Hapoopy Hatch Day, Pt. 2

“Hapoopy Hatch Day, Part 2,” Episode 238

Stranded Earthling Nicki Rodriguez thought she was attending a surprise birthday party… but in the bizarre dimension of Perswayssick County, nothing ever stays normal for long. When canine-humanoid boss Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey gathers the gang around a mile-long table for “horse divorces and cake,” the celebration quickly spirals into flaming centerpieces, exploding gifts, telepathic secrets, and one very questionable pile of “junk drawer” presents. 😬🎂

As Sooperflea (Flea) tries to keep the peace, and ESP whispers fly, party guests like Flubbubb, Altitude, Stu Pitt, Nine, and the combustible B. M. Bonbeeederhead turn the gathering into a hilarious disaster filled with stale snacks, purple rubber wallets, crow invasions, rogue goth beasts, and Dalmation beer transformations! 🍺🐾🦅

✨ In this episode of Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy, expect: 🎙️ Sci-fi comedy audio drama & surreal storytelling 🎁 Outrageous birthday gifts and holiday Grimace madness
 🐕 Zig’s legendary malapropisms and mansion mayhem 🔥 Slapstick fights, ESP mind-reading, and exploding party décor 🌌 A wild blend of fantasy, satire, and laugh-out-loud chaos

If you love comedy sci-fi podcasts, surreal audio dramas, weird alien humor, and character-driven storytelling, you’re in the right dimension. 🎧 Listen now🎧 https://perswayssickradio.buzzsprout.com 🎧

👉 Don’t forget to LIKE, COMMENT, and SUBSCRIBE for more weekly episodes from the ever-unpredictable County of Perswayssick!

#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, Diane L., Brunie Cariño, Toni Aponte, and Aileen Bean for being generous supporting members through BuyMeACoffee.com.

Artwork Created by Vicki Solá & ChatGPT 

Transcript

Transcript / “Hapoopy Hatch Day, Part 2,” – Episode 238, 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. 

NARRATOR VICKI SOLÁ:  In our previous episode, we find Nicki recalling, uh, enjoying a surprise birthday party Gneeecey gave her, back at his mansion….

SFX: [Heavenly Drone]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ: “Let’s get this over wit’,” said Gneeecey, as the eight of us gathered in front of the dining room’s stone fireplace. “Happy Hatchday, Ig. An’ here’s to Esophagus, the Greek god of swallowing.” Raising delicate Booolabeeezian crystal champagne glasses high above their heads, all chanted, “There, there! Where, where? Here, here!” and guzzled their sky-blue fizzy drinks noisily. 

The cautious sip I took set my sinuses ablaze. 

“I love carbonated rindom!” exclaimed Stu, his seven chins shaking. “Happy Birthday, Icky!” 

“Uh, that’s Nicki.” 

“Oh, and Icky, today I redid that music bed on that commercial you produced. Y’know—the one everyone including our client hated.” 

“Okay folks,” shouted Gneeecey, knocking back the rest of his bubbly. “An’ a one an’ a two an’ a three—” On the count of three, following their host’s lead, Flea, Flubbubb, Altitude, Stu Pitt, Nine, and Bonbeeederhead smashed their fluted vessels against the fireplace. 

SFX: [Crash] [Glass Shatter] [Glass Debris] [Dish Ceramic] [Explosion] 

The fireplace collapsed. As elephantine gray boulders tumbled SFX: [Wood Demolition Bang]

and charcoal clouds of ash swirled toward the ceiling, the goblets rolled about SFX: Glass Debris], not so much as a stem broken—even though it sure sounded like the delicate glassware had shattered. 

“Your—your—fireplace,” I stuttered. Gneeecey laughed. “Trick glasses, Ig. Heh hah, heh haah!” 

SFX: [Bassoon, Comedy] [Magic Spell] [Misgivings &Misfortune]

