That's Fifteen Cents This Week, Pt. 1

“That’s Fifteen Cents This Week, Pt. 1,” Episode 215

🚖💥 Nicki Rodriguez’s first day of work at Diroctor Gneeecey’s chaotic GAS Broadcast Network is already spiraling out of control! 👾🎙️ From near-death limo rides 🚦😱, bizarre rock formations shaped like giant ironing boards 🪨🧺, and a two-hundred-fiftieth floor skyscraper office filled with junk, petrified French fries, and danger 🏢🔥—Nicki’s introduction to interdimensional media life is anything but ordinary.

Meanwhile, Gneeecey claims this is the dawn of the “Bizzigian Era” 🐕👑—all while hoarding dimes, stuffing hair he accidentally tore out of Nicki’s head into his T-shirt pocket, and enforcing ridiculous workplace policies (like requiring two weeks’ notice before calling in sick… even in the event of death ☠️📄).

Will Nicki survive her first shift in this surreal sci-fi comedy world of intergalactic broadcasting? Tune in to find out!

✨ Perfect for fans of:
 🎧 Comedy podcasts
 👽 Sci-fi & fantasy adventures
 😂 Absurd humor & surreal storytelling

👉 Don’t miss the beginning of this 3-part series following Nicki’s first wild day at GAS Broadcast Network!

✨ If you’re a fan of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, surreal sci-fi humor, and absurd fantasy adventures, you’ll love this episode of 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: Gneeecey’s face, by Jay Hudson, Hands and background 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.

#Comedy #fantasy #SciFi #dogs #dogsofInstagram #Podcast #hitchhikersgalaxyfans #montypythonfans #ParallelUniverse #FunnyAudioDrama #Multiverse #DimensionHopping #WeirdFiction #AudioTheater 

Transcript

Transcript / That’s Fifteen Cents This Week, Pt.1 – Episode 215, 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, we return to that alternate, simultaneous timeline where, due to Gneeecey’s trickery, earthling Nicki Rodriguez has unwittingly dimension-jumped back to Perswayssick County—way too soon after her first time—and finds herself stranded there indefinitely. Afflicted with a severe case of dimension burn, she finds herself having to live with the zany, exasperating canine-humanoid, in his mansion, and she must work for him, too. She’s on her way to work this particular morning…. 

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Misgivings & Misfortune] [Car Engine]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: “Duck,” shrieked Gneeecey, “stop!”

The limo screeched to a dead halt SFX: [Screeching Brakes] [Car Horns], slamming us to the floor. SFX: [BodyFallHuman] Possibly mistaking me for Rapunzel, Gneeecey clutched fistfuls of my hair, to pull himself upright, and dashed out into the street. SFX: [CarDoorOpen] [Footsteps] As profanities spewed from drivers’ mouths, he squatted down and snatched up a shiny object.
 “A dime!” he squealed, doing cartwheels all the way back to the car. SFX: [Comedy Boing] “That’s fifteen cents this week!” SFX: [CarDoor]
 Shooting him daggers, I massaged my sore scalp. SFX: [Car Engine]
 “One day,” he squawked, lowering his scruffy behind, “this spectackookular period of history will be known as ‘the Bizzigian era’. I’ll be institootionalized!” He stuffed his rescued coin, along with clumps of my hair, into his T-shirt pocket.
 Our ride continued uneventfully until we entered an intersection where six two-way streets converged, and twice as many signs and signals contradicted each other. Culvert quacked in confusion. SFX: [Quacks]
 “Jus’ stinkin’ turn, duck!” Gneeecey shouted into the intercom. “Jus’ stinkin’ turn!”
 Gneeecey turned to me. “They’ll automatickookally hafta stop for us! An’ y’know, I’m
gonna fix this lousy intersection! Red lights slow ya down an’ create confusionism—I’ll jus’ paint ’em all green!”
I just looked at him.
“Then everyone can jus’ go at their own risk—y’know, survival of the fittest—an’ the biggest an’ faaastest!”
Desperate not to join the ranks of the unemployed, the beleaguered mallard turned left—from the lane furthest to the right—onto Edgar Vompt Boulevard.
I dug my nails into the leather seat as the limousine slithered, like a caffeine-crazed snake, through a high-speed obstacle course, leaving behind a trail of yelping brakes, shattered glass, and crumpled fenders. SFX: [Screeching Brakes] [A Car Accident] [[Glass Shatter] [Glass Debris] [Crash Metal] [Police Sirens]

