Transcript / Tiny Trouble, Doppelgänger Drama, and The Grate Gizzy’s Chaos Café! – Episode 189, by Vicki Solá.
All content © 2025 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] [Music Eerie Drama]
NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: In our last episode, “Haywire ESP, Superhero Hiccups & Interdimensional Chaos!”, once inside the Perswayssick County Courthouse, dimension-burn-plagued canine-humanoid Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey has stopped hopping uncontrollably SFX: [Comedy Boing] but has shrunk from having suddenly become seven-feet-tall, to…well, suddenly becoming so tiny that that his untrustworthy Planet HyenaZitania doppelgänger Ebegneeezer Gesundheit Eeeceygnay can’t even see him….
SFX: [Space, Mystery Tune] [Sneakers Squeaking]
DIROCTOR BIZZIG “ZIG” GNEEECEY: Haaaalp! Where ya goin’? Ya can’t leave me here!
EBEGNEEEZER GESUNDHEIT EEECEYGNAY: Bloody hell. I don’t see him, and I can’t hear him. I had better go break this rather unpleasant news to Doctor Idnas and Mrs. Scriblig….
SFX: [Door Slam]
G: Ebegoogoo! Come baaack—pleeeeaze!
SFX: [Magic Spell] [Halloween Music Box Cinematic Logo]
E: Bloody hell…. Here goes….
SFX: [Doorbell Ring] [Door Open]
THERAPIST INGABORE SCRIBLIG, AKA “GRANDMA”: Vhy, Mister Eeeceygnay, vhat a surprise!
SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking]
DR. ALEXANDRA C. IDNAS: Mister Eeeceygnay! Have you seen Nicki? Or Gneeecey? Or Flea?
E: Mrs. Scriblig…Doctor Idnas…. I’m afraid I’ve got some rather unpleasant news to deliver.
IS: Please…do come in…..
SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking]
E: Ladies, I think you both had better sit down….
SFX: [Magic Spell] [Halloween Music Box Cinematic Logo] [Cuckoo Clock]
IS: Oh, my goodness—dis ees all beyond terrible! Eet ees tragic! Our Nicki has merged vit anodder version of herself and vee ee may never see her again, and dimension burn has caused our Gneeecey to shrink so little dat you couldn’t even see him—
DI: —and dee only vun vee know ees safe—dat ees, as safe as vun can be at Area Fifty-and-four-fourths—ees our Flea, vurking dere vit dat strange Professor Vallbang! And dat two-headed canine-humanoid alien, Vloxx!
IS: I shall ring Detective Clover! Vee must find Gneeecey and bring him home! Von’t you go back to dee courthouse and look for him some more?
E: I shall actively search for me lookalike. As contentious as our relationship has been, your Diroctor Gneeecey and I have come to an understanding that could quite possibly benefit the both of us. Good evening, ladies. I’ll see meself out….
SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Door Slam] [Magic Spell] [Misgivings and Misfortune]
NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Meanwhile, Earthling human Nicki Rodriguez continues to exist in that alternate timeline after having merged accidentally with her double. She’s been befriended by “Flea” Fleaglossitty Floppinsplodge, otherwise known as “Sooperflea.” The black-furred canine-humanoid has driven her, in her red 1964-and-a-half Mustang, to a restaurant in Perswayssick City, where he says his best friend, Zig, will take care of her.
SFX: [Misgivings and Misfortune]
NICKI RODRIGUEZ: I noticed that same ethereal limo parked across the street. It took up an entire block. Hand-scrawled “out of order” signs covered each adjacent meter. Meanwhile, my measly Mustang cowered curbside, illuminated by orange-and-puke-pink neon, flashing the name “Gneeezle’s.” Purple calligraphy below read Fine Family Dining Since 2005. Filthy, half-drawn Venetian blinds languished behind the gaudy lighting.
SFX: [Car Door Open] Flea leapt out of the car, unaware that he’d caught his cape in the door.
“Flea!” I called out, too late. Fabric ripped as his nose hit the pavement, blaring like a trumpet on steroids. SFX: [FabricTearRip] [Duck Horn]
He squirmed his way upright and, whistling a carefree tune, SFX: [Human Whistle] hopped onto the sidewalk, only to stumble over the trunk of an uprooted tree.
My legs had gone numb, and my back felt stiffer than a petrified two-by-four. I staggered over to Flea and helped him to his oar-shaped feet. Clutching onto each other, we hobbled toward the eatery.
