Bernadette Cacca is Brown With Envy

Manteno communal narcadoodle, port-o-dump proprietor and charity-kazoo-cover-queen Bernadette Cacca wishes she could figure out why her biggest fan, Greg Schneissder, can blast blue flame from his bum when hers always come out yellow and orange. Bern plots revenge on Greg, because, you know she has nothing better to do with her time. Bernadette needs to get a life. Bern gets out her sparkly EyePhone 28 and dials him up. Nobody’s home.

“Why is he so good at farting?” Manteno pretend do-gooder and entramanure Bernadette Cacca asks her husband Peppi upon his return from the half-way house.

“Git!”

“Oh not now, I just showered…” Bog witch Bernadette answers Peppi’s mating call, that same one which had attracted her years ago, while Manteno’s queen of the porcelain throne was bathing in the swamp.

“I dunno…Why don’t you go over and ask him?”

“You’re awesome!”

“Just like the last time…” Peppi responds to Bern’s superlative, giving her the stinkeye as he takes his first puff of a skunky joint, one of many to follow, not the first by any means. The Caccas love anything that stinks.

“Oh no, that’s Bernadette. Don’t let her in, she’ll never leave!” The Midnight Supremes shout out the arched window of their dark stone Gothic Victorian home. All Gothic Diana Ross wants to do is cut the grass. Bern peels out the driveway, around the corner and back by the Midnight Supremes house again.

As Bernadette rolls by she, shouts all mockingly “take the pictures” at the Midnight Supremes who are minding their own business taking video of the weather.

“Grow up, you child!” Gothic Flo defends herself against the abuse spewed by spoiled-brat Bernadette.

“Methinks the trolls are crawling out from under their collective bridges and mothers’ basements again,” Gothic Diana Ross addresses her bandmates, The Midnight Supremes.

“Peppi and Bernadette gang up on me like a bunch of schoolyard children. I am 42. I am starting to think that Bern harassed us out of fear that maybe I was videotaping her, because it’s all about her you know? The funny thing is my video was of the rain; it was raining in one spot only. But those spoiled entitled brats it’s all about them you know? Because nobody else deals with the weather here on Earth right?”

“Yes. The rain is there to annoy those morons.” Gothic Flo deadpans.

Bern Cacca peels into her driveway, runs into the bathroom with her smell-phone and replies to a Fakebook post looking for “10 models” to “type yes in the comments.”

“I’m a plus sized model is that okay?” Bern asks Leona Krabalsky.

“Oh yes, we have a special bonus for you,” sister Doris Krabalsky answers Mrs. Cacca’s query.

“Robert Roy Gary Hurlbutt. I never want to see him, again. However, here I am. Mamma and I unload the van containing the remaining items from our broken marriage he demanded back: pooped-on record albums, Elvis dolls, countless cardboard tubes formerly holding paper of the wrapping and toilet kind.” Robbie’s former girlfriend dictates into her phone.

Back at his unit again, Kay feels bad for Robbie’s new source of narcissistic supply. 

“I am sorry” Kay whispers into the young lady’s ear, her eyes’ micro-expression meeting in agreement.

“Just put that over there” Robbie says to her mother carrying a heavy box of ratty blankets.

“Where is Heidi?”

“I gave her away,” Robbie speaks of the cat Kay wanted to keep, the poor lil tortie Robbie speaks about as if she were part of the furniture, mere chattel. Robbie walks over to the washroom and leaves the door a-crack. “Don’t lock me in.”

“I’m Kay.”

“Ann. I go by Annie.”

“Annie?” 

“Yeah. I work over at the taco place. I am getting promoted.”

“Congratulations! I am happy for you.”

“It is not much. I got this new name badge which reads “King.”

“I catch your drift. I am thankful for you retail workers.”

Bernadette is running behind to meet The Krabalskys under the I57 underpass for her “modeling.” Extremely impatient, Bern throws a hissy-fit at the Krow-Grrr self-checkout whinging because it doesn’t take CraptoCoin.

