Frenemies

 “Frenemies,” Episode 245 - A lightning strike… a sabotaged election… and a concert spiraling into total chaos. 🎻⚡ In Perswayssick County, even rehearsal can turn into a full-blown meltdown.

In this wildly unhinged episode of Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy, stranded Earthling Nicki Rodriguez finds herself trapped in yet another escalating disaster—this time inside Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey’s mansion, where a botched rehearsal, political rage, and supernatural nonsense collide.

After a shocking (and painfully placed ⚡😬) lightning incident, Gneeecey spirals into paranoia over a lost election, a denied permit, and threats from the sinister Markmen. Meanwhile, Sooperflea struggles to keep the peace as reality itself starts to glitch—speech malfunctions, time runs backward (hello, Blirg! ⏳🔄), and the music… well… let’s just say, revered Planet Eccchs composer Zirbert Shriekensobb would be concerned.

As tensions explode, friendships fracture, and a disastrous concert looms, Nicki must once again navigate the madness of Perswayssick County—where logic takes a coffee break and chaos runs the show. ☕💥

🎧 Will the rehearsal survive? Will Gneeecey regain control? Or will everything collapse into one gloriously absurd catastrophe? 🎧 Listen now https://perswayssickradio.buzzsprout.com 

🎧 Perfect For Fans Of: Sci-fi comedy podcasts 🚀😂 Surreal storytelling & absurd humor 🤯 Chaotic ensemble casts (with VERY questionable leadership) 🐶👑 Shows like The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy🌌 

If you enjoy comedy sci-fi podcasts, surreal storytelling, bizarre alien worlds, and darkly funny audio dramas, you’re in the right dimension. 🎙️ New episodes weekly  🎙️ Subscribe & enter the chaos 

We hope you enjoyed this week’s episode! We thank Sam Leviatin for providing Gneeecey and Sooperflea’s “beaudiful voaline and piano music.” And 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  #ComedyPodcast #AudioDrama #SciFiComedy #FantasyPodcast #WeirdFiction #IndiePodcast #DarkComedy #SurrealStorytelling #hitchhikersgalaxyfans #montypythonfans 

Transcript

Transcript / “Frenemies,” – Episode 245, 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: [Misgivings & Misfortune] [Doorbell] [Sneakers Squeaking] 

NICKI RODRIGUEZ:  Giant mouse Altitude’s mouth hung open. “Wha’ happened?”
 SFX: [Hair Dryer] “Don’t ask,” answered Flea, drying his ears with Gneeecey’s pistol-shaped blow dryer, in the Grate Room.
 “Mouse, why’re ya talkin’ so funny?” asked Gneeecey.
 “Tongue’s buzzin’ from ringin’ your stolen doorbell.”
 “Uh, Diroctor Gneeecey,” I began, “you—you want me to drive you down to Florence Fergoogooson—ugh—Ferguson—to get that, uh, wound treated?”
“Nope,” he replied, turning his nose up at me. “Lightning booboos cauterize themselves. ’Specially on a person’s stinkin’ bimbus.”
I continued brushing my hair dry. What did I know?
 “An’,” added Gneeecey, applying another Ouch-O-Strip bandage to his backside, and eyeing Flubbubb hatefully, “the real Excalibur popped outta some lousy medieval dragon-infested lagoon, not outta some normal person’s bimbus.”
“I know, Bizzig,” responded Flubbubb, fluffing out his golden, furry tail. “I been taking classes at PUNI, y’know, Perswayssick University of New Ideas—”
“Yooou called me Bizzig!”
“Huh?”
“Only stinkin’ Flea can call me that!”
“Call ya what?”
“Call me Bizzig!”
“Jus’ did.”
“Yooou caaaan’t!”
Flubbubb threw his towel down. “Ya jus’ told me to.”
“I did not—an’ would not—’cause ya ain’t Flea! Get it?”
“I know I’m not Flea. I’m Flubbubb.”
Gneeecey jammed his face in Flubbubb’s. “Yooou ain’t stinkin’ Flea, are ya?” 

