“Grimace Holiday Ghost” – Episode 72
Hurt and furious, Gneeecey has thrown Nicki and Sooperflea and all their belongings out into the street—right before Perswayssick County’s major, most festive holiday, Grimace, the equivalent of Christmas here on Earth.
Gneeecey had just received a third secret recording containing highly embarrassing moments captured in his home and during his therapy sessions with Doctor Idnas and Grandma, plus a private conversation he and Nicki had while imprisoned on Planet HyenaZitania. The anonymous sender is threatening to air these recordings on Gneeecey’s GAS Broadcast Network.
All evidence points to Nicki, and Gneeecey’s best friend from childhood, Sooperflea, who have been living in Gneeecey’s mansion. Nicki’s been present at all of Gneeecey’s therapy sessions, plus she has access to his GAS Broadcast Network, as she works there. Well, make that “worked” there. When Gneeecey threw her out, he also fired her from her position there and her part-time gig at his Gneeezle’s Restaurant.
Although Gneeecey is often, well, difficult, the three had considered themselves to be family. Devastated, Nicki and Flea maintain that they could never ever hurt Gneeecey. And they’re astounded that Gneeecey could accuse them of betraying him…until a certain recollection suddenly surfaces via the superhero’s ESP powers.
Emotions already running high, Nicki and Flea, and separately, Gneeecey watch a rerun of a special holiday program simulcast on GAS-TV Channel 3½, and GAS-AM and FM radio. It’s their annual Grimace event, held before a live audience at the Perswayssick Civic Auditorium….
We thank Sam Leviatin for co-producing Gneeecey and Sooperflea’s “Plight of the Goonafish” performance. And we thank Marysol Rodriguez, Sandi Solá, Sal Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, Diane L., Brunie Cariño, Toni Aponte, and Aileen Bean and Sammie for being generous supporting members via BuyMeACoffee.com! We appreciate their sponsorship and support more than words can say!
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https://www.amazon.com/Vicki-Sola/e/B07J29RVMQ (Amazon Author Page, check out our Gneeecey/Nicki e-books and paperbacks!)
https://www.nfreads.com/interview-with-author-vicki-sola/ (Interview with Vicki Solá)
https://perswayssickradio.buzzsprout.com (right here, our Buzzsprout website w/episodes & transcripts!)
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Transcript / Grimace Holiday Ghost – Episode 72, written by Vicki Solá.
All content © 2022 Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy.
Music/Intro: Hi there, I’m author and radio host Vicki Solá, welcoming you to Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy. I invite you to escape with me into the bizarre dimension of Perswayssick County, where wackiness rules! The laughs begin when I morph into my alter ego, radio DJ Nicki Rodriguez and clash with the zany, alien canine-humanoid Gneeecey! And now, I turn it over to my other self, Nicki, and the gang….
SFX: [Magic Spell] [Sad Strings]
NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: In last week’s episode, “Gobsmacked,” stranded Earthling Nicki Rodriguez and her canine-humanoid companions Sooperflea, otherwise known as “Flea” Fleaglossitty Floppinsplodge, and his pal Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey were just that—gobsmacked. A hurt, furious Gneeecey threw Nicki and Sooperflea and all of their belongings out into the street—right before Perswayssick County’s major, most festive holiday, Grimace, the equivalent of Christmas here on Earth.
Perswayssick County’s leader, Grate Gizzygalumpaggis Gneeecey, had just received a third secret recording of highly embarrassing moments captured in his home and during his therapy sessions with Doctor Idnas and Grandma, plus a private conversation he and Nicki had while imprisoned on Planet HyenaZitania. The anonymous sender is threatening to air these recordings on Gneeecey’s own GAS Broadcast Network.
All evidence points to Nicki, and Gneeecey’s best friend from childhood, Sooperflea. They’ve been living in Gneeecey’s mansion. Nicki’s been present at all of Gneeecey’s therapy sessions, plus she has access to his GAS Broadcast Network, as she works there. Well, make that “worked” there. When Gneeecey threw her out, he fired her from her position there and her part-time gig at his Gneeezle’s Restaurant.
Although Gneeecey is often, well, difficult, the three had considered themselves to be family. Devastated, Nicki and Flea maintain that they could never ever hurt Gneeecey. They’re astounded that Gneeecey could ever accuse them of betraying him…until a certain recollection suddenly surfaces via the superhero’s ESP powers.