“You guys are too woke! I am too good for this! I play all these songs for the Manteno Optimal Club and raise money for them and Ukraine. I wanna talk to the manager! My aunt Sonya knows the owner of this entire plaza!”

“Karen! Karen! Karen!” emerges from the crowd of customers wishing to shop just once sans harassment from the activity-impaired crowd and their ensuing ennui.

“What a dope!” Store clerk Annie King says as she yeets Bern out the door.

“Oh good, I got it! Ha!” Gothic Diana thinks to herself of the exposure captured of her narcissistic neighbor Bernadette Moran Cacca throwing a childish tantrum at the supermarket.

Bernadette meets Kankakee County trolls Doris and Leona Krabalsky under the bridge.

“You need to remove your twitter post about my friend Undead Greg. Especially when you were selfish enough to do what you did and then block him. Because he is the only person who ever farts and that’s all that matters! Look at me, I’m a troll who crawled out from under my bridge because I need to get a hobby and I hate myself. I don’t appreciate the way you treated him about his farts looking prettier than yours. Yeah.”

Gobsmacked, B. M. Cacca’s jaw drops to the floor, realizing she has been duped by people almost as narcissistic as she.

“But if you would like to try our product, we can still get you our special deal.”

“Product? I thought this was a modeling gig.”

“Oh yes, I have these lovely magic beans just for you. They will clean your colon FAST!”

“Will they make me farts turn blue when I light them?”

“Oh yes, they will alright.”

“Sign me up!” Bernadette says to her sisters-in-narcissism as they sell her the overpriced coffee beans. The Krabalskys will do anything for a sale and Bernadette will do anything to brag about her precious farts.

Mommy, Where Do Craptocoins Come From?

Manteno’s favourite pretend-do-gooder Bernadette Cacca plays accordion cover tunes for the Manteno Optimal Club. She also tries raise funds for Ukraine – and of course – the photo opportunity. Why donate anonymously when you can make it look like you care?

She only accepts Craptocoin, mined the old-fashioned way, donating 10 per cent of her tips to charity. She takes the rest home and burns it in her fireplace.

From what is Craptocoin made? NFTs – Newly Formed Turds!

Butt first, Mrs. Cacca has to drink and eat on her campaign to promote irrregularity for her regulars.

Battle of the Nitwits #PoopingForBernadette

In this corner: The Manteno Wonder, Communal Narcadoodle and Portapotty Entamanure Bernadette Cacca! In the other corner: a useless real-estate scammer! It’s a battle of nitwits to try and scam each other!

Backside: When communal #narc and #Manteno Optimal Club president #Bernadette Moran Cacca graduated high school she wanted to be a wrestler. When her wrestling career as the Manteno Wonder failed, she joined the army. She kept getting put on poop burning duty and got a dishonorable discharge…from her butt.

Bernadette was in such a hurry to become a regular that she tried to run over one of the regulars at the coffeehouse. She wanted to get the runs. Gotta mine that #craptocoin and 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.

#PoopingForBernadette

Boundary Crossing Competition: Who Will Win?

Dealing with narcissists can be a real hurdle. They cross boundaries like it is a competition. Who will win?

Manteno communal narc-a-doodle and entremanure Bernadette Cacca, who plays charity accordion-covers only for the photo opportunity?

Peppi Cacca who only have love for skunkweed?

Kankakee’s Number One Elvis impersonator (who thinks he is really Elvis) and vulnerable narc Robbie Hurlbutt?

Does anybody need to win?

Coming soon: Narc Island – Where all the narcissists are cast away to an uninhabited island to fend for themselves – and leave the rest of us alone. Stay tuned!

Smokey Gets Smoked

“Man, I am bored.” Smokey says aloud as she smokes in bed. Smokey has been an unhappy lot, unemployed from her CRASS debt collecting job. Smokey hears a loud pound on the door. She has been expecting a package, so she answers.