Flubbubb backed away slowly. “You’re kiddin’, right? You know I’m not Flea—”
 Flea clicked the dryer off.  SFX: [Dryer Click] “Zig,” he said, “we know you’re upset about the election—”
“I’m stinkin’ gonna get it overturned!”
“Zig—”
“I got faith,” continued Gneeecey, speaking in a softer tone, “that my faith in our Grand Oogitty-Boogitty will get me through this crisis. After the big parade we’re givin’ him, I’ll invite him to lunch here at the house an’ convince him to—”
SFX: [Phone Ringing] The telephone rang. Gneeecey knocked over two floor lamps on his way to the answering machine. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Bang] [Crash Metal] [Glass Shatter] Panting, he switched on the cheap old leopard-spotted device—a Shopping at Home with GAS overstock item—and cranked the volume up. SFX: [Electronic Cash Register]
 “Bad morning, Diroctor Gneeecey,” droned a middle-aged female. “This is Francine F. Fruesenfrauffel, President of the Perswayssick Preservation Society. I’m afraid we’ve got some rather bad news for you.”
 Gneeecey began gnawing on his wrists.
 “Our board members,” she continued, “have voted not to grant you a permit to chop down Mister Tree, you know, that magnificent oak in your backyard, and furthermore, we must inform you that you’ve exhausted all avenues—”
“Boss,” whined Altitude, slinking back into the room SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] “We got a problem—”
Gneeecey spun around so fast that he knocked over another lamp and a paisley spittoon. SFX: [Bang] [Crash Metal] [Glass Shatter] [Glass Debris] “Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?”
“I—I jus’ flushed the sploggle,” stammered the rodent. “By accident.”
“My new, very expensive platinum sploggle, quarantined to keep my tail high an’ dry, y’know, when I’m sittin’ on my Electronic Water Cyclone 3000?!”
“Sorry, boss—”
A crazed look in his eyes, Gneeecey lifted the rodent up by the scruff of his neck.
“Boss—I said I’m sorry—”
Winding up like a baseball pitcher with a three-and-two count in the last out of a tied, bases loaded World Series game, Gneeecey raised Altitude high above his head.
“Stop!” I pleaded.
“Put him down, Zig!” ordered Flea. “Right now!”
“And,” shrieked Gneeecey, preparing to hurl Altitude through a nearby closed window, “he proboobably nullified my vote—messin’ wit’ my terlit!”
Flea threw his hands up. “Election’s over, Zig. It’s a done deal. Now, put Altitude down—”
SFX: [Phone Ringing] The phone rang again. Gneeecey dropped the mouse on his head. SFX: [Comedy Boing] [Wood Demolition Bang]

“Smello, Grate One speakin’.”
 “Heya, Doc Gneeecey,” boomed blond, big-nosed Mark’s instantly recognizable voice. “Things didn’t exactly turn out the way ya promised us, did they? You know what that means. Heh, heh….catch ya later—an’ we will.”
Gneeecey fell to the floor and began chewing his sides, like an ordinary flea-ridden hound.
Flea sat down at the piano. “Zig, the peopoople—ugh—people—have spoken. No more mierk! The people don’t want it! You’ll jus’ hafta get used to zodd.”
“Noooooooooooo! I’ll petition his holiness to overturn this fraudulent election, for the good of demockookracy throughout the universe!” proclaimed Gneeecey, removing his left sock.
“What’cha doin’, Zig?” asked Flea.
“Well, Fleaglossitty, ya said ya wanted a cup of coffee.”
“So, uh—help me out here—why’re you takin’ off your sock?”
“I’m fresh outta coffee filters. This works jus’ as good—”
Flea extracted a wad of sheet music from his briefcase. SFX: [Rustling Papers] “Forget it. Let’s jus’ get on wit’ this last rehearsoosal—ugh—rehearsal.”
“Intermittent ooglitis, without prior symptomology,” observed Flubbubb, blowing a speck of dust off his new triangle. “Probably temporary.”
“What makes yooou an expert on tempooporary sympooptomology —or anything else?” demanded Gneeecey.
“I think Flubbubb’s right,” I chimed in, unwrapping an eggplant-like oogdenplantzil hero sandwich I’d stashed in the refrigerator.
Gneeecey studied me through narrowed lids.
“Hopoopfully—ugh—we’ll regain our normal speech patterns,” I added, pounding my fist on my thigh and squashing my sandwich. “Like Flubooboob—ugh—just said, we don’t have any other sympooptoms—ugh—”
“Who asked ya? An’ what’s thaaat you’re holdin’ in your hairless Ig hands? Takeout? I been meanin’ to ask—where ya been gettin’ all this extra mon-ney?”
“Extra money?”
“We both know I don’t pay ya enough to buy all this extra junk, like that new vehickookle—y’know, that Splodge—”
“I told you—it’s not new. I paid pennies for it. I need it, to get to work, to work for you—”
“Whaddabout them new shoes you’re wearin’? An’ your new box of brand name tissues?
 Yooou can’t afford such luxuries.”
I threw my sandwich down. “Luxuries?!”
“Where’s all the extra mon-ney comin’ from, Ig?”
My no-longer-dimension-burned-purple face was burning. “I have no idea what you’re talking about—”
“Y’know,” added Gneeecey, head cocked with suspicion, “I even think ya know what hapoopened to my teddy bear Yammicles!”
Man, I thought, when I blow outta here yesterday, it won’t be a second too soon!
Flea looked my way. I flinched.
 “Leave her alone, Zig. Let’s jus’ get on wit’ this last rehearsoosal—ugh—rehearsal so we can get some sleep before we gotta play for real.”
Altitude clicked his violin case open SFX: [Metal Click 4], revealing a smooshed cheese
sandwich, a cracked two-stringed violin, half a hairless bow, and dozens of chewed-up yellow pencils. He glanced over at his boss’s white electric Stradivopoulos, propped against the wall.
“Don’t even think of it, mouse,” warned Gneeecey. “That’s my only workin’ voaline!”
“Ya mean, your violin,” Flea corrected his pal. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, Zig. Okay, your voaline. Now, c’mon awready. Let’s do this!”
“Gotta tune up, first, ” replied Gneeecey, playing a series of screeching, sour notes. SFX: [Voaline Tune-up] 

