Tag: short story
Demanda Broccoli Needs To Be Told “No” More Often.
Kankakee’s newest Credit Recovery Associates (CRASS) debt collector, member of “The Haggs” band and humanoid veggie Demanda Broccoli runs around the office asking her co-workers to sniff her feet.
“Get back to your cubicle, now!” Team Leader Sybil Kibble commands.
Demanda goes back to her cube, but not on the phones. When Sybil isn’t looking, she walks over to the supervisor cube, and scrawls on her marker-board, “I love Damien Hurlbutt!“
“No! Get back to your workstation and on the phones! Now!”
“OK-OK-OK-OK-OK” she snarks. Then she runs over to the executive suite and rips a fart that would make Bernadette Cacca envious.
“Did someone light a stinkbomb?” CRASS Controller Konrad Teirant asks.
Sybil Kibble spies her loose subordinate, grabs her by the crown and hauls her back to her seat.
“This is your final warning. Do some work. That’s why we pay you to come in. You DO want money, right?”
“Oh, that’s how it works…”
Sybil just shakes her head and walks away as Ms. Broccoli dons her headset.
“Credit Recovery Associates, Demanda.”
“Hi, this is Bernadette Cacca. Can I pay my bill in craptocoins? I just mined them myself…
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“Flying straight into solid objects” – Bernadette Cacca
“Come here, I need to show you something…” shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran hisses from the atop her daughter Bernadette M. Cacca’s Manteno home where she is busy playing kazoo pop covers as she burns the port-a-potty waste in her washroom.
“I’m busy.” Bernadette begins to play harder/faster/bigger/stronger into her toy instrument.
“Bernadette, I have some projects for you to do!”
“I’m all pooped out.”
The vulture takes flight and makes air donuts around the Caccas’ property.
“I’ll smack some sense into you if you don’t—”
“BOOOM!”
Carla’s extra-long, pointy beak slams into a tree, creating a large crack in its bark, tail-feathers shaking as the creepy craptor wiggles her entire body around trying to break free from her own self-imposed prison.
That poor tree.
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I can grab things off the bottom shelf, unlike these guys: Creator of the Moroniverse
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Wally Green’s Brand Spankin’ New Inventions!
Coming soon to the corner of Wally and Green’s! What kinda crap is Kankakee ladies’ man, barfly and wacky inventor Wally Green cooking up now?
Sponsored by WallyMobile
Introducing the new mobile phone plan from Wally Green’s! Exclusive to our stores, WallyMobile offers unlimited talk/text, a super-hard to navigate touch-screen, and plenty of not-so-yummy tracking cookies to slow your phone while consuming your data! Apply today! Be sure to pay for it using your Wally Green’s credit card as we do not accept Craptocoin.
MyDoucheBag
These extra, extra-plopsy bags are made from recycled douche and rusty canoes. With more pockets than you’ll ever need, these bags are specially designed to make sure you lose your stuff! Wally’s patented CrapStraps will be sure to tangle and strangle the wearer. Buy one get one half off (but never free)!
ScrewyLid
Are your tumbler lids too easy to take off and put back on? Try Wally’s new ScrewyLid! Using the same design our adult-proof pill-bottle lids, you will be sure you lose your top! Screw it back on, but ohhh, it’s stuck half-way again. Pick one up at Wally Green’s on the corner nearest you! Three for $7.00! (Must buy three)
Throw-a-Fit Blankets
Do you get frustrated trying to keep your fitted sheets on the bed? Now, throw a fit, every time you try to fit this throw onto your bed, only for it to fling right off. You might as well throw it away.
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Why Do TV Commercials All Use the Same Background Music?
“Clappity-clap, snappity snap, and all the one-note-wonders make for a changing of the channel.”
– Musician, singer and producer, Gothic Diana Ross, Manteno
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Close your eyes…
Imagine a debit card with a 69% introductory UFO on purchases (for complete pricking information and impotent terms and conditions, policing of services, delimiters, modifiers and values, please clink on the lick below) and a 30-second online alien abduction (subject yourself to verification).
Apply now at Wally Green’s for an Area 51 Visa credit card!
“You might never encounter an offer quite close to being this good!” — Wally Green, Founder of Wally Green’s drugstore, inventor of the Turd Machine Deluxe and invader of spaces.
Coming soon: Alien Abduction Insurance. It’s hot!
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Kankakee Bill Collector Sybil Kibble Laughs, Lives, Loves.
Kankakee bill-collector Sybil Kibble and dog food connoisseur lives, laughs and loves — not necessarily in that order. Do you live first, laugh first, or love first? Do you need a bathroom break before deciding? Maybe you can help solve a mystery.
Want more morons? Keep up on the Moroniverse by signing up using your email or WordPress account.
Or if you prefer, watch us on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/AqXmtumAHXU
The Moroniverse thanks you!
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Gothic Diana Ross Plays Bocce to Win
Narcissists want to buy your time…so they can waste it…over and over without paying.
