Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy

Shared Dream

August 22, 2023 Season 14 Episode 14
Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy
Shared Dream
Show Notes Transcript

“Shared Dream” – Episode 107

Stranded earthling Nicki Rodriguez and her two-legged upright-walking Jack Russell-type boss “Zig” Gneeecey share dreams, literally and she believes, figuratively. 

As Nicki prepares to hit the campaign trail in the missing Gneeecey’s place, he and his fellow canine-humanoid pal “Flea” Fleaglossitty Floppinsplodge, AKA “Sooperflea,” who have turned into pieces of fruit, have a really close call aboard the Freak O’Nature Fruit freighter that picked them up. They fall asleep. Upon awakening, they find they’ve been loaded onto a truck.

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! 

https://buymeacoffee.com/Perswayssick (Please support us with a one-time gift or monthly sponsorship amount—various levels available—to help keep us coming to you via BuyMeACoffee.com! We’ll shout you out during our podcast episodes and in our show notes here, plus supply you with more fun perks!)  

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!)   

And many thanks to disproportionately cool artist Jay Hudson for our podcast logo! https://yojayhudson.com/

This Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy podcast is made possible in part by a generous grant from The Ardelle Institute, providing Executive Coaching for aspiring and established professionals who want to develop their careers, including upwardly-mobile executives, professionals who may be in between jobs and college graduates transitioning to the workforce. The Ardelle Institute helps with resumes, cover letters, LinkedIn profiles, interview skills, and effective job search strategies.  For more information, please call (201) 394-6939, that's (201) 394-6939, or visit them on the web at ardelle-institute.com, that's A-R-D-E-L-L-E dash institute dot com. Take it from me, Gneeecey!

Support the show

Vicki's related comedy/fantasy/sci-fi books, You Can't Unscramble the Omlet and The Getaway That Got Away are available at Amazon!
https://www.amazon.com/Vicki-Sola/e/B07J29RVMQ (Amazon Author Page, check out our Gneeecey/Nicki e-books and paperbacks!)

It's a one-woman show! Vicki does all the writing, character voices, and audio production!

Transcript / Shared Dream – Episode 107, written by Vicki Solá. 

All content © 2023 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] [Ship Freighter] [Horn, Boat]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Last week’s episode, “Loopy Fruity Freighter,” left canine-humanoid pals “Zig” Gneeecey and “Flea” Fleaglossitty Floppinsplodge, also known as “Sooperflea,” in quite a fix. Stranded and starving, the two had no choice but to chance eating some of the gross fruit hanging from the branches of Itchy Zit Island’s unappetizing bumpybutt trees. Immediately, Flea turned into an orange, and Gneeecey morphed into a lemon. Next, a Freak O’Nature Fruit cargo ship appeared on the horizon. A couple crew members came ashore and, fascinated by the talking, clothed fruit, tossed them into a burlap bag and brought them aboard.  

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Horn, Boat] [Ship Freighter] 

GUY 1: Here’s that orange wit’ the red cape! I’m gonna peel him!

GUY 2: An’ lemme give that lemon a little squeeze! 

G: Ow!

GUY 2: That lemon sure has a high, nerdy voice! Very annoyin’. 

GUY 1: Jus’ our luck to be workin’ on a loopy fruity freighter wit’ talkin’ fruit!

GUY 2: Yeah. Ready for a refreshin’ little drink, Bob?

GUY 1 & GUY 2 [in unison]:  Ha, ha, ha!

SFX: [Horn, Boat] [Fail Horn] [Orchestra Cliffhanger] [Magic Spell] [Horn, Boat] [Ship Freighter]

PA SYSTEM: All crew members report immediately!

GUY 2: Uh-oh, Bob, looks like we’ll hafta come back for these two!

GUY 1: Yeah—we better get up there now! C’mon—we must be gettin’ ready to dock!

SFX: [Human Footsteps x 2] [Magic Spell] [Horn, Boat] [Ship Freighter]

DIROCTOR BIZZIG “ZIG” GNEEECEY: Y’know, Flreaglossitty, I’m gettin’ sick of people sayin’ I got a high, nerdy voice!

