Kankakee drugstore owner, wacky inventor and wannabe ladies’ man Wally Green sits in his house developing a new interactive voice response (IVR) recording for callers to his store chain.
In Wally’s voice, callers to his pharmacies will have as much of their time wasted as possible trying to get through to a human.
No dial option, all callers must speak their request.
It will go a little something like this:
Please say in a few words what you are calling about.
“Sorry I did not catch that. Please say…”
“Come again? Please say in a few words what you are calling about. And be sure to take our brief 20 question survey when you are done with this call. Wally thanks you. By the way, he is single and looking.”
“These stupid meds. I hate having to take them. Plus they’re so plop-happy! Plop, plop, plop. If I wanted them on the floor, I’d put them on the floor!” the former Mrs. Hurlbutt said about the medication she took to cope with the stress from her then-husband. Communal narcissist Damien Hurlbutt used neagtive humor to devalue his supply Lori whom he used to idealize, as his mask was crumbling.
“That’s so clowny. Why don’t you get a spice rack for your pill bottles, Lori?”
“Damien, you said that about 12 times before. It was not funny the first time.”
“Are you taking your Klownopin?” Damien asked wearing his clown outfit, and honked his bicycle horn for extra moronic effect.
Lori gladly left Champaign and her narcissistic ex-husband, multiplex clerk Damien, famous for writing these Lunacy Letters to mansplain psychology to Lori’s psychologist.
Damien got fired after several poor reviews from his boss, and moved to Bourbonnais to work at a multiplex owned by CRASS Chief Financial Officer Konrad Teirant.
Manteno communal narcadoodle, bog witch and entramanure Bern Cacca enjoys watching this poetic video on her phone during her hours of idle time. She enjoys the simple pleasure in life, like taking a massive dump and burning it in her fireplace.
“Live, laugh, poop.” — Bern Cacca
#PoopingForBernadette
“A fart is but the lonely cry of an imprisoned turd” – Butt-Head
Wife of Brandon Dixon – owner of Brandon’s Imbecile Machine – and mother to his kids; Pris is highly nosey, butts into strangers’ business out of pure ennui.
She needs a hobby.
Pris works as a Medical Office Assistant for her father-in-law Kankakee Ears, Nose, and Throat specialist Dr. Eddie Dixon, a store clerk at Archangel’s Craft Stores. She has a reputation for gaslighting patients and customers just to confuse them.
Police refuse to let her victims press charges, save for once, stating Pris “is just mentally ill.” Yes, antisocial personality disorder is a mental illness, one whose victims usually seek treatment.
“You’re crazy, the only one on the bus whoever starts problems!” — Pris Dixon gaslighting her verbal and physical abuse targets
Pris proudly drives a green imbecile machine given to her by Brandon, branded with “You just got passed by a girl” decals.
Pris was raised by wealthy parents who gave her everything she wanted. Pris feels that, because she is a parent, she should cut in line at the cafes and burger joints. She dislikes the childfree by choice and gets her kicks by invalidating their feelings. Pris feels that only parents can make a valid point, and that life does not begin until you become a mother or father.
Pris needs a reality check.
She was arrested once in Chicago for randomly assaulting a disabled woman on a bus whom she did not know. Pris has been known to wind people up out of boredom and is not afraid of anything or anyone…or is she?
Kankakee bill collector and dog-food enthusiast Sybil Kibble helped her ma JoAnn create a Fakebook account. Next, she is going to help her make one of them FaceCalls so she can bug people about her school-bus parts collection and her squirrel-watching adventures.
In walks Bern Cacca holding hands with her new lover, JB The Turd Burglar. Since her hubby Peppi is living in a half-way house, Bern thinks it is okay to date other men, including fellow communal narcadoodle Damien Hurlbutt. After all, what Peppi does not know won’t hurt him, thinks the self-proclaimed community pillar of excellence and Queen of the Porcelain Throne.
The Manteno moron spies her next-door-neighbor, Gothic Diana Ross, minding her own business drinking a caramel latte. Of course, Bern thinks it is cute to flex, as if Diana cares. “JB whispered in my ear some awesome news!” Diana rolls her eyes and looks away, keeping her mild amusement hidden beneath her stoic visage.
“Someone re-made the show ‘The Wonderful World of Dung’ and we are gonna watch it tonight!”
Diana changes her mind about eating the delicious Buckstars popcorn she had just bought.
Are you spending less time than ever posting on the antisocial media that is Facebook?
So am I. Take this group, a chronic pain “support” group. A fellow spoonie asked what we do to distract our mind from pain. I replied with an article detailing my number one coping skill you know, to help others who also are in a crapton of pain.
As someone who despises pyramid schemes, snake oils and other woo (unlike the fictional Doris Krabalsky), I felt appalled at the moron(s) removing my number coping skill.
I dunno, maybe the micromanaging admins are secretly sadists.
Needless to say, I added that group to my ever-growing chopping block, downsizing my social media presence to reduce stress.
I have stories to write, pictures to draw, songs to sing and a cat to love.
Yes, that “support group” removed my cat video, along with the article describing my process for learning a new language well enough to write a song for my beloved kitty.
That’s okay, my cat did not like those admins either.
For solely pretending to care, I award this micromanaging “support-group” admin Moron of the Week. Writing helps me cope with pain, so I thank you for the story idea. You’re welcome for the award, you earned it.
Raven reviews about the bird convention to end all bird conventions: CorvidCon! All corvids invited, all ages, all species. Coming soon to a yard near you! Please bring a friend.
Scammers call. Damien answers with great expectations, thinking they are interested in this self-proclaimed “nice guy.”
“Hi M’Lady M’dame” Damien answers.
“Is this Damien….Ummm….Hurlbutt?”
“You got ‘em.”
“Hi. I am calling to report your Social Security card has been disabled.”
“Oh hi puddin’. I see you got my card. I think you are really pretty. Can I see your feet?”
“There is a warrant under your name. We are going to send the cops…”
“Nice guys like me finish last. I almost closed my heart off forever until I met you.”
“Please send me $500 on a Wally Green’s gift card or you will be arrested.”
“You know what? I can will myself out of heart attacks. You ladies are so rude!”
A click and a dial tone are heard.
Prankers call:
“Hello. Is this Damien?”
“Speaking.”
“You just won a lifetime subsciption to Feetsniffers’ Monthly!”
“I did! Oh, wow! Oh boy, oh boy, oh–”
“You moron, it’s a prank…”
The caller hangs up and a disappointed Damien’s smile turns upside down.
Pyramid scheme peddlers call.
“Hey, Babe.”
“Oh heyyyy honey puddin’” Damien replies to the lady caller.
“Umm, hi.”
“Heyyyy. What is a little and dainty lady want with an oaf like me?” Damien drools all over his flip phone.
“I have a great weight loss product that can take you from chump to champ in no time.”
“Come now!”
“Go now!” The lady hangs up on Damien.
Then Doris Krabalsky, the notorious street pyramid schemer calls. Damien hangs up. Doris calls again but Damien blocks her call because he does not want anything she might be selling.
Doris hides her number from caller ID and tries to call Mr. Hurlbutt again.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Damien?”
“Who is this?” Damien asks.
“I really think you are cute. Let’s go out sometime.”
“Wait, who is this?” a nervous Damien queries.
“Doris Krabalsky. My sister Leona called you about the weight loss pills. These babies will change your life, hun! I can meet you under the I-57 interchange at Midnight.”
“That flipping phone!” Damien screams as he slams his phone down, and flips the world the bird.
MoronicArts 
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