“I have hope for the first time in my life right now.”


“Diana are you okay?” Gothic Mary puts her palm on her sister Diana’s forehead. A small wildlife rehabilitation van bearing yellow markings, a small done light and the words “Raptor Division” passes by Gothic Diana Ross & The Midnight Supremes.

“And there it goes…”

Shapeshifting humanoid turkey vulture and self-righteous narcadoodle Carla Moran comes in for a landing atop next her daughter’s shack next door, her carefully coiffed blonde strands all a shaggy mess from the rain.

“I was hoping that was a hearse. The Grim Reaper is taking all the wrong people.”

Carla takes a dump atop the roof and calls out to Bernadette.

“Did you confirm those gigs at the Optimal Club yet?” Carla takes a drag off her cigarette.

“Yeah, why?”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean, am I sure?”

“Your clothes are on half-past cock-eyed!” Carla growls at her daughter.

“Don’t talk to me in that tone of voice!” communal narcadoodle and part-time bog witch Bernadette Moran Cacca squawks back.

“No-wrong!”

“OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK! OK!”

“Drop it! End of discussion! Don’t cry, I’ll give you something that will MAKE YOU CRY!”

Bernadette flushes her dump and hits submit on her newest Craptocoin scam dressed up in a bow as a fundraiser gig for charity.

Rap duo The Chickenheads Doug “D-Fail” Failure and his buddy Tyrell “Ty-Fowl” park their shiny imbecile machine across the street and begin to perform on The Caccas lawn while Bernadette and her mother peck at each other. Subwoofers cranked to the max rattle the rafters of every structure within a block’s radius.

“We’re poor, we’re poor and we don’t score. We’re poor, we’re poor and we don’t score. Every shot we make is a whiff, my car’s broke down and I need a spliff!”

“Now, now now, we don’t talk about those things here.” Carla wags her steel talon at the entertainment on the lawn as she clutches her pearls.

“Maaaa! They’re just practicing!”

“Practicing what?”

“They are the headliners for the Manteno Optimal Club’s charity blowout bash!”

Carla audibly drags out her signature sigh.

“Calm down. You’re too sensitive!” the avian changeling gaslights her equally skeevy daughter. Red, yellow and white lights can be in the distance, growing ominously brighter, closer. “Oh man Ma, what did you do, call the cops?”

“I would never!”

“If the Manteno Optimal Club loses this gig we they could pull our funding! After all I’ve done for them!”

The glowing lights close in on their target.

A blue beam strikes up the band, into their spaceship, flies clear outta Dodge.

Carla and Bernie just stand there, pieholes aghast.

“Just another day in Illinois,” Gothic Flo quips as the three singing sisters make their way into their Gothic Victorian home.

Gothic Diana Ross and her singing siblings drive their black 1988 Chrysler Conquest north to Chicago to plan out their next gig. Unbeknownst to them, a certain little pest is following them. Thankfully, she gets cut off while trying to merge her Crapmobile over to the next lane and misses her exit off 90/94.

“Wow, Lollapalooza, this would be our first time! Dang…” Gothic Flo politely exclaims to her siblings as they walk down the hall to hopefully shake hands with the festival’s booking manager. A lot of chatting takes place behind closed doors, then the ladies are given a tour of the building and shown the stage layout map. As they negotiate their contract, Bernadette Cacca butts right in, barging right past the gothic trio. “Oh hey, thank you for letting me park here. I would like to talk to you about portapotties, because I know all about poop!”

“Lady, how did you get in here?”

“Oh, I just told the security guard that these ladies are my friends.”

“Diana, do you know this nitwit?”

“She’s our idiot neighbor Bernadette, always interrupting our business to talk about HER business.”

“Yes, and I can save you money on portapotties! My husband and I are King and Queen of the plastic throne! I could talk dookie all day! And sing about it too! You can dookie in the morning, you can dookie in the night, you can dookie in the toilet, you can dookie on the floor”

Gothic Diana Ross rolls her eyes, cracks a Mona Lisa grin and puts her head down into her palms while her sisters shake their heads in unison.



Down in Nevada’s High Desert in a dry lake known as Groom, a certain captured trespasser, communal narcissist and smelly neckbeard who had abused his ex-wife is sawing a forest. In walks a tall female guard, interrupting the world’s largest source of natural gas as he dreams of feet and pool toys in his cell at Area 51’s Alternative Fuels Division.

