Suzi stood on the edge of the Slop Drop stage. It had felt like nearly four years had passed since she last hosted the show that had given her the break into TV presenting she had never known she wanted. Her career had gone from strength to strength. As well as hosting two other Panicked Productions gunge shows, she had finally started presenting a local radio show, like she’d wanted to for as long as she could remember. Still, despite everything, a voice echoed in her mind.

“Welcome home, Sooz.”

The set looked very much as it always had – large industrial-style metal structures around the sides of the studio area, the now-iconic plush red couch and chair next to the massive doors, on the other side of which was some nightmarish machine intended to give at least one person a gungy humiliation. Apart from a couple of episodes, the Slop Drop didn’t usually gunge A-list celebrities. The audience never seemed to mind the relative obscurity of the gungees though (compared to the works of other production teams at least) – after all, more often than not they still covered a pretty young woman in sticky slop for everyone’s entertainment. Who could complain about that?

The studio lights blasted into life. The audience, once murmuring to itself now fell silent. The cameras rolled as the Suzi’s Slop Drop theme tune (a snappy upbeat rock instrumental in G major) blared through the PA. Suzi walked out, the heat from the lights beaming down on her exposed skin, and as always there was quite a lot of it. Tonight she was wearing a white dress with black lines on it that accentuated her all-natural curves. She was barefoot, as was rather usual for her. Despite the absence of shoes, she still looked radiant and elegant. Her light-brunette hair was straightened out and ran down her back to just above her bum, held back with a white barrette. Her emerald eyes seemed to glimmer, perhaps in part thanks to the fantastic work the make-up team had done around them. “Hello, and welcome to this special webisode of Suzi’s Slop Drop! I’m Suzi Harrison and as always, I’ve got two kinda famous-ish personalities waiting to argue why they should be spared a trip in my gunge machine!”

The crowed ooh-ed at the non-revelation that there would be a gunge machine involved.

“More on that later, though. Now, there are a few reasons that we’ve done this episode as the NoobTube Charity Streamathon. One of them is because we’re not doing a new series of Slop Drop any time soon. Another is because our guests tonight hold a special place in the hearts of the internet, and so rather than just broadcast to the British public, we’d go out to the world. So, welcome Britain, bienvenue le France, yōkoso Nihon, wilkommen Deutschland, howdy y’all America and however you say welcome to the rest of the world! Then of course, there are the wonderful charities that we’re raising money for.” Suzi took a breath. “So, let’s meet our first guest. She started out with a Kickstarter project looking at how the way media, particularly video games, portrays women and the damage it can do to society. Now she’s a figurehead in the war on internet trolls. Please welcome Anita Sarkeesian!”

As Suzi sat down on her chair, Anita walked on to the sound of applause. She waved to the audience, shook Suzi’s hand and sat on the couch, right at Suzi’s right and the camera’s left. “Welcome to the show, Anita. I imagine a lot of our viewers are familiar with Tropes vs. Women, but what are some of the subjects you’ve covered?”

“Oh, so much, and thank you so much for having me on here to talk about my work,” Anita says immediately. “I’ve talked about ‘women in refrigerators’, which is actually from comic books where a woman is killed off just to inspire a man’s quest for vengeance. I’ve done the ‘straw feminist’, which is what it implies – a strawman character who has quote-unquote ‘feminist’ beliefs that are there just for the writer to vent their frustrations at social justice advocates.”

“I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing!” Suzi gasps, slightly ironically.

Anita carries on, unfazed. “Oh, they do! We’ve also talked about the ‘Ms. Male’ character, where a character is introduced who’s supposed to be empowering because they’re like an existing male character, only a woman.”

“Ever talked about gunge?” Suzi asks. “I bet you’ve got all sorts of things to say about this show!”

“We haven’t before, but I’ve got plenty to say!” Anita nods. “When I found out about this show and others like it… Things like Get Your Own Back, Comeuppance, The Splosh Pit, The Ramp and so on, I just thought to myself that hang on… There are TV shows out there in this day and age which still think it’s okay to humiliate women for the sake of entertainment? And I dug deeper and found that Get Your Own Back was first around in the late 1980s, and there were other shows from then through to the early 2000s like it such as Noel’s House Party, Diggin’ It and Live & Kicking that would often gunge to humiliate women… and this was just in the UK, mind you! This demonstration of a patriarchal need to put women ‘in their place’ via ritual humiliation has gone on for decades, and this show is just the latest in a long line of iterations of that.”

Suzi raised an eyebrow. Clearly her “mandatory gunge training” had stuck with her as a lot of what Anita had said seemed contrary to what she knew. However, rather than argue it, she instead decided to ask a simple question. “So if you don’t like the premise of the show, why have you agreed to come on it?”

“Because I hate to admit it, but I did kind of enjoy seeing some of those people getting slimed! Sure, it is one of the most problematic things I have seen in a long time, but it was also pretty interesting. Plus, I know that your production company is one of the best for gender equality,” Anita explained. “I mean there’s yourself and Nicole Stevens as the faces, your new CEO Ivy Lundgren, your main engineer’s not only a woman but also an albino, and so many others I can’t even begin to count! When I got here I was just so stunned by how inclusive the place is!”

“Oh!” Suzi blushed. “I’m flattered that you like the company, I think?” She decided not to mention or even dwell on the fact the company was founded by a straight white man with a gunge fetish… who may have once been her headmaster. “So, back to the reason we’re here. You’re clearly here because you want to gunge someone. Who is it and why?”

“It’s a YouTuber called ‘shoe0nhead’. She makes videos that make fun of feminism even though as a woman, she would benefit from the equality and freedom that feminism would bring. She’s dangerous and problematic, and people like here are responsible for a lot of the harassment that feminists experience online.”

“Well, that’s a hell of an accusation! In fact, there are a lot of interesting discussion points raised there, and so in that spirit, let’s welcome our other guest. She’s a YouTuber who’s known for making videos criticising feminism and being quite funny while doing so. Ladies and gentlemen, shoe0nhead!” Suzi announces as the YouTuber enters. The crowd mostly applauds, but Anita and a handful of the audience members boo.

Shoe0nhead shakes Suzi’s hand and sits down. “Welcome to the show, erm… shoe? You have an actual name, don’t you?” the presenter asks.

“It’s June. Might be easier to call me that!” says the YouTuber as she sits down next to Anita, shuffling to the end of the couch in order to give herself a bit of space.

“Alright then, June! I take it there’s a lot you want to say about Anita’s claims,” Suzi asks.

June nods her head. “Yeah, and a lot of it’s stuff that’s in my videos. For example, ‘it’s about equality’… No. Women already have all the rights men have. Feminism at this point has become a toxic cult based on hating men and trying to be the most ‘progressive’ and oppressed.”

“But what about some of the stuff that’s not in your videos? Like, the claim that you’re encouraging people to harass Anita and people like her?” Suzi asks.

June shakes her head. “Not true. I don’t want my fans going out on like, Twitter and sending Anita or anyone else nasty messages. Like you said, my videos are critiques, and there are far more in-depth and serious ones out there than mine.”

“But you support GamerGate,” Anita says.

“Which has been proven not to be the hate group that you claim it to be!” June scoffs. “There was even a study carried out by Women, Action and the Media about it which proved that the vast majority of accounts associated with GamerGate don’t harass people.”

“Women, Action and the Media, huh? Nice acronym!” Suzi chuckled to herself. “That actually brings me to my next point. I’m kinda curious to see if you’ve got any kind of take on the whole gunge thing.”

June took a breath and started talking again. “Well like Anita, I kinda had to learn a bit about it too. Like we’ve always had slime on Nickelodeon in America, but that wasn’t usually like a ritual humiliation thing. It was always like, goofy fun, y’know? But, and I didn’t expect to say this but Anita’s right in that there’s been a bit of a female humiliation element in how you guys do it in Britain but there are also shows that gunge men, some of which go at about 50-50 or gunge men more than women.”

“So you don’t think gunge is a long-standing tradition used to humiliate women?” Suzi asked.

“Not exclusively and not in any way that’s like, a huge deal. Like I said, it just seems over-the-top and kinda wacky.”

Suzi sat back in her chair and chuckled to herself. “We’ll see about that if you have to face the gunge!” Her tone suddenly shifted back to serious. “I take it you’re both familiar with the rules, but I’ll remind the viewers anyway,” she said as she turned to face a nearby camera. “This is a show in three parts. Part one is what we just had now – I introduce the two possible gungees and they give their arguments, then we open the vote up to the viewers. Part two, I read a letter out where someone in the audience wants to gunge someone. I decide whether they should get the opportunity or whether they themselves should be gunged. It’s at this part that we show off the newest gunging machine. Part three, the vote closes and we will subject either June or Anita to one hell of a gunging.” She then looked over to the two women on the couch. “Any last comments, Anita?”

“Yes. Please, please vote for June. I’m trying to do good in the world and June’s opposing that. She deserves the slime!”

“And June, anything else you want to say?”

June nodded. “I’m not scared of losing or getting gooped or anything, but you know Anita will complain about anything. How about we actually give her something to complain about? Vote for her, not me!”

“Well, we’ll see who the audience has been listening to the most in half an hour. In the meantime, don’t forget to vote and donate!” With Suzi’s words, the lights went down on Suzi’s Slop Drop for the time being.

The Splosh Pit episode I did the pre-polls for is still in the works but right now, I want to get this out there. I get it, this is going to piss people off. That’s just what happens when you bring in any kind of ideological angle to a piece of fiction. If you find it offensive that this exists, tough. This is happening, and it is happening on my terms. All I hope is that you’ve actually read the story and are judging it based on the actual writing rather than my political/social opinions and outspoken nature.

Sian swaggers on-stage, grinning and waving.

Sian: Hubble bubble, toil and trouble,
Mire churn, and caldron bubble!

As Sian speaks, a camera circles the rim of the Mucky Dip, which belches copious amounts of dry-ice fog.

Sian: Grisly goo and grimy grot,
Mixt within our fetid pot.
Week-old curry, stale kebabs,
Aldi horsemeat, Cromer crabs,
Slops of lager, butts of cigs,
Crackling from Dave Cam’ron’s pig.
For our muck we spare not tuppence,
Waiting for some brat’s comeuppance!!

The audience showers Sian with applause.

Sian Thank you, thank you! I’m Sian Welby, and I come not to praise our contestants but to bury one of them. Fair is foul and foul is fair, foulness is the punishment, and our muck by any other name would smell as foul! Measure for measure, gunge doth o’erswell the cauldron, so without much ado about nothing, let’s bring on our three witches!

The nutritionist
Sian: Returning for her weigh-in is nutritionist Cara. She’s 33 and from Shrewsbury.

The guards roll out a caged Cara to a chorus of boos and hisses.

Sian: Now Cara, suppose I need to go on a diet – [looks around menacingly] which I don’t, before anyone starts – what would you recommend for me?

