Tariffs, Tantrums & Total Planetary Destruction

February 3, 2026, “Tariffs, Tantrums & Total Planetary Destruction,” Episode 235, Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy, by Vicki Solá

🌌⚡ Tariffs, tyrants, and total planetary annihilation collide in this outrageously surreal episode of Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy. ⚡🌌 As canine-humanoid powerbroker Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey and his long-suffering frenemy Fleaglossitty “Flea” Floppinsplodge remain trapped in a bizarre dimension inside their already bizarre dimension, they’re once again forced to endure the thing Gneeecey hates most: a brutally honest life review documentary📽️👀. This time, Flea zeroes in on one of Gneeecey’s most spectacularly boneheaded political decisions—slapping tariffs on a Booolabeeezian jackass meat company 🫏🍔. What starts as petty revenge spirals into rotting burgers, angry customers, food poisoning, and a lesson Gneeecey insists he’s already learned (even though… he clearly hasn’t). ⚠️ And that’s only the beginning.

The life review plunges us back into an enhanced and expanded version of a classic Perswayssick tale, where stranded Earthling Nicki Rodriguez endures a nightmare vision unlike any other: 🏌️‍♂️🌍 Gneeecey turns the solar system into his personal sports arena. Golf clubs, billiards, baseball bats, tennis rackets—nothing is off-limits as planets are smashed, sprayed, eaten, demoted, barbecued, and obliterated in a grotesquely funny display of unchecked ego and cosmic cruelty 💥🪐😱. Earth itself is not spared, leaving Nicki to face the ultimate horror: a universe where Gneeecey quite literally makes the rules. Darkly comedic, politically absurd, and wildly imaginative, this episode blends satirical sci-fi, outer space comedy, dystopian fantasy, and audio drama chaos into one unforgettable ride. 🎧 Buckle up. Hide your planet. And whatever you do—don’t let Gneeecey near a nine iron.  #ComedyPodcast #AudioDrama #SciFiComedy #FantasyPodcast #WeirdFiction #IndiePodcast #DarkComedy #SurrealStorytelling #hitchhikersgalaxyfans #montypythonfans  We hope you enjoyed this week’s episode! We thank Marysol Rodriguez, Sal Solá, Sandi Solá, Marcellina Ramirez, Rick “El Molestoso” Rivera, Brunie Cariño, Toni Aponte, & Aileen Bean 4 being generous supporting members through BuyMeACoffee.com.  Artwork Created by Vicki Solá & ChatGPT 

Transcript

Transcript / “Tariffs, Tantrums & Total Planetary Destruction,”  – Episode 235, 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: [SpaceshipAlienSpaceship]

DIROCTOR BIZZIG “ZIG” GNEEECEY: Fleaglossitty! What’s that stinkin’ scary sound? 

FLEAGLOSSITTY “FLEA” FLOPPINSPLODGE, AKA “SOOPERFLEA”:  I dunno, Zig. 

G: You’re supposed to be a superhero, y’know, wit’ ESP! Now, what’s that stinkin’ scary sound?

F: All I can tell ya. Zig, is two things. Number one, I dunno. An’ number two, this must be the kinda scary sound ya hear when you’re in a scary dimension.

G: Some help yooou are, Fleaglossitty. An’ I forgot, your dopey ESP never really works propooperly, anyways!

F: No need to get personal, Zig, no need to get personal.

G: Well, I’m sick of watchin’ this dopey dockookumentary that we’re bein’ forced to watch!

F: Me an’ you, we’re supposed to be learning something from watching this life review.

G: Yeah? What do I need to learn? Gimme an example! Well? 

F: Okay, Mister Perfect. How about that time, as Grate Gizzygalumpaggis of our Perswayssick County—

G: Ya mean Grate Gizzy! Stop squandering all them extra valuable vowels an’ consonants!

F: Okay, Zig, okay. How about that time, as Grate Gizzy of our Perswayssick County, ya decided to put tariffs on all the jackass meat ya imported from Booolabeeezia—y’know, that company located in the outreaches of our county? 

G: Shaaaaddup! 

