Sonya Goes to Market

Part 1: https://moronicarts.com/2024/11/24/get-lost-sonya/

Part 2: https://moronicarts.com/2024/12/21/violated/

“What we’re about to do with you, Sonya, is take that farm-to-table approach.” Dr. Jen Jenner explains to her shackled subject, multi-millionaire malignant-narcadoodle landlord, Sonya Marie Smith Moran.

“WAT?” Sonya squawks.

“Restrain that chick!” The good doctor orders the Security Treatment Aides of Area 51.

“Are you sure that thing is safe to eat?” Jen’s assistant Sam asks.

“I’ll call in an expert. I have a buddy of mine on another planet.”

The wall-to-wall screen displays a conference call window. 

“Call Quark.” Dr. Jenner dictates into her Communicator unit.

The Ferengi overlord’s face flashes upon the screen. Sonya freezes in fear.

“You’re—you’re—“

“This is the dumbest acquisition you ever made. Where did you get that thing, and why? There is no profit to be made in shape-shifting humanoid turkey vultures! How did your boss sign off on that Purchase Request and Commitment? And why? What was the bona fide need?” Quark explains to the genius Dr. Jen Jenner who speaks 777 languages. 

“Quark, you’re my idol! I learned everything I know about business from YOU! Why don’t you speak to ME? Communicate with ME! I love you! Will you marry me?”

The Ferengi leader gives the fluttering feathered fool the evil eye.

“Don’t you speak English? I thought they spoke it on every planet!” the xenophobic turd complains to the foreign friend of the Area known as 51.

“Self-reflection is scary, but necessary.”

“What did he say?” Sonya asks the crew.

“He says he doesn’t like you. Get over it.”

Sonya’s cold, bleak heart fails instantly; the sheer pain of her crush’s rejection sends her beak straight into to the concrete floor, creating a small crack from the impact. Then she poops.

The doors bust open.

“Vitals!”

“Time of death 7:30 AM.”

“Oops, nevermind.” 

The technician leaves the room to go wake up someone else.

“We got a stiff! What are we gonna do with this thing?”

“I dunno, get it outta here, bury it somewhere in Indiana.” Dr. Jen Jenner shrugs slightly and moves onto her next task. Life is good.

THE END

Golden Moron Award: Cemetery Desecaretaker

Congratulations, Jim something-or-other! For caring more about stupid crap like the cemetery association’s Rules of Acquisition than you know, people grieving the losses of their loved ones, we hereby award you Moron of the Week! Maybe Quark will visit your grave when you’re pushing up daisies, and steal stuff. Gotta follow those rules!

Scumlord Sonya Moran Learns the Rules of Acquisition.

After the recovering from the HUD investigation, malignant narc-a-doodle and attention-seeking fool Sonya starts to poop out a bunch more fake lease violations accusing her Manteno, Illinois residents of launching stinkoff from cat pee fair across their buildings and using their floors as washrooms, but this time typing them on a manual typewriter to hopefully evade more trouble from the feds. Sonya leaves her briefly office to whizz, comes back to see this helpful instruction notice taped to her door. 

Sonya crumples it up, checks her non-existent security cameras to find out who did it. Ooops. Sonya accidentally forgot to renew her security contract because she did not want to get caught on tape harassing her residents.

Furious, Sonya storms out her door to look for the person, only to see dozens of these same flyers wallpapered across the hall, and outside:

As the frenzied fool and Ferengi fan makes her way to her manager suite, she jumps up in panic to see that a dog had peed ALL OVER her fake violation notices after scattering them on the floor in front of her office (and probably digging his feet in them afterward to show off his hard work).

“Good boy!” she hears off in the distance, a voice too faint to recognise.

“Oh my stars! That dog highlighted every single one of my rule of living violation notices! What am I gonna do now? Those precious papers, my babies…”

Sonya breaks down, gets down on her knees and cries about the dog’s desecration of her factitious fault files.

Wanting a break from work and her usual carrion lunchmeat, the shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture takes flight to find the biggest fast food joint she can find.

She lands at a McDonald’s which is so large it takes up an entire Chicago block. Sonya shape-shifts into her humanoid form after having been previously yeeted from a Midwest business which does not allow animals.

Sonya chows down on her greasy burgers and fries, washes them down with a large pop. Wanting a stiff drink and a place to nest for the night, Sonya walks across the street:

“Hotel Ferengi and Bar, sounds like my kinda place!”

Sonya enters the bar and orders a Long Island Iced Tea.

“Sorry, all we got is root beer. I can get you a great deal on a hotel room!”

“Sign me up!”

Sonya scans the QR code and downloads a booking CrapApp. She books the fanciest room in the entire joint and heads to the counter to check in. She hands the clerk her ID, gives him the reservation number and a pint of blood.

“All set, all we need is 50 slips of Latinum.”

“I just pre-paid!”

“50 slips of Latinum, ma’am.”

“I don’t have it.”

“It’s our policy. We need to charge you or you won’t be able to stay here.”

“Who can I talk to about getting it waived?”

“I am the only manager here.”

Calling her bluff, Sonya asks who is above her to hopefully resolve this confusion.

“I have my manager on the phone.”

“Hi Quark. I pre-paid my room.”

“Yes, it’s our policy to charge every guest a 50 Latinum deposit fee.”

“I don’t have it. How do I pay if if I don’t have it?”

“It’s our policy. Pay it now or leave.”

“Do you accept Craptocoin?”

“Don’t accept her reservation,” Quark tells his employee.

Sonya flies out the door and across Chicago to find another hotel. 

Sonya walks into the Acne Hotel, upon suggestion of one of the other Poopy Groupies she called on her Smell Phone.

“Hi, I’d like to make a reservation for a one bedroom”

“Great. It’s $99.95 a night.”

“Awesome, here’s my card.”

The clerk swipes Mrs. Moran’s card and prints out her reservation. Sonya thinks about all the tenants she can’t wait to swindle again.

“Great. Before we give you the keys we just need 100 slips of Latinum.”

Sonya pauses and stares.

“Can’t you just accept a couple of candy bars or something?”