The Gill People of Outerborough Queens

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Space aliens have landed in Queens, kidnapped Lemuel Krepotkin, a forklift operator, and are using him in a scheme to offer human brain transplants out of a post office box in Grand Central Station in an attempt to subjugate the human race. Radio Play. Farce. (“Bizarro Mystery Theater Presents”) (5m/3f) 45 min.

Submitted: February 17, 2020

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 17, 2020



Bizarro Mystery Theater Presents:


(a 45-minute radio play)

by Ronald V. Micci

Narrator - of this lurid tale, and not exactly Walter Winchell Lemuel Krepotkin - a forklift operator in Queens

Katie O'Brien - a Queens housewife, 40s

John O'Brien - her husband, same

Space Alien - from some Godforsaken planet

Mona - a voluptuous female space being

Dr. Kreisler - a mad scientist intent on thwarting the space monsters' plans

Edna - Katie O'Brien's friend

Doubling: John O'Brien/Dr. Kreisler



The action takes place in and around New York City. The time is the present.



NARRATOR: Scared of the dark? Frightened of the unknown? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Come, come, my friends, there's nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all, except evil, unspeakable evil -- ha-ha-ha-ha-haha!. . . Come with me -- it's late at night. There are footsteps in the corridor.


NARRATOR: If you're in bed, do you rise to investigate, or do you stay where it is safe and warm? Decisions, decisions. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes. No, I wouldn't want that.


NARRATOR: There, the footsteps again -- coming closer. What to do? I wouldn't get up if I were you, I wouldn't open that door. Don't open that door, don't open that door!






NARRATOR: I warned you, but you wouldn't listen. Now look -there's a body on the floor -- dead. See what happens when you don't listen to me? I hope you'll listen now and listen closely, my friends, as I unfold for you another tale of the incredible, the preposterous, the bizarre.  Yes, hunker down by your radio receivers, my friends, and join me once again for another installment of everyone's favorite chilly-willy radio mystery hour, the Bizarro Mystery Theater (thee-ay-ter). Yes, the Bizarro Mystery Theater, where each week we bring you tales of the preposterous, the incredible, the absurd. Tales so bizarrely twisted that even your psychotic cousin Willie would be at a loss to explain them, and yet they are every bit true. I open my ledger this night on the story of one Lemuel Krepotkin, by day, a humble forklift operator trundling about his chores on the dusty floor of a Queens warehouse. By night -- this night, at any rate -- the victim of a space monster disguised as an earth being, who hitches a ride with him on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. A space monster intent on subjugating the human race for his own sinister purposes, not to mention simply being out for a good time. Such subjugation transforming mere earthly mortals into a hideous legion of gillbreathing monsters. Thus, the title of tonight's story: The Gill People of Outerborough Queens. Our story resumes elsewhere in Queens at this very same hour, as Katie and John O'Brien, a happy middle-class couple, enjoy a quiet evening together, with Katie curled up by the fire, picking at her nose, not to mention the inner workings of a baloney and cheese sandwich.


KATIE: Oooooh, this is good.

JOHN: The boogers or the sandwich? (A BEAT) Did you ever consider what the crap you eat ("that crap"?) is doing to your genetic makeup? I ask on a need-to-know basis.

KATIE: I don't consider, I don't give it a second thought. I consume. I live by the American credo -- I consume, therefore I am.

JOHN: Hey, look at this in the newspaper -- it says that alien creatures may be infiltrating our way of life. Not earth aliens, mind you -- space aliens. So now, on top of terrorists, we've got space weirdos to contend with. I say we hire these space creeps and put them to work against the terrorists. My money's on the space monsters.

NARRATOR: Indeed, as John O'Brien, Katie's husband, prattled on, one Lemuel Krepotkin, aforesaid forklift operator, was hard at work attempting to reason with the alien hitchhiker who had lately taken him captive in his own car.

SPACE ALIEN: I need for you to reveal the secret whereabouts of your power generators. I need that information and I need it now.

KREPOTKIN: I am not about to give out any secrets today, thinly disguised space being, although I do have suggestions for the Powerball Lottery, suggestions that could make you a super jackpot winner. What's more, if you believe you can torture it out of me and get me to betray my own species, you are probably right, although a wiser tack would be to entice me with sexual favors in the person of your space women. How enticing might you be?