F: Ya thought ya were punishing the jackass meat company—y’know, Booolabeeezian ButtBurger Brothers—but it didn’t hurt them—you hadda pay more for all them burgers when ya bought ’em for your Gneeezle’s Restaurant, an’ then ya hadda charge your customers more! But then your customers stopped ordering your jackass burgers. They refused to pay more!

G: Awright! Awright! I stinkin’ learned! I did it ’cause I was real, real maaad at them Booolabeeezian brothers. One of ’em said something mean to me!

F: So, ya ended up wit’ a coupla tons of rotting jackass meat that no one ordered, an’ ya couldn’t fit it all in your dinky, cheap freezer. So, then ya got sick tryin’ to eat it all yourself!

G: I didn’t wanna eat the loss, so I hadda try an’ eat the loss!

F: So, why’d ya try an’ eat the loss?

G: Awready told ya! Can’t those dopey big triangular ears of yours hear? I said, I didn’t wanna eat the loss, so I hadda try an’ eat the loss!

F: Zig, I’ll never understand ya. Sometimes ya remind me of that orange monster Urgl, y’know, in the flyin’ outhouse, that’s been terrorizin’ Perswayssick County!

G: Nah, Fleaglossitty, even I ain’t thaaat baaad! At least I learn from some of my dopey mistakes, and I do got some niceness!

F: I dunno ’bout you, Zig…I really don’t…. 

G: Oh, yeah! Ya wanna fight me again an’ find out?

SFX: [Pouring Rain with a Thunderstorm] [Heavenly Drone]

G & F [in unison]: Uh-oh! It’s Zinfandel!

G: An’ looky! It’s raining inside!

ZINFANDEL: I thought I told you two, don’t make me come back down here!

F: Zig, we’d better jus’ shut up an’ keep watchin’ this life review, as our exalted all-powerful Planet Eccchs leader whose name I hardly dare say again, told us to!

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: And now, in our last episode, “Recorded History, Loaded Weapons….”

SFX: [Scary Ambience]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: 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] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ: And here’s where that surreal life review documentary—the one that that Gneeecey hates watching—picks up….

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ:  “Mangy megalomaniac mutt,” I hissed, pulling my itchy, egg yolk-colored blanket up over my head. Out of habit, I switched my friend, GAS Broadcast Network co-worker Cleve Wheeler’s palm-sized radio on. One of the few things I looked forward to was listening to “Normal Commentaries” under the covers. SFX: [Scary Ambience] But now, thanks to those evil alien Markmen—the creeps that Gneeecey always seemed to kiss up to, Normal Radio 98.6 FM broadcasted only static. The creeps had burned that radio station to the ground. And gotten away with it, as usual.

I had hoped to apply for a job at Normal Radio and leave my lousier-than-lousy-in-every-way gig at Gneeecey’s GAS communications empire. Sighing, I yanked the plug out of my ear and stashed the tiny receiver behind the cardboard box by my mattress. Still couldn’t afford to buy a nightstand—or my own radio, on what Gneeecey paid me. 

SFX: [Misgivings & Misfortune]

Meanwhile, I could hear Gneeecey across the hall, raiding the refrigerator, noisily stuffing his food-sucking face with three-week-old goonafish salad—that is, greens peppered with the county’s infamous luminous blue two-tailed, headless fish. Also on Gneeecey’s nightly menu were Mrs. Dammit’s moldy molderberry pie and sauteed rusty nails. Rasputin had nothing on Gneeecey. 

And, as usual, Gneeecey jabbered away on the telephone, spitting food bullets all over its mouthpiece. “Well,” he shouted, probably at another reporter who had obtained his unlisted number, “redivloppment’s divloppin’ a stinkin’ place that’s awready been divlopped!”

SFX: [Scary Ambience]

Yep, it was all about the upcoming vote on Referendum 345…and Mierk, a mucky manufacturing byproduct of miercoles that covered the Perswayssick’s riverbanks. The substance was highly toxic and hazardous to the health of county citizens. Referendum 345 called for redevelopment of the riverbank area and the banning of mierk. The Markmen did not want that to happen…and neither did Gneeecey. He was afraid of those nasty guys.

