Tag: turkey vulture

Chicken, nest egg, feather.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran calls her equally narcissistic daughter Bernadette, reads off names of colors, asking Bern to buy her some paint.

“So not Buttercream, not eggshell, but a few cans of the one in the middle.”

“Can you get me a swatch? You know, that strip with all the squares in the different shades you want?”

“I’m not looking for Cubism.”

“You want me to paint your entire house and buy the paint, with no paint chips? Yeah…no Ma.”

“Come home. I need you to come home.”

“I am home.”

“Come home, Bernadette. Live with me for awhile to save some money.”

“I have my own home to paint.”

Bernadette hangs up her smell phone. Her favorite G.G. Allin ringtone plays 20 seconds later. Bernadette rejects the call, butt of course!

“DON’T. YOU. HANG. UP. ON. ME. AGAIN. I’m trying to help you Bernadette, but YOU’RE not letting me help you,” gaslighter extraordinaire Carla projects onto her only daughter’s voicemail, meanwhile Bernie is busy ignoring her mother, dropping a deuce in her washroom and practicing her butt-trumpet solo.

Bernadette heads down to bog she inhabits to take a dip and spend time with her creepy dolls. After freshening up, she drives to the Manteno Cantina to hang out with her fan club, The Poopy Groupies. Bernie tinkles on the pot for a bit and then the ivories for an impromptu poop-up concert, only slightly less annoying than the pop-up ads spamming all over Kankakee County about her bar…erm…THE bar.

Poopy Groupie president, KaCo resident Wally Green videotapes the entire concert from beginning to end, gives a standing ovation along one with other patron, Pat Splatt.

“Hey there hottie! Gimme a kiss!” Pat Splatt catcalls Bernadette. The married entramanure hugs Pat in a deep embrace and the two briefly make out.

“I’d like to take you for a ride.”

Pat, Bernadette and Wally drive down to Carbondale in Bernadette’s poopmobile to learn what Artificial Idiocracy (AI) can do for them at a conference.

After discovering how much money he can make by using AI instead of hiring actual people to work for his Pantherware company, Pat invents a new AI program along with Bernadette’s input dumps.

Bernadette finishes mining some fresh Newly Formed Turds (N.F.Ts) in Pat’s washroom while Pat compiles his new CrapApp.

“You’re naming the new program after me, right honey?”

“No, Bernie, I’m naming it Ozzy.”

“I want you to name it after me! I made the cover of the Manteno Sentinel more than you! I care so much about this community and my friends! Did you see all the money I helped raise for—”

“Ozzy just died. Don’t you have any respect for the dead?“

“Wow, what incredible advice. What are you not understanding about what I’m saying?”

“You sound like the type of person who, during a tornado warning would go off looking for friends and family. Instead of, you know, following directions. It baffles me that Karens like you think the whole world should cater to them.”

“Yeah, you have absolutely no clue. Good luck with that.”

Pat ends up naming the program Pat-GPT and uses it to generate a 15 minute Deepfake of Bernadette cursing out her fans and mooning them, sourcing Wally Green’s footage. The video goes viral, angering the bog witch enough to seek narcissistic supply elsewhere.

Carla is busy preening when she receives a surprise guest.

“Hey ma, I made something for you.”

“Well I can’t accept this.”

“I made it just for you because I’m your biggest fan!”

“Well now I’m your biggest fan ever since Aunt Sonya flew the coop. What is it?”

“AIR MAIL!” Bernadette exclaims with giggles as she flies the paper airplane at her mother.

“It looks just like you!”

“Talk to the wing!”

Boundaries are important, Carla.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“Ma, what are you doing here?” Manteno communal narcadoodle, bog witch and Queen of the Plastic Throne Bernadette Moran Cacca asks her mother, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and narcadoodle of the self-righteous kind, Carla Moran.

“Why don’t you dress like the other girls? Don’t you want to be in style? That dress looks terrible!”

“Why the heck are you wearing a French Maid costume?”

“Your place is a pig sty! I’m going to clean it up!”

Honestly, Carla…

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“What’s that noise? It sounds like a dying cow,” Manteno’s very own bog witch, communal narcadoodle and port-o-dump empress Bernadette Moran Cacca shouts at the voice sabotaging her recital practice:

“You’ve been out there and tried to mix with the animals. Then you meet me. And your whole world changes.”

“You wanna know why?”

“Cuz I’m a liar! Yeah I’m a liar! I’ll tear your mind out. I’ll burn your soul. I’ll turn you into me! I’ll turn you–“

“Mom? What the heck are you doing. You don’t even like Henry Rollins.”

“Just give me one more chance, I will never lie to you again…Hahahahahahah. Sucker!” shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and narcadoodle of the self-righteous kind Carla Moran continues to hiss at her daughter Bernadette, who runs upstairs to her washroom and starts playing accordion show-tunes again.

I would create my own dictatorship: Carla Moran

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
View all responses

Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture, sterile supply technician and self-righteous narcadoodle Carla Moran is in one of her daily foul moods, plotting out loud her newest grandiose idea.

“In my kingdom, they won’t know how good they’ve got it. Rules are important and I will make sure everybody follows them:

“We will only have one language, English, because I don’t understand any others nor do I care to learn.

