Friday the 13th, Perswayssick Style

“Friday the 13th, Perswayssick Style,” Episode 211

🚖🦆 Stuck in a 32-door limo with a duck driver, a cranky dog-boss, and sparrows playing football on her FACE—Nicki’s first day on the job is already chaos! 😂🎧

🚖✨ Buckle up for another wild ride in Perswayssick County, the bizarre parallel dimension where stranded Earthling DJ Nicki Rodriguez is stuck working for egomaniacal canine-humanoid Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey.

This time, Nicki skips breakfast (no thanks to Gneeecey’s “rehydrated flumm gizzards” 🤢) and heads to her first day at the GAS Broadcast Network. Chauffeured in Gneeecey’s thirty-two-door, ethereal white limo 🚘—driven by his six-foot albino duck, Culvert 🦆—Nicki discovers that it’s Friday the 13th… and her Earthly life is unraveling fast.

📞 She pleads to phone home, but thanks to the County’s time-warping Season of Blirg (where time runs backward ⏳), all communication is cut off. Even “Brady Bunch” reruns are canceled. Meanwhile, Gneeecey blames Earth for dimension entanglements, clutches the business section, and makes Nicki’s life even more impossible.

🎲 Add in creepy alien gangsters placing football bets 👽🏈, sparrows in helmets staging mini-championship football games on Nicki’s face, and county ordinances that make humans legal goalposts… and you’ve got one dimension-twisting, laugh-loaded adventure.

👉 Tune in for surreal sci-fi comedy, absurd banter, and plenty of chaos in this week’s Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy!

🎙️ Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy – Where logic takes a coffee break and chaos flushes the rules!🔔 Subscribe & hit the bell for more weird, hilarious, and unpredictable episodes from our Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy 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: Nicki by Jay Hudson, Background created by ChatGPT 

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.

Transcript

Transcript / Friday the 13th, Perswayssick Style – Episode 211, by Vicki Solá. 

(Based on material from THE GETAWAY THAT GOT AWAY by Vicki Solá  (© 2011, Full Court Press)

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: This week finds us back in that other parallel universe, where earthling Nicki Rodriguez has recently arrived in that wacko, unearthly dimension of Perswayssick County. This particular morning, Nicki has awakened in canine-humanoid Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey’s four-story pigsty of a mansion. Butterflies in her stomach—it’s her first day of work at Gneeecey’s GAS Broadcast Network—Nicki decides to skip breakfast, declining to try the meal Gneeecey had offered her (in this case, rehydrated flumm gizzards)….

Here, where our story picks up, Nicki and Gneeecey are on their way to the office, in Gneeecey’s ethereal thirty-two-door white limo, driven by Gneeecey’s six-foot-tall albino duck, Culvert.

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Misgivings & Misfortune] [Car Engine] [Car Horns] [Police Siren] [Ambulance Siren] [Sport Car] [Motorcycle]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: “Oh, God,” I exclaimed, wincing as the limo would its way down Bimbus Crack Drive. “It’s Friday!” 

Gneeecey crumpled his newspaper. SFX: [Rustling Papers] “Yeah, it’s FriedEgg, Octvember 13th. Now, stop interrupticatin’ my readin’.” An unlit health cigar hung from his mouth. “Market’s volatile—if I don’t stay ontoppa this, I’m gonna take a real bath in stinkin’ alphabet soup.”
A bath in any kind of soup would be an improvement, I thought.
“What’chooo lookin’ at?” He pulled the Tims’ business section back up over his schnozz. SFX: [Rustling Papers]

