Too Bad, Three Eggs

“Two Bad, Three Eggs,” Episode 203, SEASON 21 OPENER

🌀 When your missing portfolio turns into a $10,000 interdimensional ransom...ya got problems! 

In this action-packed comedy/fantasy/sci-fi podcast episode, the multiverse is more dangerous than ever! Season 21 kicks off as Earthling radio DJ Nicki Rodriguez, still split across multiple timelines, struggles to reclaim her sanity—and her belongings—after a disastrous dimension jump. Back in her “real” New Jersey on Planet Earth, Nicki receives a ransom note from her old nemesis, the dog-shaped dictator Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey, demanding payment in exchange for the return of her treasured possessions… including $10,000 in cash and her passport!

But things go from weird to weirder when Gneeecey dimension-hops into her world, steals her portfolio, and escapes through a foul-smelling urban tunnel, straight into a chaotic interdimensional chase through freight yards and sludge. Nicki soon finds herself right back in the one place she swore she'd never return: Perswayssick County, buried in muck, with canine-humanoid superhero Sooperflea trying to dig her out—while Gneeecey blathers on about mysterious mierk, brain surgery clubs, and suspicious shaving cream.

Can Nicki outwit the sneaky, sneakered Gneeecey and reclaim her stolen past? Or will supernatural glowing, floating eyeballs, evil sludge, and snarky sidekicks trap her forever in sci-fi chaos?

This hilarious new season opener features:
🌀 Interdimensional travel gone wrong
🐾 Canine-humanoid madness
💥 Sci-fi satire and fantasy absurdity
💸 Ransom notes, runaway villains, and a stolen portfolio
👀 Floating eyeballs and creepy tunnels 

🔔 Subscribe & hit the bell for outrageous characters, warped realities, and zero logic via more weird, hilarious, and unpredictable episodes from our fantasy/sci-fi comedy podcast series! ✨ Don’t forget to like, share, and drop a comment! 🪐🎧 New episodes every week! LISTEN: https://perswayssickradio.buzzsprout.com 🎧

Episode Artwork created by ChatGPT

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

Transcript

Transcript / “Too Bad, Three Eggs” – Episode 203, 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: Welcome to our new Season 21. This week, we rejoin our protagonist, the dimension-burned Earthling Nicki Rodriguez, who’s now existing simultaneously in two different timelines after having merged accidentally with her double. Risking death, Nicki has managed to make it back to her own world, her own New Jersey on Planet Earth, after her very first accidental dimension jump to Perswayssick County, but all’s not well. In our episode, “Chaos Erupts on Planet Earth! Nicki’s New Jersey Nightmare,” Nicki has been having a hard time readjusting to her old life. One morning, she receives a menacing phone call from none other than canine-humanoid Gneeecey. Later that day, when she returns home from work, dog-tired, she opens her mail—mostly bills that are stressing her out. But the last envelope contains a sloppy ransom note…signed by Gneeecey. It states that if she wants her possessions back—the ones that plunged into his murky Perswayssick River when she was knocked off the bridge, by an invisible force—she must pay up. Stunned, she falls asleep at her desk. And then, she awakens, suddenly….

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: In front of my bloodshot eyes sat the missing thing—my maroon leather portfolio. It was swollen and weatherbeaten.
 Holy crap—it all came rushing back! I’d stashed L’Orange’s dough, plus payments from other clients—around ten grand in cash—into a secret compartment inside the case. Zippered inside the main section were a shorthand outline of my unwritten novel, and my passport.
 NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: As she reaches for her precious possession, it’s whisked away—by Gneeecey, who has invaded her dimension. And he bolts out the door with it….

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: “Toooodles!” he cried, bolting. SFX: [SneakersSqueaking]. I flew up the stairs and out the door. SFX: [HumanWalkUpstairs] My head spun in fifty directions, searching the darkness for any sign of the little creep.
Swift on his sneakered feet, Gneeecey was already halfway down the block, emitting high-pitched squeaks. 

SFX: [Footsteps Running] My ankle nearly turned as I tottered down the uneven sidewalk in delicate red pumps. 

