The Two K's: Back and Krazier Than Ever!

“The Two K’s: Back and Krazier Than Ever,” Episode 224🔥 Welcome back to Perswayssick County—where lava lamps snarl, burgers burn, and time itself runs backward! 🔥In this enhanced episode, Earthling Nicki Rodriguez finds herself juggling double duty at two of Diroctor Gneeecey’s least reputable empires: the GAS Broadcast Network and the infamous, barely-passing-inspection diner, Gneeezle’s. 🍔💀Working part-time at a greasy spoon in a dimension where Blirg (a backward-running season) scrambles all logic is hard enough… but try surviving:✨ Boiled tire gauges and stewed athletic socks ✨ Lava lamps that grin—and maybe eat you ✨ Gneeecey’s butt-scratching food safety “rules” ✨ Altitude, his sleepy smart-mouthed mouse-humanoid protégé ✨ Evil Markmen aliens monitoring “refooferendum” corruption ✨ A city councilperson who just wants mildly blue cheese dressing and a goonafish melt ✨And Nicki discovers that every menu item may include undeclared nuts… or worse. As Gneeecey thunders around spouting, “the two K’s—cookin’ and cleanin’,” Nicki dodges smoke, chaos, hyperactive décor, and toxic mierk conspiracies. And just when things can’t get stranger, a poetic city councilperson arrives and is informed by Altitude that every order at Gneeezle’s costs extra—especially clean water. 🥤😬💥 Will Nicki survive another TooStank in the Perswayssick food industry? 💥 Will Gneeecey and the Markmen sabotage Referendum 345? 💥 Will the lava lamps start chasing somebody?! Find out in this bizarre sci-fi comedy episode that blends satire, slapstick, alien politics, and pure Perswayssick pandemonium. 🚀😂👍 If you love surreal comedy, sci-fi absurdity, and characters who absolutely should NOT be left unsupervised—hit LIKE and SUBSCRIBE for more weekly madness! 🔔 New episodes return with a fresh season starting January 6, 2026!🎧 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: 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 / The Two K’s: Back and Krazier Than Ever– Episode 224, 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] [Misfortune & Misgivings]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Our zany canine-humanoids, Fleaglossitty “Flea” Floppinsplodge and Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey, remain suspended in frozen animation, compelled by their Planet Eccchs leader, Zinfandel, to relive fragments of their own chaotic past—an unsettling, cosmic life-review gone wildly off the rails. Stranded Earth-human Nicki Rodriguez continues narrating her misadventures documentary-style, chronicling the bizarre trials she's endured since crash-landing in the dimension of Perswayssick County. Here’s what comes next in our story. Step back into the flickering fluorescent glow of Perswayssick County as we bring you an enhanced rebroadcast of an earlier adventure—“The Two K’s”—now titled “The Two K’s: Back and Krazier Than Ever” and seamlessly rewoven into the ever-twisting Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy timeline! 

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ:  While in Gneeeceyland, I had the misfortune of needing to work part-time at Gneeecey’s greasy spoon restaurant, Gneeezle’s, to supplement my full-time gig at his GAS Broadcast Network. Earthlings would consider Gneeezle’s food to be, well, pretty much inedible—you know, menu items featuring boiled tire gauges, sauteed bolts and screws, stewed athletic socks, and the like. Now, Earth culture fascinated Gneeecey. His eatery featured black lights, fluorescent purple tie-dyed items, and lava lamps, along with plastic replicas of ancient Greek columns. His attempt to combine hippie culture with quasi-classical Greek and Roman décor didn’t really work. 

Speaking of not really working, almost working there was Gneeecey’s protégé, a young, smart-ass mouse-humanoid named Altitude. He stood elbow-high to Gneeecey and was one of the few individuals who got under Gneeecey’s fur-covered skin—regularly. Here’s what happened one afternoon. 

SFX: [Magic Spell] 

“Mouse, don’t scratch yer bimbus when yer workin’ wit’ food,” admonished Gneeecey, scratching his own butt as he disappeared into the kitchen.  

Still scratching, Altitude climbed onto a stool and leaned against the greasy wall. Just as the overgrown mouse began to snooze, Gneeecey thundered back through Gneeezle’s new stainless-steel doors. He reached into his apron pocket and slammed a dozen greenish-brown patties onto the sizzling grill. SFX: [Sizzling Burgers] “Watch these here jackass burgers while I go clean the terlit.”  

“Okay,” replied the rodent.  

Minutes later, the fire alarm went off as smoke filled the dining room. SFX: [Fire Alarm] 

“Sploggle-brain!” yelled Gneeecey, dashing in and fanning the fumes with a shovel-sized spatula. (Sploggles, by the way, are the devices that attach to the backs of toilet seats to, well, keep tails high and, uh, dry.) “I stinkin’ tol’ ya to watch them lousy burgers!” 

