“Championship Football Game (First Down on Nicki’s Face),” Episode 6
Licensed therapist Ingabore Scriblig, AKA, “Grandma,” phones Nicki to ask her to make sure Gneeecey arrives at his session on time later that afternoon.
This particular morning that Nicki recalls, she feels a bit queasy as she and Gneeecey travel to work at his GAS Broadcast Network in Gneeecey’s thirty-two-door white, fully articulated, really stretched limo. Their driver is Culvert, a six-foot-tall albino duck dressed tastefully in tweed.
Culvert double-parks on one of Perswayssick City’s main drags, Murgatroyd Avenue, so that Gneeecey can do a couple errands on his way to his office and studios on Edgar Vompt Boulevard. Nicki and Gneeecey step out of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk.
Gneeecey’s cellphone rings. It’s one of the evil alien Markmen—Redheaded Broken-nose Mark. The gruff gangster informs Gneeecey that he wants to place a bet on a football game—he likes the red team. Gneeecey replies, “Sure thing, Mark.”
Despite the blinding sunshine, most of the bustling, briefcase-toting pedestrians are holding giant black umbrellas over their heads. Guess they all heard Gneeecey’s stupid pre-recorded weather report saying it was pouring—raining cats and dogs—on WGAS radio that morning. Evidently, none of ’em had the good sense to look up into the bright blue skies.
Gneeecey is on his way to pick up his repaired-but-not-cleaned lucky socks at Gus’s Sock Repair Shop. When Nicki steps forward, a tiny football bounces off the bridge of her nose and hurtles straight into her left eye, point first. Nicki stands there on the sidewalk, in pain and stunned.
A crowd gathers around her, including many kids on their way to school. They start chanting, “Dee-fense! Dee-fense!” Referee whistles blow.
Gneeecey warns Nicki that she must stand perfectly still and allow the birds scrimmaging on her face to continue play. “It’s stinkin’ chaaampionship mini-sparrow football,” shrills Gneeecey. “Ya gotta stand still till they complete play!” He adds, “If ya move, ya can get fined for interference—”
As Nicki protests, Gneeecey warns, “County ordinance BS 396.3—which I wrote my stinkin’ self—clearly states that birds may use people as goalposts an’ playin’ surfaces, wit’in city confines as they determine fit, durin’ all post-season play—play-offs an’ championships.” He then threatens to make a “snitizen’s arrest” if she does not comply.
The red team makes a first down, then with their white-uniformed rivals fly up into the skies, presumably to continue play on someone else’s nose.
Gneeecey tells Nicki that she’s lucky—sometimes the fine-feathered footballers poop on you.
The two arrive late, (Gneeecey’s fault, as usual), to Grandma’s office. And as usual, Gneeecey benefits little from his session. Grandma remarks that he’s succeeded in “turning the Golden Rule green” when he states that he has learned, “Do unto others what’cha don’t want ’em to do to you!”
Vicki, Nicki, Frank, Gneeecey, and Grandma want to thank Marysol Cerdeira Rodriguez, Sandi Solá, Sal Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, and Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera for being generous supporting members via BuyMeACoffee.com! We appreciate their sponsorship 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!)
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Transcript / “Championship Football Game (First Down on Nicki’s Face),” Episode 6,
written by Vicki Solá.
All content © 2021 Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy.
Music/Intro: Hi there, I’m author and radio host Vicki Sola, 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….
SFX: [Magic Spell]
Hey there, Nicki Rodriguez here, thanking you for tuning in today. Vicki and I want to thank Marysol Cerdeira Rodriguez, Sal Sola, Sandi Sola, Marcellina Ramirez, and Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera for being generous supporting members via BuyMeACoffee.com! We appreciate your sponsorship of “Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy” so very much!
Now, I’ve spent a whole lot of time trapped in the wacko, unearthly dimension of Perswayssick County, having to live with and work for its equally wacky canine-humanoid control-freak leader, the walking and talking Jack Russell dog-lookalike Gneeecey—
SFX: [Cell Phone Ring]
IS: Hello, hello, how doodle you do? Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha!
N: Ah, Ingabore Scriblig, Gneeecey’s therapist, who prefers to be called Grandma! I take Gneeecey for a session with her at the end of every episode—by then, he really needs someone to talk to—and so do I! Grandma, how are you?
IS: I’m doodling wery vell! I just vant to see if Gneeecey can arrive on time dis afternoon. I hawe to get back to my meatball shop right avay, after dee appointment!