“FLEA” FLEAGLOSSITTY FLOPPINSPLODGE, AKA “SOOPERFLEA”: Well, ya do, Zig. 

G: Due to these circkoockomstantial circkoockomstances, I’ll ignauzeate that remark. 

F: Now, looky—that was a real close one—we almost got peeled an’ squeezed!

G: Ate an’ drank, too! I stinkin’ know, Fleaglossitty—ya don’t gotta tell me obvoovious junk I awready know! I ain’t stooopid! Now, when we get home—

F: If we get home—

G: Don’t stinkin’ contraptadict me, Fleaglossitty. When we stinkin’ get home, I am gonna look into gettin’ one of them voice transplants so people take me serious.

F: Keep on dreamin’, Zig.

G: Whaaaat?

F: Nuthin’, Zig, nuthin’. Let’s jus’ be quiet an’ try not to draw no more attention to ourselves. We gotta conserve our strength. Let’s try an’ take a nap. 

G: Stinkin’ awright.

SFX: [Cartoon Snoring] [Magic Spell] [Cartoon Slow Sadness Stinger]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Meanwhile, in Perswayssick County, in Gneeecey’s mansion…

SFX: [Magic Spell]

Motion sickness soon overtook me as Gneeecey hopped, skipped, and jumped down the hallway, yelping all the way, “I neeeed da baaat’rooom!”  

Couldn’t see the room, but as the good diroctor stumbled toward it, I recalled, from my last accidental visit, the items that littered the floor. Spray cans of Atomic Blast Deodorant, still sealed in shrink wrap, rolled all over the dingy gray tiles. And there were the thick hardcover books like Gone with the Wind and War and Peace that sat atop a humongous, tattered Perswayssick County phone book, plus Gneeecey’s dog-eared, handwritten manuscript entitled My Unauthorized Autobiography, and various laxative products.   

“Stinkin’ uh-oh, them Health Cigars must finally be workin’!”  

SFX: [Boing] [Duck Horn] “Stinkin’ ow! I bang my dopey nose on that wall every lousy mornin’!” 

I flopped downward as Gneeecey lunged in the direction of what was probably his Electronic Water Cyclone 3000, a high-tech commode that featured a razzle-dazzle of flashing, colored lights on its tank. The contraption boasted three thousand cyclones per flush. 

“Sorry, Ig, but when nature calls, there ain’t no voicemail!” 

Ugh. I groaned. 

“Jus’ stick your fingers in your ears an’ hold your nose, Ig. I’ll be done priddy quick. Unless I start readin’ somethin’ interesticatin’.” 

I decided I’d need at least three hands.

 “Let’s begin my stinkin’ bat’room readin’ where I left off yesterday, wit’ the letter D in my dictionary which coinkidinkally also begins wit’ the letter D,” declared Gneeecey. “Says it’s the fourth letter of the alphoophabet…next, it lists deuterium, which is a chemickookal…oops, I’m done! Done starts wit’ a D, too! Time to flush—flush starts wit’ a F! Hold on, Ig, for your life!” 

I imagined my matchstick-sized self, swirling helplessly in a tumultuous three-thousand

cyclone whirlpool. Clutching the light blue polyester fabric of Gneeecey’s T-shirt pocket, I held my breath (for several reasons) and braced myself for the worst. 

SFX: FLUSH HANDLE 

Gneeecey flushed. Not much happened. I blinked.   

SFX: [Flush Handle] “Hey, wait! What the—somethin’ ain’t right here! This ain’t never supposed to hapoopen!”  

“My Electronic Water Cyclone 3000 ain’t stinkin’ flushin’!” 

He was right. It was stinkin’, and it wasn’t flushing. 

“This igstremely igspensive high-tech terlit ain’t never supposed to not work. Came wit’ a ten-year quarantine!” 

SFX: [Cell Phone Ring]

 Gneeecey whipped his phone out of his pocket, causing me to fly in fifty different directions. “Yeah, smello, who’s this? An’ whaddaya stinkin’ want so stinkin’ early in the stinkin’ mornin’?”  

