Tag: poop jokes

Saturday in the Park

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

Opposites attract, smells repel, unless you’re Bernadette and Peppi Cacca.

Bernadette Moran Cacca, Manteno, Illinois’ very own entramanure, communal narc-a-doodle and self-proclaimed “Queen of the Plastic Throne” comes back to the shack which she co-habitates with her drunken husband, Peppi.

Her mouth once wide open enough to catch a fly (or two), now sports a look of contempt after having headed home from the widely-attended Chicago “Hands Off” protest.

“A whole bunch of people walked by, and not one person, not even once, took a single video or picture of ME!”

“That’s that dang liberal protest, right?” Peppi asks.

“Yeah.”

“I told ya to vote for that other guy. Let’s go Brandon!” exclaims the bald, squat, beady-eyed, 70-something geezer, reeking of skunky weed made extra skunky, from rolling in the port-a-pee after he had finished a port-a-job.

“They got plenty of video of other people and their signs, some even made the Chicago news! The national news, too! Why not ME? Ever since Aunt Sonya left, people forget how talented I am, how much I do for the world, how much I poop. I have not gotten a single gig since she flew the coop!”

“She’s just busy I’m sure. Sit down with me, relax, we’ll watch The Wonderful World of Dung together.”

“The original or the remake?”

“The remake is streaming now…”

“Oh I hate the remake!”

Bernadette storms up the stairs, into the best room in the house to sit, poop and play accordion.

Her mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran flies into town, rams into the Cacca home once again.

“Maaa!”

“I did a fly-by earlier and you weren’t home!”

“I was at the protest up in Chicago! Didnt you know? I can’t wait to tell you how much I did for America! It’s really good for my image–”

“Not now honey, family’s coming over.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Nobody told me about it!”

“I did, you just forgot.” Carla gaslights.

“No you didn’t.”

“Okay, okay, okay, drop it. Just get ready. Take YOUR shower!”

Bernadette continues to poop as her mother sets up the uninvited picnic tables and other crap out back. A committee of shapeshifting humanoid turkey vultures fly on down to the House of Cacca to party on down, and pee on her lawn.

“My daughter has a beautiful voice!” Carla brags about her daughter to her family who had just flown in from the next town over to enjoy a feast of freshly squashed roadkill. Her cold heart shines bright in the face of company.

“Where’s Sonya?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s awful rude of her not to come down. I kept calling, she never answered. Did she get the presents I sent her?”

“Why do you even bother?”

“Shall I sing for you guys?” Bernadette interrupts. “I just tuned my accordion and vuvuzela horn! How about a tune?”

“Not now. Maybe later. I’ve got something to show you!” Carla’s evil grin begins to creep over her face.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a surprise. Come with us.”

They peck, umm, pack into the van like a band of mad clowns and drive over to the hospital in Kankakee.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“We’re going to the hospital!”

“Did somebody die?”

“No.”

“Get hurt, have a heart attack? I wanna know.”

“No, Bernadette.”

The Morans park their van and then walk down into the basement of the hospital, towards a sign marked “Central Sterile Supply.”

“I’m giving you a tour.”

“Of the hospital basement?”

“Yeah. I used to work here when you were little. Time for you to get a real job!”

Bernadette runs away as fast as she can, screaming, cursing and singing show-tunes.

“They, they—they do vivisection in here!” Bernadette exclaims madly as she busts on out the door.

A few locals shake their collective heads at the sight. Just another day in Kankakee.

The port-a-dump proprietor is eventually rounded up and taken in for an evaluation, just not the occupational kind.

After a few hours, Bernadette’s drug test comes back negative and the nurse sends her home. She calls her husband on her smell-phone and of course he does not answer, so she walks home.

A few Kankakee County residents spot Bernadette walking down the road, point and laugh.

“Don’t make fun of me or I will find you attractive!”

“Say what?”

“We saw you on TV!”

“TV? What?” asks a puzzled Mrs. Cacca.

Bernadette begins to grin a bit, visions of people praising her for holding up social justice signs fill her mind, even though she only does it just to look good on the outside.

“Yeah, you ran out of the hospital screaming like a looney bird! You’re a meme now!”

“I MEME AM WHAT?”

“OMG It’s the meme girl! I want a picture with her!”

Bernadette crawls into a nearby bog and takes a massive dump. It smells like someone died over there, or maybe it was just her ego.

CRASS Toilet Paper Giveaway

~ Jen ~ 4 Comments

We want to TP everyone in Kankakee County! On April 1st, come over to the headquarters of Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) and get the scoop on poop! One brand spankin’ new roll for each customer! If you use both sides, it lasts twice as long! Run on down now to CRASS before Bern Cacca steals it all!

And while we’re at it, be sure to pick up some half-ply toiler paper recipes, courtesy of Wally Green!

CRASS Chief Executive Officer

Mack E. Avelli

 
PS: April Fools!