I could hear Gneeecey’s red high-top sneaker tapping. “An’,” he added, “that ain’t smart, redoin’ somethin’ that’s awready stinkin’ been done. So, go redivlop ya mother!” He slammed the phone down. SFX: [Bang] [Misgivings & Misfortune]

It rang again, two seconds later. SFX: [Phone rings] “Whaaaaat?!” Gneeecey’s harsh tone softened when he heard his intern Stuart Pitt’s jackass voice at the other end. The donkey-humanoid always kissed up to him. “Oh, Stuey— everythin’ okay? Whaaat?! Dinwiddie’s Inflatable Squeak Toys an’ Broadcast Supplies promised me a five-foot banana that would squeak on-air! Squeeze it again, Stuey. . .it still don’t squeak? Shove it in the engineerin’ closet—the Ig will write up an outvoice.” 

I groaned--the Ig was me. And outvoices were the opposite of invoices. Usually, under Gneeecey’s direction, we contested invoices, stating reasons not to pay up and even threatening countersuits. I had a humongous pile of these outvoices on my desk. I was covering for Gneeecey’s eternally absent administrative assistant, Fraxinella, in addition to attending to my own engineering duties for GAS Radio and TV.

As usual, I had a whole lot of unpleasantness to process at the end of a day in Perswayssick County. Finally, my heavy lids closed….

SFX: [Scary Background II]

Then, suddenly, standing there in front of me was Gneeecey. 

“What’re you doing?” I demanded, chills running down my spine. 

“Whatever I stinkin’ want—as usual.” Eyeing me defiantly, the white-and-black canine-humanoid hoisted his golf bag up over his shoulder.  

“But,” I protested, hugging a nearby maple tree, to keep from flying off the spinning golf course as it hurtled through blackness, “you can’t do that—” 

“I said, I’ll do what I stinkin’ want!” He caught Earth’s cratered moon as it flew by his nose, and he plunked it into a plastic hole. It clunked loudly. SFX: [Golf Ball in Hole]

“Hole-in-one! Pockmarked thing deserves to stay in that matter-eatin’ black hole—your lousy moon ain’t even green. An’ it ain’t made of cheeeeese—almost busted my lousy tooth!” 

“Diroctor—” 

“There weren’t no man in it neitherwise. For Bogelthorpe’s sake, it’s jus’ a crummy ol’ rock!” 

The tree I clung to disintegrated, and I tumbled to the ground. 

“Looky!” squealed Gneeecey, sprinting down the disc-shaped field. “Snatturn—the planet named after Snatturday!”

On Gneeecey’s Planet Eccchs and in his dimension of Perswayssick County, the days of the week were named as follows: Someday, Mondistink, TooStank, WetNoodlesDay (where Gneeecey expected his employees to work upside-down), Thirtsy, FriedEgg, and Snatturday.

I stumbled back to my feet and lumbered after the crazed canine-humanoid. Gneeecey snatched the volleyball-sized planet’s ring and slapped it over his head. “A halo!” 

Still rotating, the grooved band slipped down around his stubby neck. 

“Now,” I observed, “it’s gonna choke you!”

“Not no more!” he yelled, yanking it up over his noggin and tossing it with all his might. SFX: [Swish] I shivered as the glittering, multi-banded swirl of rocks and ice sliced through space like a glow-in-the-dark Frisbee. 

“Now, your Pluto’s a real nuthin’!” he whooped, racing over to the edge of the lush, diaphanous green. “No wonder youse Earth humans demoted it from bein’ a planet!” He leaned forward, plucked the frozen pebble out of its elliptical orbit, and took a bite. SFX: [Chomp]

“Stop!” I pleaded.

“It’s actually a chockookolate-covered raspoopleberry truffle. Kinda sloppy, but tasty.” 

“Diroctor, you don’t eat planets—” 

Gneeecey sucked what was left of the picked-on former planet into his big yapper. He belched. SFX: [Belch] “Scuzipate me.” 

“Don’t think I will,” I replied, shaking my head. 

Next, he pulled a nine iron out of his bag. “Time for a little celestial cross-trainin’. Lessee. . . Jupoopiter’s next—red spot on its belly always did get on my nerves. I’m also gonna off that other gasbag, Neptune.” 

“Diroctor—no!” 

“Neptune an’ nuthin’ both got N’s an’ U’s, but borin’ big blue here don’t deserve ’em.”

