JoAnn Kibble loves watching the squirrels chase each other in her Kankakee backyard, while looking out the window from the basement apartment she rents from her daughter, CRASS Lead Bill Collector and dog food aficionado Sybil.
Much to the backyard birds’ dismay, she fills the feeders full of nuts.
At the Indiana Museum of Natural History, this cryptid is a type of shape-shifting turkey vulture. Only one other example has been uncovered, both during a dig near Albion in Noble County. Rumor has it, her name was Sonya and she did a lot of moronic things, along with her sister Carla.
Kankakee basic babe, bill-collector and dog food enthusiast Sybil Kibble got so excited to acquire the new contract with ExPeedia, she bought herself some treats to celebrate. Unfortunately for her, she got the fool’s bones by mistake.
Try these helpful replies to nosey “Where’s your jacket?” spammers:
Tycoon tyrant Konrad opens a new café inside his Bourbonnais multiplex, Cinema-13. The barista had just poured the drinks and of COURSE he orders his son Bratley to pick them up.
“You’re hired! Now git to work!” Kon demands while he dreams of the big bags he will make from his new bean-soup business venture, happy to be rid of his former concessions clerk Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt whom he fired after he stopped showing up to work, because he was too busy getting caught trying to storm Area 51.
Want to go behind the scenes and see the artistic process behind these silly stories? Visit: https://ko-fi.com/artbyjenx and if you feel so inclined, leave Chief Moron Wrangler Jen a tip. The Moroniverse will thank you. :)
The Hurlbutts get together for their annual Christmas shenanigans. After opening $1000 worth of useless crap from Damien, Kankakee store clerk, covert narcissist and Elvis impersonator Robbie opens the sole gift from his mother. PJ could not wait to give this to Robbie.
Robbie opens his present. “Maaaa, you got this for free from Sybil.”
“It’s an autographed Elvis picture! I got it for you because I know how much you love Elvis.”
“You paid nothing for it. I spent $100 on that Blu-Ray player and the bootleg copy of Dune.”
“Money can’t buy you love, Robbie,” a disappointed PJ advises her spoiled brat son, who is throwing a tantrum like a three-year-old.
“I’ll take it. I can sell it on eBay!” the elder Hurlbutt son Damien tells his little brother Robbie.
The Hurlbutt brothers argue back and forth — after all, that is what narcissists love to do. PJ tries to break up the fight. Meanwhile, smoke is coming from the kitchen.
PJ runs into the kitchen.
“What is that?” Damien inquires.
“The Yule Log,” PJ sarcastically replies.
PJ takes the meat out of the oven just in time to stop a fire, and sends her dorky kids home so she can have a peaceful rest.
Before PJ has a chance to lie down, her best friend Sybil Kibble rings the doorbell.
Ahhh, holiday cheer.
Merry Christmas from MoronicArts!
My favourite Welsh word is the word for supermarket — “#archfarchnad”
Dw i’n hoffi coffi – I like coffee
(no covfefe about it)
Weithiau, dw i’n prynu losin – Sometimes, I buy candy
(Andes Candies are great, unlike Andy Skandees)
Llefrith, ffrythiau a llysiau — Milk, fruits and veggies are my other top three.
“Archfarchnad” is fun so say. It sounds like I am cursing, and feels just as cathartic, when I’m just talking about the grocery store. (Though I would not blame you one bit for cursing in Walley World.)
Like most narc-a-doodles, Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt does not sleep well, usually because lies awake dreaming up devious schemes. This is not one of those nights.
“Her toes, her toes, her delicious toes…let me sniff her toes…cover them in barbecue sauce, oh M’Lori, M’lady Madame….”
“Vitals!”
Damien’s audible pillow talk comes to an abrupt halt.
“You okay in there? Time to get your vitals before we install your probe,” says a worker sporting a badge reading “Alternative Fuels Department, Area 51.”
Damien gazes over at the wall-mounted digital clock, which reads 0500 Hours.
“You’re a freak. Your body contains the highest concentration of natural gas we have ever tested here in Dreamland,” the nurse says after they capture Damien’s blood pressure, temperature and pulse oximetry.
“Now time for your daily flatulence testing!”
As Hell’s Chief Operating Officer Satan unveils his newly procured “Welcome to Hell” sign — shown off by visiting intern Gothic Diana Ross — in-processing clerk for the newly damned Lucy Furr looks at her boss with visible dismay.
“Isn’t our new sign just peachy?” Satan asks Lucy as Diana continues to model by it, nearly getting hit a baker’s dozen times by the devil’s not-so-careful use of the pulley system.
“Couldn’t our money be better spent on improving working conditions? Hiring more people? Fixing the toilets?” asks the bully known for her tormenting of an autistic 20-something on their college trip to Italy.
“You have your own heated place for the rest of your life. Try being more thankful for the things you have,” Satan passive-aggressively demands of his clerk while sporting a devilish grin.
Meanwhile, communal narcadoodle Bernadette Cacca is still waiting to poop. All the other washrooms in Hell are closed for maintenance.
MoronicArts 
You must be logged in to post a comment.