Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy

Airplanes in His Pants...And Other Embarrassing Moments

October 12, 2021
Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy
Airplanes in His Pants...And Other Embarrassing Moments
Show Notes Transcript

“Airplanes in His Pants…And Other Embarrassing Moments,” Episode 10

Stranded earthling Nicki Rodriguez recalls embarrassing moments in zany alien canine-humanoid Gneeecey’s life, including when she finds him running in circles shrieking, “Airplanes in my pants!” He claims that propellers are slashing up his underpants. Nicki becomes concerned for herself as she thinks she can hear faint sounds of prop engines.

She calls Gneeecey’s neurologist, Dr. Idnas, who is treating him for Redecoritis, an impairment that causes him to believe that trees, chairs, and other inanimate objects are stalking and chasing him. Gneeecey’s speech impediment is related to this disorder, which is caused by exposure to mierk. Mierk is the toxic, goopy manufacturing byproduct that coats the Perswayssick River’s banks. It has seeped into just about everything.

Dr. Idnas advises Nicki to give Gneeecey an extra half-dose of his med, Bumpex.  She recommends that he sit on an icepack for fifteen minutes. Nicki and Gneeecey argue about the impact that mierk is having on Perswayssick County. 

They both become alarmed when suddenly, she shows symptoms of ooglitis.  

Nicki also remembers when she and Gneeecey spent an evening under house arrest on Planet HyenaZitania. Gneeecey had been swimming in some unearthly vapors, and that night his perceptions seemed altered.  

As usual, Nicki and Gneeecey arrive late to his session with meatball maven/licensed therapist Ingabore Scriblig. She prefers to be called “Grandma.” Discussing Gneeecey’s time management issues, Nicki tells Grandma what caused Gneeecey’s latest tardiness. As usual, Gneeecey refuses to engage, stating that he must leave. 

Vicki, Nicki, Grandma, and even Gneeecey want to thank Marysol Cerdeira Rodriguez, Sandi Solá, Sal Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, and Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera for being generous supporting members via! We appreciate their sponsorship more than words can say! (Please support us with a one-time gift or monthly sponsorship amount—various levels available—to help keep us coming to you via! We’ll shout you out during our podcast episodes and in our show notes here, plus supply you with more fun perks!) (Amazon Author Page, check out our Gneeecey/Nicki e-books and paperbacks!) (Interview with Vicki Solá) (right here, our Buzzsprout website w/episodes & transcripts!)   

And much thanks to disproportionately cool artist Jay Hudson for our podcast logo!

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, that's A-R-D-E-L-L-E dash institute dot com. Take it from me, Gneeecey!

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Transcript / “Airplanes in His Pants…and Other Embarrassing Moments,” Episode 10, 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]

[Music Bed] Hey there, Nicki Rodriguez here, welcoming you to this week’s episode of “Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy.” My alter ego Vicki and I would like to give special thanks to Marysol Cerdeira Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, and Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera for helping us out greatly by being generous supporting members through!  

SFX: [Cell Phone Ring] 

N: Hello? 

IS: Hallo, Nicki, how doodle you do? Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha! 

N: Hello, Grandma, I’m doing well, thanks. How are you? [whispers] It’s Gneeecey’s therapist, Ingabore Scriblig, who, in addition to being a licensed therapist, is the proprietor of veggie meatball shop Ingabore’s Meatball Express. 

IS: I’m doodling wery vell, tank you. I just vanted to see if Gneeecey could make it to his appointment on time dis afternoon. I know he has a problem vit’ dat and ve’re vorking on eet, but I hawe to get back to my meatball shop right aftervard to meet vit’ my accountant. 

N: I’ll do my best, Grandma. I’ll do my very best. You know how difficult Gneeecey is.  

IS: Yah. Alrightsky, Nicki. Let’s hope for dee best den. Bye-bye.  

N: Bye, Grandma, see you later.  

Okay, if you’ve been listening for awhile, you might know that I’ve been trapped, for some time, in zany alien canine-humanoid Gneeecey’s wacky, unearthly dimension of Perswayssick County. I accidentally arrived there on my way somewhere else, with only the clothes on my back and hardly any money. So, I ended up having to live with and work for him at his GAS Broadcast Network. I guess, because it’s all been so traumatic, I’ve been remembering things in bits and pieces, and not in any real order. Several memories have just surfaced. Here they are…. 

