You Broke It, You Bought It, Pt. 2

“You Broke It, You Bought It, Pt. 12” Ep. 198

🌧️ Nicki Rodriguez Returns to Earth… But Something’s Off! 🌀 | Comedy Sci-Fi Fantasy Podcast Episode

In this surreal and stormy episode of our comedy/fantasy/sci-fi podcast, Earthling Nicki Rodriguez finally returns to her own world and her old life… or does she?

🛌 Haunted by strange memories, rain-soaked nightmares, and a bizarre Rindom Doodle etched in her palm, Nicki battles phantom dragons, malfunctioning appliances, and a relentless mystery that won’t let her go. Just when things seem to settle, a terrifying phone call from another dimension threatens to unravel it all—shopping carts, Greek columns, and all!

🚀 Featuring:

• Magical mishaps
• Multiversal mayhem
• Outrageous comedy
• A sizzling call from Amsterdam 🎷
• A shrieking voice with big (and Ig) revenge plans

👽 Subscribe for more interdimensional humor, sci-fi storytelling, and fantastical comedy chaos every week!

✨ Don’t forget to like, share, and drop a comment—especially if you’ve ever dropped a cordless phone in a toilet or owed someone for “incornvenience.”

🪐🎧 New episodes every week! 

Episode Artwork created by ChatGPT

#Comedy #fantasy # SciFi #dogs #dogsofInstagram #Podcast #VickiSola #hitchhikersgalaxyfans

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.#ComedyPodcast #SciFiAdventure #FantasyPodcast

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Transcript

Transcript / You Broke It, You Bought It, Pt. 2 – Episode 198, 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] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: We rejoin our protagonist, the dimension-burned Earthling human Nicki Rodriguez, who exists simultaneously in an alternate timeline after having merged accidentally with her double. Will these two timelines ever converge? Will Nicki, Gneeecey, and Sooperflea—and the rest of the Perswayssick County gang—ever see each other again? Right now, we check in on Nicki, who has managed to make it back to her own world. But all is not well. 

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Digital Alarm Clock] [Pouring Rain Thunderstorm] 

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: Pouring rain outside sure sounded more vigorous than meteorologist Summer’s predicted drizzle. 

SFX: [Scary Background] 

Hulking silhouettes, cloaked in the charcoal of dawn, played tricks on my eyes. Huddled under my covers, savoring the smoothness of my sheets, I watched meek lamps, and benign coat racks morph into savage, book-devouring dragons, their barbaric intentions reflected in my damp dungeon’s mirror. 

Unclenching my right fist, I became aware of a burning sensation. Gripped by a sudden nostalgia for something vague, something dreamlike, I pulled my monster-lamp’s chain and examined my hand underneath the warm, yellow light. 

A rust-colored, quill-covered Rindom Doodle stared up at me from the center of my bloodied palm.

SFX: [Scary Background]  [Pouring Rain Thunderstorm] [Scary Background]  [Misgivings & Misfortune]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: One Month Later….

SFX: [Train Whistles]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: The train whistle’s mournful strains pierced predawn’s quiet, its minor chords wailing tales of woe from places far away, with a weary but determined urgency.

After a minute, the blaring trailed off, leaving in its wake a sense of unease. I stared, transfixed, at the clock’s obscene red digits, suspended in darkness.

SFX: [Alarm Clock]

I drew in a deep breath of dank basement air and pulled the cool sheets up past my sniffling nose. My miserable, month-long cold-that-wasn’t-really-a-cold wouldn’t go away.

Despite my malaise, I was getting up and going to work, six, sometimes seven days a week, holding down two jobs.

I threw off my covers and forced my weary bones into a sitting position. Since that lost weekend, I’d all but abandoned my own business, NickelRod Productions, managing to dodge clients—something my incredibly screwed-up budget wouldn’t allow much longer. Not that I was in imminent danger of starvation. Truth was, I had little desire to eat, and all my clothes had become baggy—a new, not entirely unpleasant phenomenon. 