Nicki and Flea decide to take a walk to clear their minds and try to figure things out….
SFX: [Magic Spell] [Christmas, Street]
NICKI RODRIGUEZ: Oh, Flea, I can’t believe this is happening—it’s like a nightmare!
SOOPERFLEA, AKA FLEA, AKA FLEAGLOSSITTY FLOPPINSPLODGE: Nicki, it’s not like a nightmare—it is a nightmare! A huge one! To think that my high-tech transmittin’ an’ receivin’ device, which I accidentally dropped into that big handbag of yours an’ forgot about…it discovered an’ paired up wit’ that high-tech watch I’d also given ya when ya first arrived here in Perswayssick County. An’ then that signal was hacked by whoever’s fixin’ to blackmail Zig…. Holy Saint Bogelthorpe….
N: Gneeecey was right. You and I are to blame. But not the way he thinks.
F: Yep, you an’ I are responsible for these recordings—technically—but we had no idea that anything like that was happenin’. No idea whatsoever!
N: He’ll never forgive us, even if we try to explain.
F: Which you an’ I are gonna have to get up the courage to do, Nicki.
N: Yeah, Flea. Y’know, I’m so glad you suggested that we take this walk around the city. The cold, fresh air is doing me good.
F: Perswayssick City is beautiful during the holidays! Y’know, wit’ sparklin’ violet tinsel an’ glitter-sprayed dead rubber chickens hangin’ everywhere!
N: And the atmosphere—well, not the glitter-sprayed dead rubber chickens—but the music reminds me so much of Christmastime back on my planet. How I miss my planet….
F: An’ how I miss Zig, an’ all of us bein’ together, especially durin’ the holidays…. SFX: [Cartoon Character Annoyed Crying] Oh…I’m so sorry, Nicki….
N: It’s okay, Flea. I understand. I’ve always thought of myself as being a strong person, but I feel like crying myself. I even miss Gneeecey calling me “Ig.”
F: Here we are, Veggie Burger Avenue. Home. Home for the time bein’, anyways…. Back upstairs to my little efficiency apartment…. Let’s have a snack an’ watch TV….
SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Door Open]
F: Why don’t we watch that Grimace holiday rebroadcast on Zig’s GAS-TV Channel 3½?
SFX: [Metal Click]
NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Meanwhile, across town, on Edgar Vompt Boulevard, near Gneeecey’s GAS BROADCAST NETWORK headquarters….
SFX: [Magic Spell] [Christmas, Street]
DIROCTOR BIZZIG “ZIG” GNEEECEY: Thanks for droppin’ me off, Altitude. I’ll walk the rest of the way. I need to clear my dopey mind. My buildin’ is jus’ a couple of blocks away.
ALTITUDE THE DELIVERY MOUSE: Sure thing, boss.
G: An’ mouse, don’t forget to deliver them stinkin’ expired jackass meat sandwiches to the hospital, y’know, for the holidays. I’m writin’ ’em all off. Y’know, as a charity donation.
A: Okay, boss. Whatever….
SFX: [Car Engine]
G: Maybe this all ain’t even hapoopenin’ to me. Maybe it’s all a figment of that jackass meat sandwich I had for lunch…. Nah, it’s really real. I still can’t believe the two stinkin’ people closest to me—Fleaglossitty an’ the lousy Ig—they’ve turned on me! Teamed up against me! Betrayed me! An’ all for mon-ney! After all I’ve done to them! An’ now I got trouble at home, too. Forgot to throw some of the Ig’s junk out into the street, so I tried to flush it all down my Electronic Water Cyclone 3000. Now it’s clogged…. Tech guy can’t come fix it till next week ’cause of the Grimace holidays. I ain’t doin’ such a bad job fixin’ this here Perswayssick City up, after all them ten-foot-tall monster kanga-dyno-roos I invented by mistake busted up the place. This lousy city looks priddy stinkin’ good, bustlin’ an' decked out for Grimace. Ah, here I aaam, My GAS Broadcast executive offices an’ studios.
SFX: [Door Open] [Sneakers Squeaking]
MAN: Merry Grimace, Diroctor Gneeecey.
G: Yeah. Stinkin’ whatever. Same to you. Humbuggarooney!
MAN: Would you care to make a small donation to our Perswayssick Charities to help the less fortunate during these holidays? Every little bit helps!
G: Ain’t there no prisons? Ain’t there no workhice?