Gothic Diana Ross is busy minding her own business at her specialist’s waiting room up at Rush University Medical Center in Chicago. A routine follow-up appointment, Miss Ross would rather be home having fun singing with Gothic Flo and Gothic Mary, instead of waiting in a crowded room full of strangers.
An hour passes by and Di still has not been called.
“Hey, I’m Greg Schneissder. Are you from Manteno?”
”Ummm…” Diana rolls her eyes and looks away from the undead Greg,
“I saw one of your shows, you ladies are so beautiful and talented.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you know Pat Splatt?”
“Yeah…no. Eew.”
“Pat is one of the coolest guys around! I hang around him and Bernadette Cacca.”
Diana freezes from panic, already nervous awaiting her lab results.
“Don’t. Mention. Bernadette.”
“Oh why? She is the the nicest person around! And so famous! I see her picture in the paper a lot. She’s a celebrity. Wasn’t she on that Human Body Odor Channel show?”
Diana rolls her eyes.
“How can you say anything bad about her?”
“Stop.”
“I am gonna complain. You are harassing me now. Nobody talks bad about Bern Cacca!”
Di looks at the lady across from her.
“I am sure he was just trying to help.”
“Really? Just…no.”
“How do you know?”
“Just leave me the feck alone.”
“I am gonna just leave. I can’t be at this office where people talk badly about other people!” Greg whinges as he storms down the stairs.
“Deeanna?”
“It’s Diana…grrr.”
Diana grabs her patent leather sack and follows the medical office assistant to be roomed.
It begins to rain, the clouds taking a massive whizz all over Northern Illinois. Thankfully Diana merges her black 1988 Chrysler Conquest onto 90/94 safely and avoids rush-hour traffic to head south on I-57 toward her home in Manteno. Mind clear from a clean bill of health, the slender gothic beauty slides into her canopy bed, the silky black sheets comforting her as she drifts off to her internship in Hell.
Two hours later, Diana wakes up in a panic, startled by a moron who thought it would be cute to crawl into her bed.
“You know Diana, your music would sound better if you articulated your words better.”
A stunned Diana looks over.
“You forgot to lock your door, hon.”
“Get the freak outta my house and my bed!” Diana screams at the top of her lungs and chases out the bored poopy-burner and communal narcadoodle, next-door neighbor Bernadette Moran Cacca.
“How dare you talk bad about my beloved Bernadette!” Gregory Albert Schneissder screams at Diana about the crowd-pleaser for whom he created the Fakebook account “BMCacca Fannn.”
Diana slams the slate door to her Victorian Gothic home.
Gregory slithers over to Bernadette and the pair head upstairs to Bern’s bedroom.
“Can you just, like, not fart in front of me?” Greg asks his date Bernadette Cacca during their date netting some flicks while hoping to chill.
“No, honey.”
”You don’t fart on stage at those charity events where you sing and play kazoo requests to raise money for the Manteno Optimal Club and for Ukraine.”
“No need to gas-sleight me!”
“You gaslit me!” Greg retorts.
“No, I mean, I need to fart. Farting is healthy. I will implode if I don’t rip ‘em when I need to.”
The swamp-witch Bernadette lifts her leg and her bum goes boom.
A wild Gothic Diana Ross appears in the foreground.
”Heave-ho! Where are your enablers now? Bwa ha ha ha ha!” The Gothic Boss Miss Ross interjects as she yeets the communal narcadoodle Bern halfway down the staircase, and the Midnight Supremes chuck her bum-licker Greg, spocking the pallino down the stairs.
“You left your front door open…” Diana addresses the undead mess spilled all over the basement floor with a smile.
”What did those stairs do to deserve that punishment?” Gothic Mary jokes as the Midnight Supremes leave in amusement.
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What the Frickfrick?
“Where the heck has Sonya been?”
“Uhh, a little birdy told me she was last seen near Area 51 in Nevada.” Bog witch, entramanure and communal narcadoodle Bernadette Moran Cacca says to her shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and self-righteous narc mother Carla.
“Who? Was it my cousin Jackie? He flies by all the time but not once, even once, ever says hi.”
“Who’s that?”
“Oh you know him, you met him when you were five at grandma’s house.”
“I have no idea, it was just a rumor…”
“I’m picking up all this stuff here at her house…”
“Oh wow, ma, anything for me? Anything worth beaucoup bucks?”
“Nope. Everything I’m picking up I’m THROWING OUT!” the angry bird says with great pride (but not the good kind). Why couldn’t I get a free trip to Area 51?”
“Maybe she got a job there, I dunno…”
“I’ve applied there over and over, and heard nothing. Why does SHE get to go there but not ME? MUST BE NICE.”
Feathers ruffled, Carla Moran starts flapping her wings and cursing.
“Maa, y’know I have you on speakerphone.”
“Nevermind!”
“Why don’t you come down to the Manteno Optimal Club and compete in our poetry slam?”
“You know I hate poetry, and it’s a long way from Eastern Indiana”
“Oh come now, it’s for a good cause!”
“We’ll see…”
“I’d love to see my mother again. Won’t you do it just for me? You do love me right?” the hag gaslights.