“C’mon, Zig!”

“Wait!” SFX: [Voaline]

“An’ actually, I do got another voaline, but it’s still broke.”
“Can’t it be fixed?” asked Flubbubb.
“Nope. No matter how many parts they replace, each time I get the lousy thing back—an’ I musta got it back two hundred times awready— it still don’t play that Earth composer J.S. Batch’s music propooperly.”
Flea glanced at his watch.
“My first teacher, Miss Connie, did say I might be able to play Batch’s ‘Double Voaline Concerto’ if I clone myself,” added Gneeecey. 

Shuddering, I zipped up my jacket.
 “An’ so,” concluded the good diroctor, “until I get time to start on thaaat little project, I’ll jus’ hafta concentrate on the music of Zirbert Shriekensobb. Ya don’t gotta play his notes exact.”
“Zig—c’mon! It’s Blirg! Time’s goin’ backwards an’ I’m tired!”
“Okay, Fleaglossitty, we’re startin’ yesterday’s program wit’ Shriekensobb’s ‘Three-Legged Waltz,’ more commonly known as the ‘Plight of the Goonafish.’ An’ a one an’ a two an’ a—”
Altitude raised his wreck of a fiddle to his chin and positioned his half-bow over his two flaccid goonafish-gut strings.
“Yooou ain’t playin’!” thundered Gneeecey. “Ya coulda, but’cha ain’t never tried to learn nuthin’ from meee, your rolled model.”
The mouse crouched down to tie the grimy laces on one of his dirt-colored high-tops. “I’ve learnt lots, boss—ya teached me that if ya sell your house to yourself an’ buy it back cheaper, ya can make a ton of money! Ya could probably get a ton for this place—”
“Get outta here, mouse—I don’t wanna see your ignoramical face till yesterday!”
The rodent scooped up his musical debris and scampered away. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] [Door Slam]
Flea frowned. “Zig, ya coulda been a little less vicious.”
Gneeecey stuffed one of his striped, laxative health cigars in his mouth.
“Hey,” inquired Flubbubb, “are those smokes helping your, y’know, problem? I mean, they sure as hell smell like what they’re supposed to make happen.”
Gneeecey snatched Flubbubb by his plush golden throat.
“Sorry!” spluttered the percussionist, fighting to free himself. “Now, lemme go—”
Flea flew into the fray. “Let go of him!”
“No—you stinkin’ let go of meee!” hollered Gneeecey, losing his grip and landing on his honking bimbus. SFX: [Cartoon Slip] [Slip & Fall] [Comedy Boing] [Duck Horn] “Stinkin’ ow!”

“Now that gravity got that settled, lemme help ya up, Zig.”