NICKI RODRIGUEZ:  The others had begun seating themselves at the mile-long table. Covered by yellow rain slicker-like fabric, it stood in the midst of the otherwise stark, fluorescent-lit room, on a gray-tiled floor. With a shower drain.
 “Ooooh!” exclaimed Flubbubb. “I get to sit next to Zig!”
 Gneeecey scrambled over to his rococo mini-throne. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] “Someone
 musta moved your lousy place card. Stuey’s sittin’ on my right, an’ Bonbeeederhead’s on my left.”
 Gloating, donkey-humanoid brown-nosing intern Stu Pitt fastened his napkin around his neck, like a bib.
 “So,” growled Gneeecey, “Go siddown by Altitude an’ the Ig, ya Flubbarooney.”
 Flubbubb trudged down to the far end and lowered himself into a lopsided lawn chair.
 “Now, this ain’t breakfoofast,” warned Gneeecey. “We’re only havin’ horse divorces an’ cake. But we do got sevooveral complooplimetary cases of Dalmation beer.”
 Stu’s face lit up.
 “They always donate product jus’ after its past its date.”
“A real tax write-off,” boomed the living wooden chair, Freak O’Nature Foods Chairman of the Board, B. M. Bonbeeederhead, clapping his crudely-carved, splintery hands. SFX: [Wood Demolition Bang]
“We do it all the time at Gneeezle’s—y’know, donate ol’ stuff to customers. But we make ‘em pay.”
Bonbeeederhead nearly cracked a wooden smile. “You’ve learned well.”
“An’ folks,” continued Gneeecey, “we got a bowl of slog punch, too—unfermented, non-alkookaholic. Drink up—bathroom’s down the hall. If youse run outta them Susan B. Anthony dollar coins, I’ll be hapoopy to make change!”
“Heard ya thinking,” whispered the ESP-gifted Flea, leaning close to me. “Don’t be so hard on yourself—when ya climbed into Zig’s Porsche, ya had no idea you’d be in an accident an’ mess your legs up.”
“And now,” I answered, glancing about furtively, “even though I finally found my stuff—”
“Ya found your stuff?!”
“Sssssh—I thought you knew everything.”
“Nah—my ESP’s spottier than a leopard wit’ measles. but I do know you’re thinkin’ of leavin’ before you’re really ready—”
I shook my head.
“Uh-huh,” he said under his breath, shaking his head up and down.
“Mmmm-mmmm,” I murmured.
“Will youse two stop whispooperin’? Ain’t polite,” admonished Gneeecey, wiping his runny honker on the water-repellent tablecloth.
“What should we do first?” asked Stu. “Presents or food?”
“Presents!” everyone yelled, drowning out the grumpy Bonbeeederhead.
Altitude, the oversized mouse, addressed me directly, for the first time. “Nobody tol’ me I hadda bring nuthin’.”
“Almost didn’t,” creaked Bonbeeederhead, heaving three packages my way. “But when I spotted these in our stockroom, I realized I could write ’em off.”
Forcing a smile, I unwrapped the silver-papered projectiles. Three identical, three-headed Freak O’Nature hawks grinned up at me from three identical, battered boxes. All the Rindom Doodles, Slug Nuts, and Rotzels I could possibly eat. Ever. Times three. “Uh, thanks.”
“What a waste,” complained Gneeecey, “Givin’ great stuff like that to her. She only eats stuff that comes from them vegoogitarian tofoofuaries. Blindfolds her plaaants when she eats broccoli!”
I ripped the containers open. “Uh, please everyone, help yourselves.”
Handsome, golden-furred canine-humanoid Flubbubb popped a doodle into his mouth. “They are stale, Mister B., but’cha still coulda sold ’em.”
Gneeecey shot Flubbubb a withering glance.