“This is—HIC—a real high-class joint,” Flea boasted from underneath my armpit.
Looks more like a high-class dump, I thought. My empty stomach rumbled.
SFX: [Rumbling Stomach] [Magic Spell] [Misgivings and Misfortune]
Gneeezle’s, I wondered aloud. “Three E’s in a row—”
“Spare a vowel, spoil the food!” shrieked a familiar voice from under a deflated chef’s hat.
“Huh?”
Jet ink spattered both sides of this canine-humanoid’s cranium and triangular ears and dipped down over his right eye. Dingy white fuzz carpeted his scowling snout. A soiled apron covered his T-shirt.
“You’re purple,” he observed, staring me up and down. “Ya should see an epidermicist.”
“What’re you talking about—I—”
Flea pinched me. His hiccups had suddenly disappeared—the ones he had developed the moment that we pulled up in front of Gneeezle’s.
“C’mon in, I guess,” snarled the surly critter. He flung the plate glass door open and shoved past us. “Laaast one in’s a rotten egg!” SFX: [Squeaking Sneakers] Flea flew in after him. Seconds later, a grungy index finger pointed my way. “Yooou!” whooped the voice attached, “yooou’re the rotten egg!”
I bit my lip. So hard that it almost bled.
“Heya, Zig, whazzup?” inquired Flea, ignoring his buddy’s antics.
“Price of vowels.” The two canine-humanoids slapped high-fours, sprang up and down rubbing elbows, pranced in clockwise, then counterclockwise circles—hopping on alternating feet—a half-dozen times. SFX: [Squeaking Sneakers]
Afterward, Flea turned to me, winded. “What’s your name again?”
“Nicki, who needs to get back to the parkway.”
“Icky!” shouted Flea’s friend. “Icky Parkway—whatta stooopid name!”
“Nicki,” began Flea, nodding in the loudmouth’s direction, “this is Doctor B.Z.Z. Gneeecey—we jus’ call him Bizzig—or Zig.”
I gasped. “You mean—that’s—that’s—”
“That’s Guh-neeecey,” stated Gneeecey, “wit’ three E’s—but’cha only pronounciate two, ’cause one’s a spare. Spares are good—in case ya get a flat.”
“And,” Gneeecey informed me before I might commit any phonetic blunders, “ya pronounciate the G, but it ain’t spare—ain’t got another.”
“Y’know,” bragged Flea, “Zig’s known as ‘The Grate One’—”
“That’s G-R-A-T-E,” interrupted Gneeecey. “Wouldn’t wan’cha to picture it wrong.”
Didn’t think I would.
“I suppose,” he said, scratching his noggin through his hat, “I could use that G as a spare, but it might not fit—it’s too used to bein’ near different letters.”
I extended my hand. “Pleased to meet you, uh, Doctor Gneeecey.” Hmmmph. Doctor, I thought. Doctor of what? Vowels? My dad was a doctor. A real one, who had run a clinic in East Harlem.
Gneeecey’s snoot wrinkled.
“C’mon, Zig,” coaxed Flea. “I can vouch for her.”
After an awkward moment, Gneeecey’s hand grasped mine. His bristly fur made me itch. “Zig owns this place,” said Flea, peering into the dark dining room, “plus the GAS Broadcast Network.”
I perked up. “I work in radio.”
Gneeecey, still shaking my hand, scrutinized me through narrowed lids. “Guess they’re lowerin’ standards everywhere.”
“What?”
“Keep tellin’ her how G-R-A-T-E I am, Fleaglossitty.”
“Zig’s an inventor, too.”
Gneeecey’s left sneaker tapped impatiently. “Aaaaan’?”
Flea adjusted his tattered red cape. The superhero had taken quite a beating on his way from the car into the restaurant, catching his cape in the car door and flopping all over the place. “He’s also chairperson of Perswayssick County’s Quality of Life Commission—”
“An’,” interrupted Gneeecey, still pumping my arm, “I was jus’ elected Grate Gizzy–”
“Perswayssick County’s highest office,” explained Flea.
Gneeecey pounded his sunken chest. “Now, awready—even before my official inordination next week—the freeloaders gotta answer to meee.”
“Ya mean, freeholders.”
“That’s what I stinkin’ said, Fleaglossitty. Freeloaders. Y’know, I shortened Gizzygalumpaggis to Gizzy ’cause it wasted consonants. No lousy word needs three spare G’s. It was that conversationalist platform that got me elected.”