“I’ll stinkin’ get up myself. Thank Bogelthorpe my Stradivopoulos didn’t get busted! “Okay, now, a one an’ a two an’ a—Fleaglossitty! Your lousy music’s upoopside-down!”
 “It is,” replied Flea, doing a quick handstand to make sure. “But I don’t really need it—I awready know it by heart.”
“Ya better follow it, or you’ll stinkin’ end up playin’ aheada me again when your stooopid malfunctioning ESP kicks in. Now, a one an’ a two an’ a three an’ a three-an’-a-half—”
Gneeecey’s bow hit his electrified strings. SFX: [Voaline] [Violin Heavy Bow] Everything went black. “Fleaglossitty, yoooou unplugged my voaline!”
“I didn’t unplug nuthin’. Your cheap amp must’ve tripped the breakers.”
“Doooooo somethin’, Fleaglossitty—the concert’s yesterday!”
“I’m trynna find my flashlight so I can go down to the basement wit’out breakin’ my neck.”
A couple clicks and clanks later SFX: [Metal Click 4], the superhero—and a compact yellow beam—moved across the room and out into the hallway.
“It’s your fault, Ig!”
“Huh?”
“Ya brung me nuthin’ but baaad luck ever since ya invaded this lousy dimension—an’ my dopey life!”
“You’ve gotta be kidding—”
Before I could finish, the lights flashed back on.
“Zig,” complained Flea, trudging back into the room, “I wish ya didn’t hafta have that, y’know, prehistoric toilet carved into the floor down there in your basement.”
“Well, I certaincerely hope ya wiped your feet before ya came back in here.”
“I did, after I fell over your crazy half-motorcycle-half-cat Klunkzill. An’ you’re welcome.”
“I aaam?” asked Gneeecey, crawling around on all fours, plugging in another amplifier. “Jus’ so I know, what did I do?”
“Forget it. Jus’ don’t blow that amp.”
“Pay detention to your own playin’.  An’ a one an’ a two an’ a three an’ a three-an’-a-half—”

SFX: [Plight of the Goonafish]
 The lights stayed on this time, as Gneeecey’s instrument mimicked the cries of pigeons being electrocuted.
 As best as I could tell, Zirbert Shriekensobb synthesized Earth’s classical European styles of the 18th and 19th centuries with more than a touch of 20th Century dissonance. The music made my teeth hurt.
 Suddenly, Shriekensobb’s sour notes screeched to a halt SFX: [Piano] [Screeching Brakes], much like a subway train whose emergency brakes had been slammed on.
 Flea was messing up again—his on-again-off-again ESP made him anticipate entire passages before their time.
 “Fleaglossitty, you’re playin’ ahead of me again!”
“Sorry, Zig—my ESP only seems to work when I’m playin’.”
Gneeecey stomped over to the upright SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking] and slammed down its lid SFX: [Piano], nearly amputating the superhero’s furry black fingers. “You Iggleheimer! If the Grand Oogitty Boogitty ain’t impressed, he won’t help me!”
Flea shrugged.
Gneeecey pounded his knuckles on the piano. SFX: [Wood Demolition Bang] “Turn off your crummy ESP!”
Flea jumped up in Gneeecey’s face. “I caaaan’t!”
“Oh, yeah?!”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah?!”
“Yeeeeaaaah!”

The two stood toe-to-toe, fists clenched, crazed expressions plastered across their fuzzy mugs.
 Flubbubb and I held our breath. “C’mon, guys,” pleaded the golden-furred canine-humanoid, “we’re all friends!”
After a minute that stretched into next year, Flea marched back to the piano. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking]
And Gneeecey picked up his violin. “An’ a one an’ a two an’ a—”
SFX: [Phone ringing] The phone’s ring sent him flying into the air FX: [Cartoon Slip], where his bow remained—stuck to a gooey strip of airplane-dotted flypaper that hung from the ceiling.
Gneeecey stood frozen as a raspy voice growled through the answering machine’s tinny speaker. It was blond, big-nosed Mark’s worse-tempered associate—tall, brown-haired Mark. SFX: [Electronic Cash Register] “Pick up, Doc. We see ya. An’ we hear ya, too. That lousy music you’re playin’ sounds like how you’re gonna sound when ya hit the third rail!”
 Gneeecey dropped down on all fours and began chasing his tail. SFX: [Cartoon Chase] [Sneakers Squeaking]
“Stop, Zig,” begged Flea, wincing. “Our residual canine tendencies were supposed to have been trained out of us back in elementary school. Back on Planet Eccchs.”

