is it?” the creepy fool asks, devilish grin spreading across his face and day-glow orange beard. Visions of over-the-top baskets fill his head, not unlike the ones with which he used to love-bomb his targets of potential narcissistic supply.
”If we told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise!”
Damien, filled with glee to be free from his cell and daily flatulence testing at the Alternative Fuel Source Department somewhere deep inside the dry lake-bed known as Groom, the world’s largest source of natural gas is led down the hall. He and the guards make their way past the cafeteria, alien deejays and party at the discotheque.
Hoping to hear some Starland Vocal Band over the intercom, Damien wonders what the staff will give him, to make his afternoon delicious.
Much to the delight of the staff, and the dismay of the nincompoop Damien, the orange neckheard gets hauled into a tiny room and strapped to a table for experimentation ordered by Division Chief Dr. Jen Jenner. A tattoo artist emerges, and begins to carve egg-shaped designs into the narc-a-doodle’s bum for a research project carried out by the Pain Tolerance Department.
HAPPY KIESTER! (OK, you can have that one for free).
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The Bigger The Bird, The Bigger The Turd
Manteno portable-waste-recepticle empress, communal narcadoodle and bog witch Bernadette Moran Cacca read this Turkey Day card from her reluctant mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran, which she had dropped off during a flyover.
Methinks we know from whom Bernadette learned to polish her turds.
“Ma, you ARE a bird! Cannibal!” Bernadette exclaims from the bog, to her mother who swooped on down later that evening.
Speaking with her mouth full, she tries to chase away her equally dysfunctional mother, in-between bites of yet another unsuspecting male suitor she had nommed for supper. Then she poops.
Happy Thanksgiving from MoronicArts! May your family dinner more fun and not so dysfunctional.
MoronicArts 
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