A Body in the River... and Nicki's Car at the Scene

“A Body in the River… and Nicki’s Car at the Scene,” Episode 241⚠️ A body has been pulled from the Perswayssick River… and the evidence points straight at Nicki Rodriguez.Still exhausted from her bizarre surprise birthday party, stranded Earthling Nicki Rodriguez barely has time to recover before canine-humanoid Diroctor Bizzig “Zig” Gneeecey bursts into the GAS-FM broadcast studio with his usual brand of chaos. At first, the crisis seems absurd — his imaginary teddy bear Yammicles has allegedly been kidnapped. 🧸 But the situation takes a chilling turn when the police deliver far worse news. Nicki’s closest ally in Perswayssick County — Cleveland Wheeler — has been found floating in the Perswayssick River. 😱 And somehow… Nicki’s own car was discovered near the scene. Inside the vehicle?  Evidence suggesting Cleve died choking on Rindom Doodles before drowning. Nicki insists the entire story is impossible.  Her car hasn’t moved in days. But the sinister alien Markmen police aren’t convinced. ⚰️ The next day, Nicki and Sooperflea attend Cleve’s funeral at Thistlethwaite Memorial Home — a solemn moment that quickly dissolves into pure Perswayssick absurdity as Gneeecey, Stu Pitt, Flubbubb, and Altitude transform a memorial service into something between a circus and a crime scene. Rumors swirl.  Accusations fly.  And Nicki finds herself standing at the center of a mystery she never saw coming. Did Cleve really choke on Rindom Doodles and throw himself into the river?Or is someone in Perswayssick County trying to frame her? Because in this twisted dimension… nothing is ever as simple as it looks.🎧 Perswayssick Radio: Unearthly Comedy 🎧A cinematic comedy sci-fi audio drama podcast set in the strange dimension of Perswayssick County, where alien gangsters, bizarre conspiracies, and surreal humor collide with mystery and adventure.🎙️ Subscribe & enter the chaos 🎧 Listen now🎧 https://perswayssickradio.buzzsprout.com 🎧 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 / “A Body in the River… and Nicki’s Car at the Scene” – Episode 241, 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 Spooky & Fun Logo] [Fail Horn] [Sneakers Squeaking] [Screeching Brakes] [Misgivings & Misfortune] 

“He’s missing! Miiiiisssssssing!”

NICKI RODRIGUEZ:  I raised my head, still exhausted from my, uh, surprise birthday party. There, framed in our GAS-FM radio studio’s doorway, stood a bulgy-eyed Gneeecey.

“Who,” I asked, not really wanting to know, “is missing?”
“Yaaammicles!”
Before I could dive under the console, the canine-humanoid flew at me, fists revolving.
“Hey—whaddaya think you’re—”
“Yaaammicles is missing!” Gneeecey pressed his face into mine. His breath was putrid enough to knock out a sumo wrestler with sinus problems. “Kidnapped! My teddy bear—my best imaginary friend—has been kidnapped!”
“Well, don’t take it out on me—”
“I’m priddy sure yooou know somethin’ about this,” he screeched, pulling my hair. SFX: [Phone Ringing]
  “An’ ya better tell me before I—”
I grabbed him. “Get offa me—”

SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking]

 “Boss,” called donkey-humanoid GAS intern Stu Pitt, waddling into the room, “sorry to interrupt your conversation with Icky there. Police are on line three.”
 Gneeecey hopped down off my shoulders. “I bet they found him!”
“Oh, an’ boss, ya seen Cleve? He’s not here yet—I was supposed to go home ten minutes ago.”
“I’ll double-dock him!” Gneeecey snatched the phone up off the counter. “Mark? Tell me ya found him! Ya did? Where?”
Gneeecey’s face went ashen—through his fur. “Whaaat?!”
“Hey, Icky, shouldn’t the boss look happier?”
I shrugged. “You’d think so, Stu—”
Gneeecey winced. “In the river? Dead?”
Stu began biting his stubby nails.
“Don’t worry,” I assured Stu. “After the, uh, boss pops him into the washing machine, he’ll come out looking good as new—”
The telephone receiver dropped to the floor SFX: [Bang] and Gneeecey stumbled backward SFX: [Sneakers Squeaking], right into the CD player SFX: [Bang] airing the Asthmatics’ latest hit, “Holdin’ My Breath.”
The song began skipping.
I reached over to steady the machine. “The police found him?”
Stu’s voice rose several octaves. “In the river?”
Gneeecey’s usually jabbering yapper opened wide. But uncharacteristically, no words spewed forth.
I crossed my arms. “Well? They found him?”
Finally, Gneeecey spoke. “They stinkin’ found Cleve. Floatin’ in the river. Dead.”