“Kankakee County Sherriff. Is this Mrs. Ashe?”

“Yes. Who dis?”

“I am here to serve you with this eviction notice. I need you to sign—“

“Eviction? Why am I being evicted?”

“Ma’am, I am only here to provide document service. I need you to direct questions to your landlord. Sign here please.”

“I aint signin’ nuttin’!” Smokey screams.”

“Then I will have to report you to the Kankakee County Judge who may issue a bench warrant for your court appearance. Make it easy, sign that you got the papers and we can avoid all that.”

“Fine.” Smokey grabs the papers and scrawls a barely legible signature.

Smokey and the officer part ways.

Smokey is furious and at the same time feeling terrified she will be forever homeless. She has not been able to find a job because nobody wants to hire her.

Smokey calls her landlord and they do not answer. Smokey opens up the packet left for her:

“Your building is being condemned by the Kankakee County Codes Department due to the entire nonsmoking facility having been permanently tainted with cigarette smoke. One resident has been smoking in her unit, despite multiple warnings and it has made several residents severely ill. Please contact Kankakee County Department of Social Services if you need assistance with housing placement.”

“So now I am homeless, just because they decided to close the entire building? Why they do that to me? Them fools, kicking me out. Now I am going to be homeless. They have no sympathy for me at all,” Smokey says to herself.

Smokey puts out her butt and drives down to Wally Mart. It is July 4th and it is one of the few stores open on Independence Day.

“Ma’am, smoking is not allowed in the store.” Smokey gives the clerk a dirty look and walks out, leaving her cart full of merchandise behind for someone else to deal with.

Smokey spies a small structure off in the distance.

“What is this? Smoke Shack? I need to check this out.” Smokey says to herself.

Smokey heads to the white tent, decked out in signs marked “TNT”, “M80s” and “Roman Candles”.

Moments later, all of Kankakee lights up up in colors of red, white and blue. The glow can be seen for miles, making children and kids of heart grin from ear to ear, from the loud pops and sizzles.

Happy 4th of July, everyone!

But who will clean up the chunks?

Nobody’s Home

After a long week collecting dubious debt for her employer Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), Kankakee’s most shady debt-collector, Sybil Kibble is feeling stressed and irritated. 

“Out of dog-food again! Dang, I just bought some at Schmucks! How did I eat all those Alpo cans so fast? They must be making them smaller now.”

Needing someone with whom to vent, Miss Kibble goes over to the house of her best friend and next-door neighbor, Mrs. Pearl Jo Hulbutt (PJ).

“Ah my boys have not come around lately. They don’t appreciate their mother and all I do for them! Have you seen that Kitty Bee lady? Her hair is pink now!” PJ rambles on complaining about person after another. “Have you talked to your father?”

“I stopped talking to him years ago. You ask me that every time I come over. Why?”

“My father was not so nice. It says in the good book we should forgive people and pray for them to change.”

“He’s dead. His new wife was just as abusive, I hear she has an extra room. Why don’t you call her up? I am sure she would like the company. She’ll probably ask all kinds of questions about me! Go up to Chicago and spend a month or two to see what it’s like. Just call her after I leave.”

“No need to go overboard with your remarks. They are entitled to their beliefs as well. Everyone should be able to practice their faith without fear or judgement. As a person with a demon latched onto her body at the age of two that never leaves me alone, I understand fear and misunderstanding. I’ve been judged for my demeanor and nosey words my entire childhood but I still care and help others. I define me not other people.”

Rightfully livid, Sybil Kibble walks back to her home, and eats her last dog bone; much tastier than the word-salad her neighbor had spit out.

Sybil calls a bunch of friends, hoping to open up about the invalidation and gaslighting she just experienced.

Leona Krabalsky’s phone goes straight to voicemail as does her sister Leona’s. Out of desperation, she calls her hairdresser Lila Croule at her home-based salon, even though she is a week early getting her face-frame cut. She just wants to relax, but sorry; more voicemail jail.

