Yellow Sneaker Laces

“Yellow Sneaker Laces,” Episode 15

As a thunderstorm rages, Nicki bursts into Gneeecey’s mansion, to warn him about what she overheard in Bob’s office. Angry that she’s interrupting his favorite television show, Gneeecey shoos her away. When he finally agrees to hear her, his evil, more sophisticated lookalike Ebegneeezer Gesundheit Eeeceygnay walks in. Ebegneeezer, leader of Planet HyenaZitania, had accidentally transferred himself to the dimension of Perswayssick County as Nicki and Gneeecey attempted to escape his clutches.

Nicki tells the two canine-humanoids that they are in grave danger. 

As Nicki searches around in a tiny utility closet for a broom to sweep the trash out of her minuscule “guest room,” a thunderous noise rocks the mansion. Nicki is locked inside the unlit sardine can of a storage room—with company. Gneeecey, Ebegneeezer, and Gneeecey’s half-motorcycle-half-cat Klunkzill had scrambled in. The door cannot be unlocked from the inside. And it's not pleasant in there. Someone doesn’t smell good. And some warm liquid sprays Nicki’s ankles.

Vicki, Nicki, Grandma, and even Gneeecey thank Marysol Cerdeira Rodriguez, Sandi Solá, Sal Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, and Diane L. 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!)  

https://www.amazon.com/Vicki-Sola/e/B07J29RVMQ (Amazon Author Page, check out our Gneeecey/Nicki e-books and paperbacks!)

https://www.nfread& 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 much 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!

Transcript

Transcript / “Yellow Sneaker Laces,” Episode 15, written by Vicki Solá.

All content © 2021 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….

SFX: [Magic Spell]

Hey there, Nicki Rodriguez here, ready to share another adventure with you! But first, my alter ego Vicki and I want to thank Marysol Cerdeira Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, and Diane L. for being generous supporting members through BuyMeACoffee.com!

Shortly after my third unintentional trip to Perswayssick County—located between New Jersey and somewhere in outer space—I had shrunk to the size of a matchstick, due to a severe case of dimension burn. I’d ended up living in the, well, untidy T-shirt pocket of Gneeecey. The exasperating walking, talking, elbow-high Jack Russell dog was county director and also supposedly a doctor. Hence, he insisted upon being addressed as “Diroctor.”

Much to Gneeecey’s disdain, also staying in his four-story mansion was Ebegneeezer Gesundheit Eeeceygnay, Gneeecey’s evil, much more sophisticated lookalike. The snooty Ebegneeezer, leader of Planet HyenaZitannia, had inadvertently transferred himself along with Gneeecey and me to Perswayssick County as we’d attempted to escape his clutches.

Gneeecey had accidentally handed an envelope containing some money and me over to one of the murderous alien gangster Markmen. Gneeecey owed them money. Lots of it. To make a long story short, I’d ended up in Markman leader Bob’s headquarters where I grew much larger, to the size of a ten-year-old. I’d then managed to make a break for it and flee back to Gneeecey’s glitzy residence. I needed to warn him about what I’d overheard.

Here’s what went down….

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Thunderstorm] [Door Opens]

Soaked and shivering, I burst through the mansion’s side door and sprinted into Gneeecey’s Grate Room. “Diroctor! Diroctor! We’ve gotta talk—Now! In private!” 

“Not now, Ig. I’m stinkin’ busy, watchin’ TV, can’cha see? Come back in a half-hour.” He didn’t seem to notice that the missing me was back and had grown.  

“This can’t wait! Please! It’s a matter of life and death! And why did you hang up on me each time I called? We gotta talk! Now! And stop calling me Ig!” 

“Sheeesh! Aw-stinkin’-right, Ig. Let’s go into my Hall of Clox.” I followed Gneeecey as he waddled into a narrow hallway that housed his prized display of clocks. Clocks of all kinds. A framed Mona Lisa, sporting an added-on clock-infested abdomen, her mysterious eyes—and tail—moving back and forth. A full-sized cow, an analog clock implanted in her tummy. A bespectacled iron hog rocking in a rocker, cradling a book in his hooves, a digital clock grazing in the center of his belly. A wild-eyed cuckoo bird just hanging out of a broken wooden house, a clock embedded in his stomach. Gneeecey had a thing for clocks…. 