“At my job,” continued Flubbubb, perking up, “we always sell stale loaves. We have different colored twist ties. Yellow for old, blue for older, green for moldy, an’ red for—”
Gneeecey hurled a rock-like Slug Nut at Flubbubb, just missing him. “We’re all so sicka how ya twist them ties. Stinkin’ bread’s moldy by the time ya get to it!”
“That’s on account of most of us bein’ left-handed. Speaking of that, Murgatroyd Music promised to deliver my left-handed triangle right in time for our big concert—”
“Yooou ain’t playin’ wit’ meee an’ my voaline—”
“Violin,” interrupted Flea.
“That’s what I said, Fleaglossitty! An’ furthoothermore, Flubbubb, ya still think you’re better than us ’cause your family had the only plaid lawn in town!”
Flubbubb’s disc-like eyes welled up with tears.
Flea leaped out of his chair. “Why don’cha leave him alone. Zig?!”
Foam spraying from his mouth, Gneeecey flew across the table and grabbed the startled superhero by his furry throat. SFX: [Blue Danube Fight] [Glass Shatter] [Glass Debris] [Dish Ceramic] Flea freed himself quickly. As the good diroctor thrashed around trying to land a punch, he caught his shoelace on the ornate brass candelabra. SFX: [Bang] [Glass Shatter] [Glass Debris] [Dish Ceramic]  [Wood Demolition] [Flames] Down it came, flames and all, setting the purple holiday centerpiece—glitter spray-painted dead rubber chickens—and Gneeecey’s bimbus, on fire.
The rest of us—except for the combustible Bonbeeederhead—took turns whacking Gneeecey’s behind, in an effort to extinguish the blaze.
After about thirty seconds, the good diroctor plunged his smoldering hindquarters into the overfilled punch bowl SFX: [Water Splash] [Barbecue Sizzle] [Splash Water 5], splashing scarlet liquid all over the place. Gneeecey swore softly as his crossed eyeballs rolled up inside his head. “My lousy bimbus!”
The stink of burnt fur hung in the air.
Flea pointed to the dingy white-and-black hairs floating in the crimson fluid. “We’ll hafta dump the punch.”
“Stinkin’ why?”
“For Bogelthorpe’s sake, Zig, you were, uh, sittin’ in it.”
“Awright—break open the Dalmation beer, then”
I marveled as Flea poured the milky suds into his mug. Its dime-sized, inky spheres remained evenly suspended. The black-and-white-furred superhero took a swig, and in an instant, morphed into a spotted negative of himself.
Gneeecey gulped his down, in two seconds flat.
“Look, Zig,” observed Flea, “your nose is chalk-colored, an’ covered wit’ dark spots!”
“So’s yours!” SFX: [Giant Burp] ’Scuze me.
Gneeecey’s white hair had turned black, except for the snowy discs dotting it. His honker matched his ears—as did the formerly-jet fur that capped each side of his head. “Not bad,” he squealed, studying his image in a hand mirror he’d yanked from his shirt pocket. “Good, if I hadda, y’know, leave town all of a sudden—unreckookognized. Y’know, incognizant.”
“You expectin’ to hafta do that anytime soon?” asked Flea, as Altitude reached past him for a bottle of brew.
“None of your bee’s droppin’s, Fleaglossittty. An’ here, ya underage rat—yooou get a diet Slog.”
Pouting, Altitude snatched the can.
“Now,” began Gneeecey, “I hear it’s bad luck not to give your host his gifts first.”
Bad luck for whom?, I wondered.
“Don’t worry, not you,” replied Flea, reading my mind once more.
I gaped at the superhero, who watched as everyone but Altitude pelted Gneeecey with precious purple rubber wallets. The good diroctor scooped them up and hugged them to his chest. 