“Okay! Okay! Okay! Enough!”
“Great see you Sunday.”
“Roger that!” Pamela Frickfrick laughs to her twin sister Becca who has been eavesdropping on her neighbors from across the block.
“Our newly installed Frickfrick towers are working pretty darned good I say. When are your grandkids coming over, Becca?”
“Today. Can you watch them?”
“I gotta work at Credit Recovery Associates. You know, that CRASS job I got a few months ago.”
“Isn’t it illegal for bill collectors to call on weekends? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“You’re a CRASS bill collector too, you should know!”
Pamela storms out the door of her Manteno home and wanders on over to see what kind of dookie she can stir up over at the house of Cacca.
Bernadette is sitting upstairs pooping and singing a song of stupidity, therefore Pamela seizes the opportunity to do something even crappier. After all, it’s all a competition for these bored bitties. “Oh look a bowling ball!” Pamela hoists the lawn ornament from Bernadette’s house over on Kant Street to hers on Ken Street so it can grow legs.
She rolls the ball, striking her garage wall, sparing her from having to buy one herself. Then she goes out on another Moronquest.
Pam spots the slate Victorian mansion of Gothic Diana Ross and The Midnight Supremes. “Oh how handsome, a knight in shining armor. I think it fell off a truck,” Pamela thinks aloud as she hauls the decorative swordfighter over to her home to live instead. “Maybe I’ll dress him up to look like the king instead, the King of Rock and Roll!”
Pamela drives over to Wally Green’s to hopefully buy gaudy jewelry, a blue-black wig and fake sideburns to decorate her new man. Wandering around the store, two clerks circle around her asking eight times each if she needs help, despite her having said no the first time.
“Oh shoot-a-darn. I forgot to get my meds, where’s the pharmacy hun?”
The clerk points his arm toward the back of the store and a large cartoon of Wally’s silly grin.
After waiting in line for 25 minutes, Pamela finally makes it to the pickup window.
“Pamela Frickfrick”
“Sorry, we’re still working on it. Give us 20 minutes,” says her crush, Kankakee Elvis impersonator and pharmacy tech Robbie Hurlbutt.
Mrs. Frickfrick wanders around the store to buy some crap she does not need, only to circle back to her number one singer.
“We have a P and C at Pharmacy. Pharmacy, we have a P and C.”
“What’s that?” Pamela asks Robbie.
“Someone’s just dropping off a specimen over at the lab.”
“OK. Now tell me, do you have vaccines for FIV?”
“FIV? You mean HIV.”
“No. FIV. It’s a disease that cats can get and I don’t want to catch it.”
“Umm, we don’t have a vet clinic here, sorry ma’am.”
“It’s for me. You sell shots here right?”
“Of gin?”
“No, I don’t drink any darn alcohol. I just wanna shot so I don’t get FIV.”
“Lady, you can’t get FIV from cats!” a passerby shouts, then shakes her head as she walks away.
“Robbie, you are the sexiest man on earth. Don’t you know anything about what you sell? You are smart for your age.”
“Ummm, I am 47. I grow the same boogers as you.”
“You need to respect your elders! I am 74 and a lot older than you. Get me the manager now!”
“I AM the manager,” Robbie lies.
“Well imma gonna done call ICE and report you for being friendly to migrants when I go home. I am no longer your biggest fan!” Pamela breaks down and cries all the way across Kankakee County.
Meanwhile Keysha, Aaliyah and Cedric are playing in their gramma’s house. “Where did she get this bowling ball?” little Keysha asks her siblings as tries to lift it.
“I dunno, but let’s see how much damage it can do on this knight!” Cedric says, grabbing the 12 pound ball as he begins to throw strikes.
The two girls run into the backyard.
“Oooh, legos!” the kids cry, as they tear apart the red-and-white antenna array.
“A prize inside! Is this a radio?
“No, it’s just a dumb baby monitor.” Gothic Diana Ross tells the kids, having walked over looking for her missing lawn ornament.
“Hey kids, where’s your grandmother?”
“I dunno.”
“Is she home?”
“No.”
“Is anybody home?”
“Just us…”
Concerned about the thefts — and more importantly — the kids’ welfare, the Gothic Boss Ms. Ross calls the police.
The Kankakee police eventually locate Pam walking along the sidewalk somewhere in Bradley, carrying a red metal container.
“Are you Pamela Frickfrick?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Where are you headed, ma’am?”
“I had forgotten to fill my tank when the yellow light illuminated and I’m looking for a filling station.”
“Where did you get this bowling ball?” the cop asks as she shows her a photo from her phone.
“It rolled over one night when he had storms. Why?”
“And this metal knight?
“Oh he walked over to my house. I promise I did not steal him from his girl. I didn’t do anything.”
“Nope, you didn’t. We dispatched an officer to your home to find three children abandoned.”
“This is not fair! I’m a senior citizen who pays your salary! I know the mayor!”
“We know the mayor too,” the policewoman says as she handcuffs the town Frickfrick and reads her Miranda rights.
(This story dedicated to a special friend who loves cats).
MoronicArts 
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