 

 

Bernadette M Cacca wishes to doo-doo her dooty more often.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What do you wish you could do more every day?
View all responses

The Manteno Wonder and ex-GI wants to mine more Craptocoin the old fashioned way, from N.F.T.s — Newly Formed Turds.

Go, Bernadette!

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“Oh no. Not her again. Hey, let’s sit down and hide out over there.” Before Gothic Diana Ross & The Midnight Supremes have a chance, their next-door neighbor Bernadette rips a big one, the sulphuric stench drowning out the delicious coffee aroma.

“Bernadette, you farted in my chair. That’s my favorite chair! Lick it clean.”

The three songbirds cackle in unison and wave her away, butt, the queen of the plastic throne Bern keeps her bum firmly planted in the fragrant coffeehouse chair, wishing she had a match.

Waiting by the barista bar for their iced caramel lattes, the Gothic Boss Ms. Ross and her sisters approached by a slender, 5’4”, 60-something blonde woman wearing cheater glasses.

“It’s smelly out there, take this.”

“Do I know you?” Diana asks the stranger.

“No, I’m Sybil Kibble. I’m in here every night and I got this picture from some weirdo named Jen. They said they liked your music and felt bad about some smelly morons next door to you. You’re from Manteno, right?”

“Thanks! This is nice for a change.”

“Jen said to keep it for good luck. Maybe it will ward off Barn-o-dette or whatever the heck her name is.”

After arriving home from the Bourbonnais Buckstars in their black 1988 Chrysler Conquest, the ladies go inside to practice their instruments. Gothic Diana Ross takes a break, walks outside to put out the waste bins, and spots her next door neighbor Mrs. Cacca standing nearby.

“Oh no. Eew. I hope she doesn’t bother me for the zillionth time,” Diana says to herself. She pulls out the talisman given to her by Sybil and puts it in her front jacket pocket.

Instead of running up the stairs of Diana’s slate Victorian house to verbally spam her about the Manteno Cantina charity crap only done to look good on the outside, the communal narcadoodle Bernadette instead waves at a bus passing by, hoping its smiling eyes would react to Bernadette’s wide open grin as if to catch a fly. 

In turn, the bus loudly “faaaaart-faaarts” like the truck from the American Freight commercials, one of the few things more annoying than Bernadette Moran Cacca.

Konrad’s Got a Big Ol’ Bag.

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Former wrestler, entramanure and charity show-tunes do-gooder-just-for-the-photo-op Bernadette Moran Cacca is busy slurping down her breakfast burritos at the Manteno Cantina, as part of her personal campaign to promote regularity. Last week she bragged to her fan club, the Poopy Groupies, about her constipation.

“Did you know they re-made ‘Yo Mama’s House’ into a full-length feature film?” Bernadette asks the random stranger seated at the table next to her.

“Huh?”

“You betcha. And I’m in it!”

JB the Turd Burglar walks in with Poopy Groupies club president, Aunt Sonya Moran, and Bern’s drunken husband Peppi.

“You’re a national treasure, Bernadette!” JB exclaims.

“Bernadette for president! Feel the Bern!” screeches her aunt Sonya, a shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture.

“You’re no Bernie Sanders!” chuckled a stranger from across the cantina.

Konrad Teirant is foaming at the mouth at his Bourbonnais business.

“This guy is a hot mess. Our janitor called in again! Imma gonna done post his job alrighty.” Konrad Teirant, mad that he can’t keep good cleaning staff, prints out a help-wanted sign to be posted on his Cinema-13 multiplex:

“Now hiring cleaners. $7.50 an hour, experience preferred.”

“Kids these days don’t wanna work!” Konrad whinges as he hangs the signs all over his cinema property and at bill-collection company Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) in Kankakee where he is in charge of cooking the books, err, working as their Controller.

Bernadette Cacca can’t wait to see her face on every silver screen in the county. She buys tickets for every showing of “Yo Mama’s House,” in every single movie house, excited for the opportunity to take selfies at every single showing, so she can brag “I’m on every screen” in her Fakebook feed.

It’s opening night at Cinema-13. Bernadette sits down in the row right up front so she can see her mug grow as big as her ego.

A rumble takes over her belly.

“Oh crap.”

Bernadette tries her best to hold it. 

More rumbles make waves through her intestines, heaving her flesh increasingly as the minutes pass. She can’t wait any longer, so she runs for the washroom.

“It smells like rotten eggs and death over there,” box office clerk Bratley Teirant says as he points toward the ladies’ washroom at his father’s business. “I’m expecting a mushroom cloud to emerge any second.” Bratley ducks and covers.

Bernadette causes a cinema-wide brown-out at the spectacle, courtesy of her overflow error. The raw sewage floods well beyond yonder and into the electrical system powering the projector, sound system and the point-of-sale software.

Konrad has to think fast and on his feet. He dons his waders and books it to the ladies’ washroom to do doo clean-up dooty.

Mr. Teirant emerges from his outdated washroom carrying a big bag alright – just not full of money.

“What are you doing in there? Can’t you get things right? You childish little man!” his wife, 7 foot tall dumpster clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant shouts at her 5’4” hubby.