Cara: It depends, Sian. I’d have to take your weight and measurements, and evaluate your lifestyle requirements so I could work out the best plan for you.

Sian: What about the Triassic Diet, for instance?

Cara: [looking horrified] The Triassic Diet is extremely dangerous! It can cause heart palpitations and gallstones! Only an ignorant moron would advise such a diet!

Sian: Huh? But you were bigging it up just last week!

Cara: [haughtily] I would never recommend the Triassic diet.

Sian: Hmmm, I thought this might happen, which is why we’ve got the clip cued. Play it back, boys.

A snippet from the previous epsiode plays: Cara: …The new Triassic diet is where it’s at!

The audience boos.

Cara: [flustered] I, er… what I was saying is, uh, that sadly the Triassic diet is popular among the misinformed! That’s why you need professional nutritionists like me to suggest scientifically proven plans. Like the M-diet, for instance.

Sian: What does that stand for – metabolism, I suppose?

Cara: No, on the M-diet you must only eat foods that begin with the letter M!

Sian: [frowning] Riiiigghttt… So I can have a meal of mutton, macaroni, mushrooms and mozzarella, and marzepan for dessert?

Cara: Got it! And wash it all down with milkshake. That’s the great thing about the M-diet; it’s easy to know what you can and can’t eat, and you get a wide balance of foods!

Sian: But… but… no, I’m not even. Cara, it’s a good thing you like things beginning with M, because we have 15,000 litres of such a substance. It’s called muck, and we could be serving it to you in a few hours’ time!

Cara presses her tongue under her lip and shakes her head.

Sian: [facing the camera] And surely many of you will want to treat Cara to her just desserts, but first let’s meet her sisters in sin!

The taxi driver
Sian: Our second ne’er-do-well is Mel. She’s 24 and from Clacton-on-Sea, where she’s been driving her taxi for four years.

Sian’s sidekicks wheel on Mel to the typical jeers and catcalls.

Sian: Pffft, where do I start with you lot, Mel? You take the longest routes so as to clock up more miles on the meter, you don’t accept cards, and you claim not to have change!

Mel: [rolls her eyes] Bl’ming hell, I’m a taxi service, not a bank! Want me to run a bureau de change [English pronunciation] out the side of my cab? S’pose I might need to, what with all these foreigners coming in the country.

Sian: But those things are minor niggles for the poor passenger, compared to being a captive audience to whatever diatribe the driver chooses to spout. There’s a good quote out there: it’s a pity the people that can solve the world’s problems are all too busy driving taxis!

Mel: [missing the irony] It is indeed Sian. I’ve got much more of a clue than these politicians what’ve never had a real job. I see a lot of the world in my cab – sometimes I drive as far as Frinton – and I give rides to the highest and lowest in society. Just last week I took Douglas Carswell to the station. He’s Clacton’s MP, you know – decent bloke, but too soft on the EU. “Douglas,” I says to him, “you’re a decent bloke, but you’re too soft on the EU!”

Sian: Erm, isn’t he UKIP?

Mel: Exactly – too soft! Whole country’s too soft. We need to bring back the cane in our schools, instill some discipline! Followed by national service and then send ’em down the mines!

Sian: [nervously] Yes, well, if we could move on—

Mel:…and immigration! Don’t get me started on immigration…

Sian: I didn’t.

Mel:…Now I ain’t got anything against anyone foreign. I take me two weeks in Benidorm every year…

Sian: Mel…

Mel:…but people what come here ought to speak the language proper…

Sian: MEL!!!

The audience boos Mel into silence.

Sian: [crossly] We’ve run out of time for further questions, but suffice to say Mel, the public are fed up with you taking them for a ride. I’m sure they’d love to give you a lift, followed by a very messy drop-off!

Mel puts her hands on her hips and makes an incredulous expression at this suggestion.

Sian: [faces forwards] And no doubt you’re all eager to get Mel’s meter ticking upwards, but before you commit, let’s meet our remaining contestant.

The market researcher
Our third and final rogue is Gail. She’s 28 and from Edinburgh, and she’s worked in market research for six years.

The audience derides and decries Gail as her cage is wheeled on.

Sian: Now folks, while Mel wants you to hear her opinions, Gail here is anxious to hear yours. And she’ll go to any means to get them, won’t you Gail? On the street corner, on the phone, through those annoying website pop-ups, even knocking on doors!

Gail: [in a breezy, saccharine-laden voice] And how satisfied are you with our performance? Very satisfied, somewhat satisfied, neither satisfied nor dissatisfied, somewhat dissatisfied, or very dissatisfied?

Sian: Very dissatisfied! And I ask the questions here, not you! The point is, Gail, people find it extremely annoying when you badger them to fill in surveys.

Gail: [smarmily] How often does this happen? Daily, once or twice a week, once every few weeks, rarely, or n—

Sian: TOO BLOODY OFTEN!! Listen Gail, I’ve been on your website, and some of these questionnaires are completely pointless. There’s a 50-question survey on bathplug preferences, and another one asks respondents what they would be willing to do for charity. Options include getting gunged in jeans and eating a spider!

Gail: But think of the incentives. Did you know, for every survey you complete you earn 2 Nectar points!

The audience snorts in derision.

Sian: And that’s another thing: you lure people in with these so-called “rewards” that turn out to be next to worthless!

Gail: So what rewards would tempt you to take a survey? Tick as many as apply: Air Miles, days out at the zoo, vouchers for Little Chef—

Sian: Can you stop doing that!? I’ll tell you what reward the public would love: seeing you take a bath in our vat of slop!

Gail: And what colour slop would you pref—

Sian: OH, SHUT UP!! [Exhales deeply, turns to the camera and resumes her genial smile] And so in the Comeuppance studio where we lay our scene, the nine men’s morris is filled up with muck, but not all shall be punish-ed. To dip or not to dip – that is the question we put to thee. Choose thou thy villain, and to this chair bind her! Ought it be Cara, the diet guru who leaves you with a bad taste in your mouth? Ought it be Mel, the cabbie who drives you to despair? Or ought it be Gail, the persistent questioner who won’t take no for an answer? Parting is such sweet sorrow, but we’ll be back for an update!

Poll will close at 10pm on Friday 6^th May. As always, voting permitted multiple times with gaps of at least 12 hours between votes.

Hello tellygunge. It’s playtime. I just had too. We’re now at the last two scenes of the second film in my Pancake Day series. As you might expect after reading the last scene (obviously spoilers if your reading things out of order) it’s the final showdown between Porcelain and Mrs Turnbull, but it also sees the appearance of quite a few other characters who’ve appeared in previous scenes. I am overall quite happy in the way things have been set up, and how it feels more like a whole story, rather than a collection of stories, with a loose story thread linking them together like the first film.

The subject of stories brings me on to what’s next. As I’ve already mentioned I’ve had quite a few ideas for the next film. It will see a little variation to the formula, which will allow me to use some more elaborate traps than I’ve been unable to use before without totally breaking the admittedly already loose reality bands of this series. This is a series that could become a little predictable and formulaic, and there are some parts, like the final escape to set up the final show down that are hard to avoid repeating, but I’m convinced I’ve got enough ideas to avoid that becoming a big problem for a while at least.
You may ask when is this going to happen? Well so far I’ve only made the notes, and roughly plotted everything out. I’ll probably take a little break before I start writing it. Hopefully it won’t than fall flat when I start to write, but I’m reasonably confident this won’t be the last you see of Porcelain and her companions. Until then thanks to everyone for reading, and I hope you enjoy the finale.

Scene 41:

The camera cuts to one of the larger rooms in the old cellar. Running through a doorway, and across the floor is a worse for wear looking Porcelain. Her hair and face paint is dishevelled, and several messy substances can be seen on her clothing. We see her look over to a table where a number of Chlorofoam pies are located. The camera cuts to a shot looking at Porcelain as she runs towards it. Just as she gets close someone jumps into the left side of shot, grabbing Porcelain and putting an arm around her neck. As they struggle we see it’s Victoria, her blonde hair and red dress looking in a bad state after being dumped into a pool of cottage cheese after Porcelain’s game earlier. Before Porcelain has a chance to retaliate Christine comes into view, and also grabs Porcelain to ensure she’s restrained. The camera zooms out to show more of the scene, and we see Mrs Turnbull walking slowly towards them with a satisfied smile on her face.

Porcelain: Let go of me you monsters.
Mrs Turnbull: Why? So you can make more people play your silly games. It’s about time you learnt the proper way to act little girl.

With that Mrs Turnbull steps forward and slaps Porcelain hard across the face.

Porcelain: Shit faced cow!
Mrs Turnbull: My! Such language! Well never mind. It looks like I’ll have plenty of time to teach you and your friends the proper way to act. I see you’ve even been good enough to provide us with a good prison.

The camera cuts to a corner of the large room. In it we see the two chain link walls that back on to the corner where Athena is currently held prisoner. Athena is looking on with a concerned look on her face. She scampers to the side in order to keep her distance as Mrs Turnbull comes over and unbolts the door. A little behind her is Christine and Victoria who are dragging a still struggling Porcelain with them.

Mrs Turnbull: Put her down, and don’t be gentle. I don’t want her getting up again.
Christine: With pleasure.

Christine and Victoria drag Porcelain to the back wall and throw her hard in to the barrels along the back wall. The camera zooms in on Porcelain as she slides down to the ground. We see one of the barrels has the words Westbrook Manor stamped on the side.

Mrs Turnbull: Your going to stay here until I figure out what to do with you, and make sure you never trouble me again.
Christine: Lets teach her a lesson!
Victoria: Yeah lets cover her in eggs and flour.
Christine: Lets get some paint and treacle, and see how she likes it.
Athena: Come on you guys! You’ll be no better than her.
Mrs Turnbull: Shut up! No-one asked you. Why don’t you get up to your quarters and stay there until your actually wanted.

Athena gives a look of annoyance to Mrs Turnbull, but faced with the prospect of going up against her, Christine and Victoria she reluctantly backs away exiting the cage. The camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull as she looks down at her still stained and soaked clothes. We see her look up and an evil smile comes across her face.

Mrs Turnbull: As we’re here. Why don’t you two introduce our little friend there to that custard pool. Give her something to think about.
Victoria: With pleasure.

The camera cuts to behind Christine and Victoria as they advance towards Porcelain. She struggles to her feet, having to use the barrels to support herself, hoping to put up a fight, but she’s clearly had it taken out of her. Then just as Christine and Victoria are about to close in the lights suddenly go out, and the room is plunged in to darkness.

Mrs Turnbull: What now? Can’t anything be done properly around here?

There’s a brief pause as the sound of frantic footsteps running across the floor is heard. Then the lights come on, the camera focused on Christine’s face as a large thick white chlorofoam is shoved in her face. The camera then cuts to Victoria as someone also shoves a chlorofoam in her face. As she stumbles and falls down the camera zooms out to see the holder of this pie is Dwayne.