“Aw-stinkin’-right, Ig,” began Gneeecey, as we entered the timepiece-infested chamber, “now whaddaya gotta tell me that’s so stinkin’ important that’cha took me away from my favoovorite epoopisode of ‘Angry Little Airplanes’? Y’know, the rerun I seen fifty times awready where big Daddy Airplane rides his half-donkey-half-cow through that blizzard in the tropics to buy his son the last two tickets in town to see Spit Wit’out Color’s farewell concert. But, the boy awready bought ’em to surprise the half-donkey-half-cow. Jus’ getting’ to the best part! Nobody knew, he was half-goat too—ate the tickets when the mailman’s uncle-in-law stopped by to borrow some recycled toilet paper—” 

SFX: [Thunderstorm] [Scary Ambience]

“Please, Diroctor Gneeecey!” I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure that Ebegneeezer wasn’t around. “Diroctor, Bob and his Markmen are planning to—” 

“Planning what?” inquired Ebegneeezer, stealing into our midst. 

My heart splashed down into my acid-filled stomach. “Well, I guess you both had better hear what I have to say. You and Diroctor Gneeecey are in real danger!” 

Gneeecey scratched his butt thoughtfully. “Well, for Bogelthorpe’s sake, Ig, what’s been takin’ ya so stinkin’ long to warn us that we’re in such a dangerousical situation? Sheesh!”  

My eyes rolled up to the ceiling, then settled back on Gneeecey. “I’ve freakin’ been trying to tell you—you must’ve hung up on me ten times! I’ve been trying since I got here—”  

“Do please tell,” piped in Ebegneeezer, unbuttoning his indigo velvet blazer. 

“Yeah, Ig, whassamatter, tongue’s got your cat?” With that, Gneeecey’s half-feline, supposedly half-motorcycle cat Klunkzill appeared. Meowing disconsolately, the gray striped tabby clunked toward the kitchen, most likely to sip some high viscosity motor oil from his chrome bowl. 

“That’s Klunkzill, he’s half-cat an’ half-chopper, so he’ll live forever. An’ he’s got a consonant-rich name, too—cost me extra!”            

I leaned against the cold charcoal-colored wall—the only wall in the room not lined with

peculiar clocks. “Diroctor, you’ve gotta hear me out! Bob and all his evil Markmen, they’re

planning to kidnap you and have Ebegneeezer impersonate—” 

“That’s Mister Eeeceygnay to you,” Ebegneeezer corrected me, arms crossed.  

Gneeecey laughed. “My, oh my, Ebegoogoo, ain’t you real stinkin’ importootant—” 

“Will you both just freakin’ listen to me? They’re planning to kidnap you, Diroctor Gneeecey, and have you, uh…Mister Eeeeceygnay, impersonate him because you two look alike and—” 

Ebegneeezer squared his shoulders. “I most certainly do not resemble this—this inferior, simpleminded scoundrel—” 

“They’d never do that,” interrupted Gneeecey, not hearing his lookalike. “Nebberd-kinnezzard!” He eyed Ebegneeezer. “That means extra-never on my Planet Eccchs!” 

“You mean, on that insignificant substandard speck of dust of yours that wobbles on its warped little axis as it litters the very edges of the universe—” 

Gneeecey’s grimy face hardened. “How daaaaare you? Maayboobee a black hole will swallow your dopey planet! An’ then it’ll proboobably throw up!” 

“Will you two stop insulting each other’s planets and just listen to me?” Miraculously, they did. Both canine-humanoids stood staring at me like I had three heads. Exhausted and exasperated, I flopped backward into an overstuffed orange-and-green plaid chair. “Diroctor Gneeecey, c’mon, look what they did in the past—they tried to kill us! And they darned near did! Remember?” 