The October air had frozen my coffee-saturated jeans to my thighs, and my cramping calves threatened mutiny.
Just as my right knee buckled into a backward collapse, Gneeecey screeched to a halt. “Real Earth pumpkins!” he squealed, eyeing a neighbor’s stoop. “Jus’ like in them books I read, back on my planet!”
Pivoting, he headed west, toward the railroad tracks. SFX: [SneakersSqueaking] [Footsteps Running] Crumbled steps on each side led down into an unsavory tunnel, one that had a reputation for radiating putrid odors on nice days.
My heart plummeted through the pit of my stomach when I saw the parked freight train. Losing no time, Gneeecey scampered underground, SFX: [SneakersSqueaking] whooping, “A tunnel! What funnel!”
I froze.
“Wan’cha stuff?” he taunted. “Come git me!”
SFX: [Footsteps Running] [Mud Splash] Tearing in after him, slop walloping my shoes, I ran hard, desperate to escape the stink, and the hellacious passageway’s fabled legions of vile, subterranean reptiles and multiple-legged insects—and two-legged thugs. Still breathing through my mouth, I threw myself up the steps and rolled onto the sharp, debris-littered stones outside. SFX: [Gravel]
Gneeecey stood over me, victory flashing in his bulgy eyes.
Before I could get up, the cackling cur howled something undecipherable and vanished with my portfolio into thin air. Five magic syllables, propelled by blind fury, exploded up from my depths. SFX: [Explosion] [Supersonic Aerodynamic Whoosh] [Magic Summon]  [Magic Spell] [Scary Ambience]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ:  My slit of a right eye opened. At least I think it did—all I saw was sludge. Then I heard squishy footsteps. SFX: [Mud Splash] Two luminous orbs—a pair of sickly yellow eyeballs, not inside anyone’s skull—came into view. Lumpy raised vessels circling their shiny whites, they floated toward me.

The ovals glowed and glimmered and dipped down low, intrigued, as a brown, rubbery blob took on a life of its own, rising up from the ground and moving in midair, stretching itself into a taut membrane. SFX: [TwistPopScrunch]
 Gradually, the force made itself visible as a pair of amber-tinged hands, slathering and caressing more muck, building the eyes a head to live in. And a waxy face wearing an expression made malicious by its slanted, sardonic smile.
 The hands grew arms. muscular, chiseled arms. And legs. Pleased with having created itself, it stole off into darkness. SFX: [Mud Splash] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

“Geddup, Ig!” screamed a familiar voice.
 “I’m stuck in this—ugh—skunky brown stuff,” I replied, choking. “I—I can’t move.”
 The voice belonged to white-and-black canine-humanoid Zig Gneeecey. And he was about as sympathetic as a washing machine. “Course ya can, Ig. But may ya? An’ don’t say ‘skunky’—mierk’s our county’s most precious resource.”
“Leave her alone, Zig,” implored the familiar voice of Fleaglossitty “Flea” Floppinsplodge, also known as “Sooperflea.” The black-furred canine-humanoid peered down at me like I was some half-baked failure of a school science project. “She’s jus’ dimension-jumped. Way too soon, wit’out the protection of a vehicle!”
“Veeehicle, shmeeehicle—I didn’t have none neitherwise, an’ nuthin’s wrong wit’ me.”
“You know her species is, well, uh, biologically different.”
“Fleaglossitty Floppinsplodge, maybe all them consonants ain’t wasted on ya after all. Us Planet  Eccchsers are superior—in all ways. Now, geddup, ya dopey subspecies!” He kicked me.
I moaned.
Flea sighed. “‘Zig, don’cha have a single shred of compassion runnin’ through you?”
“Nope, Fleaglossitty, I’m proud to say I don’t.” Gneeecey yanked a strand of mierk from his sneaker and let it snap back like a rubber band. SFX: [Snap Rubber] “Not a stinkin’ shred.”
As my right arm flailed uselessly, vestiges of a disturbing dream—one with devilish undertones—haunted me. Couldn’t recall much. But its evil lingered.
“I’ll dig ya out,” volunteered Flea, kneeling on a ragged piece of cardboard. Gently, he began to peel away the latex-like mask that covered half my face.
“Thanks,” I whispered.