“I did, boss,” spluttered Altitude. “I watched ’em burn.”  

I ran outside, coughing. [Coughing] 

“Back in here, Ig!” ordered Gneeecey as he sprinted after me. I’d long given up on his ever calling me by my actual name. 

“Maybe,” I suggested, gulping in some fresh air, “I could take an early lunch an—” 

“Ya got too much to do, Ig. You’ll be havin’ breakfas’ soon, anyways.” Gneeecey was referring to the fact that it was Blirg, a short season where time itself ran backward. Y’know, lunch before breakfast. Dessert before veggies…. 

“But—” I protested. 

He yanked me back inside. “Smoke’s clearin’!” 

Wheezing, I lumbered back to the booth where I’d been updating menus—hiking prices and pasting in various warnings. “Doctor Gneeecey—” 

“That’s stinkin’ Diroctor Gneeecey—you know I’m a doctor an’ director of this lousy county!” 

“Uh, stinkin’ Diroctor—uh, I mean Diroctor, I’m supposed to add seven bucks to your fried scloggs? What are scloggs?”  

“Any dope knows they’re three-legged, sneaker-wearin’ mollusks.” 

I hated my part-time gig at Gneeezle’s even worse than my weekdays and weekends at WGAS. And this hideous TooStank (the day after Mondistink), I was being punished for mocking Gneeecey. I had to work at the restaurant all day while donkey-humanoid intern, brown-nosing Stuart Pitt assumed my regular duties—and received my pay. In my mind, I could imagine Stu, braying with joy.  SFX: [Mule Braying] 

But my heart suddenly flip-flopped with joy when I remembered that the following Someday and Snatturday, Gneeecey would be away. He was the scheduled keynote speaker at some business conference in Booolabeeezia, out in the county’s far reaches.  

Miraculously, my dear fur boss had neglected to pre-structure my time during his absence. When my good buddy and co-worker Cleve asked me what I planned to do with those two blank days on my work “schedoodle,” as Gneeecey called it, I’d mentioned something about rearranging my sock drawer.  

“Stop dreamin’, Ig! An’ when ya set up them tables, remember our new polooolicy.” 

“What new polooolicy—I mean, policy?” Sometimes, Gneeecey’s speech impediment—or “impedipoodiment,” as he pronounced it—seemed to be contagious. “From now on, we only use plaaastic cutootlery—too many customers are eatin’ the silverware.

I’m sicka doin’ the hemlock maneuver every five minutes.” 

So, it wasn’t just the food that made people choke. I bit my lip, almost till it bled. 

“It’s okay if they eat these plaaastic utensicles,” he growled, irritated, no doubt, by my Mona Lisa smile. “They dissolve.” 

I looked at him in disbelief. “What?”  

“Mark says,” he replied, referring to one of the evil Markman aliens infiltrating our county, “if anyone chokes, this special mierkolated plaaastic’s impossibooble for medical examiners to trace, y’know, in them forensical autopoopsies they do when someone croaks for no reason.”  

My jaw dropped.  

“An’ here—paste these in every single menu.”  

I glanced down at the pile of printed, adhesive-backed labels he’d just dumped in my lap. I read them aloud. “This food is full of undeclared nuts.” “Gneeezle’s recycles all unconsumerated garnishings onto future consumerators’ plates.” “You may be ingesting small pieces of black plastic.” Shaking my head, I began to separate the tiny tags by color.  

“See, Ig—we really do care ’bout our lousy customers.”  

“Oh, and uh, Diroctor, I meant to ask you, what’s wrong with all our lava lamps?” 

“Whaddaya mean?”  

SFX: [Horror Scary Moment] “All the blobs inside ’em seem hyperactive. Look—that red one over there—it’s grinning—it’s creepy!” 

Blirg’s unnatural glow, along with the blacklight-lit clumps of purple tinsel and sparkly rubber chickens Altitude had hung helter-skelter, reflected off scores of wildly percolating lava lamps. Gneeezle’s looked like the set of a one-and-a-half-star psychedelic horror movie. I shuddered.  

“Ain’t nuthin’, Ig. Jus’ the electronical gravoovitational disruptications caused by Blirg’s magnetical polaric reversal.”  

“But—it’s gotta be more than that—”  

“Makes all the laaamps think they’re hungry.”  

“But, what if—” 

“Don’t look at ’em, Ig. Then, like Flea says, they won’t exist.”  

I took a sip of coffee. 

