They know what they want, and they want it right now!
Call D. U. Hurlbutt at 500-FART-NOW
They know what they want, and they want it right now!
Call D. U. Hurlbutt at 500-FART-NOW
Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) Accounting Chief Konrad Teirant is having trouble balancing the assets against the liabilities, even after having cooked the books to a carbonized mess.
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.
It is midnight here in Kankakee.
The fire alarm sounds for the third time this week at the low-income housing complex, 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 bathroom, 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, half-wit and overt narcissist 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.
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 and they head home.
“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 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?”
“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.”
“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.
Manteno communal narcissist and poopy-burner Bernadette Cacca just discovered her new favorite tune. Maybe she will perform it live for charity on accordion.
I am so glad I brought back Moron of the Week. Every time I think I encountered the biggest idiot, they build a bigger idiot. Take this sad sack who works in education, I kid you not.
This ableist fool thinks it is okay to beat kids, with a belt no doubt. Last I knew, it was illegal to hit adults, however this narcissistic moron thinks it is okay to hit little ones. He also thinks it is okay to force kids with food texture problems to eat food that makes them gag, or have them starve as an alternative.
Of course, I called him on it. Like most narcissists and sociopaths, he took no responsibility for his actions and instead made the choice to gaslight. No, heavens forbid he apologizes and changes his ways. Like a typical imbecile, he asked me for an apology for, you know — my trying to teach him empathy. In other words, blame-shifting.
I really wish the military could order bunch of planes to drop narcissists like bombs into a volcano and vaporise them, so they cannot make more narcissists. I would be happy if they just left people alone. Maybe this guy can go start a narcissist colony on some deserted island in the middle of nowhere.
Hopefully the narcissists won’t vote each other off the island.
For condoning violence against children, I award this fragile male the Moron of the Week Award.
(Note: If you are a victim of domestic violence, there is hope. Call toll-free in the United States: 877-633-1112 or visit https://www.thehotline.org or call 911.)
Kankakee covert narcissist and wannabe Elvis impersonator Robbie Hurlbutt was surprised to see his ex-girlfriend who had left him 17 years ago. Mimicking his communal narcissist brother Damien, he put his flip phone up as she passed by him at the grocery store and took a photo of her, in plain daylight. He never got over her having broken up with him, and him being the creepy narcissist who thinks he can do no wrong, he thought it was just dandy to take her photo and keep it in his collection of souvenirs of his exes.
I never thought I would end up doing a Part 2 to one of my Morons of the Week. Here we are. As I have said many times on this site, it costs nothing to be nice. It’s not hard either!
This guy was so butthurt by having won his award — which he earned and deserved — he felt the need to retaliate via hate mail. I was nice enough to censor his name previously, however since he felt the need to send moronic fan mail, and make his covert narcissism even more overt, why not just print it as is?
Oh, and here is his crooked smile, yanked straight from the practice social media.
I am thinking of nominating him for Moron of the Month. If he keeps digging the hole of retaliation, projecting like he does, then maybe Moron of the Year. I might report him to the Health Department for verbally abusing me, as he is just going to keep on doing it to other patients.
To think, all he had to do was display a normal range of emotions, instead of — you know — verbally abusing a patient. Oh, and maybe apologize? And work on his own bedside manner? Oh heavens forbid we do that now! I would not wish having this guy as medical provider on my worst enemy and he is also a narcissist!
I had no problems with any other staff, nor patients, not that it would come as a surprise. Typical projection comes from typical narcissists. They’re all the same fragile replicants, as far as I am concerned, and pretty predictable once one figures out they are narcissistic.
This Moron of the Week is so cringey I don’t know where to begin. Imagine having a medical provider who acts like a fictional MoronicArts character, only not funny.
Take the case of nurse practitioner “Dorian Gray.” No that’s not his real name but it may as well be it. Dorian conned his way into the hearts and lives of the patients and staff at my former primary care office. He went out of his way to make me think he is compassionate and empathetic. Yesterday, something went wrong, very wrong. Dorian’s mask came off, as if he had stabbed his painting only to become a withered old man. The truth came out.
