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.
Ennui has taken over narcissistic abuser and sociopath Damien Hurlbutt as he sits alone in his Bourbonnais neckbeard-nest. He wants to stir up trouble and call attention to himself because he is addicted to creating chaos. His last supplier of attention, Rachel Shelley, has run off with Kankakee smack addict Leon Peeonne. Sitting on his lone piece of bedroom furniture, a metal folding chair, he tries to email his former wife Lori Brown — who he calls “Grimace”:
To: “Lori T. Brown” [OhLorT16@fmail.cannes]
From: “Damien U. Hurlbutt” [connivingpimp@hautemail.con]
Wednesday, November 4, 2020
Subject: breakfast, lunch, smunch
Hi Honey Puddin’!
This week has been a keystone for an avalanche. I have a stitch in my side. I want to see you, make me feel better, puddin’. :-)
Moments later, he gets a message from Marty the Mailer-Daemon:
To: “Damien U. Hurlbutt” [connivingpimp@hautemail.con]
From: Mail Delivery Subsystem
Wednesday, November 4, 2020
Subject: Failure Notice
Sorry, we were unable to deliver your message to the following address.
Unable to deliver message after multiple retries. Giving up, not dying trying.
Yours,
Mailer-Daemon
“Come now!” Damien exclaims out of narcissistic rage. He then re-sends the email to Marty the Mailer-Daemon, only to get get blocked by him as well.
CRASS CEO Mack. E. Avelli holds a staff meeting to gather ideas to increase their bottom line.
“Maybe we can invest in having some CRASS masks printed up, and give them away in Wally Green’s drugstores to help advertise our business?” Art Director Dorian James suggests.
“That will cost us money. We take money here at CRASS, not give it away.”
Operation Director Mikey Philips’ hand goes up.
“Let us pray to the bill collector gods to make it rain.”
The room erupts in laughter.
Sybil Kibble raises her hand and waves it in excitement.
“How about we add random people on Fakebook? We can sell our services to the suckers who accept. And we might find some of the debtors who have been hanging up!”
“It’s a game-changer Sybil. Your idea will add CRASS synergy. We are CRASS, and so are you.”
Lead Debt Collector Sybil makes herself busy adding wealthy folks all over Fakebook, hoping some people will bite. Meanwhile Damien Hurlbutt is also up to no-good.
“I am going to look for a clump of people on cBay,” Damien thinks aloud. His frown turns upside down, becoming his trademark evil grin.
“Oh kids. Ohhhh kidssss.” Damien puts in a high bid for an item listed by Lori.
An hour later, Damien logs onto cBay to check on the item.
“My little and dainty ex blocked me. I know…hee hee. I will add her under a sock account on Fakebook.”
Damien strokes his orange, straggly beard, dons his black fedora and heads over to the apartment of petty-criminal Pat Splatt.
“La di da di da. Look at all the people who accepted my friend requests!” Sybil Kibble says to herself. She begins telling them all about CRASS and how they can “help you recover Accounts Receivables.”
She calls her mother, JoAnn, and invites her for a dog-food dinner.
“Can you take a raincheck? I need to rearrange my bus-parts collection.”
Sybil downs her dog food, and logs or her remote laptop to hopefully double down on debt.
“Why is my computer asking for money?” Sybil asks out loud, eyes glazing over as she glares at the ransomware screen featuring a slender, bespectacled, long-haired guy, his face covered in black stubble.
Damien pounds on Pat Splatt’s door, jiggles the knob a bunch of times and the bulbous neckbeard gets let in.
Damien peers over to 47-year old college student and gallery janitor Pat, kicked back in his office chair, feet plopped atop his computer desk. Heavy metal can be heard blaring from his massive sound system.
“Heck, Damien. I have been busy.”
“Oh really?”
“Do you see this screen?”
Pat swivels his desktop computer monitor ever-so-slightly over toward Damien.
“Ahhhh.”
“I did the deed. I infected her machine.”
“I know, I know. Now get me her details.”
“Oh, that will cost you a convenience fee. Go home, log on to your Fakebook. I will slide the deets into your box.”
Damien rushes home, driving like a maniac, despite his car’s gas gauge reading almost empty.
Damien enters his email, password and logs on. He immediately checks his instant message from Pat. Damien’s screen locks up, displaying a drawing of Pat dressed in a pirate costume with a black skull-and-bones flag composited into the background, along with a message asking for money to unlock his computer.
“Well doesn’t that put poop in my soup?”
Damien heads back to Pat’s house, his car running on fumes.
As Damien confronts Pat, sirens are heard, growing louder as the seconds drag by. “Sit down Damien.” A loud pound is heard on Pat’s door.