SFX: [Scary Ambiance] 

“Heya doc, it’s me, jus’, y’know, checkin’ up on ya. Haah, haah.” 

I recognized the voice—it was none other than Redheaded Broken-nose Mark, one of the nasty alien Markmen that always seemed to be calling and visiting Gneeecey. 

“M-M-Mark,” stammered Gneeecey, “caaan’t really talk now, I’m dealin’ wit’ some real serious probooblems!” 

“If ya don’t come through for us, you’re gonna find out what real serious problems are! Haah, haah, haah! Have a nice day! Guhbye! Haah, haah!” 

I could hear Gneeecey’s heart beating fast and could feel him trembling. I leaped out of the way when he dropped his phone back into his pocket. 

“Oh, say, old chap,” began an all too familiar voice, “do you habitually keep the door to your water closet open while it is in use?” 

I froze. It was Ebegneeezer Gesundheit Eeeeceygnay, Gneeecey’s evil, much more sophisticated double from the parallel universe we’d recently escaped from. Ebegneeezer had accidentally transferred himself, along with Gneeecey and me, back to the dimension of Perswayssick County, from his own Planet HyenaZitania. I’d totally forgotten he was still with us in the four-story mansion. 

Gneeecey cleared his throat. “Ahem. You’re in my lousy house now, an’ I’ll use my terlit wit’ the door open if I stinkin’ want. Didn’t have no time to close it, anyways. An’ it ain’t no closet. Ya see any dopey clothes hangin’ up in here? Haaah? An’ would I hang ’em up in water? Sheeesh! An’ I stinkin’ forgot yooou were here in my house! I’ll stinkin’ use my terlit whatever way I want!” 

Ebegneeezer’s left eyeball emitted a brilliant light, one that nearly blinded me, even through the weave of Gneeecey’s shirt pocket. Squeezing my lids shut, I recalled how that purple blaze intensified whenever he became angry. 

“It would appear that your pricey loo is malfunctioning.” 

“No poop, Sherlock. Whaddaya think, I was born tomorrow? Guess I’ll hafta call tech support.” With that, Gneeecey yanked his phone out of his pocket again, up past my recoiling body. “Sorry, Ig,” he mumbled as if my very existence were a mere afterthought. 

“Are you actually conversing with someone inside your clothing, you daft fool?” inquired Ebegneeezer.  

“Yeah. Yesterday the poor Ig shrunk from her stupid dimension burn an’ so, nice guy that I am, I’m keepin’ her safe in here.” He smacked his pocket and sent me flying down to the bottom, near that perilous open seam. Spaces between stitches appeared miles wider than they had the night before. I had grown even smaller. 

Ebegneeezer chuckled. “Rather intriguing. We shall see how long you manage to keep her safe.” 

Chills ran down my little spine.

 “Hafta put this call on speakerphone,” said Gneeecey, apparently not hearing his lookalike.  

SFX: [Dialing Phone] 

A soothing prerecorded female voice greeted us. “You’ve reached Supersonic Latrines, Incorporated. When yours won’t flush, we blush.” 

“You’re gonna be all stinkin’ red today,” warned Gneeecey. 

“Please listen carefully—our options have changed. For sales, press one. For installations, press two. For billing, press three. For our speed-of-light tech support, press four….” 

“Stinkin’ four!” Gneeecey smashed his furry finger down. SFX: [Phone Tone] 

“Hi there, my name is Adam,” answered a pleasant, techy-sounding young man. “We thank you for using our Supersonic Latrines.” 

“Well, Atom or Molecule, whatever yer lousy name is, I jus’ stinkin’ used my Electronic Water Cyclone 3000, but it ain’t flushin’ propooperly! That ain’t never supposed to never hapoopen! This very igspensive sophistiphoosticated smart terlit came wit’ a  ten year quarantine that nuthin’ll never go wrong!” 

“Sir, we do apologize. Could you kindly supply us with your Electronic Water Cyclone 3000’s service tag?”  

“Service tag?” 

“You’ll find it underneath the lid, sir, a combination of nine numbers and letters.” 