N: I certainly understand, Grandma. I can imagine that running Ingabore’s Veggie Meatball Express and being a licensed therapist makes for some very long days. I’ll do my best to make sure that he’s on time this afternoon.
IS: Alrightsky den, tank you, Nicki, wery much! Bye-bye!
N: Goodbye, Grandma, see you later. Okay, where was I now, before the phone rang…oh yeah, another memory has surfaced…I think it’s because when I looked in the mirror this morning, I spotted a couple of tiny scars right above my nose….
SFX: [Magic Spell]
This particular morning, we were on our way to work at Gneeecey’s GAS Broadcast Network on Edgar Vompt Boulevard, in Perswayssick City, running errands on our way. I felt really sick as Gneeecey and I sat in his surreal thirty-two-door white limousine—that is, thirty-two doors on each side! The vehicle slithered around corners like a sneaky snake. It was driven by a six-foot-tall albino duck named Culvert, dressed tastefully in tweed…
Yep, this limo’s stuffy passenger compartment could’ve turned the strongest stomach. I rolled my window down and gulped in some cool air. Sunlight ricocheted off other vehicles and anything else remotely reflective, imprinting my retinas with brilliant spots and curved lines. They didn’t even disappear even when I squeezed my eyelids shut.
When the long light at Pheasantbelly Road turned green, street crossers scrambled for their lives as we sped onto Murgatroyd Avenue, one of Perswayssick City’s main drags
Culvert screeched to a halt.
SFX: [Screeching brakes]
By the time he had double-parked alongside several dozen cars and trucks, I felt like I’d already slogged through a whole workday.
I stumbled out of the limo and onto the sidewalk.
“C’mon, Ig—gotta see Gus!” shouted Gneeecey.
“Will you freakin’ stop calling me Ig?” I yelled back at the walking, talking white-and-black dog. “My name’s Nicki! Nicki Rodriguez!”
SFX: [Cell Phone Ring]
SFX: [Scary Ambience]
“It’s me, hah, hah, hah.”
I reached into my purse and popped another StomQuell antacid tablet to ease my already queasy stomach. I recognized the voice at the other end—it was Redheaded Broken-nose Mark, one of the creepy evil alien gangster Markmen that always seemed to be calling Gneeecey and dropping in on him unexpectedly—at the strangest times.
“Heya, Mark, what can I, uh, dooo for ya? I’m on my way into the sock repair shop—told Gus to jus’ fix my lucky socks, not clean ’em—”
“I wanna place my usual bet on da football game—da red team! See ya later, doc! Hah, hah, hah.”
“Okay, sure thing, Mark. Guh-bye! Now c’mon, ya Ig, we’re gonna be stinkin’ late! Gotta get my stinkin’ lucky socks or we’ll all have baaad luck today—even yooou, ya Ig!”
I groaned. “Ig” was a derogatory term, short for “Iggleheimer.” Gneeecey was referring to his Planet Eccchs’s legendary clumsy and dopey three-legged troglodytes.
Gneeecey shoved me into a sea of bustling, briefcase-toting pedestrians. Despite the blinding sunshine, most of ’em held these giant black umbrellas over their heads. Guess they’d all heard Gneeecey’s stupid pre-recorded weather report, saying it was pouring—raining cats and dogs—on WGAS radio that morning. Evidently, none of ’em had the good sense to look up into the bright blue skies.
As I stepped forward, a tiny football bounced off the bridge of my nose and hurtled straight into my left eye, point first. My hand shot up to shield my injury.
SFX: [Football Referee Whistle]
“Ya lousy Ig!” Gneeecey dug his sharp fingers into my arm.
Through stinging tears, I saw only a blurry flurry of flapping wings. A sharp beak stabbed my cheek.
A growing crowd, including kids on their way to school, circled ’round me and began to chant:
SFX: [Kids Chanting “Defense”]
“It’s stinkin’ chaaampionship mini-sparrow football,” shrilled Gneeecey. “Ya gotta stand still till they complete play!”
“If ya move, ya can get fined for interference—”
I stood up straighter. “Huh?”
Gneeecey’s bulgy eyes rolled upward. “County ordinance BS 396.3—which I wrote my stinkin’ self— clearly states that birds may use people as goalposts an’ playin’ surfaces, wit’in city confines as they determine fit, durin’ all post-season play—play-offs an’ championships.”
“I—I don’t understand—”
“Nuthin’ to understaaand, ya Ig.”