SFX: [Spooky Hollow Fear] [Magic Spell] [Misgivings & Misfortune]
The acrid smelling salts jolted me conscious. Sprawled flat on my back in the FM studio, I peered up, through swollen slits, at Gneeecey, and a cop. One of those Markman cops….
“C’mon, Miss. Like I said, ya got questions to answer.”
“Yeah, Ig—stop fainting!”
“I—I wish to invoke my Miranda rights,” I stammered.
“Fuggeddaboudit—ain’t no lady from your planet runnin’ ’round here wit’ fruit on her head,” replied Gneeecey.
“Now,” continued the young, amber-skinned man, “what was your car doin’ at the scene of this, uh, mishap?”
“It couldn’t have been mine,” I insisted, still too numb to process what I’d been told. Surely, Cleve was in the next studio, and in a few minutes, we’d be laughing and swigging antacid.
“It was your vehicle.”
“Yeah,” agreed Gneeecey, moving closer to Mark.
“Miss, I’m losin’ patience.”
Gneeecey nodded. “That’s why I switched from medicine to entrepreneutership.”
The Markman’s creepy neon yellow irises bored right through me. “We found your vehicle—your Splodge—on the Perswayssick riverbank, jus’ yards from where that Cleveland Wheeler was floatin’, face down—”
“My car’s been in the shop for days—Zeke himself can’t even get it to start—”
Gneeecey turned to Mark. “I’ll bet she knows ’bout my Yammicles, too!”
I groaned. “Please—can’t you both just leave me alone?”
The cop snickered. “She’s gonna pretend to pass out again.”
Gneeecey kicked my arm. “This time, she better pass out for real.”
Mark gritted his fake-looking, overly white teeth. “Look, Miss, that ‘75 Splodge is yours—vehicle identification number matches up.”
 “Diroctor—you tell him—you know my car’s been sitting at Zeke’s Pizza and Transmissions for
 days! I’ve been with you all that time—never out of your sight!” I dabbed at my suddenly wet eyes with a disintegrating tissue.
Gneeecey blinked several times but remained silent.
“There were Rindom Doodles all over the seat of your car,” said Mark. “Medical examiner says someone—probably you—was feedin’ Wheeler them Freak O’Nature brand Rindom Doodles till he began chokin’ on ’em. We even found ’em stuck in his throat. Then, according to our forensical evidence, it looks like he jumped into the Perswayssick River an’ proceeded to drown himself.”
Energized by rage, I leaped to my feet and jammed my face in the Markman’s. “That’s the most ridiculous crap I ever heard! I’ve just lost my best friend—someone better tell me what happened!”
 “Funny,” mumbled Gneeecey. “Cleeevoooveland always said he wouldn’t be caught dead eatin’ a Rindom Doodle. . .an’ yet he was. . . .”

