Recorded History, Loaded Weapons

January 27, 2026, “Recorded History, Loaded Weapons,” Episode 234🔮 In Perswayssick County, the past never stays buried… and secrets never stay quiet. Trapped in a state of suspended animation, canine-humanoids Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey and Fleaglossitty “Sooperflea” Floppinsplodge are forced by their planet’s all-powerful leader, Zinfandel, to continue watching a brutally honest documentary of their own past misdeeds. Once active players in Perswayssick County’s wacky happenings, they’re now unwilling observers—powerless to change what’s already been recorded… unless they learn from it. 🌀Meanwhile, back in the not-so-safe past that the two canine-humanoids are being forced to live through once more, stranded Earthling Nicki Rodriguez and fellow GAS Broadcast Network colleague Cleve Wheeler had made a dangerous mistake: believing they had finally had a quiet moment alone. With Gneeecey supposedly far away in Booolabeeezia, they’d shared a simple meal—and a rare moment of honesty. 🍽️🧦 But Perswayssick County is always listening. 👂When Gneeecey returns early—accompanied by a menacing Markman gangster—Nicki and Cleve are plunged into a nerve-shredding game of hide-and-don’t-breathe. As peeling amber skin, whispered threats, exotic birds, and missing socks collide, Nicki must think fast to keep Cleve hidden… and both of them alive. 🐦🎹🧦With alien gangsters, corrupt deals, suspended dimensions, and a leader who may—or may not—offer redemption, this episode blends dark comedy, sci-fi satire, and edge-of-your-seat suspense in the twisted world of Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy.✨ If you love surreal sci-fi, absurd humor, and slow-burn tension with sharp dialogue, this episode is not to be missed. 🎧 Listen now—and remember: in Perswayssick County, even your sock drawer has secrets. 🎧 https://perswayssickradio.buzzsprout.com 🎧 #ComedyPodcast #AudioDrama #SciFiComedy #FantasyPodcast #WeirdFiction #IndiePodcast #DarkComedy #SurrealStorytelling #hitchhikersgalaxyfans #montypythonfans   We thank Marysol Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, Brunie Cariño, Toni Aponte, & Aileen Bean 4 being generous support via BuyMeACoffee.com. Artwork/Vicki Solá & ChatGPT 

Transcript

Transcript / “Recorded History, Loaded Weapons,”  – Episode 234, by Vicki Solá.

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

All content © 2026 Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy. 

SFX: [Halloween Music Box Cinematic Logo]

DIROCTOR BIZZIG “ZIG” GNEEECEY: Fleaglossitty! Don’t them triangular ears of yours hear nuthin’? 

FLEAGLOSSITTY “FLEA” FLOPPINSPLODGE, AKA “SOOPERFLEA”:  Whaaat, Zig? What now?

G: I was jus’ wonderin’, do we stinkin’ gotta keep watchin’ this lousy life review, or whatever it is?

F: Our Planet Eccchs leader Zinfandel says we gotta watch it, so we better.  We’re in enough trouble awready. An’ y’know, I meant to tell ya, them two sisters, Verna Vlott an’ Vlotta Vern, they kinda look like an’ sound like rotten Nurse Maudlyn.

G: There is defoofinitely a resembooblance to her, Fleaglossitty. I heard a rumor that them two are her cousins. Anyways, I’m sick of watchin’ this whole dopey dockookumentary that we’re bein’ forced to watch, y’know, of how everything was back when the Ig—

F: Ya mean, Nicki—

G: Yeah, the Ig. Back when she first came to stay in Perswayssick County. An’ somehow this lousy life review, or whatever it is, is even narratrated in her voice! She really makes meee look baaad!

F: Ya mean “narrated”!

G: Stop always corrugatin’ me, Fleaglossitty!

F: An’ it does make ya look bad. Look how ya treat Nicki an’ how ya keep kissin’ up to all them evil alien creep Markmen. An’ sellin’ out our Perswayssick County to them!