SFX: [Magic Spell]

SFX: [Propeller Planes]

“Haaaalp! Airplanes in my pants!” howled Gneeecey as he tore into the Grate Room. “Haaaalp! Haaaalp! Haaaalp! Haaaalp! Haaaalp!”

I chased after him with a can of plane repellent. “Lemme spray ’em!” Gneeecey’s Perswayssick County was notorious for its pesky flying insects that mutated as a natural defense to resemble high-flying commuter jets and propeller aircraft. Their bites were much itchier than mosquitos’ back on my Planet Earth.

“It’s not them bugs, ya Ig—it’s reeeeal planes!”

“You can’t possibly have real airplanes in your pants—”

“I dooooo!” He ran circles around the coffee table, clutching his keister. “An’ their propellers are slashin’ up my underpaaants—my favorite underpaaants that Stummix Bank gave me for bein’ a good customer! They’re polka-dotted with dimes! Haaaalp!”

“Uh, sit—no, second thought, stand right where you are. I’ll call Doctor Idnas.” I almost thought I could hear planes flying around, but that had to be an auditory illusion….

Gneeecey’s eyeballs spun in opposite directions as he performed a strange belly dance, incorporating elements of hip-hop. “Planes are killin’ me! Hurtin’ my stinkin’ bimbus! Haaaalp!””

“I’m sure they’ll, uh, run out of gas. Lemme call the doctor.”

SFX: [Dialing Phone]

“Hallo,” answered Doctor Idnas herself.

“Hello, Doctor Idnas, Nicki Rodriguez here. We’ve got, well, kind of a problem. Actually, an emergency. Diroctor Gneeecey here is running around the living room table in circles, screaming that there are airplanes in his pants, and they’re, uh, slashing up his underwear and hurting him!”

“Vall,” stated Gneeecey’s neurologist, “I believe dat he may be suffering a relapse of his Redecoritis.”

Redecoritis was the neurological disorder that caused Gneeecey to think that trees, chairs, and other inanimate objects were stalking and chasing him. And mocking him. It was also responsible for his speech impediment.

Gneeecey could be heard in the background, shrieking. “Maybe if I go sit on the terlit, the lousy stinkin’ planes’ll drown!”

“I hear him screaming, I vould not advise dat he go into dee batroom right now, as being around so much porcelain vould be dangerous ven he is so unsteady and upset!”

“Don’t go in the bathroom, Diroctor, Doctor Idnas says it would be dangerous!”

“So it ain’t dangerousical for all them airplanes to be slaaashin’ up my bimbus? An’ rippin’ up my best underpaaants? Thaaanks for nuthin’! Okay, I’ll stinkin’ stay out here an’ suffer then! The planes’ll proboobably kill me! But that’s okay! Hope she’s hapoopy! An’ yooou too, ya lousy Ig!”

“Quiet, Diroctor, we’re freakin’ trying to help you!”

“Vall, Nicki, again, you know dat I and many odders in dee medical profession, are gathering more proof, from studies and dee patients vee see every day, dat exposure to mierk is dee root cause of deese neurological disorders—you know, dee Redecoritis and dee infected speech, known as ooglitis. Diroctor Gneeecey ees diagnosed vit’ both.”

“I do not have a speech impedipoodiment!” screeched Gneeecey, zigzagging around all over the place. “I can hear youse guys over the plane engines!”

“Quiet, Diroctor! Now, Doctor Idnas, I’m also a bit concerned about myself—I almost think I can actually hear these planes….”

“I tink, Nicki, as you are surrounded by mierk, too, dat you should make an appointment to see me too, for evaluation, to rule out any problems.”

“Okay, Doctor, I will. The whole of Perswayssick County is infested with this mucky, toxic substance.”

“Yah, hopefully dat referendum vill pass—dee one to outlaw mierk and clean up dee riverbanks. Now, Nicki, I vant you to give Diroctor Gneeecey an extra five milligrams of Bumpex—you know, anudder half of his daily ten milligram tablet—and den find an ice pack for him to sit on.”