Ebegneeezer’s cheek muscles twitched visibly beneath his fur. “I never cared much for that ruffian who paid us that visit—that blond bloke with the enormous nose. The one that Earth girl over there calls Blond Big-Nosed Mark. He is the spitting image of Jerko, my former bodyguard. The one who double-crossed me, back on my planet. And as of this very moment, I am not quite convinced that he is not him—” 

“Quiet, Ebegoogoo, he ain’t your ol’ body odor guard from Heinie Zits or whatever your dopey planet’s called.” 

“That would be HyenaZitania, old boy—” 

“Will you two just freaking stop all the bickering—” 

“Looky, Ig, as I was tryin’ to say before youse two Iggleheimers interrupticated me, I think ’cause Bob an’ his Markmen are straaanded here in our dimension, y’know, ’cause their Planet of the Marked Men is still destroyed, they’re gonna try an’ make nice. They ain’t got nowheres else to go. Yeah, I still owe ’em all that mon-ney, but I think they’ll be satisfied wit’ my installment plan an’— 

“Diroctor, I was in Bob’s office! I heard him and Mark! Remember when I was still the size of a matchstick and living inside your T-shirt pocket? And you reached in and handed Mark that envelope?” 

“Yeah. So?” 

“I was inside that freakin’ envelope that you handed Mark!’’ 

Gneeecey popped a stick of Perswayssick County’s famous puke-pink Freak O’Nature bubblegum into his big yapper. “Ig, ya mighta heard ’em wrong. After all, ya were so shrunk an’ little, your tiny ears proboobably weren’t hearin’ propooperly.”  

“I know what I heard!” 

“Nah, Ig.” He blew a bubble as big as his noggin, then sucked it back in, skillfully and noisily. 

“Diroctor Gneeecey, you can’t ever trust them again! In fact, you’d better cancel your plans to meet with Mark tomorrow—you’d be playing right into their hands!” 

Ebegneeezer cracked his knuckles. “I am rather distressed to find myself in agreement with the Earth girl,” he began, sudden hoarseness sabotaging his vocal cords. “I would advise that you proceed with extreme caution. They have most likely been monitoring your activity.” 

“Nah, Ebegoogoo. Looky here, they even gave me a stinkin’ present.” Gneeecey plunged his fist into his lumpy, endless pit of a T-shirt pocket and surfaced with a black sphere, the size of a soccer ball. “Mark gave me this here beaudiful miniature repooplica of a belchball! Said it was a gift from their leader Bob! Bob’s so important that he wears socks that light up! Now, look at this beaudiful belchball—made of real plaaastic!” 

Ebegneeezer’s lower lip curled contemptuously. “You consider that bit of rubbish a gift?” 

“You makin’ fun of my Planet Eccchs’s most popoopular sport? We won the Zylthium Zorgle

Finals an’ the lousy Intergalactic Championship—our Gnorgles beat one of the best teams in this whole lousy universe, Zirconium Three! Six stinkin’ burps to one belch!”  

“Diroctor, that belchball of yours, it’s not really a gift—I’m sure it’s bugged! They’re spying on you—they probably do know your every move!” 

Ebegneeezer gulped. “Why, old chap, I am now utterly convinced that I have assessed this perilous situation with accuracy.” 

“Shaaadup, Ebegoogoo. You’re jus’ jealous!” 

“Hardly, old boy.” 

I held out my hands. “Diroctor Gneeecey, give me that thing. Please.” 

Clutching the object to his chest, Gneeecey shrank away from me. “No!” 

I lunged in his direction. We tussled over the polystyrene orb until it crashed to the wooden floor and cracked in half. SFX: [Bang] 

Our eyes widened. SFX: [Clattering][Beeping] Zillions of tiny purple plastic flashing insects streamed out of the broken ball. Little legs clattering, they scattered in every direction, with supersonic speed, emitting high-pitched electronic sounds. We raced out into the hallway after them. 

Poor Klunkzill, who had just ventured out of the kitchen, took one look at the violet vermin and skidded sideways, hackles raised. 

