After her influencer application got rejected for PooPourri, Manteno entertainer, communal narcadoodle and Queen of the Porcelain Throne Bernadette Cacca contemplates her next idea, hoping to pitch it to the Buckstars baristas who pretend to care, but of course, don’t. Bernadette is on a campaign to promote irregularity.
Bernadette Cacca nearly runs over JoAnn Kibble in the coffee line at the Bourbonnais Buckstars. She really needs to go number two but can’t. Bern and her enabler extraordinaire, fellow Turdologist and zombie Greg Schneissder, wait by the rubbish sacks. She cannot wait to burn her poopies again.
Mrs. Kibble walks over to the garbage pails to toss away her old cup. “Excuse my reach” she says as she reaches in front of the self-proclaimed Queen of the Porcelain Throne.
“Same,” the entitled brat Bernadette snarks as undead Greg stands by her side, both practically on the receptacle containing the garbage sacks.
Konrad Teirant takes a break from cooking the CRASS books to drink down a drink that’s brown, taking along his wife Madeline Topolla-Teirant to the Buckstars, who had left work early at her job mismanaging Kankakee’s Best Low Budget Apartments.
Bored out of his skull, Kon looks to his right and starts chatting up two college students who recently moved to Kankakee from the Middle East. Visions of converting these young, impressionable minds to Flat-Earthers fill the other-wise empty head of the fool that is Mr. Teirant.
“Where are you from?”
“Iraq,” the young lady replies.
“I moved here from Iran,” the Kon-Man bold-faced lies, hoping to gain rapport with the potential converts, using his foolish assumption that all Middle Eastern countries are the same.
“Aren’t you from Aroma Park?” the college student asks.
“Anyway, I own a multiplex here in Bourbonnais. I have traveled all over the world, went down to South America during the pandemic. They let me go despite the travel restrictions…” the grandiose narcissist Konrad continues spinning his played-out yarns, spouse Madeline by his side, staring off into the distance hoping her hubby shuts up.
“And Australia. I would go there, but it’s not a real place. Just a fantasy made up by the globe-heads.”
The two 20-somethings roll their collective eyes.
“The world is flat you see. Take a brochure from me, and get a dollar off a matinee at Cinema-13 if you join The Flat Earth Society.”
The two ladies grab their coffees and go, leaving behind the Kon-man, his wife and the leaflet.
“What is up with that one tenant who never comes our of her apartment? Tamika? She is a mystery. I bet she holds parties in there, has gold bars in her closet and keeps all sorts of gentleman suitors!” the nosey Madeline Topolla-Teirant asks her husband Konrad.
“This is the biggest zit I ever popped! Look at all that fatty oil stuff! Thar she blows!”
“Guys it’s time to partteeeeee!” Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments Owner, sociopath and dumpster clown Madeline Topolla-Teirant commands as she fakes a smile.
Our first act is The Chickenheads! Rappers Ty-Fowl and D-Fail from 601B and 706B!
A slow clap emerges out of the awkward silence.
“We’re poor, we’re poor and we don’t score.
We’re poor, we’re poor and we don’t score.
Every hoop we shoot is a whiff!
Every shot we make is a miss…”
“Why won’t this go down? Darn it. I forgot this FussPot only takes four sheets of half-ply toilet paper and I used five!”
Tamika Euforia calls her landlord. Kankakee’s Best Low-Budget Apartments’ answering machine picks up. Tamika calls twice more. Sadly, Tamika again goes to voicemail jail.
Meanwhile, her toilet overflows and rains down on the party below.
The crowd screams and disperses. Madeline runs upstairs.
“Oh good, glad you came.”
“What did you put down your toilet?”
“Umm, poop and pee.“
“We were having a party down there and I had to come all the way up one flight of stairs to fix YOUR toilet!” the dumpster-clown huffs, puffs.
“Did I rain on your parade?” Tamika giggles as she leaves her unit, heading up to Chicago to have fun for a change.
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