Mrs Turnbull: How the hell did you escape?

The camera cuts to Porcelain’s former boyfriend Jack, who is standing next to a now unconscious Christine.

Jack: I busted them out.
Mrs Turnbull: What do you think your doing boy?
Jack: I’ve been putting up with your shit for a long time, and done nothing about it. When they told me about all that money you’ve stolen I decided enough was enough, I’m not taking it anymore.
Mrs Turnbull: Well if that’s the way you want it.

Mrs Turnbull lunges forward. She grabs Dwayne and throws him in to the chain link fence. Jack dodges the first lunge, and responds with a knee to Mrs Turnbull’s hip. This has little effect though. Mrs Turnbull grabs at Jack’s arm, and twists it, and pushes down on his shoulder with her other hand, forcing a still defiantly struggling Jack down on to his knees.

Mrs Turnbull: Did you really think you could get away with this? Seeing as you like your friends here so much I reckon I should just leave you here with them.
Jack: Go ahead. I’m not a fugitive like them. People will come looking for me if I stop calling, and they’ll start here. Then what will you do.
Mrs Turnbull: It will take time for that to happen. More than enough time to secure that money and get myself out of the country.

Suddenly a loud cry is heard. Princess Porcelain bursts into shot, and tackles Mrs Turnbull around the waist. Distracted by Jack, Mrs Turnbull is unprepared. She looses her grip on Jack as her and Porcelain go sprawling back, and both fall down in to the pool of pink custard.

Porcelain: You heartless cow. I should have never have given you a chance. I should have just chucked you strait in that barrel.

In response Mrs Turnbull swings a wild arm in Porcelain’s direction. She dodges the worst of the impact but is still caught off balance. It’s enough to allow Mrs Turnbull to close in and wrap a strong arm around her head. Porcelain desperately lashes back, but it’s to no avail as Mrs Turnbull kneels down, forcing Porcelain’s head under the custard. She remorselessly holds her there as a number of air bubbles rise up from where Porcelain is being held under, until Porcelain sinks completely under. Mrs Turnbull finally lets go, and the camera cuts to a shot of her looking out of the pool. We see Christine and Victoria still unconscious, both Dwayne and Jack are struggling to get to their feet. The camera cuts back to Mrs Turnbull as she walks towards the edge of the pool, a smug look of triumph on her face, despite the fact she’s now covered in custard.

Mrs Turnbull: Right. Time to book a flight to somewhere hot, exotic and a long way from all the bullshit I have to put up with here. You lot can stay here while that happens.

Suddenly Porcelain bursts out of the custard this time wrapping her arms around Mrs Turnbull’s neck. Mrs Turnbull remains rigid though, and starts to slowly pry Porcelain’s grip apart. The camera cuts to Jack as he struggles to his feet, then to a shot of the still unconscious Christine, and the remains of the Chlorofoam pie that hit her in the face. Jack bends down and scoops up a large handful of the Chlorofoam, looks to where Porcelain and Mrs Turnbull are still struggling, and takes a large running jump.
In a dramatic slow motion shot Jack flies through the air, and lands in the custard where the struggle is taking place, hitting Mrs Turnbull in the face with the Chlorofoam. Mrs Turnbull tries to wipe it off, but Porcelain quickly grabs at her arms before she can get to her face. Jack sees what is happening and closes in to help Porcelain. Her strength sapped by the effects of the Chlorofoam Mrs Turnbull is unable to fight them off, and slowly succumbs to the effects. As Mrs Turnbull sinks under the custard Porcelain puts her arm around Jack, using him for support as they head to the edge of the pool where Dwayne is waiting to help them get out. Porcelain requires support from both of them as she hobbles out to the door of the cage. As they walk through the door is slammed shut and bolted behind them. As the camera zooms out we see a bloody and battered Garry leaning on the door, and placing a heavy looking padlock on the bolt.

Dwayne: How’s Sandy? Is she alright?
Garry: She’s taken a few bad knocks, but she should be okay.
Porcelain: Go see her Dwayne.
Dwayne: Are you sure? You don’t look in great shape yourself.
Porcelain: I’ll be fine. We’ll be along shortly.

With that Dwayne and Garry walk off as quickly as they can in their current state. The camera cuts to a shot of Jack and Porcelain as they look at one another. Then a loud splashing is heard. We see the pool behind Jack and Porcelain where the custard has washed the Chloroform off Mrs Turnbull, and she’s now climbing out the pool.

Mrs Turnbull: Let me out now!
Porcelain: Now that was a silly thing to say. Do you honestly think we’d do that.
Mrs Turnbull: This won’t hold me for that long.
Porcelain: It doesn’t have to. The rest of the pupils and staff will be arriving tomorrow to set you all free anyway. Most likely along with a couple of cops who’ll want to ask about a few fraudulent transactions they’ll have evidence off. We built this cage secure, and it should hold you for more than long enough to secure that money for ourselves and make our getaway.

Mrs Turnbull lets out a cry of rage, and tries kicking the door, and then shoulder barging the wall, but it’s to no avail. The cage is indeed secure. Porcelain and Jack ignore her protests as they walk away.

Scene 42:

We cut to a corridor in the old cellar, not that far away from what we just witnessed, as evidenced by the fact of Jack and Porcelain coming round the corner.

Porcelain: So. What now? With all that money in the bank you must be tempted to join us.
Jack: I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I’m not sure I want to just leave my friends and family.
Porcelain: Once we’re outside the jurisdiction of this country you’d still be able to call them, and it’s not like you couldn’t go back to them. You always said you wished you’d takken a gap year, and it doesn’t look like you’ll be getting much of an education here for a while. Once the truth comes out this place is going to be chaos.
Jack: Well. When you put it like that.

Before Jack can continue a loud rustling is heard. Porcelain limps over to a pile of old stuff and pulls off a dust sheet to reveal Athena hiding underneath.

Athena: Please. Just let me go.

Jack puts a restraining arm on Porcelains shoulder and whispers in her ear. She mutters something back, before Jack whispers back two more times.

Porcelain: Oh okay. Go up to your quarters and get cleaned up Athena. Just stay out of our way and you’ll be alright.
Jack: Everyone else will be arriving tomorrow. When that happens you won’t need to worry about Mrs Turnbull, or any of the other girls any more.

Jack again whispers in Porcelain’s ear. There’s another exchange between them before with a slightly reluctant look Porcelain continues.

Porcelain: And yes, I’ll have a word with Garry. He can make it look like your video was corrupted or something, so no-one will ever see you getting covered in custard.

The camera cuts to a shot of Athena. She pauses for a second, tentatively looking them up and down.

Athena: Bye Helen. Thanks Jack.

The camera looks down the corridor as Athena scampers away down it, before cutting back to Jack and Porcelain.

Porcelain: God. I hope your not going to turn me soft.
Jack: Hey. You don’t always have to be afraid of change.

Roll end credits.

———————————
By the same Author
———————————

The segment starts with two figures standing beside the Mucky Dip.

Sian: Greetings, one and all! I’m Sian Welby and this is Comeuppance. ‘Tis now the witching time of night, so who better to speak with than our muckologist-in-chief, Sasha Holdsworth! Sasha, how you doing?

Sasha: Hey Sian, I’m doing great.

Sian: Glad to hear it. And well done on all the excellent Mucky Dips you’ve concocted for us. By the way, I caught Princess Priscilla’s latest vlog post earlier today, and I swear she still has a yellow tinge to her!

Sasha: [winking at Sian] Probably just the contrast on your screen.

Sian: Perhaps. Anyway Sasha, you’re going to give us the low-down on today’s Mucky Dip in just a moment, but first I want a little word with you. You see, some of your lab staff have told me that your pranks are getting out of hand.

Sasha: Out of hand? Nah, it’s just a few little jokes to maintain a good-humoured workplace. You know, buckets above doors, flour in the fan, asking people to get a book from a high shelf when I’ve put a jug of gunge on top – that kind of thing. It’s true that on occasion staff members have got more seriously messy, but those were accidents, not jokes. It’s a hazardous environment Sian.

Sian: [concerned] Hmm, what kind of accidents?

Sasha: Here’s an example: a fortnight ago we had an intern working on a tank of muck that was in the early mixing stage. I asked her to lean over and stir at the far end, and while she was doing this – I don’t know how this happened – my hands accidentally brushed against her backside and she tumbled in headfirst!

Sian: [eyes narrowed] You accidentally pushed her in with your hands?

Sasha: [nodding] That’s exactly what happened. The fact that this girl had questioned my scientific credentials earlier in the day had nothing to do with it! [Smiles] Of course, no-one has questioned them since.

Sian: Nor shall I. [Takes a step away] Moving on Sasha, I understand tonight’s Mucky Dip is rather special and you’d like to talk us through it. So without further ado…

Audience: LET’S PREVIEW THE GOO!!

The scene duly transitions to the above-Dip camera, gradually spiralling in on the muck below. As with last episode’s smiley face, the design is an instantly recognisable logo that takes advantage of the Dip’s circular cross-section – this time a yin-yang figure. But instead of the traditional white and black, the curving segments are forest green and electric purple, each decorated with the usual spot of opposing colour.

Sasha: [voiceover] For this design, I took inspiration from Eastern philosophy, in particular kharma and the balance of crime and punishment. The purple represents the prideful self-importance of the contestants, the green the festering resentment of the general public.

Sian: It looks beautiful.

While this is going on, the inset box in the corner of the screen shifts through the faces of the three caged women. They appear not to share Sian’s admiration for Sasha’s work.

The main camera view changes to rim-side, panning out over the uninviting surface.

Sasha: If you look closely you’ll see that we’ve used two different textures of muck. The purple is a classic smoothish gunge, while the green is gelatinous and stringy, and slightly translucent as you can see. We mixed up and matured the two batches separately, then we poured them into the Mucky Dip using a steel partition to produce the correct shape – a kind of giant mould, if you will.

Sian: I hope you remembered to remove it, because we don’t want to slice our poor comeuppancee in half!

Sasha: [chuckling] We took it out a couple of hours ago. No doubt the muck has mixed a bit down in the depths where the pressure is greater, but it’s testament to the stuff’s thickness that there hasn’t been any blending at surface level; even the bubbles of swamp-gas haven’t disturbed the design!

Sian: It’s a triumph! [turns head to cages] Ladies, I hope you appreciate all the effort Sasha has gone to.

There’s a chorus of groans and whines from the contestants.

Sian: [tuts] Sorry Sasha, they’re an ungrateful lot on top of everything else. Thanks for taking the time to speak to us.

Sasha: Always a pleasure Sian.

Sian: Ladies and gents, Sasha Holdsworth – an accident-prone woman!

Sasha walks off stage to applause. Sian approaches the cages.

Sian: So ladies, you’ve seen what’s at stake here. Now it’s time to find out the likelihood of each of you getting yin-yanged! The midway scores are in, and they are as follows:

Gail: [putting hands to head] Eeeek!

