Ennui struck this fangirl hard. After I had left a comment calling my social media acquaintance “a real ham,” this keyboard cockfighter slid this doozie into my inbox:
I copied-and-pasted the definitions for her (since the so-called journalist and radio announcer was too lazy to do it), but she kept on hunting and pecking anyway:
Is that a threat or a promise?
Instead of heading to bed – mind you it was 3:00 in the morning where she was at – she used my inbox as her toilet once again:
After blocking this bored orc, I reported her to Facebook (good luck) and to her employer. Though she claims to be a radio announcer, I did not see her listed on her alleged employer’s website aside the other presenters. Maybe she just calls them up and stalks them like that one girl who went to my high school.
I also sent copies of her obsessed fan-mail to my mutual acquaintances who work in the entertainment industry (the ones whose photos she tagged) as a heads up. Because, you know, gross.
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 inspiration behind my character Konrad “Kon” Teirant, the CRASS Accounting Chief, Cinema-13 owner and Vaudeville troop Moronic Half Assets emcee. 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 did not know that he was a grandiose narcissist, because narcissism was never talked about in our area. I wish they would teach about it in schools, the signs of these personality traits and how to avoid them. I also wish the boards in charge of school curricula would create reforms which mandate schools teach empathy skills.
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 loud 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.
First concept sketch of Konrad Teirant
In 2017, after having left an emotionally abusive relationship with a communal narcissist, 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 have 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 I went through on my worst enemy.
Manteno’s own Peppi and Bernadette Cacca might seem like empty characters at first, however there is a much darker side to them. Like all my characters, the Caccas are inspired by a combination of real people.
Bernadette fires her window-mounted Turd Machine at Gothic Diana Ross
I have known Bernadette’s main inspiration my entire life. She had lived next to my grandmother. As kids, she was the entitled brat who wanted things her way or the highway. I used to try and dodge her, running the other way because she annoyed me so much, but then she would not leave me alone.
I clearly remember her insisting on calling me my deadname, despite my pleas for her to stop. Bernadette hasn’t any concept of boundaries and neither does her main inspiration. She just pretends to care.
In high school, she had found a way to manipulate people into thinking she was a wonderful person. I had to ask her an urgent question for a design I was creating for a play in which she starred, right before I had to catch the bus to trade school to design it. Instead of turning around and answering me, the “stage manager extraordinaire” sitting atop a desk kept talking faster and louder to the other student, drowning me out.
To add insult to injury, the real-life communal narcissisttricked the teacher into making ME apologize to HER. I will never forgive her for that abuse.
The real-life communal narc had been working on an app-only HBO show of some sort and playing piano for an LGBTQIA+ charity. You read that right; the same person who deadnamed me repeatedly is raising money for an LGBTQIA+ cause. Hmmm…
Now she is gaslighting people into thinking she cares about the Russian invasion into Ukraine, singing at charity events to raise money, and course to get that almighty photo opportunity. My best friend and her husband have family in Ukraine; this is personal for me. I do not care about a moronic photo op when my friends and their family are fighting for their lives, running from a DIC-tator who wants to bring about the Apocalypse.
I read she yelled at a late-night television host for getting too close to her piano. This behavior does not surprise me, having come from a person who has a history displaying her sense of entitlement to those closest to her.
I created my character to help cope with a lifetime of abuse from a narcissist who tricks virtually everyone into seeing her mask, which I suspect has been crumbling. I hope it falls off for good and she slithers away into a life of obscurity, working by herself, abusing nobody. Or maybe she will live out her life in the bog, devouring the living like the character whom she had inspired, Bernadette Moran Cacca.
Have you known a person like this?
Peppi Cacca’s name came from a rabid doorman in Italy who sexually assaulted me. Character Peppi Cacca’s main inspiration is a toxic, former neighbor who had stunk up my apartment with skunky weed and sadly abused his cat. I had gotten the idea from Pepe LePew and used to call him Pepe LePuke as I heard him through the ceiling vomiting every morning while he was upstairs visiting his boyfriend with whom he was having an affair. I am so glad to be out of that apartment complex, and in a much quieter, cleaner place – waking up to birds in the trees, not skunk-weed stench.
Awhile back, I had overheard him on the bus bragging to the driver about his drinking, making the excuse “can you blame me?”
The main inspiration behind fictional character Damien Hurlbutt has so much vainglory, he thinks this blog is all about him.
Seriously. I hope over time more people learn about communal narcissists and how they insidiously abuse people. Overts and coverts are bad enough; communals are even sneakier. I would not wish narcissistic abuse on my worst enemy and wish no ill will. I just wish they would all form their own narc colony on a deserted island and leave the rest of us alone.
Or better yet, drop them from planes into an erupting volcano, and vaporize them so they cannot make more narcissists.