“I’m freezing and dizzy—” 

“Watch, Ig. I’m puttin’ them two losers in the side pocket—utilizatin’ that rusty planet over there as the cue ball. Y’know, the one youse Earthlin’s named after a candy bar.” 

Gneeecey snapped his fingers, and a spray can materialized. “Gaaas hardener—makes planets bust up better,” he explained, shaking the can, squeezing the nozzle and coating Jupiter and Neptune with a lacquer that smelled like apple pie. SFX: [Spray Can]

He then aimed his iron like a cue stick and smashed Mars into Jupiter, shattering the red planet into a zillion jagged shards. SFX: [Billiard balls] Meanwhile, the spot-bellied ball whirled, at supersonic speed, toward ol’ nuthin’ Neptune, pulverizing it. SFX: [Billiard balls] [Explosion] 

The explosion sent me flying sideways. Multi-colored sun-lit remnants of the destroyed bodies scattered slowly. 

“Put lotsa English on that one!” he screeched. 

“But you didn’t put ’em in the side pocket, Diroctor.” 

“This was even better—my own Big Bang!” shrieked Gneeecey, skipping down the fairway. “Too baaad we’ll be runnin’ outta planets soon.” 

“C’mon—stop—” 

“Next, I’ll whack Uranus right offa the face of the universe. It don’t deserve its N’s an’ U’s neitherwise—although I do appreciate its heavenly methane aroma.” 

He plunged his honker into the green clouds that covered the gaseous basketball and snorted vigorously. “Mmmmm! What a simpooply divine fragrance—might decide not to off this baby after all. Second thought, UniGeek’s stocks methane-scented aftershave—an’ they sell it wholesale.” 

Gneeecey grabbed his fixative and sprayed Uranus. SFX: [Spray Can]

(I moan.) “You’re sick—” 

Swinging his club like a bat, he smacked the tilted planet out into the stars. SFX: [Wooden Bang] “Hat trick!”

“You’re destroying my solar system!” I shouted. As I fell down flat on my face, I discovered that each blade of grass was translucent. “What’s this, ghost grass? I can see through it.” 

“Astroturf, ya Iggarooney,” he replied, zigzagging over to Venus. “Hot potato! Hot potato! Catch!” 

“Are you freakin’ nuts?” I shouted, running for my life. 

“Stinkin’ thing’s hotter than it looks! Ain’t really a star neitherwise— your dopey sister planet’s an imposter. I’ll confisticate her N an’ U. First, lemme cook a burger!” He plucked a jackass burger patty out of his T-shirt pocket and tossed it at Venus, causing the sphere to sizzle. SFX: [Barbecue Sizzle] “Hey—she burnt my stinkin’ lousy burger!”

“You truly are nuts.” 

“Take this, ya backward-spinnin’ greenhouse!” He slammed the brilliant body into a hole. SFX: [Golf ball in hole] “Birdie! Go fish! Ol’ Maid!” 

Jubilant, he swung at golf-ball-sized Mercury three times and missed. SFX: [Swish x 3]

“You’ve struck out!” I declared. 

“Stinkin’ asteroid threw me off.” He blew a cluster of stray stars over his shoulder. “It’s a do-over.” 

“C’mon, Diroctor Gneeecey—” 

“Mercury, ya piece of charcoal,” he muttered, slapping at a tiny comet as it whizzed by his ear. “Take this, ya hotheaded dwarf!” Gritting his teeth, he smashed the sun’s nearest planet out of sight.

SFX: [Baseball bat crack w/organ]

“Looky, Ig! Even all the Martians are cheerin’ me, even though I destroyed their stooopid plaaanet! Home run!”

“Ground rule double,” I shouted, just to annoy him. 

“Nah, that was a grand slam touchdown! Din’cha see my imaginary runners on base?” 

“I don’t see any runners or bases.” 

“I make the rules.” 

“Diroctor, Earth there’s the size of a softball, and that sun over there is only as big as a beach ball. I read that the sun could hold 1.3 million Earths— plus it’s about 93 million miles away. This solar system here isn’t real—it’s not to scale.” 

He turned toward the only body still orbiting. “Oh, it’s real.” 

“Noooo!” I cried, instantly regretting having mentioned my planet. 