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Sad Strings] [Misgivings & Misfortune]
The next afternoon, I limped through Thistlethwaite Memorial Home’s lobby, watery eyes fixed on the thick sea-green Persian rug.
 “C’mon, Nickels,” said black-furred canine-humanoid superhero Flea, his fuzzy chin trembling. “He—he’s in there—Room Three—”
 I froze. A sleek, steel-gray casket—a dark-suited figure reposed inside—glistened at the far end of the spacious room, bathed in the golden glow of an enormous brass chandelier.
 A hint of embalming fluid hung in the chilly air, mingling with an almost oppressive floral fragrance. Organ music piped softly through ceiling speakers. SFX: [Organ Music]
 As we entered, I tightened my arm around the superhero’s shoulders, and we inched forward, past rows of cherry wood chairs, our feet cushioned by plush indigo carpet.
 Then, I raised my head. and gasped.
 “Whassamatter, Ig?” shrilled an all-too-familiar voice.
Jaw dropping, I pointed to the coffin. “My God—somebody close that!”
 “That, uh, happens when you’ve, y’know, been in water too long,” whispered Flea, squeezing my hand and looking away.
 Laid out in front of us was a hideously bloated man stuffed into a navy suit—recognizable only by his monogrammed maroon tie and distinctive wristwatch. The one with the white-gold band and rectangular, ultramarine face.
 The one that Gneeecey tore off the deceased, with gusto. “No use buryin’ this baby,” he shrieked, as he slammed the lid shut. The ensuing metallic thunderclap sliced through the stillness. SFX: [Hollow Metal Hit]
“Well, he really don’t need to know what time it is no more.”
Flea snatched the timepiece from Gneeecey and handed it to me. “Cleve would’ve wanted Nicki to have this.”
 Stifling a sob, I slipped the watch onto my wrist.
A stricken Mary Shisskey knelt in front of Cleve’s coffin. “He was a lovely man.” Unable to even speak, her husband Burt just grunted.
 Gneeecey chuckled. “I certaincerely hope nobody never says nuthin’ like thaaat about meee.”
“Don’t worry, boss, nobody never will,” replied giant mouse Altitude, shredding a yellow pencil in his fangs, as he watched the Shisskeys file out, heads bowed. SFX: [Sawing Wood A]
Gneeecey’s eyes shot down to the pile of wood shavings that had accumulated at Altitude’s sneakered feet. “Mouse, I’d watch where I displayed that rodential heritage of yours. If they charge me for cleanin’ up that mess, I’ll decapitate it from your pay.”
 Unmoved, Altitude continued grinding away. SFX: [Sawing Wood A]
 Tears trailed down my cheeks as memories of my dad’s untimely death rushed back. He had drowned, too. In the Atlantic, one perfect August afternoon. Luis Rodriguez Loses Life Saving Son, read our local paper’s headline.
“I heard,” began Altitude, glancing at Cleve’s casket, “that he shot himself in the head—fifteen times!”
“Didn’t know Cleve had a gun,” replied Stu, as he squirmed in a tan polyester suit several sizes too large.
“I heard it was a computer-assisted suicide,” chimed in golden-furred canine-humanoid Flubbubb, knocking over a metal vase containing a huge spray of white lilies. SFX: [Bang] [Hollow Metal]
“Stop passin’ rumors like ya was passin’ gas,” admonished Gneeecey. “Cleeevoooveland choked on them Rindom Doodles an’ he couldn’t stand the pain so bad, he drownded himself to death in the Perswayssick River.”
“Really?” asked Flubbubb, as he bumped the casket. SFX: [Hollow Metal] “Oooops—sorry, Cleve!”
“Ya dope—Cleeevoooveland hates when people bump him!”
Flubbubb backed away, upsetting another floral arrangement. SFX: [Glass Shatter]
“An’ there’s more,” announced Gneeecey, his furry elbow knocking his can of Diet Slog off Cleve’s coffin. SFX: [CanMetalTin] [Splash Water 5] [Splash Water 4]
Altitude, Flubbubb and Stu gawked at him, expectantly.
“Well,” continued Gneeecey, flashing a conspiratorial grin, “Mark an’ them found the Ig’s Splodge by where Cleeevooveland drownded himself! An’ he says they found Rindom Doodles all over her seats!”
The four looked my way, brows raised.
Head held high, I stared back.
Gneeecey spat his chewed-up cigar onto the floor. “Mouse, gimme a burger.”
Altitude lobbed a small, greasy package in his boss’s direction.
“Lousy throw,” complained Gneeecey, nose honking SFX: [Duck Horn] as he ran into
the ivory grass cloth wall. “Got any fries wit’ that?”
My blood was boiling. So was Flea’s. The superhero rose slowly and strode over to the foursome, who stood gobbling up mini-jackass burgers, directly underneath an unobtrusive sign that read, “No Food or Drink Permitted.”
Flea whisked Altitude’s soda off the casket. SFX: [Cartoon Slip] “Don’choo people have any respect? Or manners?”
Gneeecey threw his half-eaten patty down at Flea’s feet. “You’re the one who ain’t got no stinkin’ manure, shouting in a house of dead people! You’ll stinkin’ wake ’em!”
“Zig!”
“Can’cha see? I’m worried about Yammicles!” SFX: [Giant Burp]
Flea jabbed an index finger in Gneeecey’s chest. “Your breath stinks of fermented Slog!”
Before Gneeecey could reply, the black-suited, white-haired Thornton Thistlethwaite himself—a lanky skeleton of a man—appeared. His dusky, sunken eyes settled on the good diroctor. “Excuse me,” he began, in a voice barely audible. “Is there a problem?”
“Nah, Sistleswaiths, everythin’s jus’ groovical,” answered Gneeecey, smacking the coffin. SFX: [Hollow Metal] “I’m the self-appointed executioner of his estate. Give ol’ Cleeevooveland here anythin’ he asks for—except a Rindom Doodle, of course. Heh haah, heh haaah!”