“But,” warned Gneeecey, “if any of them meat-eatin’ lava lamps do start chasin’ ya, run for your stinkin’ life!”  

I scalded my tongue.  

“I’m takin’ the afternoon off—gotta prepooperate for our Quality of Life meetin’. You’re takin’ minutes for me. I’ll be back to pick ya up. An’ get ready—we’re gonna be up close to the end of night.”  

I groaned. “I hate Blirg.”  

“You’ll jus’ hafta get used to sleepin’ backwards.”  

“But—” 

“Y’know, Ig—” 

“And will you stop calling me ‘Ig’? Name’s Nicki!” 

“Okay, Ig. Anyways, as I was sayin’, time used’ta go backwards on your planet. I read that one of your ancient Greek guys lived from 620 to 560. He managed okay.”  

“Yeah. Right.” 

SFX: [Bang] “Mouse!” barked Gneeecey, smashing a gigantic steel soup ladle against the grill. 

Altitude flew three feet up into the air. “Whazzup, boss?”  

“Make sure ya cook everythin’ in one pot, so ya have less to clean.”  

“’Kay,” replied the groggy, yawning mouse. 

Gneeecey smacked his head. “I’m trynna teach ya ’bout the two k’s—cookin’ an’ cleanin’.”  

“Uh-huh…yeah.” 

SFX: [Scary Ambiance] 

Just then, two creepy guys approached Gneeecey from the back of the restaurant. I recognized the two evil Markmen. They had destroyed their own planet, Planet of the Marked Men, then traveled through space and time to Perswayssick County. They slathered mierk—the gross, mucky, toxic substance coating the banks of the Perswayssick River—all over their invisible bodies to give themselves form, otherwise they’d just appear to be a bunch of floating eyeballs.  They were all named Mark—except for their leader Bob.  

“Heya, Doc!” shouted Redheaded Broken-nosed Mark. 

“Heh, heh, w-what are youse guys doin’ here?” stammered Gneeecey, blinking rapidly. 

“We hadda use da bat’room,” replied Blond Big-nosed Mark. 

“Ya finally cleaned it,” said the redhead. 

“Heh, heh, y-yeah. So, can I help youse guys wit’ anythin’ before I leave? I was on my way out!” 

The redhead’s vivid lime-green eyes bored into Gneeecey’s bulbous peepers. “We was jus’ checkin’ to make sure, y’know, ya had everything under control, like ya promised.” 

“Yeah,” piped in the blond. “We can’t afford for dat lousy Referendum 345 to pass.” 

“The refooferendum? Got it all sewn up, guys. Gotta go now!” 

“Hah, hah, ya better got it all sewed up, Doc!” 

Muttering something unintelligible, Gneeecey banged his nose into the wall on his way out the door. SFX: [Boing] [Duck Horn] “Stinkin’ ow!” 

Minutes later, Perswayssick City Councilperson Verna Vlott strolled over to the counter.

The delicate-featured sixty-ish human’s reddish-blond curls complemented her fair and remarkably unlined complexion. She wore a dove-gray, horizontally pin-striped power suit. Her immaculate ivory athletic shoes matched the strand of pearls that adorned her rose-colored silk blouse. Her saucer-like emerald eyes widened with concern. “Oh my—was there a fire in here?” 

Altitude yawned. “Uh, no Ms. Vern, uh—”  

She chuckled. “You’ve got us mixed up, too. I’m City Councilperson Verna Vlott—people always mistake me for my twin sister, Vlotta Vern, the county freeholder.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Even though my twin is a couple years older, we’re an awfully lot alike, right down to our dreams for this great county’s future. We also exhibit a rare poetic synergy.” 

Not giving a deck of vlecks, as folks around here would say, Altitude just stared into space. 

“Well, young man, was there a fire? I do hope our recently revamped fire department responded quickly! Was anyone hurt?”  

“Nah, Ms. Verna, uh, Vlott,” answered the mouse. “We was cookin’. Cajun style.”  

“Are you sure everything’s okay? I can help, you know.”  

“Yeah. Can I take your order now,” mumbled Altitude, in what sounded more like a statement than a question.  

“Why, yes, dear! I’d like some lunch.”  

“Whatever. Wanna use the bat’room? We cleaned it today.”  

“No thank you, dear.” Smiling my way, the councilperson perused the graffiti-like fluorescent-chalked specials scrawled all over the violet wall.  

“Well, whaddaya want awready?” demanded Altitude. 

Ignoring the mouse’s rudeness, Ms. Vlott set down her delicate, simulated-goonafish-skin attaché case, only to snatch it back immediately, visibly disgusted by the fine layer of slime coating the counter. Goonafish were the luminous, leaping, two-tailed fish found in the Perswayssick River. A popular menu item, they had no unsightly heads.  