“Why are all these people getting at the bus at once?” PJ Hurlbutt asks aloud to a bus full of strangers, looking around for someone that cares. 

An enquiring mind wants to know. PJ repeats her nosey nonsense and adds more crap to her routine. “Look at that lady with the green hair. Does she know those tattoos are permanent?”

“I’ll tell the mayor,” Dorian James deadpans, making a cheeky grin while adoring his boyfriend Ant’s half-sleeve.

Sybil drives her white Chrysler LeBaron to find find out why people are ignoring her calls and texts.

She drives underneath the I-57 underpass to seek Kankakee troll Leona. Nope, she’s not home. 

Sybil continues North toward Peotone to find her sharp-tongued stylist Lila Croule, hoping to trade barbs about stupid customers. After she parks her reliable box-mobile, she rings the doorbell at Lila’s front door. No answer. The RRRRRRGH of the lawn tractor stops and Sybil spots Lila trimming the edges of the grass using her $1000.00 hair shears.

As Sybil drives home to Kankakee, she sees her subordinate Dale Davis jogging, beeping his watch repeatedly. Dale waves to Sybil and beckons her to come hither. Her stomach turns. No means no.

Sybil drives to Major’s Supermarket and stocks up on wet and dry dog food, with which she drowns her worries at home, glad to be away from the rest of the Moroniverse. It’s too peoply out there. Can you blame her?

Did I Rain on Your Parade, Madwoman?

After her influencer application got rejected for PooPourri, Manteno entertainer, communal narcadoodle and Queen of the Porcelain Throne Bernadette Cacca contemplates her next idea, hoping to pitch it to the Buckstars baristas who pretend to care, but of course, don’t. Bernadette is on a campaign to promote irregularity.

Bernadette’s favorite coffee mug.

Bernadette Cacca nearly runs over JoAnn Kibble in the coffee line at the Bourbonnais Buckstars. She really needs to go number two but can’t.  Bern and her enabler extraordinaire, fellow Turdologist and zombie Greg Schneissder, wait by the rubbish sacks. She cannot wait to burn her poopies again.

Mrs. Kibble walks over to the garbage pails to toss away her old cup. “Excuse my reach” she says as she reaches in front of the self-proclaimed Queen of the Porcelain Throne.

“Same,” the entitled brat Bernadette snarks as undead Greg stands by her side, both practically on the receptacle containing the garbage sacks.

Konrad Teirant takes a break from cooking the CRASS books to drink down a drink that’s brown, taking along his wife Madeline Topolla-Teirant to the Buckstars, who had left work early at her job mismanaging Kankakee’s Best Low Budget Apartments.

Bored out of his skull, Kon looks to his right and starts chatting up two college students who recently moved to Kankakee from the Middle East. Visions of converting these young, impressionable minds to Flat-Earthers fill the other-wise empty head of the fool that is Mr. Teirant.

“Where are you from?”

“Iraq,” the young lady replies.

“I moved here from Iran,” the Kon-Man bold-faced lies, hoping to gain rapport with the potential converts, using his foolish assumption that all Middle Eastern countries are the same. 

“Aren’t you from Aroma Park?” the college student asks.

“Anyway, I own a multiplex here in Bourbonnais. I have traveled all over the world, went down to South America during the pandemic. They let me go despite the travel restrictions…” the grandiose narcissist Konrad continues spinning his played-out yarns, spouse Madeline by his side, staring off into the distance hoping her hubby shuts up.

“And Australia. I would go there, but it’s not a real place. Just a fantasy made up by the globe-heads.”

The two 20-somethings roll their collective eyes.

“The world is flat you see. Take a brochure from me, and get a dollar off a matinee at Cinema-13 if you join The Flat Earth Society.”

The two ladies grab their coffees and go, leaving behind the Kon-man, his wife and the leaflet.