“Yes, Doctor, I’m looking in the freezer, right now.” Phone wedged between my chin and shoulder, I balanced a dozen boxes of Mrs. Dammit’s Sloggenberry Pie in my frostbitten left hand and, with my right hand, held back an avalanche of freezer-burned jackass patties, several plastic containers bursting with frozen ice block soup, and a couple hairy, egg-shaped green things. With faces.

Finally, Gneeecey shuffled into the kitchen, whimpering. “Ya were right, Ig. They ran outta gas.”

That moment, the ice pack I’d been searching for landed on my foot.

“Found one,” I informed Doctor Idnas as I hopped up and down, seeing stars and galaxies.

Gneeecey tugged on my sleeve like a little child. “Tell her I take Sleepoopex ’cause the lousy Bumpex keeps me awake, an’ I swallow it wit’ this purpoople coughin’ syrup, but then I get too sleepy an’ get a headache—”

“Sssssssh! Yes, Doctor Idnas, I’ll make sure he takes the extra med and sits on the ice pack for fifteen minutes. And I’ll make appointments for both of us to see you. Thank you so much.”

Gneeecey kicked me in the shin. 

“Ow! What’s wrong with you—besides the obvious?”

“Don’t stinkin’ shooosh me in my own house!”

“Doctor Idnas has a heavy Eccchsian accent—I wanted to make sure I understood everything she said. Now, I’ll cut an extra Bumpex in half for you, and here, she wants you to sit on this for fifteen minutes.” I wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel and placed it on Gneeecey’s chair. “Sit, please.”

He lowered his embattled runway of a behind, then sprang up. “Too stinkin’ cold!”

“Doctor Idnas says icing it’ll desensitize the, uh, area,” I replied, guiding a razor blade down the center of a tiny, scored Bumpex tablet. “And she also told me something kinda scary.”

He settled back into his seat. “Stinkin’ what did she tell ya?”

“She says recent studies have linked mierk exposure to Redecoritis. And ooglitis.”

He jumped up. “You’re lyin’!”

“No, I’m not. Don’t you remember her mentioning during your last appointment, that in autopsies, they’re finding high mierk levels in the tissues of people with Redecoritis and Redecoritis-infected speech—”

Gneeecey hurled the ice pack into the stainless-steel sink. SFX: [Bang] “What does she stinkin’ know? She ain’t never done no autopoopsies on me!”

[Nicki sighs] “She says more and more patients are presenting with neurological symptoms. Last time we saw her, she said she’s already treated a couple dozen good Intentions Paving employees.”

“They did my lousy driveway.”

I handed him a glass of water, along with his extra dose of Bumpex. “Yeah—those three freaking miles of miercolated pavement that surround this house. And at our last county Quality of Life meeting, Manny Meantwell said many of his workers have been coming down sick—remember?”

Gneeecey kicked his chair over. SFX: [Wooden Bang] “I don’t stinkin’ believe none of this—it’s them 345 people tryin’ to pass that dopey refooferendum to baaan mierk, they’re saboobotagin’ the election. Only I, as Grate Gizzygalumpaggis of this here lousy county have the right to do that!”

“And,” I continued, “Doctor Idnas said that Evoovelyn Jefoofrey’s husbooband, who works for Freak O’Nature Foods proboobably—”

My mouth was still open and moving, but my vocal cords had quit. A burning, prickly sensation spread from my scalp right down to the soles of my feet.

Gneeecey almost choked on his pill.

SFX: [Fail Horn]

Lucky for me, my mierk exposure-infected speech did reverse itself. Unlike Gneeecey, who was always in denial, I sought medical help immediately. Doctor Idnas was able to treat me before the condition became permanent.

I’ve just recalled another time, during our unfortunate and accidental trip to Planet HyenaZitania, when Gneeecey’s perceptions were, well, altered. Gneeecey and I found ourselves under house arrest, locked up for the night in a tiny second-floor room in the mansion where his evil, more sophisticated double, Ebegneeezer Gesundheit Eeeceygnay, lived with his family.

[Magic Spell]

IG! IG!”

Cringing, I rolled onto my side, on a mattress that must have been stuffed with gravel. Sharp gravel. “What? What now?”

“I can’t seeeeeeee!” 

“Well, we are here in the dark. Go back to sleep.”

“I caaaaaaan’t! ’Cause I was never asleep yet!”