“Young man,” she began, inspecting her thankfully unscathed briefcase, “I’ll have one jackass patty—but not too well done—with blue cheese dressing—but not too awfully blue—and a plain, quarter-pound jackass burger, with a squirt of zurt on the side, not on the burger—” 

“Zurt’ll cost ya a whole extra buck,” warned Altitude.  

“Okay. And I’d like a goonafish melt for my sister—” 

“She ain’t here.”  

“Excuse me—”  

“I said, ain’t nobody else here wit’cha, lady!”  

“I’m bringing it to her. I’ll also have one Gnautical Seafood Wharf Barf Salad Combo—but please go easy on those sand dollars. And also, a chicken-flavored O’Gurt—those probiotics are so important for good health. And to drink, maybe some clean water.”  

“Clean water’ll cost ya—”  

“I assure you, young man, I can afford it,” snapped the usually good-tempered councilperson. “And please throw in a generous slice of Sloggenberry pie—make that two. One for my sister, too.” 

“Awright, lady, but like I tol’ ya, ya sister the county freeloader ain’t here—an’ two of somethin’ll cost ya twice as much as one of somethin’, an’ a whole lot more than some of nuthin’.”  

“And, oh my, that bag of Rindom Doodles is nearly as big as you! My sister the freeholder and I could snack on it at this morning’s meeting. How much is it?”  

“If ya hafta ask, ya can’t afford it.” 

Her twinkling eyes darkened. “I told you that I can most definitely afford anything in here. As a matter of fact, I’ll take two. That completes my order. It’s to go.”  

The mouse ripped some loose threads off his dilapidated jersey, tearing it. SFX: [Fabric Tearing] “Is that to stay, or is it for here?” 

“I said, it’s to go.”  

Before Altitude could inquire again, his boss strode in and planted his size-thirteen red high-top sneaker square in the middle of the rodent’s ratty backside.  

“Ow, boss! Ya snuck in through the back!”  

“Ya gingivitis-head! Ya heard the lady—it ain’t for here an’ it ain’t to stay! If it was for stinkin’ here, it would be to stay an’ not go! If it wasn’t to stay an’ not go, it wouldn’t be for here an’ not to not stay, stinkin’ would it?! Conversically, if it was to stay an’ not go—”  

“Bad morning, Diroctor,” chirped Councilperson Vlott, using Planet Eccchs and Perswayssick County’s customary salutation.  

“Bad mornin’, Vlotta—” 

“That’s Verna.” She smiled. 

“Oh, heh, heh, heh. Sorry. An sorry ’bout this little Iggleheimer here, too.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Mister uh—what is Altitude’s last name?” 

“Oh, he don’t have a last name—he can’t afford one. ’Specially not on what I pay him.”  

An expression of intense pity washed over Verna Vlott’s kindly face.  

“Anyways, Verna, you’re lookin’ lovlier than ever!”  

Gazing down at her silver-trimmed cross-trainers, the councilperson blushed. 

“I take it, at this beaudiful mornin’s upchuckin’ meetin’, youse’ll help me kill Question 345, right? We even got a chance to removerate it from the ballot! 

“Diroctor Gneeecey, my sister and I actually support Referendum 345. So do all the freeholders, the city council, and most of the Merchants’ Association. We firmly believe that for the health and welfare of our citizens, all of that toxic mierk must be removed from our river’s banks. We must instead substitute zodd, which is nontoxic and plentiful!” 

“But—but—I promised Mark an’ the guys I had it all sewn up—I mean, please, youse gotta—” 

“No, Diroctor, I certainly do not think you’ll have the constitutionally mandated three-quarters majority required to amend the ballot this morning—or any other.” 

Gneeecey’s egg-shaped eyeballs sprang from his sockets.  

“See you earlier, Diroctor,” warbled Ms. Vlott as she scooped up her five bursting-at-the-seams smiley-face take-out bags. On her way out, she dropped a thick wad of greenbacks into Altitude’s grungy palm. “Keep the change, young man. Everyone should have a last name!” 

Altitude’s beady red eyeballs sprang from his sockets. 

SFX: [Fail Horn] [Magic Spell] [Christmas Street]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: Hey there, it’s me, Vicki, standing out here on Perswayssick City’s main drag, Murgatroyd Avenue, watching citizens gear up for their annual Grimace holiday season. And I want to let you know that starting next week, we’ll be serving up a festive lineup of our beloved holiday classic episodes! Then—mark your calendars—our brand-new season launches on January 6th, 2026. In the immortal words of Diroctor Gneeecey himself… “Greason’s Seetings, everyone!”

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] ###