Cara likewise grimaces and puts her hands to her temples. Mel’s reaction is calmer, though more out of defiance than sense of safety.

Sian: Ooohh, nice ‘n’ close – as we like it! Gail currently ahead by a smidgen, but not enough to give Cara any comfort. And Mel not far behind either. The personal appeals could well decide between fortune and fate, so friends, voters, countrymen, lend each contestant your ears! Mel, there’s fifteen seconds on your meter; if thou art a scholar, speak to it!

Mel: [heatedly] It’s a cheek that anyone’s voted for me. I mean, I take people from A to B and they get the benefit of my wisdom at no extra charge! Folk are just so entitled these days, got no respect. Honestly, this country…

The klaxon blasts.

Mel:…you give an inch, and they ta—

Sian: THAT’S YOUR LOT MEL!!

The audience boos.

Sian: [tutting at Mel] Cara, you’re looking very precarious, and believe me, that muck smells worse than the breath of someone on one of your diets! You better serve us a very palatable appeal.

Cara: [folding her arms and frowning] As I said before, I’m concerned about the muck’s nutritional value. Is it grass-fed? I doubt it! What about lactose? Plus it’s too late at night for a heavy meal like that. Why not split it into manageable portions?

The klaxon thunders. The spectators boo and hiss.

Sian: Fear not Cara, you can take a generous coating home with you and enjoy the smell all week long! Now Gail, it’s only a tiny lead, but as things stand you’re the first preference in our questionnaire! Here’s your opportunity to save yourself from a gunking; by heaven I charge thee speak!

Gail: What must I do to stop you voting for me? Tick as many as apply: more interesting survey topics, fewer questions, less intrusive pop-ups, phone calls at more convenient times, or how about…[looks around pleadingly] triple Nectar points!?

The klaxon screams, followed by plentiful jeering from the audience.

Sian: [smugly] Does that give you your answer? [turns and slowly strolls away from the cages] Well folks, we’ve had a few landslides of late, but this one is as finely balanced as that yin-yang in the Mucky Dip! Every vote is going to count in this battle, so get voting and vote often! [Stops at front of stage] Our players have delivered their closing lines; whose tragedy shall be our comedy? It’s up to you to make history.

Last night I dreamt about an interesting WAM party game. The men had quiz question cards and went around from woman to woman asking questions. If the woman got the question wrong the man could mess her, but if she answered correctly then she got to mess the man. There were pies and buckets of custard and green slime on hand for this purpose. For some reason a few people started the game naked and I think there was a way they could win the clothes of another person, but I woke up before I could figure out the rules behind that (and sadly, before things could get that messy).

Present at this party were members of the WAM community, work colleagues, people I went to school with and haven’t seen or thought about in years…

I have dreams featuring WAM maybe once or twice a month. Often they’re quite frustrated; a girl looks set to get messy but then something thwarts it, or I wake up before it happens. Sometimes I dream about NHP where two or three women get plucked from the audience and sent for an epic trip around the great house, which is enjoyable, but it’s disappointing to wake up and realise the scene isn’t real.

When I was a teenager I dreamt a vivid reconstruction of the Kirsten O’Brien GYOB gunging (I had lost my VHS recording of it) and it was one of only two wet dreams I’ve had in my life. The second also involved gunge, but was more abstract.

Sadly, I don’t think I’ve had a Paul McCartney moment and come up with an amazing story idea in a dream, but maybe I can do something with the party game above.

So I’m interested to know, does anyone else dream about WAM?

The usual disclaimer about the vote results being accurate at time of writing applies.

After what felt like a week but was only half an hour, the show returned. Suzi looked into a nearby camera and spoke. “Welcome back to the Slop Drop. I’m here with feminist media critic Anita Sarkeesian and critic of feminism Shoe0nHead, or June to her friends.” Anita waved to the camera rather calmly, whereas June seemed to be a bit more nervous. “Now in the old series of Suzi’s Slop Drop, I’d settle a score from our audience members then reveal the results as they stand at this point. However, we’re going to play around with the format for tonight,” she explained. She then looked to Anita. “So, how do you think the vote is going, Anita?”

Anita shrugged her shoulders and said, “I have no idea, personally. Of course I hope it’s going well and that people are voting to see June get slimed but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are.”

“Because people are easily manipulated by the media they consume, and they very well may have consumed the parts where she made her argument?”

Anita chuckled at Suzi borrowing her logic. “Well, that and the large group of people out there who despise me.”

“I dunno, a lot of the feedback seems to be suggesting I’ve been too harsh on you so far,” Suzi shrugged. “I may be acerbic, but I do try and remain neutral in all the arguments brought up on here!”

“Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as what some people say to me on a daily basis anyway,” said Anita.

“And as much as I’d love to get into that, we simply do not have the time if we’re going to get everything else we need to do done in our allotted time,” Suzi said, before looking to Anita’s rival. “So June, same question to you. How do you think the vote’s going?”

“I have no idea either!” June said with a slightly hesitant laugh. “Just, hopefully everyone’s voting for Anita to get it!”

“Really? Neither of you are going to make a prediction? How dull!” Suzi scoffed. “Still, I mentioned to Anita that we’d received feedback suggesting I may have been harder on Anita than on you.”

June raised her left eyebrow slightly. “Okay? I hadn’t noticed a difference.”

“I know, right? I feel like there’s a bit of an elephant in the room, though – what’s with the feminism hate?” asks Suzi. “I know you touched upon it before, saying something like it’s not about equality but is instead a toxic man-hate cult, but could you give a bit more detail?”

“Oh, sure!” June says with a grin. “So feminism is the fight for women to have the same rights as men, right? Well, we’ve got them already, and if you look at some of the most pressing feminist issues, they’re either straight-up myths like the wage gap and rape culture, or trivial or personal shit like ‘manspreading’, ‘mansplaining’, catcalling and what’s on a scientist’s shirt. And the worst part is that they’re so focused on either silencing or converting people they disagree with. Let’s not get into the double standards that feminists and social justice warriors have.”

Suzi waves her hand. “Alright June, that’s a lot to take in so I hope you don’t mind me stopping you there. In what way are the wage gap and rape culture ‘myths’?”

June reached into the pocket of her jeans and brought out a small yellow button with “Muh Wage Gap” written on it in permanent marker. She pressed it and a recording of her talking played. “The wage gap is simply the average earnings of men and women working full time. It does not count for different job positions, hours worked or different jobs. It has nothing to do with the same job. It has nothing to do with discrimination.” Just before the recording ended, she casually discard the button over her shoulder. She then herself added, “As for rape culture, it’s ridiculous to say that men are encouraged by society to rape women when it’s not only a crime, but considered probably the most heinous crime one could commit!” As June talked, Anita crossed her arms and pouted, shaking her head derisively.

“Well, alright!” Suzi said, clearing her throat. “Still, aren’t you also trying to ‘convert’ people who are feminists by making your videos and appearing on this show, though?” Suzi pointed out.

June shook her head. “I’m not trying to make anyone do anything. I’m just pointing out the other side to what they have to say and helping people make an informed choice as to whether they support feminism or not. Someone’s got to do that. Besides, arguing to get Anita in the gunge has been fun so far!”

Suzi giggles a little bit as she looks to the big screen behind her. “I wonder if you’ll find the next bit so fun! One new addition to the show is our Pie Chart. It’s what we’re going to use to show the vote percentages,” she explains as a big, light green circle appears on the screen. “Speaking of pies, how about a little bet? Whoever’s got the most votes at this point gets a pie… in the face!”

Anita and June both cringe a little bit and look to each other, then exchange a small chuckle. “I’m game if Anita is,” says June.

“Bring it on!” adds Anita.

“Good turn of phrase! Natalie, the pie!” Suzi snaps her fingers. A tall, rather curvaceous woman with eerily white skin, pink eyes and long, blue dreadlocks walks onto the set. She’s wearing a black corset with light blue highlights on it, a black miniskirt and combat boots. In her hands is a large custard pie, just over forty centimetres in diameter, in an aluminium foil tin with lashings of whipped cream and strawberry sauce. “Nat, would you mind saying who you are for the benefit of the audience?”

The girl nods, her dreads wiggling a bit. “I’m Natalie Orwell, or r1vetgrrl to my online pals. I’m the head of the build team on these shows, and it’s my job to design and construct the various ways we cover our guests in horrible slop,” she explains, trying to downplay her natural Cardiff accent for the sake of the international viewers.

“So you’re responsible for whatever contraption is waiting for one of our guests, right?” Suzi asks.

“That’s right, love. I designed it, I oversaw its construction, and I helped to make the gunge,” Natalie explains. “I also made this for you.” She hands Suzi the pie.

“Well thanks! Oh, and stick around – I can think of nobody more qualified to help with the preview run!” Suzi smiles. She stands up and walks over to the couch, holding the pie right in front of Anita and June. “One of you is going to be wearing that in a moment!”

“Eww!” June squirms.

Anita tries to put on a brave smile, but her expression is more of a nervous grimace. “Hopefully not me!”

“How about we find out! Let’s see how people have been voting!” Suzi smirks. A dark green line draws itself from the middle of the circle up to the very top edge, then begins to go clockwise, turning the circle dark in its wake. However, it doesn’t go very far, until two text boxes say what the small segment means.

Anita takes a deep sigh of relief, but then smiles with a sense of self-satisfaction. June just buries her face in her hands. “Wow, I think that is the most one-sided vote I’ve seen!” Suzi laughs. “I’m half-tempted to just end the show here and have us go straight to the gunging, because that’s a hell of a margin!”

“NOOOO!” June squeals, though with a slight laugh. She turns bright red as she curls up, then stomps her feet on the ground with a nervous giggle.

“But, it has been known for major reversals of fortune to occur in gunge votes, so I’m not gonna. However, what I am going to do is pie June!” Suzi grins, slightly meanly. “So, if you would kindly move your hands away from your face.

June did so, closing her eyes tightly and exhaling deeply. As Suzi shoved the pie into the YouTuber’s face, June let out a very muffled scream through her shut mouth. The whipped cream engulfed her and made a huge wave of sweet, white gooeyness, before being replaced with a thicker, yellow slop. It completely covered her face, and the size of the pie meant it flew back and washed over her neck and hair. Suzi even bent the pie over the top of June’s head, just to make sure it really covered her. As the presenter’s hands moved back with the foil tray, cream, custard and crumbling crust all smeared down June’s face and hair, and onto her top. “Eww!”

“Suits you!” Suzi giggled.

“Maybe we should call you Goo0nHead?” suggested Anita.

June wiped her eyes and flicked the pie from her fingers onto the floor. “Eurgh, you two are so gonna pay for that!”