SFX: [Magic Spell] [Bell Ring Church]  [Bell Ring Tower] [Misgivings & Misfortune]
“Do ya think,” asked Flubbubb, climbing up the tombstone-dotted hill, “the grass minds when we walk on it?”
“It might,” replied Gneeecey, as he tossed a crystal salt shaker over his left shoulder, hitting a gravestone. SFX: [Dish Ceramic] “It’s proboobably the only thing alive here at Saint Vlad’s Cemetery—except for us.”
Flubbubb’s spinning eyes widened. “Then, I better walk softer.”
“Whatever works for yooou.” Gneeecey threw his half-eaten striped health cigar to the ground, hopped three times on each foot, jumped twice, spun clockwise then counterclockwise, and clapped his hands, chanting, “One potato, two potatoes, three potatoes, four, rub-a-dub-dub, five ghosts in a tub, Mother, Father, spirits won’t bother—spilt salt in a cemetery’s no one’s fault!”
My aching calves began to cramp. As I slowed to a stop, my eyes wandered over to the graveyard’s black spiked gates, and the meandering Perswayssick. This day, the river resembled unflushed toilet water.
Shivering, I resumed my ascent, startled when the city’s skyline popped up through the gray fog, larger than life, on my right. Perswayssick City’s towering four-hundred-fifty-floor skyscrapers always reminded me of hypodermic needles. Rows of them, standing on end. The City of Screams. That’s what Cleve and I called it.
“Ya didn’t bury him without me, did’ja?” inquired a sweaty, red-faced Stu, as he tripped over his ill-fitting suit’s mile-long sleeves.
“Nah,” answered Gneeecey, chewing gum noisily. SFX: [Dog Eating] “Like in life, he ain’t goin’ nowheres till I stinkin’ say he is.”
 “Zig,” called out Flea, regarding him with pure disgust, “I jus’ realized—back at Thistlethwaite’s, y’know, on that easel, all the photos up front by Cleve’s casket were of you. Not one of Cleve. Whazzup wit’ that?”
Gneeecey sucked a collapsing super-bubble back into his furry snout. “He worked for meee all these years.”