“Stinkin’ whatever!”
 Flubbubb recoiled, disgusted. “Zig,” he began, “I hate to bring it up again, but later in the program, ‘Suite For Artillery’ calls for use of prepared percussion-—as its title an’ Zirbert Shriekensobb’s notations imply.”
“Since when are you usin’ big words?”
 “I’m jus’ sayin’—”
 “You’re lucky I’m lettin’ ya play a sixteenth note on that fancy-schmancy triangle of yours.”
 “But,” insisted Flubbubb, opening a volume the size of two old-fashioned county phone books, “It says right here—”
 “Shriekensobb never called for puttin’ shoes in washin’ machines to make percussionary rhythm. Not even in his sacred kazoo music.”
Flubbubb shoved the encyclopedia under Gneeecey’s muzzle. “We should play it the way Zirbert Shriekensobb intended it to be played. It’s all about musical integrity—after I’m dead, I gotta live wit’ myself.”
“You’ll be dead sooner than ya planned if ya don’t do things my way—”
 Flea inserted himself between the two. “That’s enough, Zig!”
“No, it ain’t!”
“Ya should be kinder to Flubbubb,” he whispered, leading Gneeecey away by one of his black triangular terrier ears. “He really looks up to ya—ya heard about his plan to present ya wit’ a wagon-load of purple rubber wallets durin’ the concert.”
Gneeecey’s face lit up.
“So, let him use his washer/dryer. Jus’ for that one number.”
“Nooooooo!”
“Zig—”
“He’ll still gimme them valuable purple rubber wallets—he kisses the ground I sit on.”
“But—”
“Y’know, Fleaglossitty, I’m hungry. No offense to my ol’ duck chauffeur Culvert, but I wish I had summa that Bombay Duck. I don’t usually like to eat nuthin’ that quacks, but—”
“Most people know Bombay Duck’s really fish,” interrupted Flubbubb. “So ya don’t hafta feel guilty, like you’re eating Culvert or any of his relatives—”
Gneeecey smacked Flubbubb over the head with a music stand. SFX: [Crash Metal]
“Yooou actin’ superior to meeeee?”
“Ow—I was jus’ trynna make ya feel better about—no—don’t throw that book! I borrowed it from PUNI’s library—”
Flea grabbed the tome. “Time to chill, Zig!”
“Yooou stinkin’ stay outta this, Fleaglossitty!”
“No! I won’t!”
Gneeecey spat in the superhero’s face. “Pitoooui!”
“Hey,” spluttered Flea, “you’re supposed to be my friend!”
“I aaam!”
“You’re not treatin’ me like one.”
“I treat everyone alike—friends an’ enemies,” replied Gneeecey, air boxing. “But I’m startin’ to think of yooou more like a frenemy.”
“What?”
“A enemy who used to be a friend.”
Flea grabbed his briefcase and busted umbrella and headed for the window. SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking]
“I hope,” ventured Flubbubb, “I’m not a frenemy.”
 “Nah,” replied the good diroctor.
 “Whew! I was worried for a minute!”
 Gneeecey blew his snoot in the drapes. SFX: [Duck Horn] “I never thought of ya as a friend in the first place.”

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Misgivings & Misfortune] [Cuckoo Clock]
Gneeecey turned to me. “I’m glaaad them two dopes finally left. Gotta shine up my horsey saddle for yesterday’s big parade.”
 Gneeecey’s dark, darting eyes spooked me. “An’ you watch,” he whooped, rubbing his furry palms together gleefully. “That stinkin’ Flubbubb won’t get one lousy wink of shut-eye, worrying about the concert! He’ll be up all night wit’ them pre-show jitters! Heh hah, heh haah, heh haaah!”
SFX: [Magic Spell]

Meanwhile, in a tiny, furnished flat across town, on South Alamoochy Avenue, a yawning, pajama-clad Flubbubb tucked himself into bed and turned out the lights. SFX: [Metal Click 4]

“Whatever. . .” he mumbled, as he rolled onto his stomach, fell fast asleep, and snored loudly and continuously for eight hours.

SFX: [Cartoon Snoring] [ToyPiano] [Magic Spell]

NOTE FROM VICKI SOLÁ: And great thanks to co-producer Sam Leviatin for Gneeecey and Sooperflea’s beautiful “voaline” and piano music. It truly takes a brilliant musician to know how to make good bad music! And Sam, you are brilliant! Thank you so much!

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] ###