“Look, Diroctor, we’re gonna need every ounce of strength we have, so we can try to make a break for it once this crazy planet’s two suns rise.”

“Ya don’t understaaand, Ig! The dark in here is so bright it’s hurtin’ my ears!”

“I don’t understand…how can….”

“An’ I’m stinkin’ nose blind!”

“Always suspected that.”

“Ya Ig, I can’t seeeeee what I’m smellin’!”

“Do you usually?”

“Caaan’t even stinkin’ taste it!”

“What?” With a groan, I lowered myself onto the splintery wooden floor. It was more comfortable than the mattress.

SFX: [Horror Scary Moment]

“Ig, I smelt ’em talkin’ out there, through the door. Yooou musta been asleep. The guy who looks like Mark an’ that other baaad man wit’ the purpoople eye an’ too many fingers that’s impersonatin’ me an’ talks real stupid an’ funny like he’s better than the rest of us, he said somethin’ ’bout drivin’ me an’ you to someplace called Plumber’s Crack, in the mornin’, to get answers out of us.”

I bolted upright. There was no light to turn on. “Don’t you go loopy on me now, Diroctor.”

“Ain’t goin’ loopy on ya, Ig. I jus’…”

“You just haven’t taken your meds in a coupla days.” The realization smashed me over the head like an iron skillet.

“Didn’t see wha’cha jus’ said. Say it again, brighter.”

“I said, you haven’t taken your meds in a couple days. Especially your Bumpex and your Repulsid.”

“Nah, Ig. Ain’t that. I swear it ain’t.”

“It must be.” I felt an icy draft from somewhere high above. Sitting cross-legged, I pulled what felt like a horsehair blanket (and smelled like a horse) around my quaking shoulders.

“Well, Ig, it can’t be the meds. Ain’t seen no talkin’ trees or walkin’ chairs, have I?”

“I bet it’s those vapors you were swimming in. You know, that weird floor between the foyer and the parlor that wasn’t solid? The one I managed to walk over, but that you jumped into and happily splashed around in like a little kid?”

“Ya mean—ya mean, I got floor poisonin’?”

“Something like that.” I slid over and leaned back against the cold plasterboard wall. “Those fumes must’ve been toxic, and now you’re….”

“I’m whaaat?”

I took a deep breath. A bitter odor, one I couldn’t place, assaulted my sinuses. Reminded me of the stuff I used to clean my oven back home. Back home…back home…how I longed to be back in my own world…if even just to clean my undersized, half-working oven…something I always hated to do, when I could be working on one of my writing projects instead…oh, geez…SFX: [Scary Ambience] would those floating eyeballs Gneeecey and I had escaped from be roaming through my apartment when I got back? If I ever got back?

Suddenly, the entire building began to shake.

SFX: [Duck Horn] “Honk! Honk!” blared VuVuzela, one of Ebegneeezer’s young daughters, racing about somewhere in the mansion, most likely tormented by one of those slimy and hideous blue bugs that plagued Planet HyenaZitania.

After a minute or two, all grew quiet. Except for Gneeecey’s voice. And a steady plunk, plunk, plunk, accompanied by a constant rhythmic clacking.

“Ig! Ig!”

I sighed. “Now what?”

“I’m freezin’. Freezin’ hot!”

“What? How can you possibly be—”

“I’m sweatin’ bullets! Can’cha hear ’em, hittin’ the floor? SFX: [Plunk] An’ don’cha hear my lousy teeth ch-ch-chatterin’?” SFX: [Chattering Teeth]

SFX: [Fail Horn]

Somehow, we made it out alive. I can’t tell you how, though. When that memory does return, I’ll be sure to share it with you. And one of these days, I’ll also tell you about the time, during a packed, special performance at the Perswayssick Civic Auditorium, a nervous Gneeecey mistakenly snatched a workman’s saw up off the stage instead of his moose-hair bow and proceeded to unwittingly saw his precious and very expensive electric white Stradivopoulous violin, or “voaline” as he always calls it, in half. 

But now, it’s time for Gneeecey’s therapy session with veggie meatball shop owner and licensed therapist Ingabore Scriblig, or Grandma, as she likes to be called. As usual, we arrived late.

SFX: [Magic Spell]

IS: Hello, hello, Nicki and Diroctor Gneeecey, how doodle you do? 