Ebegneeezer snatched up one of Gneeecey’s golf clubs and attempted to smash the beeping, blinking bugs. SFX: [Bang] They seemed indestructible—he succeeded only in denting the floor. Powerless, the three of us could only gape as clusters of the creepy-crawlies sped up Gneeecey’s chandelier-lit spiral staircase with ease. Soon, they had all disappeared from sight.  

SFX: [Fail Horn] 

After a half-hour or so, I decided it was time to turn in. Still creeped out, hands on my hips, I stood framed in the doorway of the “guestroom” that Gneeecey had assigned me during my last stay in his four-story mansion. “Diroctor, you freakin’ expect me to sleep in this same horrible little cubicle again? It still reeks of chemicals, and there’s trash all over the place. Did you empty a garbage can in here after I left?” 

A sheepish expression spread over his grungy face. “Well, Ig, at least you’re smaller than ya were back then—you’re only the size of a kid, now—so your dopey feet proboobably won’t even stick outta the door no more like before when ya plop yourself down on that—”  

“—that mutant, spring-popping mini-mattress on the floor.” 

He shrugged. “Yeah. Unless, of course, ya grow back to your normal size. Oh, an’ welcome back.” 

“Yeah. Thanks. Now, I’d rather camp out on your couch again like I did last week. You know, the one I slept on in your Grate Room—before I shrank and ended up living in your, uh, shirt pocket.” 

“Well, Ig, that ain’t possibooble ’cause somethin’ really disgustipatin’ spilt onto it while you were gone. I think Klunkzill mighta possiboobly had a accident—whole couch is still wet an’ smells real baaad. Might even hafta throw it out. Of course, if ya wanna—if the stink don’t bother ya—” 

“Nah, forget it.” So, that explained the foul odor coming from The Grate Room…. 

“An’ besides, Ig, all your lousy stuff’s still in that dresser in your little guest room there. Y’know, that beaudiful torn cardboard box wit’ them three drawers that are fulla your junk?” 

Yep. How could I ever forget the lovely dresser that matched my even lovelier night table on the floor beside my mutant mattress—a cardboard box with a warning label printed on it: Do Not Store On Floor! I sighed. “Diroctor Gneeecey, you got a broom?” 

“Yeah, Ig. In the utility closet there, right across from The Grate Room. Careful—lousy door locks by itself an’ there ain’t no knob inside. Someone else gotta open it up from the outside.” 

That moment, Ebegneeezer strode into our midst, flashlight in one hand and golf club in the other. “Are you prepared,” he began, eyes riveted on Gneeecey, “to accompany me as I inspect these premises with the full intention of locating and exterminating those bloody blinking insects?” 

Gneeecey began blinking himself. “Uh…well, uh, Ebegoogoo…I’m kinda real busy right now an’—” 

“The name would be Ebegneeezer. And I assume your response to mean that you lack the courage.” 

Gneeecey folded his arms. “Assume means to make an ass outta you but not me.” 

Shaking my head, I trudged into the shoebox of a utility closet to look for a broom and dustpan. “Diroctor Gneeecey, there’s no light in here.” 

“Nope, Ig, course not. Whaddaya think it is—a stinkin’ readin’ room?” 

Suddenly, a thunderous crash echoed up and down the corridor. SFX: [Bang] The whole place shook.            

Before I knew it, Gneeecey, Ebegneeezer, and a yowling Klunkzill had piled into the closet with me. The door slammed shut, clicking as it did. SFX: [Closing Door] [Clunk] It was pitch black inside, standing room only. 

“Bloody hell!” shouted Ebegneeezer. “I do believe that we are locked in!” 

SFX: [Assorted Noises] Sounded like the end of the world out there.  

Gneeecey elbowed me in the ribs. “Holy Saint Bogelthorpe!” 

“Quiet!” I whispered. “We’re supposed to be hiding, remember?” SFX: [Horror Scary Moment] “We don’t want whoever’s out there to know where we are.” 

“Yeah!” yelled Gneeecey. “Let’s stinkin’ whisper!”  