MAN: Workhice, Sir?
G: Y’know, ya dope. Plural of workhouse. Now, be off wit’cha! No solicitratin’ allowed on my propooperty, which is this whole lousy buildin’! Git!
SFX: [Elevator Chime]
G: What a pain in the bimbus!
FEMALE ROBOTIC VOICE: Two-hundred-fiftieth floor.
SFX: [Elevator Chime] [Sneakers Squeaking] [Door Open]
G: Well, here I aaam. My stinkin’ office. Alone for Grimace…. Got here jus’ in time. Been holdin’ it in. Gotta use my private bat’room here since my terlit at home is busted. Might even stay here a few days instead of goin’ home….
SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Door Slam] [Flushing Toilet] [Door Open] [Sneakers Squeaking]
G: Think I’ll watch a little TV. We’re rerunnin’ last year’s broadcast of our Grimace special. ’Cause of all the baaad guys an’ them ten-foot-tall monster kanga-dyno-roos I invented by mistake, an’ all the destruction, we weren’t able to do a new event this year. SFX: [Metal Click] Oh, look, there’s that lousy Ig!
N: Hey there, Nicki Rodriguez here! Today, we’re pleased to bring you a special edition of “Catchin’ Up Wit’ My Tail,” featuring a holiday event taking place at the Perswayssick Civic Auditorium. I’m actually assisting with simulcasting this segment for my employer Gneeecey’s GAS-TV Channel 3½ and GAS-AM and GAS-FM.
On my planet Earth, many of us celebrate Christmas. Well, on Gneeecey’s Planet Eccchs, and in his Perswayssick County, their big holiday is called Grimace.
SFX: [Vivaldi Spring Logo]
AUTUMN RAINES: Good evening, everyone! I’m GAS producer Autumn Raines, welcoming you to a special holiday edition of our GAS Broadcast Network’s public affairs program, “Catchin’ Up Wit’ My Tail.” It’s our absolute pleasure to present this annual holiday event here, at the iconic Perswayssick Civic Auditorium, in front of you, our wonderful, distinguished live audience.
AR: It gives me great pleasure now to present to you someone who wears many propeller beanie hats around here—our Perswayssick County’s Grate Gizzygalumpaggis, who is also our county’s Quality of Life Commissioner, and CEO and owner of our GAS Broadcast Network, plus owner of that oh, so yummy, Gneeezle’s Restaurant! I present to you, Diroctor Bizzig Gneeecey!
GNEEECEY: Thanks, everyone. Thanks, Autumn. Ya forgot to mention that I’m a zillionaire, too. Now, I jus’ decided a coupla minutes ago, when I was backstage, drinkin’ a gigaaantical mug of spiced, fermented Slog wit’ extra pulp, that we’d call this year’s event “Musical Trilogy.” What could be more fittin’ than music for this beaudiful holiday where we hang violet tinsel an’ glitter-sprayed dead rubber chickens all over the place, an’ we give each other purple rubber wallets? To get us in the holiday mood, I’ll now play a very priddy medley of holiday selections on my concert kazoo. An’ it’s worth notin’ that Earth stole some of these songs from us!
SFX: [Kazoo: Deck the Halls, Jingle Bells, Good King Wenceslas]
G: Thank you, thank you. Now, today we will have three readings, all ’bout music. The first one is called “The Piano.” It’s about me, when I was a kid, back on our Planet Eccchs, before we got straaanded in this dimension of Perswayssick County. Some people suggesticate that this story don’t show me in a flatterin’ light, makes me look baaad, but I think it shows what a smart, resourceful kid I was! It’ll really get us in that holiday spirit! We got a special guest, a real Iggleheimer, here to read this story to us, her dopey name is Vicki Solá. Break a leg, ya lousy Ig.
VICKI SOLÁ: Uh, thanks…I think. Now, I’ll be reading this story entitled “The Piano,” and doing character voices of our Doctor Bizzig Gneeecey, who just introduced me, and his dad, Froop Gneeecey—
G: That’s stinkin’ Diroctor Bizzig Gneeecey—I’m a doctor an’ director of this here lousy Perswayssick County!
VS: Um, okay, stinkin’ Diroctor—um, Diroctor Bizzig Gneeecey. I will now read “The Piano.”
Froop Gneeecey cut a forlorn figure, slumped over the gleaming, spanking-brand-new Steinschlurgnettzler baby grand that took up two-thirds of his family’s spacious living room.