“Ya mean conservationist,” said Flea. “That, plus ya swore you’d be held accountable for returnin’ us to—”
“Enough, Fleaglossitty.” Leaning closer, the furry white-and-black wonder confided, “Most folks say I can do no wrong.”
Flea grinned. “That’s my best buddy!”
“An’ as Grate Gizzy,” squealed Gneeecey, “I get to oversee myself as Chairperson of the Quality of Life Commission—so even I gotta answer to me. An’ I get to ride horseys!”
Reeling, I leaned against the wall.
“It’s tough bein’ me all day,” Gneeecey added.
“Start a support group for yourself,” suggested Flea, as he lowered himself into the chair I’d been eyeing.
“Hey,” began Gneeecey, only just noticing the superhero’s scruffy condition, “what happened to you? Your cape an’ nose—”
“Ain’t nuthin, Zig.”
“Did sheeee do that?” I gazed down at my muddied maroon shoes.
“Nah, Zig—I kinda fell outta the car—”
“Well, ya better go put quarters in that meter before they ticket ya. If they do, don’t expect meee to fix it for ya.”
“Wait, Flea.” With my free hand, I began digging in my purse for change. SFX: [Clinking Coins]
“Ya let her call ya Flea?!”
SFX: [Squeaking Sneakers] Sooperflea shuffled past his slack-jawed pal.
“It’s okay, Nicki—I got it.”
“Gettin’ back to meee,” continued Gneeecey, still shaking my hand, “I do mosta the cookin’, too.”
“Really?” I answered, my legs crumbling beneath me.
“I gotta,” he added, in a martyred tone, “till Altitude’s trained. He’s a mouse.”
“Oh my.” The room began spinning. “Uh, could I sit down somewhere? I feel kinda—”
“That’s in addition to everythin’ else in my hectic life. Us important people got it real rough.” Suddenly, he cast my hand aside with enough force to dislocate a shoulder, and he covered a small, round object with his foot. As he lurched down, he bashed his honking schnozzle on a tabletop. SFX: [Bang] [Duck Horn] “Ya hunka garbage!” he screeched, kicking the table till splinters and hardware flew. SFX: [Bang] [Wood Demolition Bang] “Die!” The little table stood on one leg, defying him. Gneeecey snatched up a steel rod and smashed the remaining post until it exploded into a fine powder. SFX: [Bang] On its belly, in a cloud of dust, the piece of furniture seemed to plead for mercy.
Bulgy peepers glazed with hate, Gneeecey displayed a dime. SFX: [Atmosphere] “Finders keepers, losers weepers! Why’re ya lookin’ at me like I’m nuts?”
As I collapsed into a nearby chair, I tried to quell a slight but nagging notion that I had died.
“Need that lousy chair inside,” said Gneeecey, as he pulled it out from under me. Mouth gaping, I stumbled backward.
“Ya look like ya smell somethin’ rotten! Well?”
"Uh...uh...." The place did smell strange. “Now that you mention it—”
SFX: [Squeaking Sneakers] “Let’s sit,” suggested Flea, just walking in and steering me toward the very same seat that had been yanked out from under me, and a table much like the one just murdered. Meanwhile, Gneeecey grinned at a jumbo, wall-mounted TV, and his own blabbering likeness, amateurishly superimposed, flying over the Perswayssick River. “Vote no to Question 345 this Octvember 68th—stop the riverfront divlopment!” shrilled his onscreen image, flapping unwashed off-white arms. “An’ save the engendered goonafish!”
“That was meeee! exclaimed Gneeecey. “Wasn’t that announcement ’bout votin’ against the divlopment real cool?”
“Uh, yeah, Zig,” replied Flea. “Ya sounded very, uh, natural, speakin’ up against the development.”
“Mark an’ them’ll love it!”
“Who?” Wearing a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin, Gneeecey swaggered into the kitchen.