Shivering, I dangled my tingly legs over the floor. Any day, Maurice L’Orange would steam back into port, ego towed by a small fleet of overtaxed tugboats.

I sat up straight as an arrow. A dim, half-memory floated through that cloudy space separating my ears—that of L’Orange forking over cash to cover his last batch of programs plus his outstanding balance. At sunrise, after a hellish all-nighter in my makeshift home studio. I didn’t think I was imagining it. . .but couldn’t be sure I wasn’t. . . .

One thing I did know for sure: like my clothes, my life didn’t fit right anymore.

But it was the missing thing that drove me craziest, that vital something that eluded me, even as I chased it through my waking dreams.

I whacked the whining alarm clock and sprang out of bed. I was already late.

Displaying my usual allergic reaction to mornings, I walked into a wall. SFX: [Door Open] [Shower]

The shower refreshed me—until the last sliver of soap slipped down the clog-prone drain when the “no sting” baby shampoo blinded me, and I dropped my five-ton, economy-size bottle of no-name conditioner on my foot.

Frigid air slapped my wet body as I leapt through the plastic curtains.

A lopsided hop became an ungainly trot when my feet hit the cold cement. Fumbling with an uncooperative bath towel, I made a beeline for the pre-set coffee maker and scalded my tongue taking a greedy, on-the-run sip. At least this morning, I hadn’t poured the joe into the instant oatmeal.

Back in the bathroom, WXNY’s sports report informed me I was losing my race against time—by a quarter-past-seven, I should’ve been curling my newly-dyed, what-was-I-thinking ash blonde hair. Instead, I’d assaulted my cornea with a mascara wand. several black rivers trickled down my cheek. Damn—the stuff was only waterproof when you tried to get it off.

I scrubbed my face raw and slathered on more foundation, careful to conceal a strange, purple-tinged complexion. I had yet to call Dr. Acevedo.

Eye still tearing, I balanced the coffee cup, comb, and jar of gel on the basin’s edge, and switched on the dying blow-dryer. SFX: [Hair Dryer] If you happened to shut the thing off by mistake, you had to wait twenty minutes before it would restart.

SFX: [Phone Ring] The phone rang, and everything—including the overfilled mug—tumbled into the sink. SFX: [Dish Ceramic] [Splash] Who’d call this time of morning? Whoever the hell it was would be sorry—I’d make sure. I yanked the cordless phone out of my pocket, ripping my robe. SFX: [Fabric Tear] “Whaaat?!”

“It’s me—Carlos! You okay?”

“Carlito!” Instantly, my anger dissolved. “Where are you? I mean, it’s so early.” I held the dryer as far from the phone as the length of my arm allowed. SFX: [Hair Dryer 2]

“Wow—I totally forgot the time difference! We’re in Amsterdam—I haven’t slept in two weeks.”

“Don’t worry—it’s good to hear your voice. when are you coming home?”

“Friday. Day after tomorrow—the thirteenth.”

“Can’t believe you guys have been gone two weeks.”

“The trip’s been amazin’, Nicki. London’s ‘Salsa City!’ The promoter wants us back next spring. They want us back in Paris, too. Maybe you can come an’ emcee—think about it!”

“I will—”

“Paris was off the hook! Papo Martínez sat in with us—on congas.”

“The Papo Martínez?”

“The one an’ only. Now, maybe after all this freakin’ European stardom, we’ll be able to get a decent gig in New York. Y’know, home, sweet home?”

“Carlito, it’s sure about time—you’ve paid your dues—an’ a few other people’s, too.”

“Oh—I wanted to ask you, can I come up to the radio station Saturday? Y’know, to play some of our live stuff with Papo?”

“That’ll work out great—I don’t have anyone else scheduled.”

“Cool! An’ I picked up somethin’ special for you in Paris— I’ll bring it Saturday. Be good. Ciao!”