“Y’know, Nickels,” he said, calling me by a nickname only my younger brother Dave used, “my ESP musta kicked in—I had a feelin’ someone was in trouble. Hadda walk all the way. My flyin’ feature’s hardly workin’.”
 I raised my newly freed head. How come, I thought, all the crummy stuff happens to good people?
The superhero looked at me. “Doesn’t always.”
 Meanwhile, Gneeecey reached into his bulging T-shirt pocket, whipped out a translucent orange flip-top phone, and punched in numbers with a vengeance. SFX: [Cell Phone Dialing] “Answer awready! This is a state-of-the-art Binky the Clown phone—my victims are supposed to answer immediately. Culvert—what took ya so stinkin’ long? Come get me—now! An’ I got a coupla Iggleheimers wit’ me.”
 Flea shot Gneeecey a glance that could’ve withered an oak tree.
 Gneeecey kept barking into his cell. “Don’t make me wait—that’s why I fired Ogglebert. . .An’ I don’t care if he’s maaaad—two bad, three eggs. Now, listen up. We’re on the riverbank, near the new Grubble Grange service road. by Belcher’s Mill Run. . .no, not Hoosegow Road—we’re on the other end, by Dweebner Boulevard—a mile south of Frogless Flatts. . .. An’ ya can’t miss us—one of the Iggleheimers has a purple face.”
 I groaned.
 “Later,” continued Gneeecey, “I got a meetin’ wit’ Mark. . .yeah, y’know, the older, fraternically identical twin. Then I got my brain surgery club down at Florence Ferguson Memorial. It’s my turn to bring sandwiches—we’ll swing by the restaurant an’ see what Altitude’s saved from customers’ plates.”
 Flea’s nose wrinkled.
 “Whaaat, Culvert?” demanded Gneeecey, squeezing a soft marble of mierk between his thumb and forefinger. “How many times does a duck need to go? So, drink less, then. Yeah. . .okay, since now you’re my only driver, I’ll pay ya extra, but your checks won’t refluctuate it. In fact, they’ll seem smaller—wit’holdin’ taxes are a killer. G’bye!”
“Arkkettysmash!” yelled Flea, still bent over me. “My back!”
“Stop cussin’, will ya!” ordered Gneeecey. “I’m the only one authorizated to swear in this here lousy county—I’m the only one who does it wit’ any stinkin’ class or dignity.”
“Flea,” I begged, “take a rest.”
“I’m okay,” he replied through clenched teeth, as he released my lifeless left leg from the gunk’s grip. SFX: [Snap Rubber] “Sorry ’bout the swearin’—”
“I’m more worried about your back.”
“It’s embarrassin’,” he declared, steadying me as I rose. “Ya ever heard of a chiropractor who needs one? That’s bad marketing.”
“Certaintaneously is,” agreed Gneeecey. “It’s her fault—ya proboobably hurt your dopey back liftin’ her Mustank, back when she first invaded our beaudiful dimension of Perswayssick County.”
“C’mon, Zig—”
“C’mon yourself.” Gneeecey plucked a glob of mierk off his shirt, stuffed it into his kisser, and chewed noisily. SFX: [Dog Eating] “Look at this from my angle. What’s the use of havin’ a superhero friend wit’ failin’ powers? what’s in it for meeee?”
Flea’s moist eyes met mine.
Gneeecey blew out a basketball-sized bubble and sucked the big blob of gum back in before it burst. SFX: [TwistPopScrunch] “Plus, you’re afraida ridin’ in heloolicopters.”
Flea remained silent.
Gneeecey spit out his coffee-colored wad at my feet. “Pure mierk—ain’t bad. I think it’s okay to keep puttin’ it in our food. I don’t feel guilty even more now—I certaincerely don’t believe we’re poisonatin’ our community.”
 “Zig, scientists need to study this whole thing more before we—”
 “I am a scientist, Fleaglossitty—an’ who asked ya? An’ speakin’ of askin’ ya stuff, is that whooped cream on your nose?”
 Flea whisked the offending substance off his snoot with his long tongue. “What was that all over your face the other night at rehearsal?”
“Shaving cream. . .I was, uh, tryin’ out this new, uh, Freak O’Nature shaving cream, y’know, specifoofically formulizated for, uh, shaving.”
“You don’t shave, Zig.”
 “Might start.” Squirming, he changed the subject. “Uh, hey Ig, ya woulda loved our Mierk Fest!”
 “What’s to love ’bout mierk?” grumbled Flea. “Walkin’ in this mess can’t be healthy—maybe that’s why I can’t fly!”
 “Whaaaaaaat?” shrieked Gneeecey.
“Nuthin’.”
“Mierk’s our future—it’s our civoovic duty to eat it an’ play in it—”

SFX: [Scary Ambience]
 “Over there!” I shouted, gripped by déjà vu—and a palpable sense of doom. “Under the bridge, over the water—floating eyeballs!”
 “Wit’ my astigmatism, all’s I see’s a blur,” replied Flea.
 “Look!” I insisted. “Hundreds of them!”
 “It’s jus’ her Iggleheimer imagination,” said Gneeecey.
 “It is not! They’re moving—aw, now they’re gone!”