“Well, that depends on how people vote. Speaking of, links for voting should be shown below the video, so don’t forget to!” Suzi said, before looking back to Natalie. “So, now our contestants are very aware of how the vote’s looking, shall we see what’s in store for our losing contestant?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Natalie grinned and rubbed her hands together as the screen behind them shut off and raised up to reveal the Slop Drop. As was to be expected, there was a large pit of gunge, though it had been dug into the floor so how deep it was couldn’t be seen. It was easily two metres across, however. The gunge itself was obscured by a layer of dry ice, but it was clearly a hot pink in colour, and seemed to be bubbling. The bubbles popping on the surface stretched out, showing that it was a very thick goo. There was barely a gap between the top of the gunge and the rim of the pool, which had been padded with foam. “Take a whiff of that, love!”

Suzi knelt down by the pit and sniffed it. “Eurgh! Smells a bit like strawberries, but there’s more to it than that!” she winced. “What is it?”

“Well, given the colour I thought an aroma of strawberry would be fitting, but I must admit something,” said the Welsh albino. “The other day I was in the pub, and who would walk in but Sasha Holdsworth?!”

Suzi gasped. “The Sasha Holdsworth? Muckologist-in-chief on Comeuppance?”

“The very same! So after we shared stories about silly interns and useless stage hands she says to me, ‘Natalie, your gunge devices are amazing, but your actual gunge could use some work. I don’t think it’s quite disgusting enough,’ and I’m just like, ‘oh, well that’s interesting because I think your show’s great and your gunge is fantastic, but I’m not all that impressed with your Mucky Dip, like’. So that’s when we got the idea to join up and create this: The Patriarchy Pit! A two-metre wide and one metre deep pit full of malodorous gunge with a distinct stink of rotting fruit, with this feeding it,” Natalie points to the large pipe, a meter wide on the inside with a thick silver wall on the outside, leading from the pit, upwards, twisting, turning and at one point even helixing, until it reached a large metal tower with a spiral staircase leading up to it. “The Patriarchy Pipe! I’ll talk you through it. Let’s go!”

“Oh man, this is going to be a riot!” Suzi grins as she and Natalie dash up the spiral stairs.

When they reach the top, Natalie points out a large metal hopper poised above the entrance to the tube. “In that hopper there’s almost as much gunge as is in the actual pit. That’s there to wash away the poor sod who has to go down it.”

“So it’s like a water slide,” Suzi surmises.

“Pretty much. Now of course, I’ve got a rule of no shoes on my contraptions, so if you’ll give me a second…” Natalie took off her combat boots, quickly followed by her socks. “They’re not going to help me grip the polished metal,” she said as she stuffed them in her boots and placed them by the entrance to the pipe. She crouched down and stepped into the pipe, Suzi following behind. The two of them placed their hands on the inside walls of the pipe for

The top of the pipe had various coloured LED inside, which were currently switched on and just bright enough so the two women could see, but not be blinded. There were also tiny cameras inside, ready to capture the descent of whoever was inside. “Oh wow! This is pretty!” Suzi grinned.

“It won’t be when the thing’s active, though. The lights will flash and flicker,” Natalie explained as she treaded through. “Oh, and look out for the nozzles in the walls!”

Suzi felt a little bump underneath her right palm. She moved her hand away and saw a small tube poking out. “Oh, that’ll be one. Guess more gunge is going to flow through them?”

“Not just gunge but all sorts of muck! Whoever has to go down this will end up a real state before they even hit the pit!” Natalie grinned. “Now be careful, there’s a bit of a steep drop here.”

A mean thought then came to Suzi’s mind – no doubt a side-effect of her spending a lot of time hanging out with “Nasty” Nicki Stevens. “So erm, I’m impressed with what you’ve done here, but is it all much like this?” she asked.

“Pretty much. It’ll look so much more impressive when it’s ac–Argh!” Before Natalie could finish, she felt Suzi’s right foot on her back. The cybergoth lost balance and fell forwards, the power of gravity pulling her face-first down the slide. Her clothing, smooth as it was, didn’t do much to slow her down.

“Good to know! Now, I’ve got a show to host. See you later, Nat!” Suzi yelled, before climbing up the pipe.

“You’ll pay for that, Suziiiiiiii!” Natalie screamed back as she hurtled down the tube. Suzi clambered out of the pipe a few seconds before Natalie ended up flying out of the bottom and head first through the dry ice and into the gunge pit. Lucky for her she didn’t hit the walls (even though they were padded). Instead she vanished into the gunge all on her own – first her distinctive blue dreadlocks, then her body and finally her feet. She thrashed around under the gunge to try and surface, which thankfully didn’t take too long. Totally covered and hardly recognisable, she wiped the gunge from her face and turned to flip the birds at Suzi, who was stood at the top of the tower laughing.

“Yeah, well maybe build a gunge machine that doesn’t need a guided tour next time!” Suzi cackled as she ran down the stairs to her chair. She sat down, crossed her legs and looked to her guests. “So, that’s what you’re up against – a coked-up water slide. Anita, what do you think?”

Anita looked to Natalie in the pit. “It’s not a ride I’d ever go on, that’s for sure! Poor Natalie…”

“Poor Natalie nothing! Falling into vats of goo is an everyday occupational hazard in this sector!” Suzi giggled.

“Did you have to kick her in, though? Media depictions of violence against women promote real life misogyny,” Anita frowned.

Suzi rolled her eyes. “Even though I’m a woman. Well anyway, we’re almost out of time so June, your thoughts?”

June just laughed to herself. “Wow, that actually looks fun!”

“Fun?” Suzi scoffed, raising her left eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“I’m on 87% and I’m covered in pie. Unless a miracle happens, I’m going down!” June laughed. “So screw it, why not take it like a champ?”

Suzi shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose that’s a fair point! Well folks, we’re out of time for this part. Anita may look safe now, but the vote could change so easily. So, regardless of who you want to see end up in the Patriarchy Pit, get voting!”

A great philosopher once said: “I’ve started so I’ll finish”.

The scene opens with close-up shot on the dreaded wire-mesh chair. The camera zooms out to reveal Sian and the guards standing by it.

Sian: ‘Tis time, ’tis time! I’m Sian Welby, and we reach the final act of this episode of Comeuppance! Turnout has been a little lower than we’re accustomed to, but then there have been other polls competing for your attention. Thanks to those who did have their say, and to those hoping to vote now, don’t bother; it won’t count, and you may still be charged.

Sian and the guards wander over to the cages.

Sian: Gail, you had the lead, albeit a small one, at the update; you must be sweating it now.

Gail: [biting her nail] Yes, but it was within the statistical margin of error, so I hope that the final data will show a different story.

Sian: True, it was very close, and the stakes are high for you, Cara. If you cling onto second place you can walk out of here clean and dry with a Jammy Dodger trophy, since you’re already a returning runner-up. But if you nudge ahead, it’s the Mucky Dip for you!

Cara: [fidgeting with nerves] I’ll just have to wait and cross my fingers. Nothing else I can do.

Sian: Indeed there isn’t! And as for you, Mel, don’t think you’re out of this. I’m getting word that your score has changed by quite a bit; it’s just a question of which direction!

Mel: [putting on a brave face but underlying nerves showing] It’ll have gone down, Sian, no sweat. Where would be as a country without our taxi-drivers? Just the other week, I was—

Sian: Ok, the final scores are in!

Dramatic music begins. The studio fades into gloom, except three solitary spotlights focussed on the cages. At that moment a stagehand walks on and hands Sian a cup of tea.

Sian: Oh, thank you very much. [Takes a sip] Hahh, it’s thirsty work all this presenting. [Takes another sip. Looks around at the tortured faces of the contestants] What’s up? Do you want something from me? Oh! I suppose you want the result. [Hands back the cup] The public have spoken, and their verdict is as follows:

The lights blink back on and the audience cheers. Cara emits a high-pitched half-laugh-half-cry and puts her hands over her face. Gail exhales with puffed out cheeks. Mel smiles broadly.

Sian: Oh look at that – it’s swung against Cara! Fellers, take her away to start her new diet plan!

The guards take custody of Cara and march her to the chair, her feet barely touching the ground as she continues to whimper. Sian frees Mel from her cage.

Sian: Mel, this is where your journey with us ends. It irks me to say it, but you are going back to Clacton lovely and fresh, with that white top unblemished. How do you feel?

Mel: I knew all along I’d get off. It’s no surprise the public chose the poncey diet person [gestures the cringing Cara, who is presently having her shoes and socks removed and the straps fastened around her waist by the guards]. Who needs a poncey diet when you can have egg, chips and HP sauce, all washed down with a cuppa?

Sian: And what better biscuit to have with that cuppa than a Jammy Dodger? Here’s your trophy to keep next to your meter. No doubt you’ll regale your passengers ad nauseum with tales of your escape. Thanks for signing up to the show.

Mel: You’re welcome Sian. [Looks trophy over] Too bad it says “Made in China”. What’s this country coming to, eh? Can’t even make our own tacky ornaments now…

Sian: Yes, well, if you would kindly make your way…

Mel: …all our industry bought up by the Germans; you wouldn’t think we won the war…

Sian: [to audience] Clap! For God’s sake, clap!

The spectators begin their slow hand-clap. Sian shoves Mel in the back to get her moving. Mel trundles to the exit, continuing to bemoan the state of the country until she disappears off-stage. Sighing, Sian turns her attention to Gail’s cage.

Sian: Well Gail, that pledge of triple Nectar points has saved you from the Muck, this time at least. The bad news is that we’ll have to listen to your survey twaddle again next week. The good news is that you may get your comeuppance yet!

Gail: And who would you like to have as my competitors? Firefighter, insurance broker, lifeguard…

Sian: [holds up hand as she walks away] Not now! [To self] Hmm, lifeguard – that’s not a bad idea. [Looks to camera] Anyway folks, despite our talkative contestants, this episode has run more smoothly than last week. But now it’s time to stir things up with the part of the show you’ve all been waiting for! [Arrives at plinth] That’s right – Cara the fad nutritionist is about to eat her greens… and her purples too!

Purcell’s dirge commences and the scene turns to the rim-side view of the Mucky Dip. The gelatinous green goo and the opaque purple gunge glisten before the camera, still immaculate in their yin-yang configuration. The camera ascends until a metre up it meets Cara’s small and dainty bare feet, curling and wriggling. Continuing upwards, the shot takes in Cara’s jeans, and then her peppermint blouse. Of the latter, it is evident how fine and delicate the fabric is. A white bra can just be made out through the material as Cara breathes heavily. Cara’s hands cup her mouth and nose, and her glossy, chestnut hair frames her visage as she peeks down at her mucky fate.

Sian: Ooohh, look at that folks! Here’s a woman who’s bitten off more than she can chew!

Sian places her hand on the big red button. Cara squeals into her hands, her shoulders squirming.

Sian: Cara, on behalf of everyone who’s cheesed off with fad diets…

Audience: HERE IS YOUR COMEUPPANCE!!!

Sian: Bon appétit!