He lifted his head, cleared his throat, and fixed his eyes on his twelve-year-old son.
“Well, geeeez Dad, don’t take it so hard," shrilled Bizzig Gneeecey, twirling the plastic propeller atop his orange-and-purple plaid beanie cap. “I’m gonna play the voaline instead—it’s easier!"
The father peered into his son’s merciless black eyes. “You mean violin?”
“Yeah. Voaline. Changed my mind—last night! Decided I don’t wanna play no instrument wit’ eighty-eight keys that’cha gotta sit to play!”
Froop gazed at the kelly green drapes. They seemed to mock him.
“The great thing ’bout a voaline,” continued young Bizzig, “is that it only has four strings—how stinkin’ hard can that be to learn? An’ ya get to stand! Ya can, y’know, play ball and do all kinds of other spiffy stuff, ’cause yer staaandin’—not sittin’ like a dork! Plus, ya can even use the stinkin’ bow for sword fightin’!”
Froop’s arthritic white fur hands smoothed the piano bench’s royal blue velvet seat. He sighed. The sale had been final. “Son, I wish you’d reconsider.”
“Ain’t a guy allowed to change his mind?”
“Well, you know, for one thing, I practically mortgaged all three of my orgnock factories, plus my export business, in order to buy you this piano—the exact model you just had to have.” (Froop was Yukkenstadt’s and the entire Bozovian region’s largest producer and exporter of the fancy Cronese latrines, designed for use on Planet Eccchs’s vacation-land moon, Cronon.)
“Well, Dad, I’ve worked hard for garbage too!”
Froop jammed his empty wallet into his back pocket, then stared down at the lumpy, bronze fracas wood coffee table. A strange three-headed blue bug stared back.
“See this beaudiful propeller hat?” The boy pointed to his oversized white-and-black head.
“Cost me five whole zork! Hadda get up early for thirteen whole months—that’s a year on this dumb Planet Eccchs—to deliver the Daily Prognosticator before school every lousy mornin’—an’ I hadda get up even earlier on Snatturdays and Somedays, ’cause the stinkin’ newspaper was so heavy! Those comics weighed a ton!”
Lost for words, Froop just grunted.
Bizzig’s grimy palm squeaked against the side of the ivory piano as he smacked it. “Don’t worry,
Dad, we can always use it to keep stuff in! Lots’ll fit under that gigaaantical lid! Look at how nice it closes! SFX: [Piano Smash Lid] Don’t worry, I’ll help ya find some junk to put in it—I’ll go look in the basement right now!” The youngster skipped into the kitchen on long, red high-top sneakered feet.
Jaw muscles twitching, Froop rose.
“Or, y’know, Dad,” Bizzig shouted over his shoulder, “maybe we could trade it in for a really ’spensive voaline—y’know, maybe this real neat Stradivopoulous I seen advertised?”
SFX: [Cartoon 1]
I hope you enjoyed listening, and I wish you all a…uh…Merry Grimace.
G: Thanks, ya Ig. I think that story made me look real smart, like the future business maggot I was destined to become! An’ now, my nervologist, Doctor Idnas, will fill us in on the life an’ times of our Planet Eccch’s legendary composer, Zirbert Shriekensobb. SFX: [Belch] ’Scuze me. Heh hah, heh haah.
DR. IDNAS: Uh, tank you, Diroctor Gneeecey. And, yes, Diroctor, I am your neurologist. I vill now tell you all about our Planet Eccchs’s most beloved, iconic composer, Zirbert Shriekensobb.
Zirbert Shriekensobb vas Planet Eccchs’s most innovative composer. Born in 17083x, in Yuckenstadt’s Bozovian region, to a shoelace-weaving mother and duck-herding father, Shriekensobb’s vurks are still played passionately, more than five boingtangs after his death. (Dat’s about five Earth centuries.)
As a youngster, Zirbert vould climb up upon a stool and hum dissonant melodies—even chords, single-throatedly—as he vatched his peasant parents knit and knat. Dey vere too poor to pay for musical studies and unable to fully appreciate his revolutionary harmonies. In desperation, dey often sent him up a tree to schlock grongoids.