We’d just cut off eleven lanes of traffic.
 Gneeecey raised a grubby index finger into the air. “Edgar Vompt,” he informed me, “was our Planet Eccchs’s greatest business hero.”
 The financial icon’s thoroughfare, a monotonous industrial roadway, dragged on forever, making even that sunny morning seem gloomy.
 Just as I began to drift off, my eyes opened wide.
 The barren strips of land bordering the boulevard were suddenly populated with elephantine stone ironing boards and irons, the latter exquisitely detailed with switches and electrical cords.
 Some appliances sat perched atop building-sized boards, while others stood on the parched earth, pointy noses facing skyward. Still others rested face down, scorching, for all eternity, whatever they’d been pressing.
 “Who made these?” I asked. “how on earth—or, uh, whatever—did they get here?”
 Gneeecey threw down his shredded Tims. SFX: [Rustling Paper] “We’re jus’ drivin’ through the Iron section—we call it ‘The Irons.’ Been here forever.’” He whisked the sports section back up over his snout. SFX: [Rustling Paper]
 “But, I—I’ve never seen anything like this!”
 “Ya have now. They’re jus’ lousy rock formations,” he snapped from behind his paper. “Nobody knows how they got there. An’ nobody really cares.”
Evidently, no one did give a deck of vlecks. Traffic just whizzed by the Stonehenges-with-steam-settings.

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Misgivings & Misfortune] [Car Engine]
 Quacking SFX: [Quack], Culvert flashed his laminated ID.
 After a white-haired, sleep-walking security guard motioned us to proceed, we rolled up to a surreal, sprawling office complex. SFX: [Magic Twinkle Tone]
 Its centerpiece, a fantastic structure, wide as it was tall, appeared to be constructed mainly of glass, with lustrous strips of ebony tile separating oversized, dark-tinted windows. Silver art deco characters floated above the dozen-doored entrance, heralding our arrival at the Edgar Vompt
 Pavillion.
 Scores of satellite dishes and antennas sprouted from the glossy wonder’s flat roof. A patched-up purple-and-orange helicopter cowered on a grassy triangle below, sporting droopy rotors, one blade bent so as to render flight extremely perilous, if not impossible. 

Peeling white letters identified the flying machine as GAS-TV’s Chopper 3½.
 “What’chooo lookin’ at, Ig? Geddout awready!”SFX: [Car Door]
Gneeecey’s high-tops squeaked across the expansive, marble-floored lobby. SFX: [Squeaking Sneakers] My gimpy legs barely kept up.
Mutilated newspaper wedged under his wet armpit, cigar clenched between his unbrushed teeth, he grunted and nodded, spitting out the side of his mouth every several feet and muttering an occasional “Bad mornin’.”
During the course of our ear-popping, stomach-dropping ten minute ride to the skyscraper’s top, we changed elevators five times, as each packed car traveled fifty floors. SFX: [SupersonicAerodynamicWhoosh]
“Two-hundred-fiftieth floor,” announced a robotic female voice, as bells chimed SFX: [Elevator Chimes] and golden doors slid open, depositing us outside the GAS Broadcast Network’s executive suites.
“Top four floors are mine,” boasted Gneeecey. “You’ll be workin’ at AM, FM, plus TV—till ya drop!”
“But—but—I’ve never worked in television—I’ve only—”
“An’ you’re late,” he bellowed, stomping through the scarlet-carpeted lobby, into his office. “Don’t look too good on ya first day, does it?” He slammed his door in my face. SFX: [Door Slam] Its mangled Venetian blinds swung from side to side, obstructing my view of what sounded like file cabinets being dragged about and smashed against walls. SFX: [Crash Metal]
Taking a deep breath, I leaned against the unmanned reception desk and waited.
“Okay, Ig—get in here!”
My blood ran cold.
“Now!”
I turned the knob slowly SFX: [Door Open] and stumbled over the loose wooden threshold. Planes could’ve flown into my mouth. Gneeecey’s majestic mahogany desk sat in the middle of a garbage dump.
“Copy a squat, or whatever yuz Earthlings say.”
“Huh?”
“Over there, Ig, in that itsy-bitsy purple chair in front of my desk. It’ll make ya feel even insignificanter than ya are.”
Scowling, I sat.
“Uh, be right back, Ig—forgot somethin’. An’ don’t stinkin’ touch nuthin’!”
 SFX: [Clock Tick] After fidgeting for fifteen minutes, I hauled my bones out of the puny
 chair and tripped over an overturned GAS-TV mug bearing Gneeecey’s grinning image—one of dozens glued to the once-beige carpet.
 Framed documents and licenses hung haphazardly along the orange walls, including a degree from Saint Bogelthorpe’s University of Medicine and Dentistry—located on Planet Eccchs—and a diploma from the Perswayssick University of New Ideas, conferring upon B.Z.Z. Gneeecey
 a doctorate in advanced gasometry. Across the room, ethereal scarlet digits morphed fluidly on yellowed green drapes—on the fabric’s very surface—displaying the time. window treatments with clocks in their stomachs. The stiff fiberglass panels weren’t synchronized. The curtain hanging to the left read nine-forty a.m., while its companion lagged behind by twenty-two minutes.
 Five dented file cabinets stood nearby, topped by an evenly distributed mound of future landfill. Cables, braided with miles of runaway old fashioned audiotape, and videocassettes vomiting yards of tangled film, spilled into open drawers below.
 I tripped over a soldering iron that had melted into the rug’s synthetic fibers. One knee landed in a Styrofoam container filled with stiff fries, and the other in a wilted salad garnished with leaky batteries.
 As I staggered upright, I found myself gawking at a memorandum that detailed the network’s sick-day policy. It stated that an employee must give two weeks’ notice prior to calling in sick, and in the event of one’s sudden demise, a relative must contact the office beforehand.
Sidestepping an upside-down box labeled “speshul fuzes—store upright,” I bumped Gneeecey’s desk. An avalanche of paper and other assorted items tumbled down, including the solid brass dollar sign paperweight that fell on my left foot. SFX: [Rustling Paper] [Wood Demolition Bang] [Bang]

