That's Fifteen Cents This Week, Pt. 2

“That’s Fifteen Cents This Week, Pt. 2,” Episode 218

✨ 🎙️ When Sooperflea’s Empathy 5000 machine goes haywire, our favorite misfiring superhero and his snippy boss Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey blast into a parallel universe—where there are TWO GNEEECEYS! 😱🐶🌀

As timelines twist, toilets tremble, and chaos multiplies, the duo stumbles into an alternate version of the GAS Broadcast Network—or IS it an alternate version, or are THEY an alternate version?—complete with echoing egos, strange déjà-vu, and…a sinister surprise from rotten Nurse Maudlyn! 🩺💀

Can the two canine-humanoids escape this mirror-mad world? Or will the well-meaning Sooperflea’s invention, meant to create empathy, end up creating entropy instead? ⚡💫

💫 Tune in for interdimensional mayhem, sci-fi parody fun, and laugh-out-loud chaos in this week’s episode of Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy—the bizarre blend of comedy, fantasy, and sci-fi you didn’t know you needed! 🎧✨ 👉 Don’t forget to like, share, and subscribe for more absurd, hilarious adventures through parallel universes! 🌌😂 🎧 Perfect for fans of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Monty Python, Rick and Morty, and anyone who likes their comedy extra weird. 🪐🎧 New episodes every week! 🎧 LISTEN: https://perswayssickradio.buzzsprout.com 🎧

Episode Artwork 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.

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

Transcript

Transcript / That’s Fifteen Cents This Week, Pt.2 – Episode 218, 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: We’ll pick up where Sooperflea’s malfunctioning Empathy 5000 machine has launched our not-so-dynamic duo—Flea and Gneeecey—straight into a parallel universe where (gulp!) there are two Gneeeceys! 

SFX: [Magic Spell]

FLEAGLOSSITTY “FLEA” FLOPPINSPLODGE, AKA “SOOPERFLEA”: I gotta get outta here!

SFX: [Wood Demolition Bang] [Door Open]

F: Looky—there was a door here the whole time! Thank Bogelthorpe! 

DIROCTOR BIZZIG “ZIG” GNEEECEY: Looks like we were trapped inside a closet. You’ll proboobably never see your stooopid Empoopathy concraption again!

F: I’m jus’ happy to be un-unalive! C’mon—let’s get outta here!

SFX: [Cartoon Chase]

G: Listen to that, Fleaglossitty!

“An’ now, an important message from us here at GAS Radio! My kingdom for a horse! My corporation for a brief! Ah, the age-old lament of the busy, squirmin’ executive! Whaaat could be worse than ill-fittin’ underwear?
  “I’m Doctor Bizzig Gneeecey, an’ I wanna talk to youse ’bout somethin’ personal! It’s sad but true—eighty per cent of corporate blunders are produced by ‘executive squeeze’—the torment of ill-fittin’ underwear! There’s no tellin’ how many finaaancial tragedies can be attributated to chafin’ an’ itchin’! Well, I’ve done somethin’ about it!
“I’ve invented an amazin’ new revooovolutionary formula! Jus’ one apooplication of clinically proven Bend-a-Britch, an’ I unconditionally quarantine that your very personal undergarments will conform to yooou! Even works on tail holes! Call itchy butts, that’s I-T-C-H-Y-B-U-T-T-S, today to find out more! Remember, ya heard it here, on 1780 am, GAS Radio!” 

SFX: [Cartoon Chase]

G: My Bend-a-Britch commercial! An’ looky! We’re here in my GAS Broadcast Network offices! Your Empoopathy concraption transpooportated us here!

F: Guess I didn’t work out all the bugs….

G: Well, Fleaglossitty, at least we’re stinkin’ alive! 

F: Stinkin’ is right….

G: Shaaadup. Now, let’s go to my office an’ regroup. Y’know, exhalerate?

SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Door Open] [Fire Alarm] [Airplane Alarm]

G: Holy Saint Bogelthorpe!

F: Holy Saint Bogelthorpe Indeed! Look! Nicki! Nicki! Looky! She’s back—back in our Perswayssick County!

G: Ig! Ig! Don’choo dare answer that there lousy hotline! An’ put more paper in that dopey printer! Can’cha see it’s outta paper? Why ya jus’ standin’ there?

F: Zig, I don’t think she sees or hears us!

G: Don’t be stooopid Fleaglossity. What the—my haaand jus’ went right through her, y’know, when I jus’ touched her! An’ she still don’t see me! She’s jus’ staaandin’ there!

F: Looky, Zig—you’re comin’ in the office now!

G: Whaddaya mean, ya dope? I aaam here in my office awready an’—holy Saint Bogelthorpe!

GNEEECEY 2: Don’t stinkin’ touch it, ya Ig—jus’ let it ring!

F: Told ya, Zig—there’s two of ya!

G: We’ll stinkin’ see about thaaat! Hey, meee!

F: He don’t see or hear ya neitherwise! Your hand jus’ went through your other self!

SFX: [Spooky Hollow Fear] [Carnival Creepy Music Box] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: “I said, don’t stinkin’ touch it!” ordered Gneeecey, as he barreled through the door, waving a copy of the Perswayssick Pooper-Scooper. “Jus’ let it ring!”

G: Looky, Fleaglossitty—the Ig—it’s like she’s talkin’ to herself! Either we’re unalive or we’re in some other kinda dimension! Your stooopid Empoopathy 5000 concraption, ya proboobably mighta got us seriously killed!

F: Sssssh, Zig—ya might hear yourself! 

G: We’ve awready estabooblished that they can’t! Now, I’m tellin’ ya, Fleaglossitty, it’s real weird, like I’m watchin’ a teckooknicolor movie of myself! 

F: Quiet, Zig! Quiet! Ya gotta try an’ be quiet till we can figure out what’s goin’ on here!

SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking]

N: A well-built, twentyish black man sprinted into the room behind Gneeecey, obviously distressed, clutching his abdomen and a quart-sized bottle of antacid. Only when he slowed down did I detect his slight limp. 
“Who moved my stuff?” demanded Gneeecey.
Face flushing, I slunk back into my seat.

G: There she goes again, talkin’ to herself, like she’s narratin’ some dopey dockookumentary!

F: Quiet, Zig! 

SFX: [Phartz] 

F: Oh, Zig! I’m gonna start callin’ ya The Methane King….

G: I stinkin’ told ya—

F: Stinkin’ is right!

G: Shaddup, Fleaglossitty! I told ya that this happens when I’m empty—ain’t had nuthin’ to eat in hours! Oh—Ig’s gonna talk again!

N: “Uh, Diroctor Gneeecey,” I asked my new elbow-high boss, “do you smell something funny?” 

“Nah,” replied the canine-humanoid. “I don’t smell nuthin’ that makes me wanna laugh. But I do smell somethin’ kinda baaad.” Gneeecey stomped over to his desk, grabbed a battered sheet of paper, and tossed it at me. 

G: Look at that other meee—I look real maaad, don’t I? An’ she got no business talkin’ ’bout my height like thaaat!

F: Quiet, Zig!

N: “Ya gotta fill out this here job aplooplication,” barked Gneeecey.
“You mean, I don’t have the job yet?” Maybe my father had been right—where there’s life, there’s hope.
Gneeecey lobbed a pen at me. “Fill it out!”
I began writing. Gneeecey shook his newspaper in the distressed man’s face, distressing him further, no doubt. “Look, Cleve,” he yowled, “no wonder this paper’s named after poop! That jerk Imbroglio’s trynna pass a idiotronical editorial off as a objectionable report!”
Cleve took a long swig from his blue-green bottle.

F: Looky how mean you’re actin’, Zig! Poor Cleve, he can’t get enough of that antacid….

G: Shaaadup, Fleaglossitty. That’s how I always act! An’ that newspaper article still makes me maaad!

N: “Looky what he writes!” Gneeecey shrilled at Cleve. “‘Mierk’s a highly-hazoozardous byproduct of miercoles, a unstable element mined in Perswayssick County’s northwestern hills, used in the manufacture of pavin’ materials, automotive an’ aircraft parts, fuel additives, an’ plaaastics, an’ even pumped into foods!’ Ya listenin’, Cleveland?”
“Uh-huh,” he replied, gulping down a couple more ounces of antacid.
“Iggleheimer says, ‘The county’s monstrous mierkolatory churns out tons, poisonin’ our air an’ waterways!’”
Cleve sighed.
“An’ listen—‘environmentalists, an’ a growin’ base of alarmed citizens, are supportin’ 345 an’ Riverbank reedee—reedee—reedeeevooolavlop—how d’ya say that word again?”
“Uh, redevelopment.” Cleve’s deep voice was made for radio.
“Oh, yeah. Reeedeeevooolavlopment.”

F: Ya still can’t say that word, Zig!

G: Shaddup, Fleaglossitty. An’ that other meee is right, ya know!

F: I wonder if I’m gonna show up in this weird movie or dimension, or whatever it is….
N: Cleve stared at a looseleaf that tottered on a shelf’s edge, contemplating suicide.
“Ya listenin’, Cleveland?”
“Uh-huh.” Cleve’s eyes remained fixed on the despondent notebook.
“Refooferendum’s comin’ up soon—I’ll hafta knock it offa the ballot!”
Cleve raised an eyebrow.
“If it stinkin’ paaasses, it’ll ruinate everything!”
“Uh-huh.”
“They’ll replace mierk wit’ zodd in six months!” Gneeecey kicked a file cabinet with all his might. SFX: [Bang] [Crash Metal]
Cleve gazed at a terminally ill blue fern, living out its last days in an undersized clay pot stuck to a sawed-in-half, vintage manual Smith Corona typewriter.
“Creep writes,‘345 would create a level playin’ field for certain corpooperations’ competitors, much to the vexation of some nearsighted, profit-driven entrails!’” Gneeecey added, hopping in pain. SFX: [Comedy Boing]
Cleve blew a thick layer of dust off a framed portrait of a white-and-black canine-humanoid couple. Embossed beneath: “Froop & Fritzl Gneeecey, Celebrating Thirty AngRangs of Wedded Bliss.” The photo was inscribed, “To our darling little Bizzig, with love from Mommy and Daddy.”
Gneeecey punched a hole through the wall. SFX: [Wood Demolition Bang] “Ow, daaammit! Y’know how maaaad this makes me?”
“Uh-huh.” Cleve’s bleary eyes focused on the supermarket tabloids piled up outside Gneeecey’s executive privy.
The good diroctor threw his newspaper down at Cleve’s black wingtip oxfords. SFX: [Rustling Papers]The young man guzzled some more liquid chalk and blotted his thin mustache with a crisply folded handkerchief.
“These lousy environmentalists are mental! I’ll get that Imbroglio! Don’chooo ever air a story on this till I put my spin on it!”
“I—”
“Stories like this ain’t never gonna smell the stinkin’ daylight of fresh air!”
Cleve’s finely-chiseled cheek began twitching.
“Wait till that Frank Salvador gets ahold of this on his jackassical station—whazzit called again?”
“Uh, 98.6, Normal Radio,” replied Cleve, running a hand over his closely-cropped head of hair.
“If I ever catch ya listenin’, ya can go ask them for a job—ya won’t have one here!”
A smile illuminated Cleve’s face as he glanced down at his maroon silk tie. Monogrammed with the initials “CW,” it hung limp and askew, contrasting with his immaculate white shirt, tucked into creased gray wool slacks.
A gleaming watchband circled his right wrist. The timepiece’s rectangular, ultramarine face was distinctive—I’d never seen one like it.
Gneeecey kicked my chair. SFX: [Wood Demolition Bang] “Ow! Yooou better not listen to that station neitherwise—or else!”
Resisting the urge to ask, “What else?”, I looked up at Cleve.
“Keep fillin’ out that lousy job aplooplication—you’ll meet Cleveland later.”
“I’ve just met him now,” I replied, rising. “Hi, there. I’m Nicki. Nicki Rodriguez. Looks like we’ll be working together.”

G: Looky Fleaglossitty, there them two lousy earth iggleheimers are, fraternilazatin’ awready, from the start!

F: Quiet, Zig! Let’s see what happens next.

G: I have a funny deja-voosickle feelin’ I been through this before…

N: Gneeecey stepped between us. “Ya ain’t got the job yet!”
“There’s still a chance I won’t get it? Cool!”
Cleve’s facial muscles relaxed, and he let go of his belly. Stifling a guffaw, he reached behind Gneeecey to shake my hand. “Name’s Cleve Wheeler—and I’m real glad to meet you.”
Gneeecey sucked in his teeth.
“I see you’ve just arrived,” continued Cleve, no doubt noting my discolored purplish skin and mierked-up shoes.
“Yesterday, as a matter of fact. What do you do here at the GAS Broadcast Network?”
“A little bit of everything. Engineering, production, and administrative stuff, like toilet-unclogging. You name it, I do it.”
“Don’t act so martyrannical,” admonished Gneeecey. “I do all the work ’round here! Now, git downstairs. Stuff them VCR carousels wit’ commercials an’ garbage.”
“Diroctor,” began Cleve, “it would really pay off in the end if—”
“Pay off in whose stinkin’ end?”
“Uh, what I meant is, it’d make life ’round here a lot easier if we’d invest in more modern equipment—stuff like computer storage. Everyone else has it. Nobody else really uses these outmoded—”
“Who’s ‘evooveryone else’? Frank Salvador? If everyone else jumped offa Seemingwhale Towers, would yooou?”
“I might,” muttered Cleve, heading for the door. 
“Besides, TV’s goin’ three-dimensional—wit’ high-defoofinition holography. I’ll wait till then to modernizate.”
Cleve’s head turned. “Holographic TV?”
“Hollow graaaaphics are cheaper.”
“One more thing, Diroctor. I see reception’s empty. Have you heard from Fraxinella?”
“She called in sick again—second time in seventeen years! An’ she only left a message! Somethin’ ’bout bein’ rushed into surgery. Rupturated appendage.”
Cleve’s brow wrinkled. “Last night, she was doubled over with this sharp pain on her right side. But she wouldn’t leave till she finished some correspondence for you.”
“She looked fine to me—worked through lunch as usual. Hope she didn’t take her work home again—it’ll be real incornvenient if we’re missin’ any paperwork.”
“Shouldn’t we really be thinking about—”
“Oh—an’ I’m havin’ lunch wit’ Mark again.”
“Whatever,” Cleve replied, loud enough for only me and his boss’s dying plant to hear.
“An’ call Florence Ferguson Memorial. Check wit’ Holy Krapp, too. If Fraxinella’s really been admitted, ask her or her daughter Margoogaret if they got any of our files over there.”
“But—”
“An’ if she’s really in the hospoopital, send her a pack of Rindom Doodles, from all of us—a small bag.”
“But Fraxinella hates—”
“Oh, an’ call Seemingwhale Towers—see if Oxymoron needs more food. My pet dog there, he don’t like his new chow— so, hopefully there’s plenny left an’ it’ll laaast longer.”
“Uh-huh.”
“An’ at lunchtime, put the Ig here at Fraxinella’s desk. Show her how to make out outvoices—we mus’ have five zillion sittin’ there! She can get lunch from the vendin’ machine downstairs an’ eat while she works!”
I was doomed. “Work through lunch?”
“Ya think I’m payin’ ya to eat?”
“And what,” I asked, “are outvoices?”
“Opooposite of invoices. We got all these bills that we delay payin’—we contesterate ’em. Oh, Cleveland, almost forgot—the Ig here’s from ’round your parts—she’s from Turtleneck. Ain’t that near Piscataway?”
“That’s Teaneck, and no, it’s not,” I answered. “Where are you from, Cleve?”
“He’s from Sackenhacky—ain’t that kinda near ya, Ig? Sure would igsplain a lot.”
Cleve grinned. “That’s Hackensack—we’re neighbors!”

Another human—from my dimension! From regular New Jersey! I couldn’t wait to ask
him how he got here. How did he cope? Could he communicate with family and friends back home? Most important of all, would he be returning home anytime soon? But that limp—did it have anything to do with dimension burn?
“Stop dreamin’, Ig—dreamin’ ain’t allowed here. Now, take these here lousy papers to personnel. SFX: [Rustling Papers] Cleve, I wan’cha to go up in Chopper 3½—”
“I’m not riding in that deathtrap. Flea’s right—one day that dilapidated ol’ copter’s gonna drop to the ground, like a rock.”

F: Zig—he jus’ mentioned me! Cleve’s such a nice guy. You treat him—an’ Nicki—so horribly!

G: Like you tell meee, Fleaglossitty, shaaadup. An’ Cleve ain’t as nice as yooou think he is!

N: “Why don’cha ask Mister Pitt? He’s itching to go up in that thing.”

Gneeecey looked horrified. “Stu? Noooo, it’s too dangerousical!”
“But it’s okay for me? Well, thanks. Right back at’cha.”
“Hah?”
“I’d better get downstairs to check—”

SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking]
“Cleve, why’re ya jus’ staaandin’ there? Git to work!”

F: Boy, Zig, you’re really a rotten boss.

G: I wouldn’t exactly say thaaat, Fleaglossitty. 

F: Y’know, this is kinda like we’re unalive, an’ havin’ one of them life reviews I read about.

SFX: [Rumbling Stomach]

G: Well, perhaphoops we ain’t unalive. If we were, would my stomach be rumblin’ an’ would I be starvin’? It’s lunchtime! Maybe we can go down to the cafoofeteria an’ buy somethin’ to eat.

F: But nobody can’t see or hear us, Zig. How can we tell ’em what we want there?

G: I think I got some change in my T-shirt pocket here…at least I should have enough for meee to get some nice junk food, y’know, from one of them vending machines down there.

F: As usual, I’m chopped liver.

 G: Yeah…. Hey—it’s missin’! My change! How’d I lose it? I’m always losin’ my lousy change! That’s fifteen cents this week! How am I gonna get myself anything to stinkin’ eat? 

F: Ya feel that, Zig? 

G: Feel whaaat, Fleaglossitty?

F: Hot air blowin’ around!

G: Yeah! I feel it!

NURSE MAUDLYN: Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha!

G & F [in unison]: Holy Saint Bogelthorpe!

G: It’s her—

F: —rotten Nurse Maudlyn! How’d yooou—

NM: That’s right, you two dastardly canine-humanoids! It’s me, Nurse Maudlyn! And I’m not worried! I’ve got plenty of food stashed away! Plus, an extra fifteen cents I didn’t even know I had! Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha!

SFX: [Orchestra Cliffhanger] [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] ###