My eyes remained fixed on Flea.
 He squirmed.
 I decided then and there, I’d attempt to block his ESP.
 Intertextuality, I thought to myself, concentrating hard. Intertextuality. Intertextuality.
 “Interestin’,” answered Flea, glancing my way as he tossed a poop-colored object in Gneeecey’s expectant face. “Which novels were you considerin’, in terms of literary juxtaposition? For me, Moby Dick an’ Plato’s Republic come to mind, although some may say it’s a far stretch—”
 “Stop,” I pleaded. “Please!”
“I minored in Earth literature.”
I looked at Flea, amazed.
Gneeecey jumped up onto the tabletop. “Shaaaddup! Now tell me, Fleaglossitty—”
Flea frowned. “How in Bogelthorpe’s name do ya expect me to tell ya anythin’ if I hafta shaaaddup?”
“Jus’ shaaaddup ’bout everythin’ I don’t wanna hear an’ only answer me what I’m askin’ ya to tell me.”
Flea crossed his arms. “Well, tell me what’cha wanna hear so I don’t answer ya about what’cha not askin’ me to tell ya, then.”
“Now, we’re gettin’ somewhere,” proclaimed Gneeecey, scrutinizing his pal’s gift under the fluorescent chandelier’s harsh light. “Now, what is this bright brown rubber wallet ya jus’ threw in my face?”
“Ya jus’ answered your own question.”
“But it wasn’t a answerin’ question—it was a askin’ question. Now, tell me, Fleaglossitty,
what is this bright brown rubber wallet ya jus’ threw in my face?”
“A bright brown rubber wallet.”
“Why din’cha answer the first time?”
“I DID!”
“DID not!”
“DID too!”
“DID not—ya made me ask!”
Flea marched over to Gneeecey. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] “Anybody can see, it’s a bright brown rubber wallet. Why brown?”
“They say brown’s the new purple.”
“It is a priddy color, but I can’t count it in my final Grimace tally. You stinkin’ know as well as meee, only purple rubber wallets count. So, ya wasted your mon-ney.”
Flea shuffled back to his seat SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking], past Flubbubb, who grabbed his arm and whispered something about a plan to present a wagonload of purple rubber wallets to Gneeecey, on stage at their spiritual leader, the Grand Ooogitty-Boogitty’s upcoming annual holiday concert.
“Maybe then he’ll appreciate me,” concluded the percussionist, loud enough for all to hear.
“Oooooh—can we go in the drawing room?” begged Stu. “Lemme at those crayons an’ doodle pads!”
“Flubbubb could draw somethin’,” suggested Flea, “an’ we could all try an’ guess what it is—”
“No,” interrupted Flubbubb. “I make a picture, then everyone hasta figure out what I drew—”
“Isn’t that what I jus’—”
“Let’s play Drip-Dry instead,” proposed Stu. “We all throw water at the wall an’ take bets on whether the drops’ll dry before they drip!”
“Nah,” insisted Gneeecey, “we’ll watch my video from the Mierk Down Fest an’—what the—”
His half-chewed health cigar fell to the floor as a storm of blue-black feathers swished past his snout, shrieking “Nevermore! Nevermore!” SFX: [Crow]
“Which one of youse opened the lousy bathroom window?” Stu blushed.
“Well, whooooooo?!”
Spooked by Gneeecey’s grating voice, the turkey-sized raven swooped down and plunged its beak into Stu’s beer.  SFX: [Crow] [Water Splash] The intern dove under the table.
As the crow slopped up the drink, he turned snow-white, save for the ebony polka-dots decorating him.
Altitude sprang out of his seat. “Groovical!”
“Bore, bore, bore, bore, monotony, monotony! monotony!” screeched Gneeecey’s exotic orange-and-green-checkered pet birds, caged in The Grate Room.
Seizing the opportunity, a grinning Altitude grabbed Flea’s stein and dashed toward the door.
“Don’chooo dare!” bellowed Gneeecey at the oversized mouse. “Mess wit’ my birds an’ I’ll see to it that’cha end up back in that soup factory I found ya in, splittin’ peas!”
“Reminds of the time we dissected a pea,” recalled Flubbubb, as Altitude stomped back to his chair. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] “In tenth grade. Took five buckets of them peas before
ya got it right—remember?”
Gneeecey raised his hand to smack Flubbubb, but flopped over his half-motorcycle-half cat
Klunkzill, who vroomed past to lunge at the Poe crow as it fluttered around like a demented moth. SFX: [Cartoon Zip] [Crow]
Before Gneeecey could uncork his foul mouth, a booming blast shattered our eardrums. SFX: [Explosion] “Holy Saint Bogelthorpe!” screamed Gneeecey, flying under the table. SFX: [Cartoon Zip] [Sneakers Squeaking] [Crow] [Cartoon Chattering Teeth] “Whaaat was thaaat?”
Gneeecey’s vicious metallic prehistoric pet goths, Ozzy and Vizzy, charged into the room, jagged hunks of their playroom door impaled on their spikes.
“We’ll go after the goths first,” shouted Flea, racing toward them. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking]
“They’re dangerous! C’mon, Zig!”
“How dare ya incinerate that my Ozzy an’ Vizzy are dangerousical?”
 “Because they are,” yelled the living yellow numeral Nine, whacking Ozzy with his cane SFX: [Bang] as the chrome beast ripped the cape off Flea’s neck. SFX: {Fabric Ripping]
 “Nebberd-kinnezzard!” shrilled the corvine, soaring out into the hallway, trailed by Klunkzill, Vizzy, and Ozzy. SFX: [Crow] [Metal Crash]
 As the four of them disappeared, a wall-eyed kangaroo wearing a skimpy orange-and-purple “Kounty Bird” sweater hopped through the doorway. SFX: [Comedy Boing] Pouch stuffed with encyclopedias, he made a beeline for the Dalmation beer.