SPACE ALIEN: You'd be surprised, earthling, you'd be surprised. But be not afraid. We're not here to subjugate you, although that offers a distinct appeal. We merely intend to transplant our superior alien brains into your earth skull cavities, the better to enhance your way of life.

KREPOTKIN: Indeed. SPACE ALIEN: Still, I sense hesitation on your part, so allow me to introduce you to Mona, a shapely female space creature, voted Miss Space Galaxy 2014. She's mysterious and voluptuous beyond imagining, and everything you'd hope for in a space being.

MONA: Yes, earth being, I am all that and more. I am Mona, hear me moan. And I don't even require batteries.

NARRATOR: Indeed, this was no windup toy, this space angel, but a very foxy dish of a woman. Krepotkin was stunned by the girl's beauty, not to mention the bizarre complexity of her sex organs. And before long, they were cozy as cucumbers.


NARRATOR: Elsewhere, the space aliens were busy at work implementing their plans for earth conquest, renting a post office box in Grand Central Station and taking orders for human brain transplants.

KATIE: Look, dear -- "Brain transplants. Our brain organs will outperform yours by a factor of ten or your money back." Now that's what I call a guarantee. I'm going to get me one of those new brains. I'll just mail a check for fifty dollars to this post office box. It says here they deliver it right to your door.

NARRATOR: Indeed, Mrs. O'Brien mailed off the handy coupon, and in no time she got a response.


KATIE: (SWEETLY) Who is it?

KREPOTKIN: Delivery, ma'am.


KATIE: Oh will you look at that, the new brain I ordered.

NARRATOR: Indeed, Krepotkin himself, now seduced to the alien way of life, stood before her, holding aspanking new brain in his hands, and offering his best sales smile.

KREPOTKIN: And, you'll be happy to know we perform home installation for free. Just sign here. KATIE: Alrighty.


KREPOTKIN: Now, we'll simply slip into the parlor, pop open that old cranial skull of yours and slip in this brand new brain. Before you know it, you'll be thinking just like the rest of us.

JOHN: The rest of you?

KREPOTKIN: Space -- I mean, those who have happily tried our product. Now let's see, a simple scoop, tuck, and your new brain slides niftily into place.


KATIE: Wow, I feel like I could take on the whole human race.

NARRATOR: Indeed, Katie O'Brien, you probably could take on the whole human race, joining as you have an increasing number of alien-manipulated earth slaves. Only, as is so often the case, there just might be a fly in the ointment. For indeed at this late hour, in a basement laboratory not far distant in the borough of Manhattan, a crazed scientist named Dr. Kreisler is busy at work, fully aware of the space monsters' arrival, and he isn't going to take this lightly.

DR. KREISLER: I know they're here -- heh-heh-heh -- and only I possess the power to stop them.

NARRATOR: Easier said than done, earth being, for elsewhere in a secret warehouse in Queens at this hour, the alien monsters had gathered for a meeting.  Among the invited guests, one Lemuel Krepotkin, and newly recruited housewife Katie O'Brien. Indeed, thanks to the installation of a guest brain, our hapless housewife was now one of them. 


SPACE ALIEN: Meeting come to order. Mr. Krepotkin, your report please.

KREPOTKIN: One new recruit right here -- two, if you count me. That's two new recruits from Queens, Supreme Alien Highness.

SPACE ALIEN: Hardly sufficient to our needs. And can the Supreme Highness stuff. What about those power generators?

KREPOTKIN: That remains a sticky issue, Your Supremeness. You'll have to take that up with Con Ed.

SPACE ALIEN: We want and shall obtain control of those generators. KREPOTKIN: I understand completely, Supreme Supernal Space Mysteriousness, but my wife has grown suspicious. If she catches me trying to jack power generators, it might not go well for me.

SPACE ALIEN: Very well, what have you to report on the brain transplant progress?

KREPOTKIN: Business is brisk, Supreme Being.


Check out Ronald V. Micci's Book

The Gill People of Outerborough Queens

Aliens have landed in Queens, intent on subjugating the human race by replacing human brains with alien ones, advertised out of a PO box in Grand Central Station. But a mad scientist may just be able to stop the monsters before it is too late. Hilarious

© Copyright 2020 Ronald V. Micci. All rights reserved.

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