All cars will be silver, no exceptions, no decals either.

Everybody will be required to brush their teeth four times a day, use a water pick and report back to me.

Want to see a therapist? Good. All sessions will be recorded and sent to me to make sure you’re not complaining about the supreme leader. It’s MY kingdom, MY RULES.

Everybody will be required to wax the hair off their face. No exceptions.

Only baggy clothes will be worn by everyone.

People will only be allowed to collect practical things and read non-fiction.

We will have three national TV channels, nothing else: HGTV, Fox News and baseball.

Nobody will be allowed to wear underwear or stick their tongues out. In my world–“

“Lady, this is a handicapped spot.”

“I’m only gonna be here for a minute! Calm down!” Carla remarks to the traffic cop out her car window.

“Move your vehicle now or I’m writing you a citation.”

Carla slams her beak on the horn and peels away from the Bradley strip mall, then flies down I-57 hoping to not get caught because in her insecure little bird-brain nothing she does is ever wrong.

Have an offal good birthday, Carla Moran!

~ Jen ~ 3 Comments

Carla Moran’s wish list.

The Moroniverse wishes the Midwestern sterile supply clerk, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and self-righteous narcadoodle known as Carla Moran a very happy hatch day! We hope you and your flock have your carrion/steak meatballs, and burp them up too. Yum!

“Flying straight into solid objects” – Bernadette Cacca

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment
Daily writing prompt
What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?
View all responses

“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.

“Sonya’s Not Had Her Coffee, Yet.”

~ Jen ~ 1 Comment

Taking a break from her shift in the boiling lava and bubbling excrement pits, newly damned malignant narcadoodle Sonya Marie Smith Moran decides that it’s time to take a break. She takes the elevator down to the food court and walks into a Buckstars.

The shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and narc-a-doodle walks up to place her order.

”Hi, I’d like an extra large, hot—“

“You can’t order here.”

“OK…where do I order?”

“You’ve been banned and not allowed to come back here.”

“Why? I’ve never even been here.”

“You’ve been banned,” the ogre robotically repeats, tag on her shirt reads “Jovaan.” “You’ve been banned and not allowed to come back here.”

This is not your typical Buckstars café.

“So, do you sell coffee here?”

“You’re being SO RUDE!” cries the customer ahead of her in line, a 40-something haggardly blonde banished to eternal darkness for breaking a man’s heart, harassing her employees and leaving a wave of destruction behind her everywhere she went.

“Who are YOU?”

“I’m someone who thinks you’re being rude. Very rude, lots of rude, you’re so rude rude rude rude–”

“I don’t even know ya lady!”

“I’m someone who thinks you’re being rude. Very rude, lots of rude, full of all the you’re so rude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruderuderuderude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rudity Rudy rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude–” cries the damned fool who thinks she runs the place, Jamie.

She’s not the first – nor the last – to try and take over Hell.

“Go away now! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE! BYE!“ cries the imbecile running the counter, waving her arm with an evil grin on her face.

“Okay, okay, okay, calm down you morons!”

Before Sonya could run to the coffee and donut shop across the hall, someone rather familiar pokes Sonya on the back.

“Mom?”

“Hey darlin’!”

“What brought YOU here?”

“Oh, just raising daughters just like you!”

The two humanoid raptors share an embrace.

“Grandpa’s holding a hot barbecue! We’re having a family reunion. Wanna come down?”

“Maybe. What are they grilling up?”

“Soylent Green.”

“I know. But, will they serve coffee?”

Mrs. Moran stands there shaking her head, feathers ruffled. Then she poops.

“Now get out of here, you rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruderudeRobloxRubixCube rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruderuderuderude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruminating rume rube rude ruderuderudeude ruderude rude rude rude rude rude rude ruderuderude rude ruderude rude rude ruderude rude rude rudity Rood Rudy Randy Rhodes rootin tootin’ rude rude rude rube!” goes the word-salad barfed up all over the coffee-shop floor, by their own barista.

The damned all think they’re hot…umm…stuff.

Wax on, Wax off.

~ Jen ~ Leave a comment

“You should get waxed more often! Why don’t you wax your chin!” Carla Moran, Manteno narc-a-doodle, shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture demands and gaslights her only daughter, Bernadette Moran Cacca.

“Do you like getting hair ripped straight out its roots, ma?”

“No, but I do it anyway. Shaving makes the hair grow back thicker.”

“Mind your own business!”

Carla turns up the gas on the lighting:

“You might have got that gig you wanted if you waxed! Don’t you care about your appearance?”

“I tell you what, go start a business waxing people for cash and giggles. People will pay a lot of money for that!”

“Go get a real job, do something with yourself Bernadette!”


“No serious, mom, people will pay you even more if you go to their houses and give them a Brazillian at home. Discretion is cool! Call it, ‘Have Wax, Will Travel.’ I can see your cloaca by the way. You might wanna do something about that. I gotta make a pitstop. Smell ya later!”

Bernadette runs for the washroom in the nearby McD’s, because she has the runs, butt of course!

Then Carla poops on a passing car, because she can. Stupid bird.

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.