It vas up in a tall fracas tree vun afternoon after school dat the precocious Zirbert fashioned his first violin. Vhile schlocking a particularly ripe grongoid, he realized that its usually discarded fuzzy brown shell could be attached to branches and other vegetative matter to create a violin. Crude as it might have been, dee instrument produced sounds dat could shatter strong teeth, and very often did.
And so, a great career began, vun dat vould forever change dee course of classical Eccchsian music.
Vun fateful morning, the treadbare-but-vell-laced Shriekensobbs hitched der vagon to a flock of der most robust ducks and headed into town to sell scloggs and laces.
Igor and Gerda cringed dee whole trip through as Zirbert, sitting in the back vit dee live mollusks, played song after song on his fiddle. SFX: [Violin]
Entranced by dee boy’s improvisations, dee Shriekensobbs’ quacking team of mallards vobbled down dee dirt road, der beaks clattering rhythmically as der rubbery vebbed feet kicked up clouds of dust.
To make a long story short, vonce in town, Zirbert skipped through dee town rectangle, violin screeching. He qvite literally caught dee ear of Babbel Rabbelsnaff—a bearded hulk of a man—a professor of advanced musicology at dee esteemed Ivory Tower, dee preeminent musical university of dee day.
Disengaging young Zirbert’s rindom stalk bow from his earlobe, he boomed, “Whoa, stop and desist! Whooo be yooou? Yooou are very talented indeed! Although your shoelaces are pristine and your breath smelleth of sclogg, dee rest of you looketh very poor! I’ll give you a scholarship!”
Zirbert’s teary-eyed parents reluctantly agreed to let him go with the crusty-but-charismatic Rabbelsnaff, knowing dat he could provide their son vit vhat they could not—a future of some sort.
Night after night, valm after valm, Zirbert’s avant-garde compositions echoed through dee sqvare Ivory Tower’s circular corridors, ricocheting into fellow students’ eyeballs.
Dee Royal Sneff and his vell-vimpled vife, the Sneffess Zveebdallynn, had been so moved by all of dis dat dey presented Zirbert vit an electric violin—a coveted vhite Stradivopoulos.
Dee amplifications vere ramificating. Zirbert, already a young man, locked himself in a room at dee top of dee tower. Daytime usually found him napping, but he vurked tirelessly through most evenings, practicing, composing, and preventing others from sleeping. The nocturnal genius only demanded four tings each day: writing implements, a barrel of slog, a large, man-sized steaming bowl of rupum, and dat his urkvinpott be emptied every morning.
Dee day dat Zirbert Shriekensobb emerged from his self-inflicted but productive confinement remains legend.
Crossed eyeballs bulging, he burst through his door, qvite literally, sporting little else but his former trousers, vhich had evolved into ragged shorts, as dee clothing of a nine-year-old had ripped and torn artfully to accommodate his lanky six-foot-plus frame. His matted hair— peppered vit vooden splinters—stuck out straight, like a frightened pheasant’s feathers.
Through a dense forest of facial hair, Zirbert proclaimed in a radder high voice, “I’ve written fifty-nine symphonies and invented dee Z chord!”
He held his first homemade violin high over his head in triumph.
Dee rest is history.
DI: Tank you, tank you. Merry Grimace, everyvun!
G: Thanks, Doctor Idnas. Maybe in return, I don’t gotta pay for my next appointment wit’ ya.
Now, I jus’ hapoopen to have my voaline in my haaand here, so me an’ my pal an’ pianist Sooperflea can treat you to a saaample of Zirbert Shriekensobb’s compooposition, “Plight of the Goonafish,” all ’bout them blue, two-tailed luminous fish wit’ no unsightly heads. Okay, Soooperflea, an’ a one an’ a two an’ a three an’ a four, an’ a five an’ a half!
SFX: [Voaline and Piano]
G: Thanks, thanks! Our CD is for sale out in the lobby when youse leave. A perfect Grimace gift to go along wit’ them purple rubber wallets yer buyin’ for everyone on yer list! Only twenny bucks!
AR: And now, we welcome our guest reader Vicki Solá back to the stage to entertain us with another musical story.
VS: Thank you, Ms. Raines. In addition to being an author, I’ve worked in the broadcast and music industries for many years. Throughout, I’ve done my best to support local musicians, and all too often, I’ve witnessed their struggles. This is the story of Tab “Scats” O’Phone.