Sian hammers home the button. Sparks whizz and pop around the studio and the lights flash wildly. The winch releases, the jerk causing Cara’s hands to fly away from her face, which contorts in a horrified scream as she ditches to her doom. With a squelching splash she disappears into the Dip, supplanted by a prodigal overspill at the rim. A gloopy wave of brilliant purple slides down one side of the vat, while stringy green slithers and clings its way down the other.

The cables waggle for a few seconds during a sound effect akin to gargling, then they pull taut to retrieve their cargo, while the trombone imparts the sinking chromatic scale of defeat. In place of the pristine, stylish, sweetly-spoken 33-year-old that plunged in only seconds earlier, a floundering blob of two-tone gunk emerges on the end of the ropes.

On Cara’s upper body, the electric purple and forest green cleave her with comical precision, while lower down there is greater interchange of the colours. Cara remains faintly visible on her left side – not because of any patch being spared, but due to the translucent nature of the sticky green slime. It hangs in stringy stalactites from Cara’s arm, leg, feet and any other bit of her it can cling to. Her hair is thoroughly gelled with the stuff. Her delicate blouse is saturated, dyed dark green and clinging to her petite frame. On her right-hand side, Cara’s form is less discernible, thickly coated with the bright purple gunk. It sits cold and heavy on her body, soaking into her blouse. Her hair on that side has become a shiny purple curtain.

But worst off of all is perhaps Cara’s face; her pouting lips and full cheekbones are covered and dishevelled by a generous helping of both mucks. As she clumsily raises her hands to wipe her face, Cara’s mouth drops open and a large gobbet of slop flows out. She spits and splutters, long strands of the gelatinous green dangling from her lips.

Sian: My my, she seems to have swallowed quite a lot there! Can’t help herself, can she?

Cara scoops the worst from her face and is about to slick back her hair when a huge heap of something drops from above. The slimy objects are long and leafy, some green and others brownish-red. They drape over Cara, sticking to the muck. She nearly jumps out of her gungy skin when she realises what the stuff is. The mooing cow sound has to be applied, as Cara utters words that would be unthinkable from her twee, pre-muck demeanour.

Cara: [Moo! Moo! Moo!] SEAWEED!?!

Sian: Cheer up Cara – it’s meant to be a superfood! Ha ha ha! [turns to face audience] Bootiful! That was a most scrumptious and satiating comeuppance, and it’ll be the icing on the cake to see it again in super slow-mo.

Sian: First up is a slow-mo replay of Cara’s descent into the Mucky Dip. She jolts as the chair starts falling, her arms flailing and her mouth and eyes wide. It’s little wonder she got so much muck in her mouth.

Sian: And the above shot!

The same sequence of events replays, this time from a bird’s-eye view. Cara plummets away from the camera, towards the immaculate yin-yang. Cara’s jean-clad backside slaps down on the symbol, shattering the carefully balanced harmony with an outward wave of destruction. She continues to sink, her shoulders and lastly the crown of her head disappearing as the two halves of muck close over her.

Sian: And finaly, let’s re-see that seaweed – ewww!!

A heavily slopped Cara is bombarded by great piles of the damp marine flora. She spasms as the weed engulfs her, throwing up her arms in a vain attempt to shield herself. Some of the bits of seaweed miss or bounce off, falling into the Mucky Dip below, but most adhere to Cara’s figure. As the deluge ends, Cara frantically tries to brush off the repulsive seaweed, grimacing in disbelief at what they’ve dumped on her.

The scene reverts to the present. Having overcome the initial shock, Cara takes her humiliation in good humour, pulling faces of exaggerated disgust as she peels strips of seaweed off herself.

Sian: So Cara, what’s your assessment of our muck?

Cara: [wryly] I wouldn’t recommend it! Too much trans-fats and starch, and not enough vitamins. Though I have to admit it’s very high in fibre.

Sian: Well you can take it back with you to Shrewsbury. It’ll turn your clients’ stomachs so much they’re bound to lose weight! Thanks for being with us these two episodes; you’ve been an entertaining contestant and a wonderful sport.

Cara smiles and raises a hand to wave to the audience, but at that moment she is barraged with small fishes and squid from above. She screams as a giant octopus lands in her lap.

Sian: Woah! Looks like we have the makings of the latest diet craze here! [Turns again to the camera] A glooping peace this evening with it brings; one is pardoned, one is punish-ed. For never doth gunge so amply drip, than unto the wicked in our Mucky Dip! Thanks for watching, and good night!

Sian waves as the camera zooms out over the audience, who dance to the now familiar outro music. Imprisoned in her cage, Gail strokes her chin fretfully as she surveys the mess. Up in the chair, Cara pouts and throws a fish at the camera. She screams as another batch of seafood rains down on her. The programme closes with a slow-mo replay of Cara’s emergence from the depths of the Dip, caked in her double helping of muck.

Evening All,

We have now reached the halfway mark in the opening round of the 2016 Gunge grand prix! Results for matches 65-128 are posted below:

Incidentally, we had our first tie between Kirstie Maldonado and Daisy Ridley, so the poll was reopened until 8pm this evening, when we eventually did get a winner. Please note this will be the method going forward in the event of any future ties.

Matches 129-160 are now live and will remain so until 8pm next Sunday, so please get voting!

This was written by request.

WARNING – contains adult content

This story is purely a work of fiction. The story does NOT describe real events and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real events or persons is coincidence. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

Lottie’s House Party

The lights came on, the audience cheered, whooped and applauded as if their lives depended on it and the hostess bounced onto the set in front of the audience.

Her name was Charlotte, she’d made a name for herself as a model and presenter, this was her flagship Saturday night show – Lottie’s House Party. Tall, blonde, with more than a hint of the Scandanavian heritage in her, she was undoubtedly gorgeous. At 5’11 and dressed in a low-cut red dress and knee-high boots with killer heels which enhanced her height further; it was amazing she managed to move on stage so fast, and it was a feat of engineering that her breasts, which bounced while she ran, stayed within the dress. Her electric blue eyes scanned the audience as she raised her hands for quiet, greeted the audience and started the show.

While the remainder of the show did go well, what the audience were particularly looking forward to was the final item of the night, always a favourite, a gungey finale involving two members of the audience nominated to play by their friends.

Lottie announced “First to join me, please come down….” pausing for dramatic effect “Lucy!”

Lucy was 5’6 with long blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and was wearing a figure-hugging silver minidress that was wrapped so tight around her amazing figure it looked like it’d been sprayed on. Her ample chest was squeezed up to give a deep cleavage and the skirt only reached halfway down her thigh exposing a lot of her tanned smooth legs. She wore 3 inch heels and tottered down the steps to the main stage to join Charlotte.

Charlotte introduced the first contestant – “Lucy here is a glamour model, you may have seen her in the pages of FHM, Zoo or Nuts, not wearing a whole lot… you’ve been nominated by your friends as they say you’re far too wrapped up in yourself, think you’re much prettier than everyone else and spend far too much time checking your hair and makeup – they thought you deserved a good gunge makeover to bring you down a peg or two”. Lucy looked confused and shocked by this reason for nomination, and shook her head emphatically as the audience cheered.

The other girl pulled from the audience was then announced “Sammy! Come on down”

Sammy hesitated as the camera stayed on her, but her friends either side pushed her to her feet. She was 5’8, attractive with brown hair and green eyes; she had more of the girl next door type quality to her. She was wearing flatter shoes than Lucy, a pair of cut off jeans and a white vest top. She seemed more nervous about the attention than Lucy (who exuded confidence); in fact when she first stood next to Charlotte she had something of a look of a deer in the headlights. As Charlotte introduced Sammy she held her hands meekly in front of her and intermittently fiddled with her hair.

“Sammy is a budding actress, still in stage school. You’ve been nominated by your friends, because they think you’re too nice… Wait, what? You’ve been nominated for being too nice?! Well, that’s what it says here, they say it’s annoying and they wish you’d not be such a doormat sometimes and show a little fire”

Charlotte stood between them, she was taller and wearing bigger heels so she towered over the two girls as she announced what was to be happening:

“Right girls, we’re going to be opening a vote – one of you is going to be taking the trip round the studio, which will involve a whole host of surprises, not to mention gallons and gallons of glossy, gooey, gorgeous gunge”

“So girls, now it’s time for you to appeal to the audience and the viewers at home and tell them why it shouldn’t be you and should be your opponent!”

Lucy stepped forward first “Right everyone, it’s obvious why Little Miss Dormouse here should be the one getting punished – just look at her” indicating the shy Sammy. “She so blates needs a makeover, look at those clothes! And the face, and the hair… all of it really! A nice gunge shower will be just the ticket to at least cover up how *awful* she looks. I’m waaay too pretty to be gunged, gunge this troll here instead”. Lucy gave a self-confident smirk to the audience.

Charlotte stepped away from Lucy and over to Sammy “Right Sammy, fighting words, what have you got to say in response to that?”

Sammy looked nervous and down at the ground, hesitated, then shyly responded “Well… I don’t think I deserve to be gunged. Lucy is really pretty and it’d be a shame to ruin those clothes, but I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong either, I’m just trying to be nice to everyone”

Charlotte pulled an exaggerated face at the audience and said “Awww, she’s just too sweet, isn’t she? Doesn’t it just make you want to punch her?” She joked and smiled, patting Sammy on the shoulder to show no offence meant.

Charlotte signed off and the vote was underway. In just a few short minutes the results were ready to be announced. Charlotte stood in between Sammy and Lucy again, with her arms round the waist of the girl each side.

“And so, the winner of the vote, and the girl you voted to take the trip of a lifeslime… I mean lifetime is…”

A long pause. Lucy had her hands up over her mouth in nervousness; Sammy was rubbing one arm nervously with the other and looking at the floor.

“SAMMY!”

Sammy’s head dropped. Lucy’s arms shot up in the air, punching the air in triumph, shouting “YES! YES!”. Unable to resist the urge to taunt her fallen opponent she placed her hand in an L shape against her head and mocked Sammy, calling her a loser.

Charlotte moved to Sammy and said “So Sammy, sweetie, you’ve won the vote and now it’s time for your prize. Are you ready?”

“Not really” said Sammy with a nervous laugh.

“Well, tough” joked Charlotte, getting a laugh from the audience “because your chariot awaits”

Charlotte escorted Sammy by the arm up to the balcony where a round car on a track much like a similarly-named show from sometime in the 90s – awaited. Before Sammy got in Charlotte said “Oh, Sammy, better take off your shoes” As Sammy handed them to Charlotte and stepped in, Charlotte gave an aside to camera with the back of her hand to the side of her mouth in a stage whisper “As everything else will be coming off” with a wink.

Sammy was in place, ready for her trip. Lucy stood next to her with her hand on a lever as instructed by Charlotte.

“Right, Sammy, you’ve lost, this is definitely going to be an experience you’ll never forget. Lucy, you won, pull the lever, and start Sammy’s trip!”