As stars and birdies orbited my skull, I read the memo that floated before my purple face. Titled, “Regarding malicious gossip,” Gneeecey warned:
If ya must say anything about co-workers, ya must say it close enough to my office that I can hear it too. Of course, gossip about ME is grounds for immediate dismissal, whether I overhear it or hear it through the grapevine.
After I unknotted the insulated spaghetti twisted around my ankles, and heaped all the debris back onto Gneeecey’s desk SFX: [Rustling Papers] [Bang], things looked pretty much the same as they had before.
As my eyes settled on a coffee-stained engineering log, I reached into my pocket for Gneeecey’s precious sock repair claim ticket. It wasn’t there.
Heart pounding like a jackhammer, I rummaged through the dozens of inner and outer pouches and secret compartments—some disguised as seams—hidden throughout the body and sleeves of my reversible jacket.
The little piece of cardboard was nowhere to be found.
I tore the coat off and slid my fingers into every visible opening. Still nothing. nothing but a little slip of paper informing me that my new article of lifetime-guaranteed apparel had been rigorously tested and approved by Inspector #3.
For ten more gut-wrenching minutes, I searched. And came up empty. Empty, that is, until I did find something—a hole in the bottom of a front pocket.
I’d have to spend my lunch hour looking for Gneeecey’s sock repair ticket.
Head throbbing, I studied Gneeecey’s dinosaur of a desktop computer. The monitor was so big, he could probably read his e-mails from Mars—or his Planet Eccchs. Its printer beeped continuously, flashing an “out of paper” warning. SFX: [Fire Alarm]
A laptop computer rode an adjacent tsunami of rubble. The gash on its screen created the illusion of a sad, down-turned mouth.
Two phones sat on the desk’s northwest end. One, a chunky old gray model—labeled “News,” with a backward S—appeared to have been run over. 

Its healthier, more streamlined red neighbor was tagged “Hotline.” The latter began wailing like a siren. SFX: [Airplane Alarm] Fifty lights flashed under its blinking keypad. 

Acid flooded my stomach.

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

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: And next week, as timelines twist and tangle, we return to that other parallel universe—one where Nicki hasn’t shown up…yet. But chaos never takes a break. Havoc reigns supreme in Holy Krapp Hospital’s brand-new Hortense Hasenpfeffer Wing, thanks to the catastrophic meltdown of Sooperflea’s Empathy 5000 machine. The canine-humanoid had built it to literally feel his patients’ pain and better treat them—but instead, it’s blown to pieces, with him trapped inside…and poor Gneeecey unwillingly along for the ride!

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] ###