SFX: [Magic Glitter] [Misgivings & Misfortune]
 “What’cha got, Ig, Redecoritis?”
 “Redeca-what?”
“Redecoritis—it’s a neurolongitudinal disorder—”
“Neurological,” interrupted Flea.
“Whatever,” growled Gneeecey, regarding Flea with disgust. “I was addressicatin’ the Ig here. Redecoritis is a nervological disorder—ya gotta take these special tablooblets—”
“Ya mean, tablets—”
“That’s what I stinkin’ said—an’ stop tellin’ me what I mean! Now, like I was sayin’, ya gotta take these special tablooblets ’cause stuff starts movin’ ’round, trynna get’cha. First, your furniture starts movin’. Then baaad Mister Tree in the backyard starts movin’ ’round.”
“Strange,” I replied. “I’ve never heard of—”
“C’mon! I got a full schedoodle. Tonight, me an’ Doctor Yupnope are perpoopetratin’ a partial inclopitation—that’s, y’know, kinda like a Earth lobotomy.” He pointed to my head. “Gotta get to the hospoopital early to stupervise—it ain’t his specialty. He’s a heemahoologist—y’know, one of them blood doctors. So, c’mon awready!”
“Awright,” snarled Flea, surveying the yards of mierk we still had to traverse in order to reach the service road.
“Me an’ the Ig landed here ’bout the same time, but I awready got so much done! I left her here, flat on her dopey face—”
 Flea’s mouth opened wide. “Ya what?”
“I thought’cha proboobably might save her—if ya were havin’ a good day. Will ya stop lookin’ at me like that! Anyways, I went home to do my mornin’ aberrations. Then I hid her stuff, an’ when Ogglebert dropped me back here—before I fired him—here she was, the lazy Ig, still hardly movin’. But yooou were here, Fleaglossitty, so that made everythin’ okay.”
Flea shook his head.
And it all suddenly came back. I remembered why I’d uttered those four words. “Where’s my portfolio? The one you dangled in my face, y’know back in my dimension, to trick me into coming back here—the one you just admitted you hid? where is it, Doctor Gneeecey?”
“That’s stinkin’ Diroctor Gneeecey! I jus’ been officially inordinated Grate Gizzy—director of this whole county. Bein’ a doctor an’ a director makes me a diroctor.”
“Okay, uh, stinking—uh—Diroctor Gneeecey. where’s my portfolio?”
 “What poopfolio?”
 “You know what I’m referring to.”
 “Ya jus’ ended your sentence wit’ a propooposition.”
 “You know which portfolio—”
 “The one I found after I dredged the river, put in your face, an’ hid? Never stinkin’ heard of it.”

SFX: [Orchestra Cliffhanger] [Magic Spell] [Halloween Spooky & Fun Logo]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Next week, we travel back to that other simultaneous timeline, where rotten Nurse Maudlyn’s two canine-humanoid hostages, Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey and Fleaglossitty “Flea” Floppinsplodge, also known as “Sooperflea,” had attempted, but failed, to escape their captor’s house…. Nurse Maudlyn remains glued to her toilet,  and Gneeecey and Flea, locked inside her house, have a huge argument, then find out, to their horror, the evil woman hasn’t paid her bills. The wi-fi’s out, the phone’s not working, and as the two starving canine-humanoids go upstairs, they find out the hard way that she hasn’t paid her utility bills either….

SFX: [Metal Crash] Bang] [Splash] [CanTin] [Sneakers Squeaking] [HumanWalkUpstairs]

F: Hey—what the—we’re in the dark! 

G: Stinkin’ lights all jus’ went out! She musta not paid her utility bill either—

G & F [in unison]: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

SFX: [BodyHumanFall] [Sneakers Squeaking] [Passing Swoosh Exploding] [Metal Crash] [Crash Metal] [Bang] [CanTinBag] [CanMetalTin] [GlassShatter] [GlassDebris] [Cartoon Slip] [Slip & Fall] [Duck Horn] [CanTin] [Splash Water 5] [Cartoon Slip] [Slip & Fall] [Duck Horn]

G & F [in unison]: Ow! My bimbus!

[Magic Spell]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: And, just as an aside, my dad used to say, “Too bad, three eggs.” We were never quite sure what he meant….

SFX: [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] ###