G: Fleaglossitty, you’re my best friend, so I gotta tell ya, I’ve always been kinda scared of them.

F: Well, ya shoulda listened to me! Woulda saved you an’ our Perswayssick County a whole buncha trouble if ya listened to me. I always told ya them gangsters weren’t really your friends!

G: Aw-stinkin-right. Guess I hadda find out for myself. When I do junk, y’know, even stooopid junk, I always gotta try an’ determinate what’s really goin’ on—y’know, dot all the T’s an’ cross all the I’s….

F: Well, Zig, your eyes look pretty crossed now!

G: Quiet, piggy!

F: You shaaadup, piggy!

G: Why don’cha come over here an’ say that!

F: I am over here, piggy!

SFX: [Glass Shatter] [Danube Fight] 

G & F: You shaaadup, piggy!

G: You’re bustin’ up my office! My beaudiful GAS Broadcast Network!

SFX: [Glass Shatter] [Explosion] [Heavenly Drone]

ZINFANDEL: Stop this right now, you two canine-humanoids! I order you!

G & F [in unison]: Zinfandel!

G: We don’t wanna see this dopey movie no more! We awready seen it—we been through it! 

Z:  I said, quiet! I told you before, you two shall remain in a state of suspended animation while you watch all that unfolds in front of your eyes. As I stated in the beginning, indeed, you have seen it before. Once active participants, you now must remain observers. Until you learn….

F: But, our exalted all-powerful Planet Eccchs leader whose name I hardly dare say again, like I’ve awready said, I wasn’t, y’know, as bad as Zig! 

G: Shaaadup, Fleaglossitty—

Z: Remember, Mister Fleaglossitty, it was your malfunctioning Empathy 5000 machine that caused the entire dimension of Perswayssick County to freeze.

F: Well, exalted all-powerful Planet Eccchs leader whose name I hardly dare say again, in my defense, because of my accidentally malfunctioning Empathy 5000 machine, all the bad guys, even that mean, outhouse-dwelling orange monster Urgl, are frozen an’ neutralized for the time bein’. Don’t I get extra credit for that?

G: Shaaadup, Fleaglossitty—

Z: No! You two canine-humanoids must continue to watch this documentary of actual recorded history which shall exist in its own dimension for all eternity, and you must learn from it so it does not repeat. If you do learn something, perhaps I shall look into unfreezing your dimension, and in addition, freeing you both. Goodbye…and don’t make me have to come back!

G & F [in unison]: Zinfandel! Come back! Pleeeeeaze!

G: I know I done lotsa baaad junk, but I troooly do regurgitate what I done! SFX: [Cartoon Character Annoyed Crying]

SFX: [Heavenly Drone] [Magic Glitter] [Magic Spell] [Scary Ambience]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: In our last episode, “Sock Drawers & Secrets,” Nicki Rodriguez and her GAS Broadcast Network colleague—fellow stranded Earthling Cleve Wheeler—believed they had a rare window of safety. With Gneeecey far away in Booolabeeezia, lost somewhere in the outermost reaches of Perswayssick County, they’d allowed themselves a simple luxury: a shared meal… and an honest conversation.

But, as they soon found out, Perswayssick County always seems to have a way of listening.

SFX: [Horror Scary Moment] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: A blaring nose-honk rattled the windows. SFX: [Duck Horn] We froze.

“He’s not supposed to be back till tomorrow—I mean, yesterday,” I whispered.

“Someone’s with him,” said Cleve. “I can’t tell if the voices are coming from up the hallway, or right outside the window here.”

“Quick, Cleve—hide!”

He grabbed his sock drawer and sprinted behind Gneeecey’s upright white piano.

SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Scary Ambience]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: And here’s where our story picks up….

“Phew, I’m gonna die—somethin’ back here stinks!”

“Sssssh—they’re coming!”