I was married to one of these evil souls. Had I known he was the son of Satan, I would not have dated him, moved to Illinois to marry him, leaving behind a job I loved to take one that was less than pleasant. 0/10 would not recommend.
I wish I had been given the omen.
Now divorced, this real-life neckbeard and “men’s rights activist” has told his friends that I draw cartoons of him and write stories about him.
Has he heard of Squirrely Dan?
Allegedly not.
My ex works as a senior library specialist and loves to read. I would hope that someone like him, whom I would think has a good grasp on literacy would understand that Damien and all the other morons on this blog are fictional characters — as in pretend people, not real ones. DUH.
Apparently my former husband thinks he works in a movie theater, like the random stranger whom I had met in 2004. Just like the fictional Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt, this real-life despot had been offering cloned movie tickets in return for a date, to us call-center coworkers taking breaks outside. I did not meet my ex until 2008.
I will never forgive my ex for trying to turn the spouse of my late friend against me in his smear-campaigning. Such a tender-heart, a self-proclaimed “old soul” writes lunacy letters like the drivel below and sends them to his estranged spouse’s medical providers.
Because, umm, a librarian knows more about psychology than an actual mental health provider? yeah…no.
My ex thinks so:
Projection: A narcissist’s calling card, as is pathological lying. Methinks narcissists have their own code of misconduct, maybe even a manual.
I will never forgive him for telling me he was “a nice guy for not throwing me into oncoming traffic” while we were walking into the hospital. Yeah, a really nice guyNiceGuy™ does that, right?
I will never forgive him for manipulating the divorce judge into letting him take custody of my cat Holly, whom he repeatedly hit (“it’s just a light tap” he gaslit when caught) and put into the shower to “punish.” Who does that to a cat? Has he helped move a body or something?
He had been seeing the same therapist as a convicted murderer who made international headlines, the killer had been living in the same apartment complex as my ex the night of the murder. I left him at 8:30 AM the day after the poor lady was abducted.
I write and draw MoronicArts stories to cope with having been abused. I feel it helps and I am a lot happier back in New York State, doing my own thing, living with my sweet kitty Nicki.
My hope is that my stories help others who have been abused by these monsters cope and process the crap they have been going through and hopefully bring a little joy to them, and myself also. Oh and it s fun to draw silly cartoons of fake events and pretend people doing moronic things to each other..
Moronic Martial Arts
Do you think you may going through domestic violence or know someone who suffers it? Emotional abuse is still abuse and a form of domestic violence. Please click this link to learn more and to find help in your area: https://www.un.org/en/coronavirus/what-is-domestic-abuse
Your needs are valid, I believe you, and you are not alone. Healing is possible, as hard as it may seem.
Are you spending less time than ever posting on the antisocial media that is Facebook?
So am I. Take this group, a chronic pain “support” group. A fellow spoonie asked what we do to distract our mind from pain. I replied with an article detailing my number one coping skill you know, to help others who also are in a crapton of pain.
As someone who despises pyramid schemes, snake oils and other woo (unlike the fictional Doris Krabalsky), I felt appalled at the moron(s) removing my number coping skill.
I dunno, maybe the micromanaging admins are secretly sadists.
Needless to say, I added that group to my ever-growing chopping block, downsizing my social media presence to reduce stress.
I have stories to write, pictures to draw, songs to sing and a cat to love.
Yes, that “support group” removed my cat video, along with the article describing my process for learning a new language well enough to write a song for my beloved kitty.
That’s okay, my cat did not like those admins either.
For solely pretending to care, I award this micromanaging “support-group” admin Moron of the Week. Writing helps me cope with pain, so I thank you for the story idea. You’re welcome for the award, you earned it.
“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.
Maybe the would-be-customer is one of The Soggies. I had always wondered what they did after they lost the Cap’n Crunch gig.
Did it ever occur to the customer to buy a box of ice cream and melt it themself?
For demanding a ridiculous refund, I award this Karen or Darren Moron of the Week. Maybe they will make an appearance in the new King Kong film, Karen Kong.
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.
Some Moran (yes that is their name) thought it might be a good idea to make it legal for bill collectors like the fictional Sybil Kibble text your phones to beg for money. Even if the debt is not really owed; since medical bills are notoriously incorrectly billed, these morons think they can spam your phone.
Oh and people have been thrown in jail over medical debt.
Nobody should do time because they have medical debt.
Here is a better idea for all you who hire those CRASS, LLC wannabes: How about asking the customer if they have additional insurance? Or and here is another no-brainer: how about billing primary and secondary insurances in the order the patient specified? Don’t know which goes first? I dunno, maybe try asking the patient. They just might tell you. Duh.
For choosing greed over empathy, I award these bill collectors and those who hire them Moron of the Week.
MoronicArts 
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