“Ha-ha!” Bratley laughs and points at the people who gave him his genes. He’s not very bright either. 

Bernadette Cacca’s New Turd Machine?

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Manteno entramanure, communal narc-a-doodle and Og-on-the-Bog Bernadette Cacca has been wanting to turbo her Turd Machines she had bought from Wally Green’s.

Now’s her chance!

As if her crappy ritual burning her company’s port-a-poops in her backyard has not been enough to irritate her next door neighbors Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes, basic Bern eyes a bigger one.

Wally Green’s new One Hour Guarantee!*

~ Jen ~ 2 Comments

Quoth the new advertising blitz on every app, social media and PooTube video:

“Your pharmacy products* will be delivered to your house within one hour of ordering, or Wally will deliver it himself! *Prescriptions excluded (because Wally is too cheap to hire enough pharmacy technicians)“

“Hey kids, it’s staff meeting time! Our pharmacy clerk Robbie got recently re-promoted from the sales floor! Everybody give him a round of applause!”

A slow clap is heard.

“Do I get more money, Mr. Green?”

“Nope, just more work.” Now we have this marketing blitz going on where our customers are guaranteed to get their things within an hour or I will deliver them myself. I order our staff to prioritize the men in the queue, so that the single ladies can score dates with us!” the desperate barfly and wacky inventor Walter Augustine Green orders his primarily straight and bisexual male drugstore staff.

“Are ya sure about that, boss?” Robbie Hurlbutt asks, and giggles. “Sounds like a groovy idea. Can I make the deliveries?”

“No Rob, we need you in the pharmacy.”

Robbie sings audibly some Elvis tunes, passive-aggressively, as his boss leaves to hopefully deliver some love to some Illinois ladies.

Desperate Wally will do anything hoping to score a date. Wally purposely makes the women’s deliveries late, so he can invite himself to all kinds of ladies’ homes.

Ding-dong.

“Hi, Rachel, I have your beers, just sign here.”

“Why are you so late? These should have been here two hours ago. You should be ashamed of yourself. I want a refund.”

“I’m worth a million dollars, let me inside and I will make you feel like even more!”

“I have a boyfriend! Plus you’re a gross old man!”

Rachel Shelley and Wally argue, because Wally won’t take “no” for an answer, until her boyfriend Leon Peeonne chases Wally off their property.

Next stop: Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments. 

Wally calls rapper Tamika Euforia from his car.

“I have your contact lens solution, ma’am.”

Ms. Tamika buzzes Wally in. MC Lyte can be heard Cold Rocking a Party in her apartment.

Wally goes up to the second floor and knocks.

“Hi Tamika! Just sign here.”

The compact, medium skinned woman sporting a buzz-cut signs and goes to shut the door.

“Now wait a minute, lady. Wouldn’t you like to see me, now that you have your contacts?”

“See who?”

“Me. I think you’re cute.”

“Dude, I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh, I like Libyans!”

“It means I like girls, you moron!”

“Me too, why don’t you—“

SLAM!

Next stop, Manteno.

“Peppi’s Port-a-potties, king and queen of the throne.”

“Oh hi, honey. This is Wally Green! I have your stool softeners and fiber pills.”

“You’re awesome! I’ll be right out!”

Entramanure Bernadette Moran Cacca runs out the door, goes to hug Wally with her poopy hands, dirty from emptying out some port-a-loos as he delivers her pills (meanwhile bragging about charity crap she only does for the photo opportunity). Of course, she did not wash her hands.

“I’ll…just put these here.”

Wally sets the bag on the ground, runs to his delivery car and speeds away, almost getting pulled over by that one Bourbonnais cop who drives up and down same main-drag repeatedly.

“Robbie, you can make the deliveries from now on,” Wally tells his pharmacy clerk, and Kankakee’s number one Elvis impersonator.

The more things change at Wally Green’s, the more they stay the same.

Bern Cacca’s Stinky Stickers

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Communal narcissist, obnoxious driver and Manteno-based portable-waste operator Bern Cacca went to another Schmucks grocery store hoping to play her favorite drag-race simulator after her out-of-order experience the last time.

Though their Running in the 90s game was also broken, Bern did get to spend her quarters on cleaning out these vending machines instead.

Cake Envy

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment

Manteno bog witch, narcadoodle, and port-a-john proprietor Bernadette Moran Cacca is pooping green with envy because she did not get this brown cake to celebrate her birthday all April Fool’s Month long. Aww, a tiny violin is played in her honor.

Care home manager gets ‘stool scale’ birthday cake from staff because she’s always talking about poo

Here Bernadette, have a sucker.

Port-a-Potty Racing: Run to the Washroom (Or From It?)

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Manteno pretend do-gooder and real doo-do-er Bernadette Cacca may not be much of a racer (nor that good a driver), however she found a race specially made for her, because she loves to get the runs (so she can burn them). She would be a regular here. Butt, do they take Craptocoin?