I could feel his broad grin.

SFX: [Hair Dryer] The prehistoric hair dryer still roared. I was late, but suddenly in less of a hurry. Visions of the Eiffel Tower peeking through spring blossoms drifted between me and the fogged-up mirror. Hmmm. . .still couldn’t find my passport. . .

SFX: [Phone Ring]

The phone rang again, interrupting a new stream of thoughts. Like before, I held the dryer at arm’s length, answering more gently this time. No one seemed to be on the other end. One of those calls. My eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, high, squeaky words fired out of the earpiece.

“Bad mornin’, it’s meeeeeeeee!”

The dryer coughed out a puff of pungent gray smoke and died. SFX [Hair Dryer]

“Ig,” inquired the shrieky voice, “are ya there?”
 I felt the top of my head being pulled upward by some invisible force.
 “Ya didn’t think you’d stinkin’ get away wit’ this, did ya?”
 “Hah,” I managed to croak, “whaaa—”
 “Ya owe me big time, Ig! big an’ Ig rhyme! Plus they both have I’s an’ G’s that could be spares—horizontally or vertically! Even verticazontically! But forget that—you’re gonna pay!”
 The nightmarish image of a cracked, puke-pink plastic Greek column reentered my consciousness. “Your column?”
 “Yeah, Iggarooney! You broke it, you bought it! Plus I got this here invoice—hadda dredge the whole lousy river to recupetrate your junk!”
 “Who asked you to?” I shouted, emboldened by wrath.
 “Hadda make sure your toxic trash wasn’t gonna deregenerate our river an’ poison the goonafish!”
 “Whaaa—”
 “Want’cha stuff, ya gotta buy it back! Where else could ya get a deal like that?”
 “I’ve got news for you—”
 “Nope, Iggleheimer, I got news for yooou—if ya don’t buy it back, I’m sellin’ it!”
 I stumbled backward, slamming my spine into the sink’s unforgiving porcelain.
 “I know how ya got to our dimension, too,” continued the screechy voice, “an’ I know all your other secrets.”
 “What secrets?”
 “Your little game is over.”
 “What game?!” The telephone, propped between my chin and shoulder, slipped and became airborne, plunging into the waters of the open toilet. SFX: [Water Splash] As the beige buoy bobbed, its antenna stuck straight up, like a periscope.
 “Y’know,” screamed the voice, oblivious to its nautical fate, “you’ll pay back summa what’cha owe by preforatin’ commonoonity service—that’s a fryable option. Look at all them abandoned shoppin’ carts lyin’ homeless in the streets! Jus’ cast aside! Rusted! missin’ wheeeels! You’re gonna get ’em ready for adoption!”
 Vision obscured by white spots, I dropped to my knees.
 “An’ ya owe me for incornvenience! Incornvenience is very incornvenient!”
 I flushed the toilet, SFX: [Flushing Toilet] knowing full well that the phone wouldn’t go down. SFX: [Music Big Band] [Cinematic Boom A] [Magic Spell] [Halloween Spooky & Fun Logo]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Next week, we travel back to that other timeline in that alternate dimension, where rotten Nurse Maudlyn’s two canine-humanoid hostages, Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey” and Fleaglossitty “Flea” Floppinsplodge, also known as “Sooperflea,” have glued her to her toilet and served her a festive sautéed glitter-sprayed dead rubber chicken for dinner. 

FLEAGLOSSITTY "FLEA" FLOPPINSPLODGE, AKA "SOOPERFLEA": Din-din is served! Here! We made all this for you.

DIROCTOR BIZZIG "ZIG" GNEEECEY: An’ we went to a whole lot of stinkin’ trouble to do it! 

NURSE MAUDLYN: Aaaaaaaahhhhhh! Aaaaaaaahhhhhh! 

F: Looks like she’s lost for words!

SFX: [Human Hiccup] [Cartoon 1] [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] ###