N: Fine, Grandma, I replied, my eyes settling on Gneeecey. Thanks for seeing us, even though we’re late, again—

G: Thanks for stinkin’ nuthin’, Graaandma! 

IS: Vell, Diroctor Gneeecey, I see dat you decided not to change terapists after all! 

G: Yeah, Graaandma, I did some research an’ found out I’d hafta pay them too, an’ none of ‘em wanted to disgust my personal issues, y’know, which you say I got plenny of, on-air, on my TV show, “Catchin’ Up Wit’ My Tail.”. I think I got more issues than anyone else, which makes me a real winner, don’cha think?

IS: Yah, vell—let’s talk about your issue of lateness today! Vhat happened dis time? Vhy are you late again, Diroctor? 

G: Ain’t got nuthin’ to say…it’s proboobably the lousy Ig’s fault! Why are youse two lookin’ at each other again?

IS: And blaming odders seems to be an issue vit’ you as vell.

N: Grandma, this is how it all went down today…

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Horns]

“Duck!” Gneeecey shouted into the intercom of his white, fully articulated thirty-two door limousine, “Turn offa this lousy Edgar Vompt Boulevard—right here! Exit here! Now! Take the back way! We’re stinkin’ late!” 

Gneeecey’s albino mallard chauffeur Culvert complied instantly, as he was afraid to do anything else, even though he knew that the back way was always as jammed as the boulevard. Sighing, I just sat back. Kept my mouth shut. No use trying to say anything.

Gneeecey poked his head outside the window as we crept down the exit ramp, underneath a green-and-white sign that read, “The Back Way.” Backed up for miles, the alternate route was a multi-colored mosaic of bumper-to-bumper metal. Drivers actually stood outside their vehicles, conversing. 

“Ya lousy duck—why’ja pull onto this stinkin’ girdle-locked road? What’s wrong wit’cha?”

“Jus’ followin’ orders,” quacked Culvert, parking. Eyeballs bulging, Gneeecey flung his door open and flew out sideways, like a batty wet hen. 

“We’d be better off walking the last five miles,” I muttered. As I stepped out onto the pavement, my jaw dropped. Gneeecey had climbed up onto the limo’s hood. Gyrating and gesticulating hysterically, he resembled a hood ornament having a seizure. Onlookers applauded.

SFX: [Fail Horn]

G: Ya see, Graaandma? Ya stinkin’ see? It was everyone else’s lousy fault—not mine—it’s never mine—

IS: Vell, Gneeecey, I tink vee need to vork on your learning to take responsibility—

G: Ain’t workin’ on nuthin’, Graaandma. I’m tired of all this therapoopy! Ain’t got time—

IS: Time utilization seems to be vun of your big problems, Diroctor.

G: Like I said, gotta stinkin’ go. An’ what did I learn from all this? I’ll save ya the trouble of askin’. Get to appointments late an’ make up for it by leavin’ early—jus’ like I am now! 


SFX: [Door Slam] [Fail Horn] 

Nicki Rodriguez here again! It’s worth noting that time flies when you’re having fun—or as Gneeecey says, when you throw your watch. Vicki and I hope you had fun! Again we thank Marysol Cerdeira Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, and Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera for being generous supporting members through!  

We deeply appreciate your sponsorship of “Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy”! And you can support us with a one-time gift or monthly sponsorship amount—various levels are available—to help keep us coming to you via! We’ll shout you out during our podcast episodes and in our show notes, where more info is available, plus we’ll supply you with more fun perks!  

And speaking of shout-outs, we wanna shout out everyone listening to us on the U.S mainland and in Puerto Rico, plus Kenya, and India—special shout outs to our many listeners in Delhi, and New Delhi, in the National Capital Territory of Delhi, and Kolkata in West Bengal. And hello to Germany, Denmark, Ireland, Thailand, Sweden, the United Kingdom, and New Zealand! Thanks so very much for checking out “Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy!”

We’re so thankful for you! Speaking as Nicki and Vicki, it’s a beautiful thing for all of us to be brought together, united, by laughter and joy, even if just for a little while. This sparkling blue planet needs so much more of that!

And now, it’s time to turn it back over to my alter ego, Vicki. Be well and safe!

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] ###