“What is up with that one tenant who never comes our of her apartment? Tamika? She is a mystery. I bet she holds parties in there, has gold bars in her closet and keeps all sorts of gentleman suitors!” the nosey Madeline Topolla-Teirant asks her husband Konrad.

The neighbor:

“This is the biggest zit I ever popped! Look at all that fatty oil stuff! Thar she blows!”

“Guys it’s time to partteeeeee!” Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments Owner, sociopath and dumpster clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant commands as she fakes a smile.

Madeline want to get this party started quickly

Our first act is The Chickenheads! Rappers Ty-Fowl and D-Fail from 601B and 706B! 

A slow clap emerges out of the awkward silence.

“We’re poor, we’re poor and we don’t score.

We’re poor, we’re poor and we don’t score.

Every hoop we shoot is a whiff!

Every shot we make is a miss…”

“Why won’t this go down? Darn it. I forgot this FussPot only takes four sheets of half-ply toilet paper and I used five!” 

Tamika Euforia calls her landlord. Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments’ answering machine picks up. Tamika calls twice more. Sadly, Tamika again goes to voicemail jail.

Meanwhile, her toilet overflows and rains down on the party below.

The crowd screams and disperses. Madeline runs upstairs.

“Oh good, glad you came.”

“What did you put down your toilet?”

“Umm, poop and pee.“

“We were having a party down there and I had to come all the way up one flight of stairs to fix YOUR toilet!” the dumpster-clown huffs, puffs.

“Did I rain on your parade?” Tamika giggles as she leaves her unit, heading up to Chicago to have fun for a change.

We Have Stinkoff!

Manteno entertainer, communal narcadoodle and entramanure Bern Cacca feels enamored seeing her stock photo put to good use at her corner Wally Green’s. She loves it so much, she stares at it for the next two hours while she waits for her prescription the pharmacy clerk told her would only take 20 minutes. Then she poops her pants.

#PoopingForBernadette

Moronic Crime Rings and Things

Multiplex clerk, fedora-sporting neckbeard and Communal narcadoodle Damien Hurlbutt desperately wants to impress his new girlfriend, Rachel Shelley, into coming back to visit him in Bourbonnais, Illinois from Detroit. However, he is as broke as a joke from his toy hoarding.

He comes up with a plan. Damien dials up his vulnerable narcissist brother Robbie and asks if he can steal some identities. He offers some of his duplicate record albums as payment.

“I can part with my poorer copies of ‘Broken’ by The Favorites, my extra Walter Egans and all my Jewel records. I can throw in some Katy Scarys if you want, too…” Damien explains to Robbie, a Kankakee Elvis impersonator and pharmacy clerk.

Robbie jumps at the opportunity to add to his own hoard.

Robbie gets busy calling local con man Pat Splatt and the two devise a way to break into local sweetheart, single lady Kitty Bee’s computer to steal her identity. Feeling dejected from having been rejected in 1993 after Pat had made a pass at her, Pat decides Kitty is a perfect target for moronic revenge.

Robbie successfully steals Kitty’s credit card information and buys 18 bottles of dehydrated water and six tubs full of fat-free oil from Wally Green’s online mall. Damien thought these new inventions would impress Rachel in her fruitless efforts to lose weight, and who else to mansplain but Bourbonnais neckbeard Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt? “Throw in some cubic zirconia rings. She’ll never know they’re fake,” a bulbous Damien commands his brother Robbie.

Robbie Hurlbutt: Kankakee’s Number One Elvis Impersonator

“You got it.” Robbie smirks, a crooked grin fills half his face, almost touching one of his blue-black mutton chops.

Damien tips his black fedora, the one with which he hatfished Rachel. After all, how would the public — whom he works so hard to impress — know his “medium” bald spot takes up his entire head? He enters the washroom and sits on the potty.

“Oh kids!”

“What kids?” A quizzical Robbie asks Damien.

“Oh kids. Ohhh kids!”

A loud splash is heard from the washroom.