Lucy gave Sammy an icy look and coldly said “Bye Sammy babe, have fun!”, and ripped down the lever.

Sparks shot out from the lever as the car rumbled away from the audience. Strobes flashed and a siren wailed as the car rumbled slowly along the track. Reaching a stop a few short feet away from where she started, Sammy paused and looked around nervously. After a couple of seconds, nothing, then a huge deluge of thick green gunge fell on Sammy, hitting the top of her head with a wet slap. Sammy shrieked in surprise but the gunge quickly fell over her soft brown hair, ran down her face, covered her shoulders and most of her upper torso. The gunge flowed for a good 10 seconds before stopping. Her hair was deluged, and her upper body obliterated by the thick glossy gunge. Sammy could feel it all over her hair and her face – she wiped her eyes and looked down at herself. Her vest top was mostly green and her jeans were covered as well, with a puddle of gunge formed in her lap. Flicking her gungey hair out of her face with a soft “urgh!” she looked around as the car descended downwards and moved along parallel with the audience. It entered a section running below a balcony above, and stopped where a hole in the balcony allowed her to see up…

…Allowed her to see up into the grinning faces of Lucy and Charlotte.

Charlotte gave Sammy a little wave “Hi babe, how are you doing? Looking a little messy there, but definitely some clean patches left – why don’t we help with that?” Before Sammy could answer Charlotte and Lucy each poured a huge bucket of purple gunge through the hole onto Sammy, who squealed in shock. She bowed her head and crossed her arms above her head to cover herself, kicking her legs and stamping her feet in discomfort as the two girls each poured another two buckets over the hapless loser.

Stopping their onslaught for a moment, Charlotte shouted down “Come on Sammy, take it like a woman. Sit up straight, no dodging, you lost fair and square”. Sammy, never one to raise a stink, meekly did as she was told, and was “rewarded” with a bucket of thick purple gunge square over her head from Lucy, running thickly down her neck and creeping for the first time inside her vest top. She squealed again in shock, she’d managed to keep it pulled tight against her but the top finally loosened and purple gunge oozed inside her top, coating her bra, and slipping down inside the waistband of her jeans.

Again the car rumbled to life and moved further along the studio. Sammy looked around again and she slid to a halt in an open hall. Lucy and Charlotte were again ready and waiting for her. “Let me help you up” said Charlotte, taking Sammy’s slimy hand and pulling her to her feet. Sammy stood, thinking the ordeal was over. Maybe that wasn’t so bad, she thought, just a bit of slime, at least it was lukewarm, it might have been cold. The audience cheered and Sammy smiled despite herself, Charlotte held her arm in the air as if in victory. Then, quick as a flash, she moved her hand into a hitherto unseen handcuff, then did the same with the other arm. Sammy was now stood in the car with her hands handcuffed above her head.

“What?!” cried Sammy “What’s happening?!”

Charlotte smiled and said “Sammy dear, you’ve been gunged twice, I’m afraid you’re not even halfway through your punishment yet – those clothes are looking quite filthy, let’s get them off” Lucy was stood to the other side and was brandishing a pair of scissors. Sammy’s eyes widened as Lucy placed the scissors at the bottom of the vest top, and cut straight up the middle.

“Let’s get rid of this horrible top” taunted Lucy

Cutting almost the whole way in one go, Lucy took great pleasure in grabbing the two halves and ripping the top apart and off with her bare hands, exposing the once lacy white bra Sammy was wearing under the top, now stained mostly with green and purple gunge.

Lucy stepped away and the car started to move again and Sammy was off again to another area of the studio, her hands still handcuffed above her, where she stopped directly below an ominous looking metal pipe. Sammy glanced upwards at it nervously. A klaxon sounded, and Sammy hung her head quickly, expecting a flood of gunge to hit her head. Instead of a torrent, a gentle drizzle of dark blue gunge began to trickle over Sammy’s head. This was much colder than the gunge she’d been covered in before, eliciting a small shriek from Sammy, but at such a slow rate it seemed agonising as it slowly covered her head and crept down her bare back, as well as down her neck and her torso. After a minute of this slow flow, which seemed much more tortuous than just being deluged, while Sammy shrieked and gasped haltingly; it stopped. Sammy shook her head to dislodge the gunge, unable to wipe with her hands handcuffed, and looked up to see Lucy and Charlotte stood in front of her again, Lucy again wielding the scissors.

Charlotte said “You know what, I think that bra is beyond repair, better if we get rid of that for you…” Lucy quickly stepped up to Sammy and quickly cut through the bra and the straps, pulling it off of Sammy. Sammy hung her head, her breasts coated liberally in gunge now on show to the audience and to Lucy and Charlotte. Her nipples hardened involuntarily at the sudden cold air exposed to them.

Charlotte had a cheeky shocked look on her face and said “Ohmygod, boobs! Quick, we’d better cover those up before someone gets offended!” as she pulled another lever, causing yellow gunge to start to flow from above Sammy again. It came down quicker this time but was just as cold as last time, immersing Sammy’s now naked boobs and causing her nipples to harden further. Sammy was quivering, this gunge falling over her was an assault on the senses, her nipples were hard not just because of the cold but the teasing of the last gunging, the warm and cold mixed sensations had gotten her quite hot under the collar. The cool gunge on her naked breasts and the now vast amount of slime sitting in her panties nestling against her bum and her pussy had her beginning to get excited. Her hands handcuffed above her head seemed especially cruel as she longed to rub the gunge into all the hard-to-reach nooks and crannies it was probing teasingly. As the flow of yellow gunge plopped to a stop, Charlotte nodded to Lucy to go up with the scissors again. However, before she got there, the weight of the gunge in Sammy’s panties caused them to have to succumb to gravity, and then slipped down her legs and hit the ground with a wet splat.

“Oh…” said Charlotte flatly, disappointed “well, that saved that one – let’s get rid of those” as she picked up the panties with a single finger and tossed them offstage. Sammy was breathing heavily, now stood naked in front of the audience with her arms handcuffed above her head. “What an amazing sport you’ve been Sammy, you’ve been gunged four times, but now we have one more special gunging left just for you”. Pressing a button, a grate in the floor slid back below Sammy, and Charlotte said “Enjoy… Lucy, pull this lever one last time for me”. Lucy pulled the lever and a pressurised jet of pink gunge sprayed up from the grate below, which seemed to be aimed perfectly at Sammy’s crotch. She gasped and started moaning as the gunge massaged her most intimate areas. Charlotte pressed another button and streams of more pink gunge fell on Sammy from above, more gunge than any other time. Sammy submitted to the overwhelming assault, her toes curling as she reached her orgasm, moaning loudly and quivering against her restraints as the gunge covered every inch of naked flesh inches deep in slop. As she slumped down as far as her arms handcuffed above her would allow, the audience got to their feet and gave Sammy a standing ovation. Charlotte filled time as she knew she wouldn’t get much sense out of Sammy for a minute or two while she recovered from her intense orgasm. Once Sammy had started to come to she was released from her restraints and given a white bathrobe to wear. She was stood at the front of the stage one side of Charlotte while Lucy was on the other, Charlotte invited the audience to give a round of applause to our winner, Lucy, who got some cheers, and then to Sammy, and the roar from the crowd was deafening. Sammy smiled shyly at the attention and the adoration of the crowd – she’d been totally gunged and exposed to the audience, but in a weird way it had been kind of liberating. If they thought she was too much of a doormat as she was afraid of attracting too much attention, she couldn’t attract much more than she just had – and she’d not only survived that but kind of enjoyed the attention, right?

Charlotte continued “So, Sammy lost and Lucy won, but what prize will she win?” The stagehands rolled a big wheel of fortune out behind Charlotte with about 50 different segments on it, ranging from “New Car” to “£10,000 cash” to several squares marked with “Revenge”. Leading Lucy up to it, Charlotte explained that wherever the wheel stops, Lucy would win that prize. Lucy grabbed one of the pegs on the outside of the wheel, and pulled downwards hard. The wheel clacked for 5 seconds, then slowed, then finally landed on “Gunk Dunk Revenge”. Lucy looked incredibly unsure all of a sudden.

“Oh Sammy!” said Charlotte enthusiastically “You’ve ended up naked and covered top to toe in gunge, and Lucy has been there for every step of your humiliation, but now you get a chance at revenge, a chance to ‘Get Your Own Back’” Charlotte winked at the camera. “Because you and Lucy are going to play one more game above our gunk dunk!”

“What!?” Screeched Lucy “I’m safe, I won the vote, I’m not getting gunged!”

Charlotte stepped over to her and smiling wrapped an arm round her waist pulling her close, saying “Well honey, that all depends on how well Sammy does, doesn’t it?”

After a short ad break the programme returned with Sammy and Lucy sat on chairs above a huge tank of multicoloured marbled thick gunge. Lucy was still in her glamorous silver dress, but barefoot, having removed her shoes. Sammy had been allowed to shower off the worst of the gunge but was still naked, her legs crossed demurely and her arms crossed across her breasts. She’d discovered the audience were keen to see her naked again, as there was a pop of excitement and cheers whenever she teased them by moving only her hands to cup her breasts, then a groan of disappointment when she moved the arm back, and she laughed at how much fun it was to hold them rapt in the palm of her hand.

Charlotte jokingly snapped her fingers rapidly to get the audience and Sammy’s attention

“Hey… HEY! Hello?! I’m over here… when Sammy’s finished teasing the audience can we get on with the show please?” she chuckled. The audience settled down “… thank you” Charlotte continued to explain the rules “I’m going to ask Sammy three questions. Each one she gets right will inflict some revenge on lovely Lucy here. Above your head Lucy are three tanks of thick, gooey, horrible gunge, and each time Sammy answers correctly, one of those is going over your head”

“What the fuck?!” cried Lucy “I won! I shouldn’t have to do this!”

“Ah-ah…!” interrupted Charlotte “but… you can instead of taking the gunge, choose to remove an item of clothing”

“Ah…” replied Lucy, visibly softening “Well, I don’t mind showing a bit of flesh, that I can do” she said, fluttering her eyelashes and pouting to give the men in the audience her sexiest face. She’d seen how the audience reacted to a bit of naked skin and she was jealous of the attention Sammy had been receiving, so she knew she could swing the crowd back to her side if she stripped, only if she needed to of course, she wanted to get Sammy naked in that gunge once again.

Charlotte continued “Then, after this, we’ll spin the red and black wheel here – if it’s red Sammy will go in the gunk. If it’s black, Lucy will go in the gunk. So Lucy, even if you avoid the gunge above, it’s still a 50/50 if you go in… Let’s begin”

The first question was asked “What is the capital of Finland?”

“Helsinki!” said Sammy almost immediately

“Correct! Right Lucy, you know what to do” called Charlotte. The audience cheered, and started chanting “Off! Off! Off!”

