Manteno moron, port-o-dump proprietor and attention-seeker Bern Cacca is in awe of herself as she watches the televisions at the electronics store. This commercial advertising her and her Peppi Cacca rap about doing their business at Peppi’s Portapotties is displaying on all screens at once. A sales clerk approaches the mesmerized Bernadette, only to get brushed off. So in love with her own image, Bern fails to reflect upon the fact that she is only on TV because she paid to advertise.
Communal narcissist and poopyburner Bern Cacca decides to shed her squeaky-clean facade a bit and try posing for OnlyFarts.
Bored with the lack of attention and revenue from her side-hustle, Bern heads out to the Bourbonnais Buckstars café to grab a cuppa mud. Ennui took over; Bern sat around hoping customers would recognize the wannabe celebrity that is THE Bernadette Cacca, charity singer and Port-O-Dump Proprietor. Nope.
In walks Gothic Diana Ross, local singer and Bern’s next-door-neighbour.
“You walked by Peppi and I and did not even say hi?”
Ennui took over Bern, as Diana heads toward the café bar to place her order, so she starts making up crap to try and smear her, hoping customers might just overhear her.
“Meet me outside” Bern whispers to Diana as she opens the coffeehouse door to exit.
Not wanting to cause a scene, Diana rightfully ignores Bern egging her on.
Bern follows Diana outside and starts hurling insults about her singing.
“You sing like a dying cow!” Bern screams to Diana as she lunges toward her.
Moron Kombat begins. Gothic Diana Ross knocks out Bern Cacca with one blow to her turd-eating piehole and walks to her car, not a drop of coffee spilled, unlike the bulbous Bernadette Cacca whose spilled hers all over the pavement.
“Would you like to hear the good news about our religion?” asks the elderly gentleman, sporting a “JC is the Man” tee shirt.
“No, would you like to hear the good news about the Flying Spaghetti Monster?” quips Diana.
“If you don’t join our religion, you will not go to paradise when you die.”
“I’ve died and come back three times and I am in the Rush University Journal of Medicine. When people talk about tunnels and light, I know they’re lying.”
Diana slams the door and gets ready to rehearse with Gothic Mary and Gothic Flo.
A knock is heard at the door.
“Go jump into Manteno Lake” yells Diana.
The knocking persists until the person holds down the doorbell.
Furious, Miss Ross heads out to chase her unwanted visitor.
Miss Ross opens the door.
“Oh hi Deeanna.”
“Di.”
“Is that a threat? Because I can call police–“
“No, you dimwit, that’s my name. Bernadette, you have been calling me by the wrong name since we were in third grade together.” Diana tells her next-door neighbor, communal narcissist and portapotty proprietor Bernadette Moran Cacca.
“Oh. I just wanted to tell you I have been doing these gigs to support the Manteno Optimal Club. I sing showtunes and play accordion. I am collecting donations if you want to chip in, since I know you love music, and it’s going to great cause because I love the community so much…” Bernadette rambles, not realizing Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes are slow clapping to insult Bernadette’s lame attempt at asking for money.
“Oh I am so glad you want to help! How much are you going to give?”
“A blow to the head if you don’t exit.”
Diana closes the door.
Bernadette Cacca walks home and tests the crank on her window-mounted Turd Machine. “Pep, did you forget to oil the turd machine hanging in the living-room window?”
“No, Bern, it’s out of turds.”
“Oh. Where did they go?”
“Little lady, you burned them last night in the fireplace. Don’t you remember?”
“No, I had too much moonshine.”
Gothic Diana Ross looks out the arched windows of her home to see if the coast is clear, hoping to dodge any Caccas, and heads outside to board the bus.
Since her turd machine collections are out of turds, Bern devises another way to annoy Diana.
As Diana is just standing there waiting for a bus, Bern starts spamming her with unsolicited, incorrect information.
“Deeanna. This bus is not coming for an hour.”
Diana ignores Bern, enjoying her New Beat mix through her headset.
“Deeanna, it’s raining out. Where’s your umbrella?”
“Do you need to borrow one?” Diana sarcastically replies.
“See, Dee — I can drive you to where you’re going. I love to drive because I am a good person who helps the community.”
Diana continues to enjoy her music.
As Diana sees the bus approach, she takes off her headset so she can communicate with the driver, waving so they can see her.
“You know, Diana, you don’t have to flag the bus down. It will show up anyway,” Bern advertises her unsolicited advice.
Diana boards the bus, pays the fare and sits down in the back. Bern sits a few seats away, since the one next to Diana is already occupied by another passenger.
Diana exits the bus in front of a building near the garage where she dropped off her black 1988 Chrysler Conquest to get repaired, stopping to pause and gather her thoughts.
“That business is closed. Can’t you read the sign?” Bern nags Diana.
“Don’t you have a pool to crap in?” the 5’10” Diana says, turns away and makes big strides using her long, slender legs toward the repair shop.