With that, Klunkzill yelped and began using my shins as a scratching post. 

Ebegneeezer cleared his throat. “Is there some way to silence that awful feline of yours?” 

“How daaaare ya call my stinkin’ cat awfooful—ya jus’ insultipated him!” 

“Maybe,” I muttered, “if we all calm down, Klunkzill will, too.” 

Gneeecey backed into me, shaking. “I hate to stinkin’ say it, but youse two were right! It’s them diaboliboobical Markmen—they been spyin’ on me! An’ now, they’ve stinkin’ come to get me!”

A monstrous thump made me jump. SFX: {Bang] “Sounds like it’s all coming from The Grate Room, right across the hall,” I said, under my breath. SFX: [Assorted Noises] 

“It certainly does appear that the Earth girl and I did indeed assess this entire situation correctly,” declared Ebegneeezer, a tremor apparent in his tone. 

“Not so brave now, are ya, Ebegoogoo?” Gneeecey’s voice was trembling, too. 

“Will you two please speak more quietly?” I pleaded. Our little hideaway had become pretty stuffy. And someone didn’t smell too good. 

“Stinkin’ whatever,” replied Gneeecey, backing into me again.  

More noise—a deafening thud, followed by a walloping whump and what sounded like glass shattering, made me cringe. SFX: [Shattering Glass] [Bang] Then, a warm liquid sprayed my bare ankles from nearby. 

SFX: [Splash] “Ugh…what’s that?” 

“I suspect,” said Ebegneeezer, “that someone is urinating on his red high-top athletic footwear.” 

Gneeecey punched my kneecap. “Shaaadup, Ebagoogoo! It’s rainin’ outside an’ sometimes it rains in here!” 

Gneeecey whipped out his cellphone. Its light cast an eerie glow in the darkness. Made the two canine-humanoids—and me, I’m sure—look like horror movie characters. “Why don’t I jus’ call Fleaglossity? After all, he’s supposed to be a stinkin’ superhero.” Sooperflea, also known as Flea and Fleaglossity, was Gneeecey’s red-caped, black-furred canine-humanoid BFF. Also a graduate of Perswayssick County’s local Superhero Academy. 

As if things weren’t bad enough, something began buzzing inside the closet. SFX: [Insect Buzzing] Most likely, one of those pesky insects that had mutated to resemble high-flying airplanes. They plagued Perswayssick County. Their bites were much worse than those of mosquitoes on my planet. I slapped my left arm and squashed the pest. But it had already gotten me—the itching was already nearly unbearable. 

Meanwhile, Gneeecey’s fingers flew over his cellphone’s keypad. SFX: [Dialing Phone] “No stinkin’ answer. Where’s that lousy Fleaglossity when ya need him? He’s always around when ya don’t!” 

“Diroctor Gneeecey, Flea’s probably in bed, like most people, right now,” I replied, resisting an overpowering urge to scratch my swelling bite. “I’m sure he’s sound asleep.” 

“How very incornvenient. I’ll leave a voice message after his stupid long message ends… Heya, Fleaglossity, it’s meee, your pal Zig. Ya better come over as soon as ya hear this. I’m in real baaad troubooble. Mark an’ them, they busted in here an’ I’m locked inside the little closet, y’know, ’cross from The Grate Room. They’re gonna get me—unless ya come now! Wake up an’ come quick! Now! Or else! Guh-bye!” 

“Why not simply phone your local police department?” inquired Ebegneeezer. 

“Simpooply ’cause I might get one of them—these Markmen have infoofiltrated our whole Perswayssick police force. 

I happened to gaze down at the crack beneath the door just as one of those flashing plastic bugs crawled in. SFX: [Beep] [Clatter] “Oh, no!” I stomped on the flickering thing, to no avail, and could only watch as it sped back into the hallway. 

Luckily, Klunkzill hadn’t seemed to notice. And, somehow, we fell asleep on our feet, leaned up against each other like sardines packed in a tin can. 

