“Aw, man. I have these diet coffee beans for sale and nobody wants to buy them. All I get are panhandlers asking for money and free coffee. Got any ideas, Pat?” Kankakee street schemer Doris Krabalsky asks local spammer, Pat Splatt.
“Let me introduce your idea on social media! I have a proven strategy that will certainly win for both of us!”
“This bossbabe is in to win it!”
“I will get cookin”. Pat logs on Instaphoto and begins to look for accounts with thousands of followers or more.
“Look at this account. Lots of videos, but the most liked ones are so weird. The hot videos not so much. Oh, look at this account! Sterling Heights with no culture. I will keep looking” Pat says at a local cafe, as he combs the accounts to target with messages like this:
“Diet coffee colon cleanse – new product to promote gut health! No calories! Ask me how!”
Pat can be heard on the phone with Doris. As Pat puts his phone on speakerphone, a cafe customer catches on to what he is doing and plays the Monty Python Spam song out loud from her tablet. “Where are you?” Doris asks Pat.
“I plan on making big money here. We can make lots together. I can hire people, get them credit and then fire them, not planning on keeping them anyway.” Doris and Pat share a chortle.
Pat looks for Instaccounts to spam inbetween his looking at girls on the dating site Tindling. “She’s not too hot. Swipe left. Ooh look at this Insta account. It has 100k followers.” Pat calls people who did not reply back to his oodles of spams ableist slurs and homophobic slurs as insults. Doris thinks it is funny. The cafe patrons share dirty looks aimed in his direction.
Pat’s Sixerr and Paybuddy accounts keep getting declined. Pat cannot seem to figure out why. He thinks the internet is for spam and that he should be able to help his customers make money under his influence over people.
“It is all good. Don’t worry. It will all work, Doris. Gotta run.”
Pat checks his Instaphoto account. A message pops up: “your account has been terminated for illegal activity.”
“Oh crap! I will just create another account.”
Pat logs onto Instaphoto. “Please enter a credit card.”
Pat tries all his cards. Declined.
The wheel starts spinning. He cannot log on. A young lady approaches him.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“We have detected via our IP that you have been perfoming illegal activity. The police are on their way.” The barista informs Pat.
“You, you WOMAN!”
“No use trying to leave, our nice tall ladies guarding the door will stop you. Oh good, police came fast! Yayyyyyy!” The barista claps her hands and the entire cafe erupts in laughter and applause, except for Pat Splatt.
Doris Krabalsky is bored waiting in her bed for her meal and medication. Who knew staying in the hospital could be so boring? Doris decides to go for a walk to the nice skin cancer patient she met earlier in the day.
“I have the perfect solution for you.”
“Is it the stinky pink drink?” the lady asks?
“No, I drank that for four years.” Doris replies.
“I am not using essential snake oils because I am smell-sensitive,” the elderly lady replies.
Doris’ nurse walks in. “What is going on here? Patients are not supposed to go into other patients’ rooms. You all signed and initialed an agreement when you got here.”
“She was just telling me about a new treatment for my skin cancer.”
“Oh no, selling stuff is strictly prohibited here.”
“I am not selling, I am recommending.”
“Recommending? Only licensed medical providers are allowed to do that here, per your agreement Doris. Now you broke three rules. Three strikes, you are out. I am afraid we will have to release you.”
“Waaaaah! What about my bum knee?” Doris growled.
“Oh, ma’am your pain was not that bad anyway. I will be back shortly with your discharge papers. Are you calling for a ride home or shall we have Security escort you?”
Five hours later, Leona Krabalsky walks in the room.
“Bustin’ outta here?”
“They are sending me home too soon,” Doris sighs to Leona.
“You say? How so?”
“They told me not to suggest our fine products to other patients.” Doris says to Leona.
“Oh, you should see these magic beans!”
“I have tooted enough, Leona.”
“No Doris, magical beans, not musical.”
The two sisters head out after Doris signs her discharge sheet.
Doris walks into her home and Leona meets her in the den.
Leona opens up a small paper bag and pulls out a handful of dried beans.
“You see, Doris, these are not any beans. They are magic beans.”
“How are they magical?” Doris asks her sister.
“They can make us lettuce.”
The two sisters look each other in the eye and grin.
“By convincing our customers that these beans I bought at the grocery store they have special health benefits which they do not, and persuading them to pay more than they need, we can make a lot of green!” Leona tells an intrigued Doris.
Doris and Leona get busy setting up a Fakebook page. Since Pat Splatt has left town for South Africa and is unreachable, the Krabalsky sisters develop a marketing plan on Utube.
“Since Grammarlee did so well advertising their overpriced Autocorrect program before every video, I thought we could make an even longer commercial with even more annoying music and sound effects!” Leona tells Doris.
“Let’s do it. Add a slide whistle, boom clappity music and a vuvuzela.”
“Done,” Leona tells Doris, feeling accomplished.
Emails come in and so does money. Beans go out. As the word gets out, so do more beans.
“Soon we will have to hire a bean counter!” Doris jokes to Leona.
“Ahhh, we got our first review. Hopefully it will not be our last!” Doris tells a nearby Leona.
“These beans did not work at all. I thought these were magical and I did not feel a thing. I did not see a thing! Not recommended!”
“I planted these magic beans and my beanstalk did not lead me to find a giant. I want my money back!”
“I ate these musical beans I did not even toot even once. What a ripoff!”