SFX: [Galloping Horses]
“A police is ridin’ a horsey up the hill,” observed Gneeecey, as he stuck his wad of gum on a headstone. “Soon I’ll be ridin’ one, too—in that big parade after our Grand Oogitty-Boogitty’s gigaaantical concert! Our spiritual leader will be in our neck of the woods any day, now, arrivin’ on the tail of that comet like he does every year!”
An orange-haired Markman—the same creep who had interrogated me—galloped over atop a piebald steed. SFX: [Galloping Horses] “Hey, Miss, don’t leave town.”
“Don’t worry,” barked Gneeecey. “The Ig ain’t goin’ nowheres till I stinkin’ say she is.”
 Suddenly, scores of Markmen motorcycled into our midst. SFX: [Harley Davidson Engine Revving]
 “M-Mark,” stammered Gneeecey, gnawing on his wrist. “An’ Mark, Mark an’ Mark! Didn’t know youse guys cared.”
“Oh, we do,” answered blond, big-nosed Mark. “More than ya know.”
Gneeecey pointed to Cleve’s casket. “Can youse guys do me a favor?”
“Depends, Doc.”
“Could youse open up that there casket for me an’ make sure my teddy bear Yammicles ain’t
inside by mistake?”
Thornton Thistlethwaite stepped forward. “Excuse me, Diroctor Gneeecey. As funeral director, and as the individual who prepared Mister Wheeler, and checked the coffin forty-nine times previously, at your request, I can personally guarantee that no one else—and nothing else—is inside of it, except for Mister Wheeler.”
 “Pleeeease, Sistleswaiths,” cried Gneeecey, wringing his hands, “help me out here! If ya do, I promise I’ll throw a little business your way—”
“Consider the coffin—and the matter—closed,” snapped the mortician, as he tapped on his watch. “It’s already midday. The interment must be completed by eleven-thirty.”
Four hard-hatted men stood nearby, leaning on shovels.
I clicked Cleve’s locket open. SFX: [Metal Click 4] A lump rose in my throat as I glanced
down at his smiling face, then at the cold metal box that contained him. His grandmother and sister had no idea that anything was amiss, and wouldn’t, until he didn’t call. Or until I did. And what would I say?
Cleve’s death was as senseless as his parents’—the cops never did find out who mowed them down, that sultry summer night, years ago, in the Bronx, on the Grand Concourse. I squeezed my lids shut, as if doing so could make it all go away.
“Look at her neckooklace!” shouted Gneeecey. “I knew all along—the Ig an’ Cleeevoooveland had somethin’ goin’ on! Well, they won’t be fraternalizatin’ together no more!”
“They might be,” said blond, big-nosed Mark, “if she don’t come clean.”
Gneeecey smirked. “Cleeevooveland couldn’t swim, an’ she can’t neitherwise. Watch out, Ig—the hangman’s sharpenin’ his ax! Whaaat, Fleaglossitty—why’re ya lookin’ at me like thaaat?”

SFX: [Bell Ring Church]  [Bell Ring Tower]
Gneeecey yanked a crumpled yellow sheet of paper out of his T-shirt pocket. “I am now gonna deliver the urology.” SFX: [Crumpled Paper]
 Flubbubb blew his honking nose SFX: [Duck Horn] and raised a fist into the air. “Cleve is dead—long live Cleve!”
 “What’s that supposed to stinkin’ mean, ya Flubberooney?”
 “Isn’t that what Earth folks say when kings die?”
 “This ain’t stinkin’ Earth.” Gneeecey squinted my way. “Now, let’s get this over wit’ so we don’t gotta pay them dirt shovelers no overtime. Okay, folks, we are gathered here to say a final g’bye to our good fiend, Cleeevoooveland Wheeler.”
 Flubbubb sobbed softly, blowing his nose in Flea’s red superhero cape. SFX: [Duck Horn]
 “So,” continued Gneeecey, “youse all might be wonderin’ why we didn’t give Cleeevoooveland no ceremony over across the way there at Saint Bogelthorpe’s Cathedral where ya hear them  bells chimin’.” SFX: [Bells Chiming Softly] “Well, those of us who knew him good know he didn’t like standin’ on ceremonies.”
 That scene played back in my head, of Cleve mashing food into Gneeecey’s tabletop with his sneaker. “Let’s not stand on ceremony,” he’d said to me. “Let’s stand on this instead.”
“Ig—so, ya think it’s funny?”
My half-smile became a jaw-clenching scowl.
“Anyways,” continued Gneeecey, clearing his throat, “I thought we’d skip all that mess so’s we could put him to sleep quicker an’ get back to my beaudiful Gneeezle’s Restaurant for the finger sandwiches my protogheegee Altitude has managed to prepooperate, on such short notice.”
Slumped up against a gravestone, the bimbus-scratching mouse beamed. “Had less than twenny-four hours to make ’em!”
“So, Cleeevooveland, rip—whatever that means—an’ don’t let them bedbugs bite.” Gneeecey glanced down at his watch. “Okay, guys—youse can go ahead an’ deep-six him, now.”
 “This is gettin’ horribuller and horribuller,” blubbered Flubbubb.
 The four gravediggers trudged over to Cleve’s casket and threw down their shovels. SFX: [FootstepsConcrete] 

Positioning themselves with precision, they grabbed hold of their ropes and lowered him into the ground.
 Flea caught me as my legs buckled. SFX: [MusicEerieSad] [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] ###