SFX: [Saxophone 1, Saxophone 2]
One moonlit summer evening, as famed composer Zirbert Shriekensobb’s great-great-great-grandson, pianist Stretch Shriekensobb chugged down the street in his very noisy ’75 Blimmbutt sedan, he was startled by the sight of a large, fuzzy form flying back and forth over a fence, adjacent to an alley.
Although he was scared of the dark, Stretch decided to stop and investigate.
To his astonishment, the unidentified flying object was not extraterrestrial or military, or even some poor victim’s oversized two-ton fur coat being tossed about by thieves who had mistaken a wooden fence for a receiver of stolen goods.
Why, it was an extremely overgrown feline, trying to riff with some cool and very much smaller cats. It was none other than Tab “Scats” O’Phone, voted “most likely to be voted most
likely,” and he was taking running leaps, attempting to perfect his latest technique, called “Hiss and Miss.”
The poor cat explained that, due to his height, he’d outgrown his soprano saxophone at an early age and now had to take these flying leaps in order to reach the mouthpiece on the gigantic baritone sax he’d mistakenly bought.
Being eight-foot-five, Stretch certainly understood. “That’s why I play piano,” he explained. “I picked it ’cause I could adjust the distance of the seat from the instrument. In music, bein’ tall is rough.”
Tab nodded. “Sure is.”
“But,” continued Stretch, “your problem’s easier to solve. Your horn’s way too big! Instead of havin’ to use a seat or a ladder, jus’ trade in your baritone sax for an alto. It’ll fit you perfectly, and you won’t have to go spend money in furniture stores or jump!”
To make a short story even shorter, Stretch took Tab shopping in his backfiring Blimmbutt and got Tab the right size saxophone. They became fast-if not-noisy friends and made a CD together.
The two only had to find a record company to sign with, radio stations to go on, and clubs to gig in. And people to pay them.
And that was a little easier, compared to running and jumping and missing the mouthpiece all the time, but very similar to hitting one’s head on brick walls after flying over wooden fences in alleys.
SFX: [Saxophone 1, Saxophone 2]
SFX: [Applause]G: Now, my therapoopist Ingabore Scriblig, otherwise known as Graaandma, couldn’t be wit’ us today. She’s gone to Booolabeeezia for the holidays. But, I got this here high-tech talkin’ postcard from her. I brung it to share wit’ youse. I’ll press the button here an’ play it for youse.
SFX: [Electronic Button] Veather is here, vish you vere beautiful. Best vishes, Ingabore.
G: An’ now, I will end our lovely holiday event by playin’ another piece for youse on my voaline!
SFX: [Sawing Wood] [Cartoon Violin String]
AR: Oh dear, Autumn Raines here again. I—I’ve seen him do this before! Diroctor—Diroctor Gneeecey! You’ve picked up a workman’s saw off the stage—again—instead of your moose—your moose hair bow —why, you’re sawing your violin in half instead of playing it!
G: Not now—can’cha stinkin’ see I’m playin’? SFX: [Boing] [Duck Horn] Now looky what’cha did! Ya made me fall on my bimbus! Merry Grimace!
SFX: [Audience Laughing] [Fail Horn]
SFX: [Vivaldi Spring Logo] [Metal Click]
G: Y’know, that Sam Leviatin was priddy good, co-producing our “Plight of the Goonafish” music. But that Vicki Sola, there’s somethin’ ’bout her that bothers me…. I aaam so stinkin’ saaaad. Poor little meee. I aaam absitively posilutely gobsmacked! What am I gonna dooo? Even if Fleaglossitty an’ the lousy Ig didn’t do what they did on purpoopose, I still don’t think I could never ever forgive them! Nebberd-kinnezzard, like we say back on my Planet Eccchs! Why am I always so unhapoopy?
SFX: [Cartoon Annoyed Character Crying] [Sad Strings] [Closing]
G: Yaaaaaaa! Holy Saint Bogelthorpe! Is that a stinkin’ ghost I see lookin’ at me?
GHOST: Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha! I am indeed a ghost, and if I am stinking, it is merely because I am a reflection of who you are! Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
SFX: [Cartoon Slip] [Slip and Fall] [Duck Horn]
G: Ow! Ya jus’ made me fall on my lousy bimbus! You ain’t real! You’re just a figment of that expired jackass meat sandwich I had for lunch! You ain’t real!
GHOST: Oh, but I am! I am the ghost of your own behavior!
G: Oh, stinkin’ nooooo!
GHOST: Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha! Merry Grimace! To be continued!