Gneeecey’s blabbering grew louder. “Y’know what else, Mark? They suggesticated I change Channel 3½’s slogan to ‘Gneee-TeeeVeee’. But I told ’em, nah, that wouldn’t really be meee.”

“Speakin’ of changin’ stuff,” growled the Markman, “Ya got lotsa minds to change before the next meetin’—y’know, that extra meetin’ on Octvember 64th where they wanna make trouble for us? Y’know, find out who’s involved? It’ll be real bad for us—an’ you—if they find out you are.”

“Don’t worry, Mark. I’m plannin’ to distractipate folks—I’m gonna propose we change our county bird’s name. A woodpecker should really be called a couldpecker ’cause it can!”

Gneeecey’s suggestion was met with stony silence.

“I mean, I aaam workin’ on it,” insisted the good diroctor.

“We both know ya ain’t tellin’ the truth.”

“I aaam tellin’ the troooth—nuthin’ but the troooth! Looky—I jus’ dumped twenny shares on a coupla sucker salesmen from New Kerhonkson.”

“Gotta do better than that,” snapped the Markman.

“Well,” replied Gneeecey, in a martyred tone, “I left Booolabeeezia a whole stinkin’ day early, to get ridda more of them MierkoZurk shares!”

“Who else ya gonna dump ’em on? Ya gotta get rid of ’em all, if y’know what’s good for ya!”

“Thought I’d drive down to Upper Revolta—I know more than a few idiots in that village.”

“Yeah?”

“An then, after thaaat, I figure I’ll relax by Lake Gizzagoola. Y’know, do a little goonafishin’.”

“Ya better watch out,” rumbled the Markman, “or they’ll hafta go fishin’ to find you.”

“Why’d they hafta do thaaat? I don’t live in water.”

“Ya don’t do right by us, you’re obsolete.”

“Let go of my shirt—you’ll bust it!”

“We ain’t jokin’—ya know?”

“Y-yeah,” stammered Gneeecey, chewing on his left wrist as he and blond, big-nosed Mark entered The Grate Room.

“A deal’s a deal, Doc.”

“Jus’ gimme a little more time!”

I held my breath. Neither Gneeecey nor Mark seemed to notice my presence—or Cleve’s muffled cough.

“Bore, bore, bore, bore, monotony!” squawked Gneeecey’s exotic orange-and-green checkered Monotony Birds, spooked when he dropped their cage to the floor. SFX: [Bang]

Mark scowled. “Can’cha shut dem stupid things up?”

“Don’t wanna insultipate ’em—they got delicate constitutions.”

“So do you.”

“Ig!” Gneeecey jumped so high that the room’s slowly-revolving, rhinestone-studded ceiling fan nearly whacked his head off.

“Diroctor. . .you’re back early—or is that late?”

The creepy Markman’s steely eyes bored through me. His amber skin was peeling.

“What’chooo doin’ here, Ig? Ain’cha supposed to be somewheres else, doin’ somethin’ meaningless?”

“Uh, no, Diroctor, not according to this week’s schedule—”

“Well, get’cha dumb Ig garbage outta here!” He glanced down at his disfigured putter. “Ya been playin’ golf here in my Grate Room?”

“No—I—I heard a noise and—”

“An’ who said ya could eat in here? Get all this dopey junk offa my beaudiful table! An’ look at all them wet napoopkins! What in Bogelthorpe’s name did’ja spill on my igspensive table?”

“Uh, sorry—I cleaned it up. Your table’s okay—”

“Stinkin’ better be—or you’ll be payin’ thaaat off, too. She looks real funny, Mark, don’t she?”

“Yeah,” he replied, shifty eyeballs scouring the room. “An’ looky here—why’s there two of everything? Two cups, two dishes, two forks. . .someone else here?”

“The Ig always eats like that—she’s a real hogwash!”

I spotted Cleve’s denim jacket, crumpled on the couch. My hands trembled as I whisked the remnants of our feast into the two King Oggle’s take-out bags. Mark strode over to the sofa, grabbed Cleve’s garment and held it up to the light.