Damien is so proud of his poopies

“Pheeeew!” Damien cries and waves his hand by his bum.

He emerges and sprinkles his newly washed hands all over Robbie and roommate Andy’s living-room carpet, using it as a bathmat, and at Robbie as well.

“I just left a huge stinker in your toity. Would you like to see it?” a proud Damien boasts.

“Just leave the door open and don’t close it if I am in there.” Robbie says.

“You’re not Elvis, just an impersonator.”

Two days later, the stolen goods arrive at Damien’s Bourbonnais apartment. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!” Damien exclaims as his next-door neighbor gives him the stinkeye.

Damien wraps the stolen, useless crap into prank boxes, boxes inside larger, nested boxes, and oddly shaped packaging, taping each package with hard-to-open packing tape to extend his desired cliffhanging effect on Rachel Shelley.

“I can’t wait to videotape Rachel, the expression on her face when she opens all those gifts from ME!” Damien says to himself, wearing a huge grin.

Damien Hurlbutt basks in the glory of his own narc-capades

Damien finishes up his hours of taping, wrapping and more taping. He tests out his camcorder and memory card. He is all set for his catch.

Rachel walks in the next day, much later than Damien anticipates. Damien tips his fedora. “Hello, M’lady, Madame.”

“Yup. Hey.”

“Good to see you, do I get a hug?”

“Sure.”

The two embrace.

“Turn around and close your eyes. I am going to take your hand, honey puddin”.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“But I say it because I love you. You’re so little and dainty.”

“Grrrr.” Rachel emits.

“Now take my hand. I have a little surprise for my honey puddin.”

Damien begins secretly rolling tape and then takes Rachel’s hand, leading her into his cluttered kitchen.

“Now open your eyes, M’lady.”

Rcahel opens her eyes, displaying her typical blank expression.

“I bought all these gifts for YOU!”

Rachel cracks half a grin.

“Now I want you to open this one first.”

Rachel opens the huge, nested box.

“Dehydrated water? Ohhh-kayyyy…”

“Yeah. I thought you might like it. I bought it at Wally Green’s. It was buy one get one half off. Now open this one.”

Damien shoves another large box over to Rachel. She opens box after box, finally revealing its contents.

“Fat free oil?”

“Yeah. You could use it to cook. After all, you need to lose weight and I want to help!”

Rachel begins to scowl.

“Oh, now you will really love this. Women love small boxes.”

Damien hands Rachel another box, which she also struggles to open.

“Why do you use so much tape? Packing tape too? Did you run out of regular tape?”

“Oh this is regular tape.” Damien snickers. Rachel finally gets the package open. “I got you a sparkly!” Damien exclaims. “Not only one but 17 of them!”

Rachel tips the box on its side and reads the label. “Cubic…zirconia.”

Damien’s face turns cherry red.

Music is heard from the other room.

“That’s my phone.”

Rachel gathers the boxes and walks away. Damien checks the tape. Rachel walks back in and Damien jumps, startled, and hides what he was doing.

“Hi honey.”

“Oh hey, I gotta go. Thanks for the stuff.”

“Yeah honey puddin. Where you going?”

“Out.” Rachel declares and heads out with the stuff Damien gave her.

Damien is all alone. Sirens are now wailing from the distance, getting louder as the seconds pass. Damien is shaking but trying not to show it. A knock is heard at his door. It is just what he fears.

Rachel arrives at her lover Leon Peeone’s apartment.

“Hey Leon, I got some crap to sell so we can get some more hard stuff.” The two laugh but not for long. Neither one of them are too bright.

Gothic Diana Ross Plays Bocce to Win

Narcissists want to buy your time…so they can waste it…over and over without paying.

Gothic Diana Ross is busy minding her own business at her specialist’s waiting room up at Rush University Medical Center in Chicago. A routine follow-up appointment, Miss Ross would rather be home having fun singing with Gothic Flo and Gothic Mary, instead of waiting in a crowded room full of strangers. 