“They were proboobably attracted to your stooopid purplish dimension-burned skin, Ig. Jus’ stinkin’ stand still— let ’em finish. I don’t wanna hafta make a snitizen’s arrest today. Got too much else lousy stuff to do!”
I stood cross-eyed as the diminutive descendants of dinosaurs—sparrows the size of overgrown bumblebees—executed a flea-flicker pass across my face. Their itty-bitty, needle-sharp cleats scratched and pinched my already tender, dimension-burned skin.
A few more jabs, penalties, tackles, huddles, and feathers poking me, and it was over—my part, anyway. The team wearing little fire-engine-red helmets and jerseys made a first down and then, along with their white-uniformed rivals, took off into the skies to play somewhere else, on someone else’s nose, no doubt.
“You’re stinkin’ lucky, Ig,” said Gneeecey, surveying my scraped-up, tear-stained countenance. “Sometimes they poop on ya!”
SFX: [Fail horn]
Yep, that sure was quite a morning. And the rest of the day wasn’t much better…Annnyway, we did end up arriving late, as usual, to Gneeecey’s session with Grandma—Gneeecey seems incapable of ever being on time anywhere. Here’s how our session went.
SFX: [Magic Spell]
IS: Bad afternoon, Nicki and Gneeecey.
N: Bad afternoon, Grandma.
G: Baaad afternooon, Graaandma. An’ how many times do I gotta remindicate yooou an’ evoovveryone else to call me Diroctor Gneeecey—I’m a doctor an’ director of this here dopey Perswayssick County! I’m stinkin’ Grate Gizzygalumpaggis—but I shorten it to Grate Gizzy, y’know, to conservate vowels an’ consonants—outta the goodness of my lousy heart!
IS: Alrightsky den, Diroctor Gneeeecey. Vell now, Diroctor Gneeecey, vee are still trying to see vhat makes you tick.
G: What aaam I—a stooopid clock?
IS: Vell, let’s remember, ewen a broken clock is not stupid. It is correct, tvice a day.
G: You sayin’ I’m a busted clock?
IS: Vell no, but I tink all your clocks must be brrroken because you cannot seem to ewer get here, or anyvhere, on time—I’m tinking dis may be passive-aggressive behavior on your part—
G: I didn’t do no passin’ or aggressive junk—it was them lousy birds, passin’ an’ playin’ aggressive all over the Ig’s face—guess ya stinkin’ heard—
IS: Yah, I vanted to discuss dat too.
G: Well, disgust away, Graaandma!
IS: Now, Diroctor Gneeecey, how do you tink Nicki felt ven dose birds vere playing football on her face and hurting her?
G: Wit’ her haaands, I guess…well, uh, no, heh, heh, in this case, wit’ her Ig face. Heh hah, heh haah, heh haaah!
N: I was feeling under attack. Scared. It was crazy—like nothing I ever experienced! A total freaking nightmare!
IS: And don’t you tink, Diroctor Gneeecey, under dee circumstances—Nicki vas pretty new to Persvayssick County—dat you could have been a little more understanding, and not so stringent in enforcing dat law? You made dis law up! And you tretened to arrest her! No harm vould have been done—dee birds most likely vould have gone and found somevone else’s face to play on.
G: Guess I was kinda rotten…
N: Thank you, Diroctor.
G: Well, that’s nice, Ig, at least you’re thankin’ me for bein’ rotten!
IS: Diroctor Gneeecey, I really tink you’re missing dee point here!
G: What stinkin’ pernt here, Graaaandma?
IS: Vell, Diroctor Gneeecey, I don’t tink you’ve learned anyting from all of dis today.
G: Yeah, I did.
IS: Vell den, vhat is it dat you learned today?
G: Do unto others what’cha don’t want ’em to do to you!
IS: Diroctor Gneeecey, I tink you’ve turned dee Golden Rule green!
Gneeecey grinned. “Quite an accompooplishment, wouldn’t ya say?”
SFX: [Fail horn]
Well, my friends, thanks so much for reliving this whole trauma with me…it really helps me so much to share these experiences with you. I look forward to next time! Now I’m gonna turn it back over to my alter ego, Vicki…
SFX: [Magic Spell]
Music/Outro: Thanks, Nicki! Vicki here again. Thanks so much 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 subscribe and tell a friend! And keep on laughing!
Frank: It’s a Gneeecey thing! [SFX: Door Slam] ###