SFX: [Fail Horn] [Restaurant Ambience]
Inside Gneeezle’s, puke-pink, neon-orange, and fluorescent-purple tie-dyed, Haight-Ashbury flower-power ruled, juxtaposed shamelessly with quasi-classical Greek furnishings. Scores of poorly-reproduced vases, repainted in brilliant black light colors, sat scattered throughout the lava lamp-infested dive. Some housed raspy rindom stalks. Others contained drooping ferns. Our table, lit by a particularly lurid violet fixture, tottered precariously whenever we moved so much as an elbow. A framed caricature of Socrates gripping a goblet engraved “hemlock” graced a nearby wall. Captioning underneath said, “Sock it to me!” Its companion piece, an illuminated, life-sized Bacchus, clenched a froth-filled mug. Each time the jovial immortal’s mechanical fist hoisted the vessel over his head, he winked. And his motorized mouth opened, exposing a neon ad for Perswayssick Breweries’ full-bodied, rindom-based Slog. The schizophrenic scheme extended back to the kitchen’s chipped steel doors, where two Greek pillars, obviously plastic, stood guard.
Framed by his fake Greek columns, Gneeecey stared into space, wielding an oversized ladle. I held up a cruddy, bent utensil. “Fork’s a tad dirty.”
“Ain’t nuthin’ wrong wit’ that utensicle—it’s jus’ a little oxidated. Ya oxidate when ya breathe.”
“I just meant—”
“An’ a few germs won’t kill ya, neitherwise—they immunizate ya.”
“She jus’ meant,” began Flea, “y’know—”
“I stinkin’ know what the Iggleheimer meant! Everything here’s quaquaversically quarantined to be clean, unless it ain’t.”
My bleary eyes rolled up to the ceiling, one high enough to accommodate the six-foot-plus, waxy-skinned humanoid staring our way. SFX: [Scary Ambience] Flea tugged on Gneeecey’s grimy apron. “Why’s that creepy dude wit’ the amber skin keep lookin’ at us?”
“That’s my friend Mark.”
“Ya never mentioned him before.”
“He’s a new friend.”
“Why’s he keep lookin’ at us?”
“Maybe,” suggested Gneeecey, waving to the humorless gray-suited man, “he wants to order take-out for his brothers.”
“Don’t think so,” replied Flea, as Mark disappeared into the gloomy shadows.
SFX: [Fail Horn]
Leafing through Gneeezle’s menu, I wondered if I was on my own planet.
“Y’know, Zig,” began Flea, patting his cute round belly, “the malted cauliflower sounds delicious.”
“We’re outta that.”
“Okay—I’ll have Surprise Stew, then. An’ bring me a mug of Slog. Wit’ extra pulp. But put it in the freezer first, for about ten minutes.”
“Gotta charge ya for the extra pulp,” growled Gneeecey, scribbling away. His ladle protruded from his underarm like an extra appendage. Flea licked his shiny black lips. “An’ bring me some of them Swillsville Crackers.”
“Don’t eat wit’ your eyes, Fleaglossitty.”
“An’ gimme a couple squirts of Zurt.”
“I’ll hafta charge ya an extra buck for each squirt.”
“An’ tell me, are your Slothflogs fresh today?”
Gneeecey crossed his arms. “Ya think I’m gonna say no?”
“I’ll find out for myself.”
Gneeecey jammed his face into mine. He had dog breath. “Well, whaddaya waaant awready?”
“Y’know,” I replied, backing away, breathing through my mouth, “I’m really not very—”
“Course ya are,” interrupted Flea. “Your stomach’s rumblin’!” Turned off by the alien aromas wafting through the air and a sign that warned, “Don’t Wake the Food!” I closed my menu.
“Nicki, it’s on me,” declared Flea. “Don’t even look at prices.”
“Whaddayathink this is?” screamed Gneeecey, pounding a fist on our table, SFX: [Table Pound] [Ceramic Dish] causing it to rock. “A stinkin’ soup kitchen? Your account’s delinquent— an’ now I’m supposed to eat her dinner?”
All things considered, that last suggestion wasn’t bad.
“And,” he bellowed, “when our Planet Eccchs uploads my books, your account gathers thirteen months’ interest!”
Flea shrugged.
“Thirteen months daily compounderated interest!”
The superhero rose to his size-thirteen paddles. “Zig, do I hafta remind ya ’bout the time I saved your—”
Gneeecey reached back and grabbed his backside. “How dare ya mention that?! Why yoooou—I’m gonna—hmmm—grfff—” Gneeecey’s arms and legs sliced through the air as his threats deteriorated into unintelligible shrieks. Gneeezle’s patrons didn’t raise their heads. Maybe the food had deadened their senses. After several minutes, Gneeecey slumped over our table, spent. He’d bent the long handle of his ladle into a Z.