Sybil and the CRASS crew now are happy their computers are working again, despite their accounts having been banned from Fakebook. They create new accounts and start over. All is well in the Moroniverse.
Sybil Kibble unveils the new “Enigma” computers for her debt collection team at Credit Recovery Associates in Kankakee, known better by their acronym CRASS.
“How do you get on the Internet?” asks a quizzical Dale Davis.
“Just type “INTERNET” and then “RUN.”
“How do you load the Collect-o-matic 2000?” a wary Judy Avelli asks.
“Just hook the machine up to a parakeet cage and type away.”
(Buy Sybil and the other denizens of the Moroniverse a Ko-fi or two to help keep this site up and running!)
It was a beautiful morning for 31 year old Tyrell Fowler of Kankakee. He was about to start his new job with Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS), LLC, his first “real” job since graduating college ten years ago. He was happy to finally have his own place so he did not have to listen to his mother complaining about him living in her basement and not having a job. He has a history of getting fired over his hostile attitude and his unwillingness to take direction, especially from women.
Tyrell chewed eight antacid pills, after pouring them into his mouth like a beer. Tyrell intentionally constipates himself every morning because he has an extreme aversion to wiping. He showers after each dump.
“That was one good breakfast burrito!” Tyrell says to himself. He logs off The Red Pill subreddit, gets into his overly lifted, full-ton truck and heads to his first day as a CRASS Information Technology contractor.
“This will be such an easy job,” Tyrell thought to himself, “Man, CRASS must be the easiest place to work in the world. Anyone can get a job there. Even I can.” Tyrell laughs audibly. He pulls into the CRASS parking lot and signs in.
After being trained as the newest CRASS IT guy, Tyrell cannot wait to start installing the company’s new computers.
“Are you Miss Kiblee?” Tyrell asks.
“It’s Kibble.” Sybil sighs.
“Like the dog food?”
“Okay, you are here with my new computer and your phone is playing really loud music. Can you turn it down?” Sybil asks.
“No, I need it to work.” Tyrell says sternly, thinking he is the boss.
“Look around. See what we do here? We talk on the phone all day to collect debts. That is how we bring in money. We need it quiet here.”
Tyrell turns his phone down a few notches.
“Okay you are here with my new computer, did you bring the new printer too?” Sybil asks Tyrell.
“No, that’s not on the work order. You will have to call Purchasing. I am just a contractor,” Tyrell says and begins to install the computer.
Sybil calls Purchasing and verifies that the printer was indeed ordered. Purchasing asks to speak with Tyrell. Tyrell refuses.
“Tyrell, Purchasing wants to speak with you.” Sybil puts her phone on speaker.
Tyrell reluctantly speaks to Purchasing, who confirms that Sybil was correct. However, Tyrell does not have the printer with him. Meanwhile, the CRASS Chief Information Officer (CIO) calls Tyrell.
“How are the installs going?” the CIO asks Tyrell.
“This lady is terribly rude to me. Do I have to continue to the installation process?”
“This man is lying!” Sybil shouts. “He was rude to me!”
“Here, I will put you on speakerphone” Tyrell says slyly and puts his mobile phone on speaker.
“Hello, this is Sybil. I am Team Lead over here in Collections Management, how are you?
“Just fine, what is going on? the CIO asks.
“Our new recruit is being insubordinate here.” Sybil told the CIO.
“No I am not, she is lying!” Tyrell exclaimed, his belly rumbling now.
“Just get back to work,” the CIO commanded Tyrell.
Tyrell pulls out his cell phone and points it at Sybil. “Sybil I am recording you now.”
Sybil gets out her cell phone. “I am recording you too. I do not consent to being recorded. Turn your phone off.”
Tyrell lies and says his phone is off, however Sybil continues to record Tyrell’s verbal diarrhea as well as the light from his turned over cell phone which she can clearly see. “I gotta run. I am scared. You touched me. I fear for my life. You are hostile. Oh crap, where is the bathroom?”
“I did not touch you. Keep making crap up and I will continue to record it.”
“Quick, Sybil, tell me where the men’s room is! It’s an emergency!”
“That’s not my problem,” Sybil says and laughs. “What’s that smell?” Sybil smirks, looks straight into her phone’s viewfinder, and points it back at Tyrell.
“Argggghhghhhhhhhhh! Crrrrrraaaaaaaaappppp!” Tyrell shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Ppppppppphhhhhhhhhhffffffffffttttttttttt!”
“Now that is something to post online,” Sybil says with a smile.
Needless to say, Tyrell was crap out of a job that day.
MoronicArts 
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