The rotund, 5’4″ Bern gives up as she has run out of ideas, for now.
“What can I do ya fer?” asks the mechanic behind the counter.
“I am her to pick up my ’88 Chrysler Conquest.”
“She’s not done yet. Give ‘er a couple more hours.”
Diana falls asleep in the chair while listening to music on her phone, the playlist changed to heavy metal and experimental noise.
She restfully dreams, drifting off to outer space, not a soul around to ask nosey questions. The beautiful goth queen and the boss of herself snores every so slightly, lightly. As Gothic Diana enjoys her peaceful rest away from her batty neighbors, she is starkly awakened.
“Diana? Diana?”
“Yeah…” a sleepy Miss Ross replies.
“Your car is good as new. She’s all fixed up. You owe us $1991.”
Diana reluctantly swipes her card, and drives onto the highway. It is getting dark on this cold Illinois night.
“Glad to have her back,” Gothic Diana thinks out loud.
Bernadette Cacca pulls up beside Diana in the lane to the left.
“But not her…” Diana also thinks out loud.
“Come on Diana, I’ll race you.”
“Get lost!” Diana exclaims, wishing the pest that is Bernadette Cacca would leave her be.
“Chicken! Bok-bok-bok-bok” the narcissistic Bern eggs on the unwavering Diana.
“Beep! Beep!”
The angered motorist behind Diana driving the white 1980s Toyota is in a hurry. Diana moves ahead.
“Yeahhhh!” an excited Bernadette exclaims as she burns rubber.
Diana and Bern race up and down the highway. Diana drifts as she tries to make her way very far from the trailing Bernadette. All she wants to do is go home.
The two arrive at their Manteno block, Diana first, Bern second.
Parked in Bern Cacca’s driveway is the white 1980s Toyota AE86.
A young man exits the Toyota and asks the approaching drivers.
“Did someone order tofu?”
Bernadette grabs her food and runs upstairs to eat because she cannot wait to poop again. She loves to poop.
An exhausted Diana enters her Gothic Victorian home and hits the silky black pillow atop her wrought-iron bed, falling asleep as soon as she lays down.
This sad playboy — I am putting it nicely — got all butthurt when I messaged him looking for friendship. Yes, friends, as in getting to know each other better. When he replied to my intro question showing interest in his hobbies, all he said was he liked those things. I replied asking him what he would like to know about me and what was his response? Wait for it.
He said yes, go ahead. Confused by his comment, I replied with a simple question mark.
Since he was five hours ahead of me, I did not expect a reply, or even to see him online at that point. It was 8:50 PM my time, 1:50 AM his time.
This luser got all butthurt, saying I was interested in him and got rather cross because I asked him to tell me more about himself. You know, what humans do to get acquainted. Figuring he had something to hide, I blocked him. I wanted no more contact.
Today, ennui got the best of his soul, so he sent me this message right here on MoronicArts to try and mansplain dating, music, or whatever it was he thought I was trying to achieve when I wrote him, because my blog is chock-full o’ pretend and real-life morons like him.
Hmmm. Maybe he sees a little bit of Peppi Cacca and Pat Splatt in himself. Or maybe Damien Hurlbutt since Gareth’s Twitter handle “tungstenfedora” screams neckbeard. Why not get yourself an anime waifu like the other neckbeards, Gareth? Maybe he should get a hobby, I have things to do and am very busy.
Meanwhile, Gareth, enjoy your participation trophy, I mean Moron of the Week Award. Hold onto it really tightly, because I need it for the next moron.
This post brought to you by the letters #MotW.
Watch Carly Simon poke fun at neckbeards in her updated video to “You’re So Vain.”
Looking for a dog-food date, Sybil Kibble places a want-ad. Look at all those hot contenders!
Town troll Leona Krabalsky runs from under her bridge between Kankakee and Bourbonnais after Manteno sociopath and port-a-potty entremanure Peppi Cacca confronts her for selling fake drugs. Peppi brags he has “ARI: Armed Redneck Insurance.”
Communal narcissist and poopie-burner Bernadette Cacca wants to go find this chick and shoot poopies at Gothic Diana Ross out her turd machine together.
https://www.distractify.com/p/kaitlin-bennett-exposed-passed-out-drunk
Manteno sociopath Peppi Cacca and his communal narcissist wife Bernadette wish to advertise their business Peppi’s Portopotties on television. Bernadette plays accordion while her husband raps about how they are king and queen of the throne. Look for their new track on AudioCumulus.
Based in Manteno, Illinois — Peppi and Bernadette Cacca own and operate Peppi’s Port-o-Potties.
“King and Queen of the Throne”
Peppi’s hobbies are drinking, puking and smoking cheap weed, the skunkier the better.
Bernadette’s hobbies are singing loudly, playing accordion and hanging out in the swamp so she can lure unsuspecting men. Bernadette has recorded herself badly singing opera and showtunes to play for on-hold customers in the hope they will hang up.
MoronicArts 
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