And we were jolted awake by a loud shattering. SFX: [Shattering Glass] Terror shot through my veins. “What the—” 

“Yaaaaaaaaah!” shrieked Gneeecey.  Our door slowly creaked open. SFX: [Door Opens] It was Sooperflea. “Hey, guys, got your message. Youse okay?” 

For a moment, no one spoke. “C’mon out, it’s okay,” said Flea. 

We stumbled out into the light, squinting. Klunkzill tore past us into the kitchen. 

“Fleaglossity, ’bout stinkin’ time! Forgot ya don’t got no key. How’d ya get in?” 

Flea pointed to The Grate Room’s gigantic broken picture window. “Well, Zig,” replied the superhero, calling Gneeecey by his nickname, “I kinda quite literally came through that large pane of glass right there. An’ wow, it’s pourin’ out there!” 

“So, Fleaglossity, where’s all the lousy baaad guys? Ya beat ’em up an’ arrest ’em?” 

“Zig, there weren’t any bad guys. It was your OctoVac—an’ look, it’s still runnin’.”  

SFX: [Vacuum] SFX: [Assorted Noises]  Sure enough, Gneeecey’s high-suction, eight-hosed robotic vacuum cleaner was zooming helter-skelter all over his lime-green rug, colliding with toppled lamps and chairs. Gneeecey’s bloodshot eyes widened. “Where’s my ’spensive new lamp, y’know, that new pastel black lamp I jus’ bought in Seemingwhales?” 

Flea pointed to the vacuum’s distended black cloth belly. It appeared to be breathing. “All in there. Ate it all up. Looks like it sucked a coupla pictures offa your wall, too. An’ your chandelier, from up on your ceilin’ there. An’ your couch, too.” 

“End tables are missin’, too! An’ my radio! An’ my precious an’ beaudiful WGAS coffee mug! An’ my new loveseat! An’ my stinkin’ new TeeeeVeee!” 

“All in there, Zig, in your vacuum’s belly. Ya musta forgot ya had the machine programmed to run last night. An’ by the way, your sneaker laces are yellow.” 

SFX: [Fail Horn] 

As you can imagine, Gneeecey needed to speak with his therapist, Ingabore Scriblig. The kindly, elderly woman was also the proprietor of Ingabore’s Veggie Meatball Express. She preferred to be called “Grandma.” As usual, I transported Gneeecey and sat in on the session. Here’s how it went…. 

SFX: [Magic Spell] 

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

N: Hi, Grandma, fine, thanks. How are you— 

G: Okay, Graaandma, we’re gonna try somethin’ different today. I’m runnin’ today’s session. 

IS: Vell, dat might certainly give me some additional insights into vhat drives your behavior, Diroctor Gneeecey. 

G: Nuthin’ drives my behavior. It ain’t a stinkin’ car. Now, I wanna know, what bothers yooou? When did it start? Why do ya feel that way? Why did ya become a therapoopist? Your issues are proboobably more interesticatin’ than mine! In fact, I’m gonna start chargin’ yooou for askin’ meee junk! 

IS: You don’t say! Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha! 

G: I dooo say! An’ it ain’t funny! 

IS: Alrightsky, Diroctor— 

G: Alrightsky nuthin’ Graaaandma. Now, I got one more question for ya. Maybe this’ll totally cancel out my owin’ yooou for askin’ meee stinkin’ questions all the lousy time. Why did the lousy turkey cross the road twice? 

IS: Your logic is somevhat convoluted, Diroctor Gneeecey.  

G: No, it ain’t. The lousy turkey crossed the street twice to prove he wasn’t a chicken! Claaasified info, it’ll cost ya! I’ll mail ya my bill. Guh-bye. SFX: [Door Slam] [Fail Horn] [Magic Spell] 

Nicki Rodriguez here, thanking you for listening! A shout-out to everyone on this planet listening to “Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy!” Please tell a friend about us! Again, we thank Marysol Cerdeira Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, and Diane L. for being generous supporting members through BuyMeACoffee.com! You can help keep us coming to you with a one-time donation or monthly support!  

Time now to turn it back over to my alter ego, Vicki. Until next time, be well and stay 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] ###