An hour passes by and Di still has not been called.

“Hey, I’m Greg Schneissder. Are you from Manteno?”

Image: colour drawing of a gothic person of color looking to the left.

”Ummm…” Diana rolls her eyes and looks away from the undead Greg,

“I saw one of your shows, you ladies are so beautiful and talented.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you know Pat Splatt?”

“Yeah…no. Eew.”

Image: a colour drawing of a 62-year-old zombie wearing a blue hoodie

“Pat is one of the coolest guys around! I hang around him and Bernadette Cacca.”

Diana freezes from panic, already nervous awaiting her lab results.

“Don’t. Mention. Bernadette.”

“Oh why? She is the the nicest person around! And so famous! I see her picture in the paper a lot. She’s a celebrity. Wasn’t she on that Human Body Odor Channel show?”

Diana rolls her eyes.

“How can you say anything bad about her?”

“Stop.”

“I am gonna complain. You are harassing me now. Nobody talks bad about Bern Cacca!”

Di looks at the lady across from her.

“I am sure he was just trying to help.”

“Really? Just…no.”

“How do you know?”

“Just leave me the fark alone.”

“I am gonna just leave. I can’t be at this office where people talk badly about other people!” Greg whinges as he storms down the stairs.

“Deeanna?”

“It’s Diana…grrr.”

Diana grabs her patent leather sack and follows the medical office assistant to be roomed.

It begins to rain, the clouds taking a massive whizz all over Northern Illinois. Thankfully Diana merges her black 1988 Chrysler Conquest onto 90/94 safely and avoids rush-hour traffic to head south on I-57 toward her home in Manteno.  Mind clear from a clean bill of health, the slender gothic beauty slides into her canopy bed, the silky black sheets comforting her as she drifts off to her internship in Hell.

Two hours later, Diana wakes up in a panic, startled by a moron who thought it would be cute to crawl into her bed.

“You know Diana, your music would sound better if you articulated your words better.”

Image: a full-colour drawing of a heavyset woman with brown hair, goofy smile, tongue hanging out, clothed in a poop emoji dress.

A stunned Diana looks over.

“You forgot to lock your door, hon.”

“Get the freak outta my house and my bed!” Diana screams at the top of her lungs and chases out the bored poopy-burner and communal narcadoodle, next-door neighbor Bernadette Moran Cacca.

“How dare you talk bad about my beloved Bernadette!” Greg Albert Schneissder screams at Diana about the crowd-pleaser for whom he created the Fakebook account “BMCacca Fannn.”

Diana slams the slate door to her Victorian Gothic home.

Gregory slithers over to Bernadette and the pair head upstairs to Bern’s bedroom.

Image: a full colour drawing of a shack next to a Victorian home.

“Can you just, like, not fart in front of me?” Greg asks his date Bernadette Cacca during their date netting some flicks while hoping to chill. 

“No, honey.”

”You don’t fart on stage at those charity events where you sing and play kazoo requests to raise money for the Manteno Optimal Club and for Ukraine.

“No need to gas-sleight me!”

“You gaslit me!” Greg retorts.

“No, I mean, I need to fart. Farting is healthy. I will implode if I don’t rip ‘em when I need to.”

The swamp-witch Bernadette lifts her leg and her bum goes boom.

A wild Gothic Diana Ross appears in the foreground.

”Heave-ho! Where are your enablers now? Bwa ha ha ha ha!” The Gothic Boss Miss Ross interjects as she yeets the communal narcadoodle Bern halfway down the staircase, and the Midnight Supremes chuck her bum-licker Greg, spocking the pallino down the stairs.

“You left your front door open…” Diana addresses the undead mess spilled all over the basement floor with a smile.

”What did those stairs do to deserve that punishment?” Gothic Mary jokes as the Midnight Supremes leave in amusement.

Image: a full-colour drawing, dimly lit, depeciting three black ladies in Gothic attire.