I tried not to look in the direction of the piano.

“Kinda big for you, ain’t it?” he asked.

Before my shorted-out brain could come up with an explanation, Cleve coughed again. Gneeecey’s half-cat-half-motorcycle pet Klunkzill clunked over to the upright piano and began sniffing vigorously.

I thought I’d lose my meal. “Diroctor, your uh, two pet goths, you’d better check on ’em—they’ve been, uh, hacking their heads off. Maybe it’s that old oil furnace you gave ’em before you left—y’know, all that carbon build-up.”

Gneeecey’s peepers bulged with concern. Klunkzill, who’d wandered behind the piano, scampered out, hackles raised.

The Markman unbuttoned his trench coat, exposing a compact Saturday Night Special. “Whatsamatter wit’ ol’ Klunky?”

Gneeecey stuck an index finger up his wet nostril. “Dunno.”

Mark whipped out his weapon and took aim at the white piano’s keyboard. “I shoot first—an’ ask later.”

I flinched.

Detecting my discomfort, Mark’s smirk grew into a grin. “Got one of dem Kalashnikovs in my car. I’ll go get it.”

“Y-y’mean,” stammered Gneeecey, still picking his nose, “one of them okay-47’s?”

“Yeah. One of dem.”

“Y’know,” I began, unable to control my quivering voice, “I’ll bet Klunkzill smells the diroctor’s socks—that pair we couldn’t find the other day.”

Mark’s cheek muscles twitched. “Ya don’t expect me to fall for that.”

I hobbled over to the piano and began fumbling with its hinged wooden top. It crashed down on my fingers. SFX: [Piano] The ensuing, dissonant chord sent Klunkzill scurrying out of the room.

“Nice Z-minor chord,” squealed Gneeecey. “Didn’t know ya could play, Ig!”

The pain radiated all the way up my arms, to my shoulders. Ticker hammering out sixty-fourth notes, I lifted the lid again. The gods were with me. Gingerly, I plucked a ripe pair of purple-and-green-striped socks off the not-so-twinkling ivories.

Forcing a face-cracking smile, I handed Gneeecey his two polyester skunks. Mark recoiled as the rank foot-coverings passed beneath his overgrown schnozz.

“Now we won’t have to waste time looking for ’em,” I told Gneeecey. “Maybe we’ll get to the office on time, for once.”

“Those ain’t my lucky socks, Ig—ya better find that lousy ticket before our real big, important concert for our exalted Grand Oogitty-Boogitty. His tail will be in our neck of the woods any day now. Any day. Now, git!”

“Okay,” I answered, moving slowly, hoping they’d leave the room first. “I’m gitting—I mean, going. Just have to pick up all my stuff.”

“Mark,” squeaked Gneeecey, “Could’ja go get them new anti-Zodd pampoophlets outta your car?”

The Markman stuffed his firearm back under his too-tight belt. “Whatever.”

“I’ll meet’cha back down here in a coupla minutes. Jus’ gotta run up to the fourth floor an’ check on my teddy bear Yammicles. He ain’t an imaginary friend. He’s real! An’ he’s on my bed, resting—in his new sleeping bag.”

Mark watched Gneeecey disappear up the chandelier-lit spiral staircase, then strode briskly toward the side door. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Wooden Door Slam]

“Cleve,” I whispered, pushing the front window open with all my might, “they’re gone!”
 He leaped out from behind the piano, sock drawer in hand. His red sweatshirt was soaked.
 “Hurry! The Markman’s headed for the driveway—don’t let him see you! Where’s your car?”
 “Down on Drivel Drive.” Cleve snatched his jacket SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] and flew down the mansion’s misplaced front steps. 

SFX: [HumanWalkDownstairs] [MusicLogoBigBand] [Cinematic Boom A] [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 morning! Please make sure to tell a friend! And keep on laughing! 

Frank: It’s a Gneeecey thing! [SFX: Door Slam] ###