“Election took a lot outta him,” whispered Flea. “Everyone wants a piece of him.”
“So, whaddaya waaant awready?” Gneeecey demanded, firing spit into my face with each syllable.
“Uh. . .I think I’ll have some of that Chinese take-out from next door,” I replied, squirming. “Listed here, under entrées.”
“Wong’s is closed!” SFX: [Fail Horn] [Magic Spell] [Space, Mystery Tune]
NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Meanwhile, back in that other timeline….
G: Someone’s comin’ outta that other door now—proboobably Judge Blobbert! Robert! Robert! Haaalp! It’s meeee, Diroctor Gneeecey! Can ya see me?
NURSE MAUDLYN: Oh, Judge Blobbert can’t see you, but I can!
G: Oh, stinkin’ nooo—it’s rotten Nurse Maudlyn!
NM: The one and only! And you’re about to find out how rotten I can be!
G: Not if ya can’t catch me!
SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Comedy-Chase] [Cartoon Slip] [Duck Horn]
G: Yaaaah! Fell on my lousy bimbus!
NM: Got’cha! You’re coming home with me! To a place you’re already familiar with—666 Van Pooop Lane! But this time, I’ll be keeping an eye on you! Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha!
SFX: [Orchestra Cliffhanger] [Magic Spell] [She Calls You] [Door Latch] [Door Open] [Sneakers Squeaking]
NM: Good…I don’t think anyone’s seen me. And I think I’ve managed to steal all those court records about me, here. SFX: [Rustling Papers] [Door Slam] [Door Latch] We’re home!
G: Oh, no, we ain’t!
NM: Oh, Diroctor Gneeecey, this is going to be your home, for a while! You know where I can find that precious silver gloog and those priceless difalconiumyte necklaces your pet Space Duck was wearing!
G: I don’t know what you’re stinkin’ talkin’ about! Now, get me outta this lousy glass jar!
NM: Don’t fret. I’ve made little holes in the lid so you won’t suffocate, and from time to time, I’ll throw you some crumbs so you won’t starve to death. Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha! I’m gonna keep a real eye on you!
G: Ain’cha gonna put no lights on in here?
NM: My little flashlight here will be good enough. As I am a fugitive, I can’t have anyone know that I’m here. I’ll be arrested! Perswayssick County’s inefficient police force has already combed through my house here—no doubt, back while we were stranded on Opposite Earth—and they neglected to secure the place afterward. Now, let’s go upstairs to my bedroom.
G: Oh, stinkin’ no….
SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Human Walk Upstairs] [Door Open]
NM: Oh…. I am utterly exhausted! Being a fugitive takes a lot out of one. Diroctor Gneeecey, I shall place your jar here on my nightstand. SFX: [Bang] If you behave, I might go up into the attic tomorrow and see if I have a nice aquarium to put you in. Oh…. I’m so tired, I’m not even going to bother to change out of these clothes…. Bad night, Diroctor Gneeecey!
G: Bad lousy stinkin’ night to you, ya ol’ battle ax!
NM: Now, be nice…or else!
SFX: [Cartoon Snoring] [Magic Spell] [Cartoon Snoring]
G: What a weird dream I jus’ had—that I was in my Gneeezle’s Restaurant wit’ Fleaglossitty an’ the Ig…. Wowzickles! I got a little bigger when I was asleep! In fact, it’s getting kinda claustraphoophophobic in this lousy jar. I’m almost fillin’ it up! SFX: [Atmosphere] Maybe, if I shift my weight an’ move around, I can get it to roll offa this stinkin’ night table an’ bust open! Gettin’ cut is somethin’ I’ll jus’ hafta risk! Here goes!
SFX: [Rolling Jar] [Glass Shatter] [Glass Debris] [Toy Piano Rockabye] [Cartoon Snoring]
G: Ol’ battle ax must really be tired—that didn’t even wake her up!
SFX: [Cartoon Snoring] [Sneakers Squeaking]
G: I still ain’t big enough to reach no light switches, an’ I certaintaneously don’t wanna bust my dopey noodle fallin’ down them stairs in the dark. I better stinkin’ go hide till daylight—maybe under some junk in her stooopid closet….
SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Music Logo Big Band] [Cinematic Boom A] [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! Please make sure to tell a friend! And keep on laughing!
Frank: It’s a Gneeecey thing! [SFX: Door Slam] ###