“Hey Damien! How would you like to compete in the Area 51 talent show?”

“Yeah…no.”

“There will be prizes.”

“Food? I’m tired of eating corn…”

“Nope. But we will let you wear your fedora.”

“Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy!” Damien gets up and behind to dance around.

“Come with us. It’s on now.”

“Can I pee first?”

“As long as you keep it down. You whizz rather loudly.”

Damien drains his lizard, washes his hands for about five minutes, nearly flooding the bathroom.

“Come on dude, you’re gonna be late!”

“I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! I know! “

Damien eventually emerges from the latrine and is escorted by the guard and two others at the tightly controlled secure facility to their disco floor.



As everyone finds their seats at the amphitheater, the lights are dimmed, the lasers begin to flash and the disco ball starts to spin.

“Welcome everyone to the annual Area 51 talent show! Out first group is from Illinois! Everybody give it up for The Chickenheads and Damien Hurlbutt!” Emcee Jörg Fenslau announces.

A frown turns Damien’s beard upside down.

Ty-Fowl elbows Damien.

“All ya gotta do is dance, brother.”


The playback music booms from the PA system and the Chickenheads begin to rap “My Flows is Tight” by Lord Digga while Damien just stands there with his arms folded and frowns. Then he farts.

“Thank you guys that was…interesting.. Nice job on the butt-trumpet solo!”

A slow clap wafts from the audience as the rap group exits the stage.

“From our sister location in nearby Dulce, New Mexico, our next act really knows how to party! Everybody show some love for The Rep-Toids!”



A massive swarm of reptilian space aliens join a handful of basic greys who entertain the crowd with their precisely choreographed version of “Move Your Body” by Eiffel 65. The bass is thumping, the music is pumping, everybody gets down and boogies. Euphoria fills the air and people feel a sense of togetherness they haven’t felt in the longest time at the Area 51 Discotheque.

Emcee Jörg takes the podium.

“Thank you guys, that was super. Give up a round of applause for our competitors!”

The crowd roars.


“Judges, who did you decide?”

“Oh, the Chickenheads for sure.”

“Definitely The Chickenheafds.”

“I vote Chickenheads also.”

“Okay, it is unanimous. We have ourselves a loser! The Price is Right losing horn blasts.

Everybody wave bye bye to The Chickenheads as we crown our new security guards with a huge pay grade increase! Now get to work!”

The reptilians escort Damien with his new cellmates Doug and Tyrell to their home at Area 51, flashguns pointed at their backs the whole time, then lock them up behind bars where they belong.

“Do they serve breakfast burritos here?” Ty asks Damien who turns over in his bed and kicks his legs.

The sun is setting in Manteno.

“Hey Bernadette, would you like to go for a ride?”

“Who-wha-what-how-whatcha-where-why-wha?”

“Yeah, we’d like to talk to you about a gig.” Gothic Mary deadpans.

“A gig?”

“A really good singing gig. We know some people in Chicago.”

“Okay, let’s go!”

The Midnight Supremes drive over to the nearby riverfront and park their car. Behind them, unbeknownst to Bernadette is a rather large metal latticework structure painted orange-and-white. A basket is affixed to the top of the mast.“

“Hey, would you like to sit down and talk about the gig?”

“You’re the GOAT!”

“No, you!” The three ladies share a subtly sarcastic laugh.

“Since you’re the guest of honor, how about you climb up first?”

The 5’4” plump portapotty princess climbs up the metal ladder without hesitation and sits in the orangey lattice basket.

“Ladies, are you ready?”

“Heck yeah!”

“Okay! 1-2-3…YEET!”

Gothic Diana Ross pulls the plunger and flings Bernadette into the river, laughing her bum off along with her sisters as their annoying neighbor makes a splash for everyone at the riverfront to see and hear.

After spitting out some freshwater and dirt, the washed up Bernadette Cacca attempts to ask “so what’s this about a gig?”

“Oh, we’re excited to announce that we’re doing Lollapalooza and you’re not!”

“See ya see ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!” The three singer harmonize, bow, snap their fingers unison and then drive away.

“That yeeting station worked great!” a couple of kids giggle as their father just stands there and smirks.