I sighed. It was indeed Friday, the 13th. I’d be a no-show at the radio station I hated, WUGG, never even calling in. Never putting final touches on weekend public affairs programming or adding sound effects and music beds to the fifty-million commercials stacked in my bin.
That would delight our soon-to-be former sponsors, and my boss, Bill Fernández, who was already mad at the world because his sensible stockbroker daughter had just run off with a green-haired tattoo artist.
And the next day, I’d never make it into the city to host my salsa program at the station I did like.
“Diroctor,” I began, digging my fingernails into my palms, “Sorry to interrupt you—”
“Whaaaaat?!” He flung the Perswayssick Tims FriedEgg entertainment section in my face. . .SFX: [Rustling Papers]
 “Can you help me phone home? Please! You called me from here just the other day. If I could just make one call, to my mother—”
“Ya can’t! The season of Blirg, y’know, when time runs backwards, disrupticates all communications! Can’t even get Brady Bunch reruns!”
“You—you watch—”
“Not no more. Not since yesterday, when our gravoovitational antiwhaddayacallit poles began neutralizatin’, in prepooparation for their annual electronical shiftin’. Sorry.”
“But—”
“Looky, nobody, not even meee, the stinkin’ Grate One, can call outta Perswayssick County till Blirg ends, an’ our poles snap back.”
“But, there has to be some way—”
“There ain’t. Anyways, our county’s revoovolutional reversal’s your fault. Ya can blame your dopey planet Earth for gettin’ our dimensions all entangulated.”
“I’ve gotta reach my mom—”
“If I can’t call my mommy, you can’t call yours!” Eyes glistening, Gneeecey hoisted the classifieds up over his face. . SFX: [Rustling Papers] 
My stomach knotted up. My sister Alex would phone tonight. When she didn’t reach me, she’d assume I was out. Out on a Friday night. Saturday at noon, when Carlos arrived at WAOK, I wouldn’t be there. It would be the second time I’d stood him up. And nobody else at that radio station knew how to cover my show. The program I worked so hard to establish, for five years of my life, would vanish from the airwaves, and from the face of the earth. Like me.
My mom, Alex, and my brother Dave would take turns calling me. Monday morning—hearing I hadn’t made it to work since Wednesday—they’dgo to my place and find my car, but not me. They’d file a missing person’s report and assume the worst. Planning a funeral without a body.
“Stop mumblin’, Ig!” snarled Gneeecey.
“What? I’m not—”
“Ya are, an’ it’s gettin’ on my nerves!”
I closed my eyes and continued freaking.
Fernández would fire me. Can me, posthumously. My full-time job was a killer, with its staggering production load and monotonous rotation of overly-commercial “hits.” 

And working with my well-meaning-but-carping boss was no walk in the park either.He was constantly breathing down my neck.
But the gig kept a roof over my head.
I’d lose that, too. True, it was only a basement apartment, crowded, chilly and damp—I was forever battling mildew—but it was mine.
My landlord was exceptional, as landlords went. Rico was always checking to make sure I was okay. Said I reminded him of his granddaughter. Every time he saw me, he’d mention he wanted to give me an album by his brother’s friend, who’d led a Latin jazz band back in the sixties. He was still looking for the old vinyl recording.
And the six hundred bucks a month Rico charged me was pretty reasonable, considering that the house was located up the street from the bus stop, minutes from Manhattan. Good ol’ New York City. Would I ever see it again?
And what if I didn’t make it back in time to pay my November rent? I couldn’t picture Rico chucking my possessions out onto the curb. But I could envision him, bewildered and apologetic, asking Alex and Dave to come empty out my place.
And my creditors. Would my family be responsible for my debts? I bit my finger so hard, it bled.
“Ya wouldn’t eat no breakfast. Ya wouldn’t even try my tasty flummery, but you’re eatin’ your fingers?”
Lost for words, I gazed out the window. What if the little hairball had already slid his slimy fingers into my case’s secret sleeve and swiped my ten grand?
“Why’re ya cryin’, Ig? Ain’t no spilt milk here.”
“Diroctor, let’s just cut to the chase.”
“How can ya cut a chase? Didn’t nobody never tell ya, ya shouldn’t run wit’ scissors? It’s too dangerousical!”
“Stop calling me ‘Ig.’ I insist you return my portfolio.”
“Return it? Where’d I buy it?”
“Let’s cut all the nonsense—”
“Nonsense is certaintaneously easier to cut than a chase––”
“If I cooperate with you today, will you give me back my portfolio?”
“Time will smell, Ig. Time will smell.”

Yep, this limo’s stuffy passenger compartment could’ve turned the strongest stomach. I rolled my window down and gulped in some cool air. Sunlight ricocheted off other vehicles and anything else remotely reflective, imprinting my retinas with brilliant spots and curved lines. They didn’t even disappear even when I squeezed my eyelids shut. 

When the long light at Pheasantbelly Road turned green, street crossers scrambled for their lives as we sped onto Murgatroyd Avenue, one of Perswayssick City’s main drags 

Culvert screeched to a halt.  

SFX: [Screeching brakes] By the time he had double-parked alongside several dozen cars and trucks, I felt like I’d already slogged through a whole workday.  

I stumbled out of the limo and onto the sidewalk. 

SFX: [Traffic] [Car Door Open] [Running Footsteps]

“C’mon, Ig—gotta see Gus!” shouted Gneeecey. 

“Will you freakin’ stop calling me Ig?” I yelled back at the walking, talking white-and-black dog. “My name’s Nicki! Nicki Rodriguez!”  

“Okay, Ig!” 