“Hold on, gotta get up an’ stinkin’ lift the lousy lid, then.” Gneeecey sprang forward,

blasting me up to the top of his pocket. I clung onto its hem with all my might as the titanium toilet seat crashed up against the stainless-steel tank, causing my ears to ring.  

SFX: [Bang] 

“Have you managed to locate the service tag, sir?” 

“Yeah,” grunted Gneeecey. “2POO4EVER.”

“Let me input that…number two, letters P-O-O, number four, letters E-V-E-R…we do apologize, sir, our system is a bit slow today…ah…oh my, are we actually speaking with the one and only Diroctor B.Z.Z. Gneeecey… leader of our fair land?” 

“Yeah, that would stinkin’ be me. The one an’ only Grate One. Great Gizzygalumpaggis of this here Perswayssick County, also Quality of Life Commissioner an’ owner of Gneeezles Restaurant, plus CEO an’ owner of the GAS Broadcastin’ Network.” 

“Sit tight, sir. We shall resolve your issue promptly today.” 

“Ya better stinkin’ fix it prompooptly today. Next week, I gotta prep for a lousy colonoscopy.”

Groaning at the thought, I hoped and prayed I’d somehow have returned to my normal size by then. 

“So, ya gotta fix this quick!” 

“Noted, sir,” replied Adam. “Now, could you kindly confirm your address and telephone number for us, please?” 

“Yeah. Stinkin’ whatever. I live in a big mansion at Three Bimbus Crack Drive, Saint Bogelthorpe Parke, New Jersey. The New Jersey in Perswayssick County, not the one on the Ig’s stooopid Earth. An’ I’ll have ya know, I live in a igstremely igsclusive subooburb. Phone number’s 333-333-3333. I can afford all them threes!” 

I could hear Ebegneeezer chuckling in the background. 

“What’choo stinkin’ laughin’ at?” demanded Gneeecey. 

“We’re not laughing at all, sir,” replied Adam. 

“Didn’t mean yooou, Atom or Molecule—whatever yer name is,” snarled Gneeecey. “Now, let’s stinkin’ get to the lousy bottom of this. An’ by the way, I live high up on a mountain, so gravoovity should help the water—an’ everythin’ else—go down.” 

“Noted, sir.” 

“Do ya think possiboobly it has somethin’ to do wit’ centrifoofigal force? Or static electricity? Perhaphoops I sat down on it too fast? Couldn’t really help that! Ya think maybe someone hacked into my terlit?” 

“Sir, we shall find out. First, we need you to punch in some digits and letters on the tank’s control panel so that we can take remote control of your toilet.” 

“Awright. Stinkin’ whatever." 

“Please press the following keys on your tank, in rapid succession,” advised Adam. “Then after they’re all beeping and flashing, sit down immediately, as fast as you possibly can. Okay, this is your input sequence: D-O-O-D-O-O-1-2-K-R-A-P. And yes, that’s ‘krap’ with a K.” 

“Okay, Atom or Molecule—whatever your name is. Doo…doo…one…two…krap wit’ a K,” repeated Gneeececy, punching in the code. SF: [Electronic Cash Register] I could just about see over the top of his pocket as the blinking buttons chirped melodically. SFX: [Cool Digital Alert Button, Intar Face 2, Electronic Button] The seat clanked as Gneeecey slammed his weight down. 

SFX: [Bang] 

“Okay. I done that an’ I’m sittin’ now. Y’know, on the terlit. Like ya said.” 

“Good, sir. We’re in now, we have control…oh my…this is a bit worse than we thought.” 

SFX: [Splash Water 1] “Oh, stinkin’ nooo…hey…somethin’ jus’ splaaashed my bimbus!” 

“So sorry, sir. Visibility down here is…uh...a bit difficult…impossible, actually…could you please twist around to your left, grab the mouse on the side of your tank, and right-click on the flush handle icon that appears on the small screen? And please, we do apologize for the inconvenience, but we must request that you remain seated until this is resolved.” 