Dorian went very quickly from idealize to discard. I had called the office of Dorian Gray this past Thursday because I had been ill for five days with laryngitis. I was told by Dorian’s staff to wait by the phone, as if I had nothing better to do. Two hours and fifteen minutes passed with no call so I went out, figuring I did not need to be seen. I never got a call that day however Dorian’s office called me at 8:00 AM sharp the next day saying he wanted a telemedicine appointment. Fair enough.
Apparently my appointment should have been scheduled for 1:45, not 1:00 because that is the time Dorian finally signed on. I called Dorian’s opium den, I mean office, while I was waiting because I thought either Mr. Glitch had invaded his computer, or he was smokin’ something. Not having been given an explanation, when asked how I felt I told Dorian Gray, NP I could be better as I have better things to do when wait 45 minutes.
Instead of apologizing — heavens forbid — Dorian hung up. Thinking connection error — who wouldn’t — I called the office. Dorian answered and instead of apologizing like a person with empathy and compassion, he berated me, talking down to me like a butthurt fragile male breaking up with his girlfriend. Maybe he got his degree off a cereal box or while doing time. Maybe both? I could not care less.
For mentally abusing his patients and acting like a covert narcissist, I award this sad state of a nurse practitioner Moron of the Week.
Back when I had just graduated high school and was looking forward to attending college, I applied for — and got — a job at a local drive-in movie theater. Despite the pressure put on young folks to get a job, employment was not easy to come by in a small city about to lose a couple tens of thousands of its people due to Base Realignment and Closure (BRAC).
Despite the odds, I managed to get a part-time job working at one of the few remaining drive-in movie theaters in my state. The first day went well. My supervisor was impressed with my work ethic and ability to work with customers. He warned me about the theater owner; saying he will either love me or hate me.
The next day I met the person who would later become the main basis for my character Konrad “Kon” Teirant. The theater owner put the skinny blonde girl up front to collect tickets, while placing heavyset and awkward goth chick me to work behind the scenes. He could not wait to complain.
“Fill that popcorn bag. No fill it up more. Does that look full to you? It does not take a genius to figure it out. Look, I don’t think it is going to work out.” Puzzled and stunned, I asked him what he meant. He told me to leave and not come back. I never got paid for the work I had done for him.
I remember calling up my cousin, crying because I had lost my job that summer I graduated. She called the theater owner “a tyrant”.
I found out later that he owns a chain of theaters in the region. I saw him in a restaurant a few years later, bragging out about having been flown to Atlanta, and getting loaned an Armani suit to wear for whatever business deal he was trying to get, or “big bag” as he called it.
A few years later, I was sick as a dog on Christmas Day, and called into work at my then call-center job. I wrote a song about a character I called “King Tyrant.” I made a crude sketch of him holding a “big bag”. I played the song live a few times but it was not well received, and it was not very fun to play anyway.
In 2017, after having left an emotionally abusive relationship with a covert narcissist who had sociopathic traits, I started writing and creating characters. I wrote a lot. I drew a lot. To cope with having been emotionally abused and being all on my own on the verge of suicide, I wrote short stories and launched MoronicArts. I drew my very first sketch of the now-renamed Konrad Teirant while receiving treatment for suicidal ideation in a psychiatric unit.
I can certainly say writing, drawing, and having zero contact with my emotionally abusive former husband has helped me heal a lot. I write to help people laugh and make myself giggle at the same time. Laughter is one of the best medicines, for me anyway and I hope to continue to pay it forward, as I would never wish what happened to me on my worst enemy.
Kankakee slumlord, cheapskate and overt narcissist Madeline Topolla-Teirant is trying to get her life back in balance during her Moronic Half-Assets (MHA) cross-country tour, coming soon to Utica, New York!
Meet Lori Brown, estranged former wife of Bourbonnais neckbeard Damien Hurlbutt. A covert narcissist, Damien refers to Lori solely as “Grimace” while actively trying to get back with her so he can emotionally abuse her again. Lori works as a medical billing clerk in Chicago, loves root beer and burning poopies.
Read about Lori here: