That's Fifteen Cents This Week, Pt. 3

“That’s Fifteen Cents This Week, Pt. 3,” Episode 219

😇 After being zapped into yet another dimension by Sooperflea’s glitchy Empathy 5000, our not-so-dynamic duo—🦸‍♂️ Fleaglossitty “Flea” Floppinsplodge and 🐶 Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey—find themselves face-to-face with none other than their long-lost Planet Eccchs leader, Zinfandel! 👑

But when Zinfandel declares they’re stuck in suspended animation (😱 watching life go on without them), things take a seriously Perswayssick turn. Before they can beg for mercy, they’re back inside Gneeecey’s chaotic GAS Broadcast Network office—where poor Nicki Rodriguez is about to discover her “dream job” comes with goonafish feeding, exploding equipment, unpaid overtime, possible electrocution, and a very underwhelming paycheck! 💸 

🎧 Dive into this hilarious, surreal blend of comedy, fantasy, and sci-fi from Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy—the only universe where bosses are barking mad, interdimensional leaders vanish mid-sentence, and every “WetNooodlesDay” is a workday✨! 

💫 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. 3 – Episode 219, 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: Canine-humanoids Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey and Fleaglossitty “Flea” Floppinsplodge—better known as “Sooperflea”—have been hurled by Flea’s malfunctioning Empathy 5000 contraption into what they think is Gneeecey’s GAS Broadcast Network office. But things aren’t what they seem. Before long, the two are staring at Nicki Rodriguez—apparently newly arrived in Perswayssick County—and another Gneeecey! When Gneeecey’s hand passes straight through Nicki and his doppelgänger, he and Flea start to wonder whether they’re even alive. And the surprises are just beginning…

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

FLEAGLOSSITTY “FLEA” FLOPPINSPLODGE, AKA “SOOPERFLEA”: Y’know, this is kinda like we’re unalive, an’ havin’ one of them life reviews I read about.

SFX: [Rumbling Stomach]

DIROCTOR BIZZIG “ZIG” GNEEECEY: 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 Summons] [Magic Glitter]

F: Holy Saint Bogelthorpe! 

G: She’s stinkin’ gone—the ol’ gas bag jus’ disappeared into thin air!

SFX: [Heavenly Drone]

F: Holy Saint Bogelthorpe an’ a half!

G: It’s—dare I say his name?

ZINFANDEL: Yes, young, misguided man, you may.

G: It’s—it’s Zinfandel, our Planet Eccchs leader! Where ya been all these years when meee an’ Fleaglossitty been in an’ outta trouble? An’ when our Planet Eccchs snitizens have been in trouble? Y’know, wit’ them evil Markmen, scary clowns, rotten Nurse Maudlyn, who’s here somewhere, an’ that wicked Opposite Earth monster, Urgl? Where ya been? Ya deserted us! If I’m misguided, it’s ’cause yooou weren’t there to guide us! What’s goin’ on in our real Perswayssick County?

Z: Quiet, young man!

F: Quiet, Zig. Oh, revered Planet Eccchs leader, are we unalive? Nobody here can see us or hear us!

Z: Mister Floppinsplodge, all of your questions will be answered, in time. I have been with you all along, but you have chosen not to hear me.

G: Ya mean, like when I never answered that Hotline when ya were callin’?

Z: Quiet! You two shall remain in a state of suspended animation while you watch all that is unfolding in front of your eyes. Indeed, you have seen it before. Once active participants, you shall now remain observers.

F: But, Planet Eccchs leader, I wasn’t as, y’know, as bad as Zig here—it kinda feels like, y’know, when the whole class gets punished ’cause of jus’ one bad kid, an’—

G: Shaaadup, Fleaglossitty—

Z: Quiet! You shall not be hungry or tired. You shall not want for anything material. You shall merely observe…for as long as it takes. And that shall be…until you find the power to do otherwise.

G: How long is thaaat?

Z: Quiet, you! In addition, Mister Fleaglossitty, your malfunctioning Empathy 5000 machine has caused the dimension of Perswayssick County that you were propelled from to freeze as well.

F: I feel so guilty, like I really deserve to be punished.

G: Shaaadup, Fleaglossitty—speak for your stinkin’ self!

F: Oh, dear revered leader of Planet Eccchs, is this like one of them, y’know, past life reviews I read about? Are we unalive?

Z: I would not have become involved but for these circumstances that forced me. Good bye….

SFX: [Heavenly Drone] 

F: He’s gone!

G: Zinfandel, stinkin’ come back! Pleeeeeaze!

SFX: [Cartoon Character Annoyed Crying x 2)

F: Looky, Zig—we’re back in your office again, wit’ the Nicki that talks to herself,  an’ that other you!

G: This is all your stinkin’ fault, Fleaglossitty!

F: I wouldn’t be too sure, Zig. I wouldn’t be too sure….

G: We got no stinkin’ choice but to watch, I guess….

F: An’ listen….

[Misgivings & Misfortune] [Sneakers Squeaking]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ NARRATES: 

“Whatsamatter, Ig? Ya look like ya jus’ been chased by a three-headed gazoonga.”
 “I—I—”
 “Stop holdin’ on to the wall, perspiratin’ like that—you’ll scrungle our new paint job. Green-an’-three-quarters is extra igspensive—gotta be specially mixed wit’ rare sclogg pigmentations.”
 “I—I went to p-personnel like—like you asked me to—n-nobody was there, so I w-was j-just g-gonna leave—and suddenly, this—this—”
 “Spit it out, Ig!”
 “This huge purple pelican—it—it must’ve been five-hundred pounds—tried to sell me this life insurance policy it was carrying in its—its beak!”
 “That’s jus’ Cleopatrick, our human resources director,” explained Gneeecey, shooting me a smug “told you so” look. “Sells insurance on the side. We take a cut.”
 I followed him back into his office.
 “Wit’ the job you’ll be doin’, might not be a bad idea to buy a suplooploomental policy.” Gneeecey took a flying leap into his oversized chair. “Now, don’t forget to pick up my lucky socks tonight. Don’t lose that lousy ticket! Gus won’t never release socks—not even mine—wit’out a ticket.”
 Suddenly nauseated, I flopped into my seat.
 “Ya didn’t hapoopen to bring a resoosumay wit’cha, did’ja?”
 “Do I look like I brought a resoosumay—ugh, I mean, resumé—with me?”
 “Don’t get intelligent wit’ me, Ig. I’ll jus’ hafta judge ya by your aplooplication here, plus what I found out from schnooglin’ ya.”
 “Huh?”
 “Schnooglin’s like your Googlin’. Now, despite your obvious deficiencies, I can still utilizate ya.”
 I bit my tongue.
 “Like I said, you’ll do radio an’ TV!”
“I told you, I’ve never worked in television—”
“TV’s jus’ radio wit’ pictures.” He slapped at a Lear jet as it zoomed past his honker. SFX: [Airplane Jet]
“Y’know, Diroctor, I’m not interested in working for you—I just want my—”
“Yooou ain’t goin’ nowheres for a while. Jus’ ask Cleve. Or Julio.”
I bolted upright, almost toppling my wimpy chair.
“Plus, ya ain’t got no mon-ney.”
I groaned. I didn’t.
“I’m givin’ ya a title,” he said. “I’m makin’ ya ‘vlam’.”
“Vlam,” I repeated, scratching a plane bite on my left wrist. “what’s vlam?”
“Very low assistant management. You’ll be workin’ lotsa extra hours, but’cha won’t get no overtime.”
“What?”
“Then ya can look yourself in the mirror wit’ a empty conscience—ya won’t hafta lay awake nights worryin’ ’bout deprooprivatin’ the network of revenue.”
A couple of blood-spattered twin props cruised past my nose. SFX: [Stunt Propeller Planes]
“Now,” continued Gneeecey, “So there’s no confusionism ’bout chained-up command, listen good: Ya report directly to meee at all times.”
“Huh?”
Next thing I knew, a legal pad sliced through the air, nearly decapitating me. SFX: [Cartoon Slip] “I’ll read off your duties. Write ’em down.” He threw a dull, inch-long remnant of a pencil at me. SFX: [Cartoon Slip] “Every mornin’, you’ll run into the newsroom. We use the same one for AM, FM, an’ TV, even though they’re on difooferent floors, at difooferent ends of the buildin’.”
I made a face.
“Ya might wanna get yourself a pair of them motorized sneakers.”
“What?”
“Pay detention! You’ll run down all the news—from the Tims, the wire, blogs, an’ podcasts. But not the Pooper-Scooper!”
“Uh-huh.”
He spat on the floor. “You’ll check my computer for satellite feeds from Planet Eccchs.” He smacked his ancient behemoth of a monitor. SFX: [Bang]
“Print out everythin’ from our bigger moon, Fishvendor 4. We don’t get nuthin’ useful from the smaller one. Cronon’s more for vacationing—my folks sent me away there to Camp Bingaboonga every summer. When I was a kid, back on Planet Eccchs.”
“By the way, Diroctor,” I ventured, trying hard to imagine him as a child, “your printer’s out of paper—”
“Am I payin’ ya to tell me obvoovious junk I awready know? So, put in some more! Now, this is real importootant—put any stuff ’bout 345, an’ of course, anythin’ ’bout meeee, on my desk. I decide what airs.”
 My fingers cramped as I scribbled away.
 “Next, ya call the Perswayssick City Police Department—you’ll usually get Mark. Or Mark. Or even Mark or Mark.”
 “How many—”
 “Have ’em check their blotters, then write down whatever they say.”
 “Whatever they say? Shouldn’t I ask a few questions?”
“Dooo what I say! Never ask why!”
“Which phone should I use?”
“Don’t ever touch the Hotline! Only use these here gray phones. They’re all over the crummy place. Now, next ya gotta do background production research to execute potential stories—an’ ya gotta talk to our editor—that’s me.”
My eyelid began twitching.
“Then,” Gneeecey continued, hurling a prehistoric black walkie talkie into my solar plexus, “use this here two-way devicicle to dispatch your engineerin’ crews to cover junk. If I make up news, ya can skip that step.”
“Uh-huh.”
He leaned back, put his feet up, and stuffed a cigar in his mouth. A squashed white commuter jet decorated his left sneaker sole. “You’ll run audio boards an’ master control switchin’. Every hour, you’ll check base current readings for AM an’ log FM’s total wattage outpoop.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied, staring at a gooped-up bottle of Bend-A-Britch.
“Then you’re off to TV, to clean heads an’ lenses, vacuum out equipment bays, an’ empty trash cans. Make sure Merk Perk’s always mercolatin’ on all four floors, an’ there’s always fresh Freak O’Nature snacks out front—”
I stopped writing. “What am I—a janitor and waitress?”
“Both! An’ ya gotta provide studio audiences for game shows, an’ derange for their transpooportation an’ refreshments.”
I exhaled slowly.
“Plus,” he boomed, chewing his cigar as he pointed to his laptop with the damaged screen, “ya check this here computer every hour, for personal messages. If they ain’t personal, don’t bother wit’ ’em. But if they are, don’t read ‘em, jus’ print ’em out. An’ leave ‘em here on the floor.”
 “If I have to decide what’s personal and what’s not, how can I not read them?”
 His eyes bulged with fury. Shuddering, I glanced down, barely able to decipher my notes. My stub of a pencil scratched more than it wrote.
 “An’ you’ll get us outta make-goods to all them sponsors whose commercials we forget to run,” he added, swallowing his cigar.
 “Right.”
 Suddenly, he sat up straight, kicking a pile of papers to the floor. SFX: [Rustling Papers] “An’ another thing, Ig—”
 “Name’s Nicki—”
“When it snows, Ig, an’ it’s gonna, any day now—you’ll climb up on the roof an’ shovel out them satellite dishes.”
I hated snow.
 “An’ check the programmin’ an’ engineerin’ logs daily—leave ’em on my desk.”
 “Uh, could I have another pencil?”
 Flinging a chewed-up, eraserless yellow stick my way SFX: [Cartoon Slip], he continued inventing my position. “Hmmm. . .lessee what else. . .an idle mind is Santa’s workshop. . .okay, once a week on, lessee, Friedeggs—why, that’s today—ya clean out the big goonafish aquarium in the lobby.”
“You mean—”
“Before ya scrub out the tank, ya gotta fish ’em all out an’ put ’em in their wadin’ pool. It’s filled wit’ distillerated, alkookaline water. It’s right nearby in the electrical closet— ya can’t miss it. Sign says ‘Danger! High voltage! Live Wires!’”
I flinched.
“Feed the goonafish three times a day. There’s a coupla barrels of live gloortworms in the electrical closet. Ya can’t miss ‘em—they’re green an’ slimy an’ smell like limburger cheese. Plus they light up, an’ sometimes they crawl outta the barrels.”
“How, uh, do goonafish eat, without heads?” I asked, grimacing.
“Good question for a Ig.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“But it is a good question for a Ig. Their bodies are covered wit’ these itsy-bitsy ingesticules—that’s how they take in nutrition. Them little openings are what make ’em look phosphoosphorescent. Put in five gloortworms for each fish.”
 My eyes had glazed over.
 “An’ make sure ya change the hourly survooliance tapes—they’re in the electrical closet too. An' try not to touch no wires when you’re standin’ in puddles. We got a cardiac defribroobrillator, but’cha can’t always depend on it bein’ here—sometimes people from other offices borrow it. Close your mouth, Ig. Now, you’ll assistipate me wit’ prerecordin’ news an’ weather—”
 “How can I possibly—”
 “Now for the stuff you’ll do on your time—”
 “My time?!” I longed to dump my new boss into his goonafish tank, shove a fistful of gloortworms down his gullet, and toss him a plugged in hair dryer.
 “If ya wanna get what’chooo want, ya gotta play a little basefootball wit’ meee. Ya don’t got much choice, dooo ya?”
 I didn’t. Not until I found my portfolio. Then I’d quit, on the spot, and go rent a room somewhere—bide my time in peace, until I was healthy enough to leave.
 “Oh—every Wetnooodlesday—that’s Wednesday on your dopey Earth—it’s ‘upside-Down Radio Day.’ We stand on our heads an’ walk on our hands—then whatever we say comes out
 upside-down. Cuts up the dull drums of midweek.”
 “Count me out.”
 “But if I’m on-air speakin’ upside-down an’ yooou engineer me right-side-up,” he whined, “everything’ll come out sideways!”
 My hands curled into fists. “I’ve heard enough. now I—”
“You’ll come to work wit’ me every mornin’, Mondistinks through FriedEggs. An’ ya better not make me late no more!”
Visualizing my fingers tightened around his neck, I grinned.
“Ya got nuthin’ to smile ’bout, Ig! You’ll work Snatturdays an’ Somedays too. Don’t worry—you’ll only work four or five weekends a month, an’ the good thing is, Mondistinks—y’know, your Mondays—won’t even feel like Mondistinks. From all that workin’, you’ll feel like you’re further along in the week.”
“You’ve gotta be—”
“I don’t do weekends—all work an’ no play splits soup chefs’ britches.”
 I pictured planting one of my mierk-splattered shoes in his motheaten keister.
 “Weekdays, ya won’t be leavin’ wit’ me unless it’s your night to help at the restaurant—”
 Not Gneeezle’s.
“Don’t look so oogdimonious—I’m really not obloobligated to help ya.”
I dug my fingernails into my palms.
“Thirsty nights, you’ll put in a coupla hours as a volunteer at the Shoppin’ Cart orphanage, feedin’, oilin’, an’ shinin’ the little guys. I’ve awready registered ya—”
“What?!”
“An’ you’ll be takin’ official minutes at our Quality of Life meetin’s. Reminds me—you’ll stuff envelopes today so I can mail out them ten-thousand pampoophlets that Mark printed.”
“But—”
“You’ll be doin’ it on compoopany time, but’cha can’t go home anyways till ya finish your work, so it’ll wind up bein’ on your time.”
“I—”
“I hope your spit ain’t defective, like Cleve’s. Stu usually hasta re-lick his envelopes.”
“Ugh—”
“Ya get a twenny minute lunch hour an’ two ten-minute breaks. Durin’ Blirg, ya work doubooble-time—I’ll igsplain later. Now, here, study this in your free time—catch!” He pitched a humongous hardcovered volume, Broadcast Engineering & Production for Iggleheimers, into my lap. SFX: [Cartoon Slip] “An’ Ig, I’ll need your signature here, sayin’ you’ll waive your company physical, so ya can get right to work.”
“I’m not signing anything—”
“Then I’ll hafta take the time to igzaminate’cha myself, an’ I’ll hafta dock ya for—”
“Give me that,” I snarled, snatching the form from his dirty mitts.
“That’s a good Ig—put’cha John Shuttlecock right on that line there.”
“Is there a health plan?”
“Yeah. Plan not to get sick.”
A tiny 747 zoomed past my spinning head. SFX: [Airplane Jet]
“No personal calls in or out, an’ no fraternalizatin’. An’ water my plaaant here—twice an hour.” He shook his dying fern.
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, what’s this here? Want a snack?” He threw a small, silica gel-filled bag at me.
“Uh, this says, ‘Do not ingest.’”
“Aaaah—don’t believe everythin’ ya read, Ig.”
“Uh, I’ll need some sort of cash advance to tide me—”
“Gimme a second,” he mumbled. “I’ll work it out on my calcoocoolator. Lemme figure out how much your first check will be. First, I gotta figure out your base salary.” He began crunching numbers. SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
Meanwhile, stomach acids began eating me alive.
“Five buckerooneys should get’cha to payday next Wetnooodlesday—”
I leapt to my feet. “Five dollars?!”
“Ya get paid every other Wetnooodlesday—”
I moaned. “Every two weeks?”
 “That way, ya don’t get paid less more—ya get more less. Oh, ya gotta fill out a second income tax form—you’ll hafta pay tax on any refund ya might be receiveratin’. . .here, fill out this 1040-FU an’ bring it over to Cleopatrick.”
I broke into a cold sweat.
“Now, there’s what’cha owe for the river dredgin’—” 

SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 “I never asked you to—”
 He looked up. “Ya don’t got much choice in all this, do ya?”
 “I’m gonna make the choice to find my portfolio and leave!”
 “Suit yourself, Ig. But don’t forget, you’re makin’ igsclooosive concessions here that won’t be offered to ya anywhere else.”
 The fur ball had that right. . 

SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 “There’s my finder’s fee, your fines for pollutin’ our river an’ damagin’ our bridge. . .an’ there’s my busted column. . .an’ there’s your rent, paid weekly—every Wetnooodlesday—”
 “Weekly?”
“Some months got more payin’-up days—more Wetnooodlesdays. Ya wouldn’t wanna cheat me, would’ja?”
I rose. “And how much is my—”
“I’ll give ya a printout later.”
I collapsed back into my chair. . 

SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 “My washer an’ dryer are coin-opooperated. But there’s your projecticated use of water, gas, electricity, an’ oxygen. An’ your kitchen-usage fee. Plus, transpooportation—one extra person’s weight impactuates fuel inefficiency. Vehicles are very igspensive to run.”
“No—I had no idea.” . 

SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 “Now, there’s my baaathroom fee. . . . I’ll reset the Electronic Water Cyclone 3000 an’ automatically decapitate a buncha dollars from each check so ya don’t gotta drop Susan B. Anthonies in the slot every five seconds—”
 “Thanks.”
“Ya don’t gotta say it like thaaat, so oogdimonious. I mean, ya might need change at some real incornvenient times.”
“Right.”  

SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 “An’ there’s wit’holdin’ taxes. You’ll be glad you’re gettin’ paid less. The more ya make, the less ya end up wit’. . .now, lessee. . .there’s unemployment tax—pays me if I fire ya.”
 “What?!” 

SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 “An’ there’s our bare bones accidental insurance, so in case ya get hurt—or worse, heh, heh—we don’t suffer.”
 Chills ran down my spine. . SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 “Almost forgot the mandatory county tax. Now, lessee, how much will your first paycheck be? hmmmm. . . .” . 

SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 My breathing had become rapid and shallow.
 Gneeecey looked up, grinning from ear to ear. “Works out perfect—won’t even hafta cut’cha a check!”
 “Huh?”
 “Keep in mind, ya get paid every other Wetnooodlesday—the pay period always ends the FriedEgg before. This week’s check will be for what’cha earn today.”

“Okay. From my, uh, job description, I’ll be working pretty hard today. So, uh, what’s my total net then?”
 His wagging tail thumped loudly. SFX: [Animal, Dog] “That’s fifteen Cents this week!”

SFX: [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] ###