“Incornvenience is right,” replied Gneeecey, shifting noisily on his zillion-dollar throne. 

Ebegneeezer cleared his throat. [AHEM] “I shall excuse myself for now. As you are presently indisposed, perhaps I might entertain myself by taking an informal tour of your humble abode.” 

“Oh nooo ya don’t!” shouted Gneeecey, eyes bulging. “Perhaphoops you’ll stay stinkin’ right here where I can watch ya—an’ rememboober, yooou ain’t even welcome here in my humble abdomen!” 

SFX: [Cuckoo Clock]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: Holy crap—what a dream! What time is it? How long have I been asleep? I have a speech to make today—my first campaign speech!

SFX: [Door Open]

DOCTOR ALEXANDRA C. IDNAS: Nicki! Are you alright?

N: Yes, Doctor Idnas—I just had a nightmare—that’s all—about the time Gneeecey’s high-tech toilet—y’know, his Electronic Water Cyclone 3000 broke down? It actually happened? Back when I had shrunk due to dimension burn and I was living in his T-shirt pocket!

DI: Dat vas a real nightmare, Nicki! Ingabore and I vere just about to vake you!

THERAPIST INGABORE SCRIBLIG, AKA “GRANDMA”: Yah, Nicki, vee have to get to Seemingvale Sqvare soon and make sure everyting ees set up properly for your rally today!

N: Yes, Grandma. I thank you both for sticking with me here! I did rewrite that speech of Gneeecey’s—y’know, the one where he mentions putting two pots in every garage an two garages in every pot? And giving chickens driver’s licenses? I mean, Gneeecey and I have different ideas, but I think he and I share the same dream. Y’know, of making our Perswayssick County a safe and fair place where citizens are free to follow their dreams. Let me go get a cup of coffee, and then the three of us can head out to Seemingwhale Square.

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Car Engine] [Cartoon Snoring]

G: Fleaglossitty! Fleaglossitty! Fleaglossitty! 

F: What? What? What?

G: Stinkin’ wake up! I jus’ had a really baaad dream—a stinkin’ nightmare! My beaudiful, fancy, very expensive terlit—y’know, my Electronic Water Cyclone 3000—it wasn’t flushin’ propooperly! An’ the Ig an’ my hideous, evil lookalike from Planet HyenaZitania—y’know, that Ebegneeezer Gesundheit Eeeceygnay—they were in the lousy dream! The Ig was shrunk an’ livin’ in my shirt pocket! An’ that lousy Redheaded Broken-nose Mark, y’know, one of them alien Markmen gangsters, he called! An’ I hadda call this dopey tech guy Atom or Molecule an’ he was havin’ lotsa trouble fixin’ it an’ hadda take remote control of my terlit an’ he splashed my bimbus wit’ water an’ told me I couldn’t get up till he fixed it but that lousy Ebegneeezer was gettin’ ready to go snoopin’ ’round my mansion, an’—an’ this stinkin’ really hapoopened, an’—

F: Zig! Zig!

G: Stinkin’ whaaat? 

F: Listen!

G: To whaaat, Fleaglossitty?

F: While we were asleep, the ship must’ve docked, an’ we been loaded onto some kinda vehicle—sounds like a truck!

G: Proboobably one of them Freak O’Nature Fruit trucks!

MAN: Okay, guys, let’s step on it! Ain’t got much time to get from Booolabeeezia to Perswayssick City! We’re due in Seemingwhale Square in an hour—boss says we gotta get this fruit to them vendors there. They’re havin’ some kinda special event!

SFX: [Bang] [Fail Horn] [Orchestra Cliffhanger] [Magic Spell]

We hope you enjoyed this week’s episode! We thank Marysol Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, Diane L., Brunie Cariño, Toni Aponte, and Aileen Bean for being generous supporting members through BuyMeACoffee.com

And thank you for tuning in to “Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy.” We hope you enjoyed traveling to this loopy dimension with us and that you’ll come along again! Our new episodes drop every Tuesday morning! Please make sure to tell a friend! And keep on laughing! 

Frank: It’s a Gneeecey thing! [SFX: Door Slam] ###