SFX: [Magic Spell]
 “That should do it,” declared Flea, shuffling back into the dining room SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] ouch-o strip bandages plastered all over his face and fingers. “Crow’s back out
 on his ledge, Klunkzill’s in the kitchen, kangaroo’s back upstairs in Zig’s library, an’ the
 goths—”
 “I don’t think lockin’ ’em in the gaze bow is a good idea,” warned Gneeecey. “What if evil Mister Tree kidnaps them?”
 My heart skipped a beat. “Isn’t the gazebo too flimsy?”
 Gneeecey’s furry jaw tightened. “Ya lousy Ig—if a weren’t afraida them, they could have the run of this whole lousy house.”

“Boss,” exclaimed a breathless Stu, “wait till ya see the giant hole in the goths’ door!” 

“Yeah,” said Flubbubb. “you’re gonna hafta replace it.”
 Gneeecey’s eyes flashed with contempt. “Wouldn’t that kinda be like shuttin’ the horse’s mouth after the barn door escapes?”
 SFX: [Magic Spell] [Heavenly Drone]

It was gift time. Flea handed me a book. “Anyway, Happy Birthday, Nickels,” he said, calling me by the nickname he had for me. “This’ll fit right into one of your coat pockets.” 

“Thanks,” I replied, admiring my new, compact Webster’s Dictionary. 

“Webster started runnin’ outta words by the time he got to the enda the alphoophabet,” stated Gneeecey. “Ya ever notice how there’s so few words in them last X, Y an’ Z sections?” 

Donkey-humanoid Stu Pitt’s mouth opened in amazement. “Wow, boss, you know everything!” 

“An’ Ig,” began Gneeecey, “these are for yooou.” He shoved a mountain of packages under my nose. 

“For me?” 

“Yeah. I kinda gotten used to havin’ ya around—in fact, I hope ya never leave.” 

I pinched myself so hard that it hurt. 

“You do all the work but I get mosta your paycheck. It’s almost like havin’ my own indenturated servant.” 

“I’m touched,” I replied, unwrapping what appeared to be a one-armed cardigan. “Oh—a sweater.” 

“Oooooh, Boss,” gushed Stu. “It matches the new brown wallet Flea gave ya!” 

“Yupperooney—it’s a lovely color. They say it’s the new purple. My Aunt ReeeUmpa once knitted my mom a couch in that same shade. Nice, Ig, ain’t it?” 

It ain’t, I thought, biting my lip. 

“I put it in a Nurdsen’s box,” continued Gneeecey, “but I actually got it at Oddlottz, ’cause they sell cheap junk. An’ they got a humane shopping cart policy. Never leave the poor guys out in the elements.” 

“Really.” 

“Sweater was originally two bucks, but they marked it down to twenny-five cents. I left the tag on in case ya didn’t believe me.” 

“Open the next gift, Icky,” suggested Stu. 

“Uh, that’s Nicki. Hmmmm. . .what an interesting, uh, gift. . . .” 

Gneeecey smiled. “It’s a comboobination birthday-Grimace present.” Grimace, of course, being the holiday equivalent of my planet Earth’s Christmas. The coffee-stained Seemingwhale’s box he handed me was filled with seven empty wooden spools, a peach pit, and a decomposing hot dog stuck to a half-melted purple rubber wallet. “Cleaned out my junk drawer.” 

“How very thoughtful.” 

“Open this one next, Ig.” 

Three pea-green knit snakes peered up at me from inside a yellow Unigeek’s bag.  “My, what do we have here?” 

“Tail warmers—got ’em on sale in Seemingwhale’s, but I put ’em in the Unigeek’s bag ’cause I awready used the box they came in for the stuff I gave ya from the junk drawer.” 

“Which Seemingwhale’s?” inquired Flubbubb. “The one on From Road, near To Street?” 

“Nah—the other one, up the street from To Road, on the way to From Avenue. Next year, we an’ everyone at my GAS Broadcast Network can all chip in an’ buy the Ig a tail!” 

I groaned. If I was still stuck in Perswayssick County, I’d deserve one. 

“This last gift here is the coop de grass,” announced Gneeecey, rubbing his palms together. “Thought you’d enjoy the disappointment of receivin’ it.” Curious, I tore the toilet paper off a Martian’s gift box and lifted its warped lid. My mouth opened wide. “Diroctor, this stuff’s already mine!” 

“Yeah. Found it in your room.” 

“You were in my room?!” 

“Lookin’ for my sock repair ticket that ya lost—an’ while I was in there not findin’ it, I found all this extra junk to give ya. Knew you’d like it, bein’ it was awready yours.” 

“How dare you—” 

“Look,” continued Gneeecey, holding each item up. “Your red sweater, your waste-of-mon-ney deodorant, a toothbrush ya ain’t used yet but I tried, plus summa your underwear—” 

Altitude snickered as I slammed my possessions back into the box. 

“Well,” said Gneeecey, “at least y’know it’s really yours—ya got it twice.” 

“Yeah, right,” I replied. 

“Oh, an’ I almost forgot.” He tossed a tangled mess into my lap. “Free gift.” 

“It’s not a gift if isn’t free, is it?” 

“Could be, Ig.” 

I raised an eyebrow. 

“Irregoogoolars,” he whooped. “Three-legged pantyhose—thirteen pairs!” Kelly green, like the ones he hawked on his TV show, “Shopping at Home With GAS.” I said nothing. “Oddlottz’s said I could jus’ take ’em—said I’d be doing them a favor.” He smiled. “See? It was a free gift.”  

SFX: [Bassoon, Comedy] [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] ###