“Now looky here at this dopey blue ball—it’s all wet!” He whipped an aluminum tennis racket out of his suddenly red T-shirt pocket. “Briney lump of mud’s infected wit’ Ig humans like yooou.” 

“Please—don’t!” 

“Hafta! I get a dime for each planet I whack.” 

“Earth’s populated,” I protested. “Teeming with life—just like your Planet Eccchs! You can’t do this!” 

“Nebberd-kinnezzard—an’ where I come from, that means ‘extra never’—tell me I can’t do somethin’.” 

He splashed his grimy fur pinky into the sparkling Atlantic.  SFX: [Splash] “Better be carefoofal—don’t wanna lose a finger in that lousy Bermuda Triangle.” He withdrew his soaked finger and licked it. “A bit on the salty side. An’ this little boat here tastes like a cruise ship.” 

“Stop it—now!” I begged.

“Want me to make Earth safe for demockookracy?” 

“Just leave it alone!” 

“It is alone, Ig—all alone. Finally get to use this here really cool aluminizated, official replooplica of a Wimboobledon tournament racket.” 

Whistling, he lobbed Earth out of the solar system. SFX: [Whoosh] [Splash] As the shimmering planet sailed over my head, an arcing trail of chilly ocean water sprayed my cheek. Reflected brilliantly in each drop were all the colors of the rainbow. I picked a transparent, ant-sized porpoise out of my eye and placed it in my left palm. And I watched helplessly as the feathery layer of clouds that encircled my runaway world streamed away, flinging a microscopic flock of birds into oxygen-less oblivion. 

“Well Ig, like they say, ya can never go home. An’ now, ya never will.” 

I gazed out into the frigid heavens, then down at my hand. My squealing porpoise had morphed into a lifeless, cellophane facsimile of itself—a smiling, cartoon-like creature. 

“Got one of your planet’s lousy evergreens stuck in my teeth,” complained Gneeecey, picking at his fangs with the edge of a bent golf scorecard. “Prickly—tastes kinda like brockookoli.” 

“Diroctor,” I stammered through chattering teeth, “I can’t breathe!” 

“Why, that’s ’cause there ain’t no air here.” 

“But—but, you’re breathing—” 

“How many times do I gotta tell ya? I make the rules.” 

Gneeecey bopped up to the sun. Blazing brightly, it hovered about a foot above the center of the golf course. “Glad it’s night!” He flashed a devilish grin. “Couldn’t do this durin’ daytime.” 

“Nooo!” I screamed, shielding my eyes. 

“Ya big spotted furnace—ya ain’t as hot as ya think! I’m not even breakin’ a sweat. Okay, here goes—” 

“No! Diroctor, I beg you—” 

“No more solar acne flare-ups for yooou—it’s curtains, big guy.” 

I stood there paralyzed. 

Gneeecey winked as he extracted a gigantic pair of mirrored sunglasses from his pocket and clamped them over his snout. The sun’s blinding image reflected off each lens. He rubbed his palms together. “Awready made eighty-five cents! SFX: [Clinking Coins] They’ll only gimme a nickel for Pluto an’ the moon—but I’ll get a whole buckerooney for puttin’ out this bad boy!” 

“Nooooooooo!” I wailed.

“Adds up to a buck-eighty-five. Plus, today I discovered that secret compartment in your poopfolio!”

“I knew it all along! You did steal my portfolio case!” 

“Yep, Ig, an’ I found all your mon-ney.” 

“Why you—” 

“Once I put the kibosh on your lousy sun, I’ve actually earned ten thousand-one bucks an’ eighty-five cents! Not bad for a day’s work, huh, Ig?” 

A sparkling gold hoop earring suddenly sprouted out of his left ear. 

I crumpled to my knees. 

“Now, lemme make a wish before I blow it out!” Gneeecey puckered up, and with ease, blew out Earth’s mighty five-billion-year-old star, extinguishing it forever. SFX: [Blowing] [Scary Background II] 

Sobbing, I rolled off my undersized, spring-popping mattress and onto the floor of the undersized utility closet that had been converted into what Gneeecey called a “guestroom.” 

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 morning! Please make sure to tell a friend! And keep on laughing! 

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