SFX: [Cell Phone Ring] 

“Yeah? Smello?” 

SFX: [Scary Ambience] 

“It’s me, hah, hah, hah.” 

I reached into my purse and popped another StomQuell antacid tablet to ease my already queasy stomach. I recognized the voice at the other end—it was Redheaded Broken-nose Mark, one of the creepy evil alien gangster Markmen that always seemed to be calling Gneeecey and dropping in on him unexpectedly—at the strangest times. 

“Heya, Mark, what can I, uh, dooo for ya? I’m on my way into the sock repair shop—told Gus to jus’ fix my lucky socks, not clean ’em—” 

“I wanna place my usual bet on da football game—da red team! See ya later, doc! Hah, hah, hah.” 

“Okay, sure thing, Mark. Guh-bye! Now c’mon, ya Ig, we’re gonna be stinkin’ late! Gotta get my stinkin’ lucky socks or we’ll all have baaad luck today—even yooou, ya Ig!” 

I groaned. “Ig” was a derogatory term, short for “Iggleheimer.” Gneeecey was referring to his Planet Eccchs’s legendary clumsy and dopey three-legged troglodytes. 

Gneeecey shoved me into a sea of bustling, briefcase-toting pedestrians. Despite the blinding sunshine, most of ’em held these giant black umbrellas over their heads. Guess they’d all heard Gneeecey’s stupid pre-recorded weather report, saying it was pouring—raining cats and dogs—on WGAS radio that morning.  Evidently, none of ’em had the good sense to look up into the bright blue skies. 

As I stepped forward, a tiny football bounced off the bridge of my nose and hurtled straight into my left eye, point first. My hand shot up to shield my injury.  

SFX: [Football Referee Whistle] 

“Ya lousy Ig!” Gneeecey dug his sharp fingers into my arm.  

Through stinging tears, I saw only a blurry flurry of flapping wings. A sharp beak stabbed my cheek.  

A growing crowd, including kids on their way to school, circled ’round me and began to chant: 

SFX: [Kids Chanting “Defense”] 

“What the—”   

“It’s stinkin’ chaaampionship mini-sparrow football,” shrilled Gneeecey. “Ya gotta stand still till they complete play!”  

“Huh? But—”  

“If ya move, ya can get fined for interference—”  

I stood up straighter. “Huh?”  

Gneeecey’s bulgy eyes rolled upward. “County ordinance BS 396.3—which I wrote my stinkin’ self— clearly states that birds may use people as goalposts an’ playin’ surfaces, wit’in city confines as they determine fit, durin’ all post-season play—play-offs an’ championships.”  

“I—I don’t understand—”  

“Nuthin’ to understaaand, ya Ig.” 

“But—but—” 

“They were proboobably attracted to your stooopid purplish dimension-burned skin, Ig. Jus’ stinkin’ stand still— let ’em finish. I don’t wanna hafta make a snitizen’s arrest today. Got too much else lousy stuff to do!” 
 
 I stood cross-eyed as the diminutive descendants of dinosaurs—sparrows the size of overgrown bumblebees—executed a flea-flicker pass across my face. Their itty-bitty, needle-sharp cleats scratched and pinched my already tender, dimension-burned skin.  

A few more jabs, penalties, tackles, huddles, and feathers poking me, and it was over—my part, anyway. The team wearing little fire-engine-red helmets and jerseys made a first down and then, along with their white-uniformed rivals, took off into the skies to play somewhere else, on someone else’s nose, no doubt.  

“You’re stinkin’ lucky, Ig,” said Gneeecey, surveying my scraped-up, tear-stained countenance. “Sometimes they poop on ya!” 

SFX: [Cartoon 1] [Fail horn] [Magic Spell] [Halloween Spooky & Fun Logo]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: And next week, as we alternate timelines, we return to that other parallel universe where there is no Nicki—(spoiler alert: yet). As two voices seem to be sliding out of Gneeecey’s snout simultaneously, Sooperflea has taken his angry, uncooperative pal to Holy Krapp Hospital, to be checked out. Also in the ER sits rotten Nurse Maudlyn, still glued to her toilet, with her mouth still sealed shut. Doctor Frombilagonga, the very disinterested, if not totally repulsed object of Nurse Maudlyn’s affections, specializes in treating bizarre caseslike hers. The nurse’s blood pressure rises when the doctor announces that before tending to her, he plans to go on a dinner date with “someone very special,” plus he needs to buy more cryptocurrency. 

And orange monster Urgl and his flying outhouse continue to plague Perswayssick County. Hope to see you next week!

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] ###