“Hey Diana! Check out this big, beautiful picture my Peppi smoked up for me!” Manteno entramanure, bog witch and communal narcadoodle Bernadette Cacca brags about the huge printout containing her likeness surrounded her bootlickers, to her neighbors Gothic Diana Ross and the Midnight Supremes.

“You’re holding it upside down.”

“What?”

“I saw Smokey Ashe, Undead Greg waiting in Hell’s in-processing line during my last internship. Lucy Furr was checking them in.”

“You’re not God, you know honey…” Gothic Mary smirks. The Midnight Supremes collectively snap their fingers, break into song and dance their way back to their Gothic Victorian home next door to the Caccas on Kant Street.

Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture Carla Moran drops by for a visit. She flies into a tree again, then plops to the grass.

“Oh hi Mom! Look what Peppi made for my birthday month!”

“Oh-kay. Why are you pretending to be Jesus?”

“I know. I know. It’s really me using a Vulcan mind meld on aunt Sonya. I have not gotten a gig since she had flown the coop. I’m trying to revive my career!”

“You don’t even like Star Trek.”

“Yeah I do. I really love that Dr. Spock guy and his Jedi mind tricks,” a very confidently incorrect Bernadette plainly spits her alternative facts.

The Midnight Supremes share a giggle at Bernadette’s newest gaffe, Bernadette’s loud mouth wide open to catch a fly shrinks down to a shriveled grimace.

Then she farts.