Doris and Leona log onto Welp to read their reviews and they are even worse. Every customer wants their money back and contacts the duo for a refund.
“I’m With Stupid” reads the graphic tee Leona Krabalsky wears to the Kankakee job fair. She along with her younger sister, Doris, are busy manning their booth.
“I hope we sell truckloads of these here essential snake oils, you oily mama!” Leona slyly says as she slaps her sister on the arm.
“I hope we sell lots of these here business ops too. After all a sucker is born every minute! But don’t tell them that, Bossbabe! Shhhh.” Doris whispers in Leona’s ear.
The day is almost over and the ladies have yet to make a single sale. Tired, hangry and frustrated, Leona grabs her pack of unfiltered smokes and gets ready to head out to burn one. A 40-something gent with long, straggly, dark brown hair and round, blue, plastic glasses approaches the booth. Leona hides her cigarettes, dons her cheesiest grin and locks eyes with the only person who approached the booth all day.
“How may we improve your life today?” Leona says with a huge, fake smile.
“Hi. I am Pat Splatt. Nice to meet you” he says as he tightly shakes Doris’s hand, and clasps his left hand over both hands.
“Our essential oils can change your life.” Doris says to Pat.
“Can they get me la-…dies?” Pat giggles.
“They sure can!” Doris says with a smile.
“All right!” Pat pumps his fists.
“We have patchouli, try this out, I bet you will love it.” Doris tries to persuade Pat.
“And we can make you rich! Let me tell you about our business opportunity!” Leona chines in.
“And I can make you richer!” Pat exclaims.
“How so?” Leona asks quizzically, finger to her lip.
“I can make sure your oils and opportunities are known by every person with an email address!” Pat says with a smile.
“I tell you what, I will give you that a set of oils in exchange for you marketing our stuff.”
“Deal.” Pat says and the three exchange handshakes.
The next day, Pat goes down to his basement and fires up his email harvester, stealing massive numbers of addresses across the Internet. After loading the addresses, he imports them to his Spam-o-Matic 2000 program.
“I do not like spam. But I do not care. It makes me money and gets me free stuff” Pat says to himself as he clicks the “Send Spam” button.
Over a billion emails spew out Pat’s basement server to unsuspecting people all over the world, advertising Leona and Doris’s unsolicited snake oils and pyramid schemes. Pat kicks back in his dark basement and falls asleep after eating a box of cheese doodles and drinking an entire bottle of pop straight from its two liter bottle.
Meanwhile, Doris and Leona are getting flooded with angry emails and calls.
“Take me off your rotten list!” states one message.
“Stop spamming me! I hate this crap!” writes another.
“Who is this? You’re a moron! There is a special place in Hell for people who send out junk emails!” shouts a third.
Leona and Doris decide they have enough of the thousands of messages and change their contact info.
“That’s a bust. I guess we will have to try telemarketing next,” Leona says to Doris.
“Naaaw, I will go back to selling this stuff on the street like I did before…” Doris snickers and grins.
Sirens are heard in the background and flashing lights are seen. What was that about selling on the street? The world may never know.
Doris Krabalsky is Kankakee town troll Leona Krabalsky’s younger sister who sells essential snake oils, investments you can sell your friends, stinky pink drinks, and other MLM products on the streets. Meet her at midnight. Or look for her ice cream…van.
Kankakee pyramid schemer Doris Krabalsky parks her van at a Wally World hoping to trick hungry kids and their parents into buying ice cream from her MLMmobile. Parents get mad because their kids were screaming for ice cream, not leggings. Doris fails to earn a single penny, so she broadcasts her ads on shortwave radio instead.
Doris Krabalsky wants to be a real bossbabe. This snake-oily mama from Kankakee slides emojis and thinly veiled spam into inboxes all over Fakebook, feigning her concern and admiration for the people whom she calls “hun.”
CRASS Maintenance Chief and Building Manager Mikey Philips is a real do-it-yourselfer. In charge of security, maintenance, and all building operations, Mike wears many hats (not just fedoras). However, Mike has no problem ordering other people to do his work and often does the bare minimum to satisfy his job description, or less.
“Knock-knock. Hi Mike. It’s Clio from HR.”
“The ladies’ room garbage has been overflowing all day. This is an ongoing, systematic problem. Can you please look into it?”
“Do it yourself,” Mike tells Clio.
“You are in charge of building operations. Can you please look into it?”
“I am busy, do it yourself.”
Clio walks away and Mike picks up a newspaper.
A loud pound is heard on Mike’s door. Mike grumbles and crumples his paper.
“Who goes there?”
“Tara Bull from Accounts Receivable. I need to speak with you.”
Tara opens the door.
“The vending machines in the breakroom have been busted for two weeks. Get on it.”
“Do it yourself,” Mike tells Ms. Bull.
“What is the status of my request I put in two weeks ago? I sent you three emails.”
“Can you do it? I am busy, got running around to do.”
Tara storms out.
Mike logs onto the DullerImage web site to order some essential snake oils and some dehydrated water, however his credit card is declined. “NSF, why is that?” Mike logs onto his Last Bank of Kankakee account and discovers he was not paid today.
Mike calls up Mr. Mack E. Avelli, CRASS CEO, to complain.
“Yes, hello. I just found out I did not get paid today. It is Friday. Why not?”
“I can pay you but you have to work to get money first. Want a way to earn money? Do it yourself, Mike.”