Lucy slid her dress up over her head and threw it to the side. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her round C-cup breasts were firm and each topped with a rosy pink nipple. Flicking her blonde hair about – she squeezed her breasts together with her arms and gave her hips a wiggle as the crowd went wild. She loved the attention; she just really didn’t want to get gunged.

“A big hand for Lucy and her two friends!” smiled Charlotte. “And now for question two: Sammy, what is the stage name of the guitarist from U2?”

Sammy thought for a second before replying “The Edge!”

“Another correct answer – Lucy – off with the panties”

Lucy swore to herself, she was fine with topless but even in the spicier men’s mags she’d never gone commando. Well, if it was that or gunge… after a moment, she stood up, and slid her panties down her toned thighs to toss them aside, revealing her pussy with only a thin landing strip of hair above her lips. The crowd went even crazier than before.

Charlotte prepared to ask the third question “So Lucy, you’re naked, you’ve got nothing else to take off so if Sammy gets this right you’re getting gunged – The third question is – Who was British Prime Minister in 1972?”

Sammy really didn’t know the answer to this one. Lucy mentally willed Sammy to get it wrong to at least spare her this gunging.

“Harold Wilson?”

Charlotte shook her head as she said “I’m sorry, but it was Edward Heath”.

The audience let out a groan of disappointment at not getting to see Lucy get the extra gunge.

Sammy spoke up at this point to play to the audience “So now you spin the wheel to decide which of us gets dunked?”

Charlotte replied “Oh yes” and the audience cheered. Lucy held her head in her hands; she had no desire to end up in the gunge.

Sammy, playing to the audience said “OK, how’s about this – if it lands on black, I’ll give Lucy here some support, and she can sit on my lap and we’ll both go in together”. The crowd cheered the loudest they had all night at this prospect. Lucy shook her head furiously, she didn’t want to even entertain the idea she might be gunged.

Charlotte enthusiastically agreed, working the crowd up “What a great sport! It’s a deal! Sammy will be gunged, but will she be gunged all on her lonesome…” The crowd booed. “…or with Lucy!” The crowd cheered loudly.

Stagehands wheeled on the red and black wheel which would determine who would be gunged. Half was red, half was black, simple as that. A spotlight enveloped it and Charlotte as she stood next to it. “Drumroll, please” she asked, and was obliged, before turning to the camera and saying “So, which of our lovely ladies is getting a gungey bath? Sammy, or Sammy AND Lucy?” She gave the wheel a sharp tug to spin it. The pointer at the top clacked as the wheel spun, then slowed… Slower… and slower – it was in Sammy’s red half of the wheel but was approaching Lucy’s black half… it slowed, and slowed… it was looking like it might just creep into Lucy’s half… slower still… but it stopped just half an inch into the end of Sammy’s half. The audience groaned in disappointment. Charlotte gave a lovely big smile to the camera, and not breaking eye contact with it, sharply kicked sideways the base of the frame which held the wheel. This jog was just enough to tip the wheel over into Lucy’s half. The audience exploded into rapturous cheers. Charlotte announced “Lucy, you are to be gunged, and you’ll sit on Sammy’s lap for the splashdown”.

Lucy protested “WHAT!? No, you cheated… it stopped on red! It didn’t land on me, no way am I going in there, it’s not FAIR…!” she ranted to herself, but two stagehands were ready stood beside her, and bodily lifted her up by her arms, before lifting her over to Sammy and placing her down on Sammy’s lap. The warm sexy naked flesh of the two ladies was intertwined as Sammy wrapped her arms round Lucy’s waist in a firm embrace, but then her hands snaked up to play with Lucy’s lovely C-cup tits, squeezing them together, giving them a little jiggle and tweaking her nipples playfully.

Lucy shouted at Sammy “Get off me, you freak, what are you doing with your filthy hands”

“Just holding on tight” laughed Sammy, cupping Lucy’s boobs and pulling her tight against her. The chair was pulled to the top of the ramp and then let go – Lucy screaming as they began their descent. A stream of thick dark blue gunge was released from above to hit the two hugging ladies as they reached the bottom of the ramp, and they slid under the shower as the chair tilted to throw them into the gunge. Lucy’s naked skin got a nice coating of the thick blue goo, and the two seemed to hang in the air for a second, time slowing, before hitting the surface of the gunk dunk and disappearing below the gunge with a wet splat and a gloop, creating a wave which sloshed over the side of the tank. After a couple of seconds the two girls surfaced, wrestling in the thick slop, as a neverending stream of gunge of several changing colours fell on top of them, splattering all over the two naked girls slipping and sliding over each other. As they wrestled, one blob – Lucy was clearly pissed off and wanting to humiliate the other as much as possible. The other – Sammy – on the other hand just giggling and enjoying their messy wrestle, their flesh sliding over one another. Soon the flow of gunge from above stopped, and Lucy ran out of energy. Panting, the two separated. Lucy crouched down to obscure herself beneath the gunge and hide her naked body, not that much of her naked flesh was visible underneath the thick slop – while Sammy stood up proudly. The gunge only came up to her thighs, so she was fully exposed, her nipples stood proud but she didn’t mind, she took a bow with a flourish, bathing in the adoration of the audience, as well as the gunge; as the audience continued to scream and cheer, it was amazing they’d managed to maintain these energy levels. They knew the show could get adult but it seemed all the stops had been pulled out this week.

With the end of the show fast approaching, Charlotte crept to the edge of the tank, and held out a mic to ask how Sammy was feeling now she’d been able to take her revenge. Lucy – bloodthirsty for revenge, leapt out and quick as a flash grabbed Charlotte. Waving Sammy over to assist her Sammy jumped out too, although smiling more playfully at the prospect of getting Charlotte messy. Grabbing a half each the mucky ladies pulled the red dress apart – tearing it off Charlotte, leaving her only in a skimpy black thong, which was quickly yanked down to her ankles by Lucy, leaving Charlotte naked. Grabbing her under an arm each, and foot, they bodily hauled her over, and between the two of them swung her like a pendulum to throw her into the gunge pool

“One… two…” they counted off each swing
“No!” screamed Charlotte “I’m the host! I’m not supposed to get…”
“THREE!” shouted the two naked messy girls, throwing the one naked clean girl into the gunge to suffer the same fate they had.

“…GUNGED!” finished Charlotte as she too hung in the air before landing flat in a bellyflop right in the middle of the gunk dunk. A huge wave was displaced and washed over the side onto the studio floor, almost reaching the feet of the front row.

Charlotte soon stood up from below the pool of multicoloured gunge, and wiped her eyes, at which point the props team (well, the specific subdivision that dealt with the gunge they called the slops team) had found some more gunge above and dropped a huge load of green goo over Charlotte just as she was recovering from her first dunking. The host screeched in surprise and gasped as the thick slop splattered all over her once blonde hair and down her face before bursting into giggles. Getting her breath back, she flinched visibly as she expected more to fall on her, but it seemed they really had run out this time.

Lucy had put some distance between herself and the gunk dunk, but Sammy stood by the edge as Charlotte struggled over to the rim to get out. Sammy offered her a hand to help her out, but didn’t count on Charlotte grabbing Sammy’s arm tightly and giving it a sharp tug to pull Sammy back in with her. Sammy fell in head first with an almighty splash, the audience, and Lucy, despite herself, laughing.

Charlotte helped Sammy back to her feet, but they remained crouching, the two submerged up to their necks in the gunge. Unseen by the audience, Charlotte wrapped her legs around Sammy’s slimy body, and pulled her close for a kiss, which the audience did see. Sammy, delighted, fell into the kiss and returned it as the audience went nuclear. Underneath the gunge, Charlotte’s hand found Sammy’s crotch, questing between her legs she found Sammy’s swollen clit and began to tease it underneath the slick gunge. Sammy quivered at Charlotte’s touch and reached her hands up to Charlotte’s breasts and erect nipples, massaging the cool slime all over Charlotte’s heavy breasts. They worked their way over to the edge of the tank, still kissing and fondling; and Sammy braced against the edge, while Charlotte intertwined her legs with Sammy’s. The two began to scissor underneath the gunge, Charlotte humping Sammy against the edge of the gunk dunk while the two gasped, cooed and moaned at the pleasure they were giving each other. Sammy must admit, if she’d taken a bet on how tonight would have ended, this would have been pretty far down the list.  Meanwhile – Charlotte was in raptures of pleasure, she’d always enjoyed watching the contestants get gunged and enjoyed carrying out the punishments but she’d longed for someone to pull her in, jumping in herself just wouldn’t have been good enough. The very naughty show she was putting on with Sammy would no doubt land her in a whole world of hot water with the channel boss, but screw it, she’d worry about that later.

Lucy had been about to slope off for a shower but the unexpected floor show that the other two were putting on had her transfixed at the side of the stage. The two girls worked their way into a frenzy until they were both on the verge. Charlotte looked up at the rafters of the studio where she knew the slops team had been working, and prayed they’d managed to find just a bit more gunge. Looking heavenwards, she shouted “Come on boys!” and Sammy joined her in them saying together

“LET US HAVE IT!”

The slops team did not disappoint. A veritable torrent of many different colours of gunge fell on the two girls as they reached a shared orgasm, it splashing and splattering as they writhed and convulsed in sweet ecstasy, grinding hard against one another, moaning and groaning. As they rode out the orgasm, they slipped into each others’ arms, cuddling and enjoying the afterglow. Turning to face camera 1, her arms wrapped round Sammy’s neck, both chest-deep in the gunge, Charlotte, panting, could only sign off “And that’s… all… for this week… join us next week, for more fun… more games, and… phew! More Lottie’s House Party”. She placed her head on Sammy’s shoulder, spent, as Sammy hugged her tight, the camera staying on the two cuddled together in the gunge as the credits rolled over them, then the show went off air, and the two headed backstage for a hard earned shower.

Tensions have been understandably high with my recent SSD. Here’s a little something that I’m sure will be a lot less contentious.

A few years ago, there was a fairly lowbrow game show in Russia known as Cash&Trash. It was a very simple one – contestants would go on and perform for an audience. So far, so very like a Russia’s Got Talent sort of show. However, the similarities went no deeper. The <Country>’s Got Talent format had judges consisting of figures from the world of entertainment (and Piers Morgan), with only one ultimate winner. Cash or Trash was rather different, and of course Panicked Productions were tasked with hosting a UK edition.

The studio was in three distinct parts. The largest part was the seating for the audience, whom all had a small remote control-like device on their seats. Each device had a pair of big buttons – a green one labelled “CASH” and a red one labelled “TRASH”. The seats gave a good view of not only the monitors displaying what the cameras saw, but also the main stage. This was a large, almost rectangular performance area with a curved front, raised off the ground to give a theatrical feel to it. Spotlights shone down on the middle, where the host stood. Stage right, there was some kind of structure that was shrouded in darkness.

The host was Nicki Stevens, the blue-eyed redhead of Goo Your Own Way and The Pairing Game fame (or infamy, as she preferred to think of it). Since becoming The Pairing Game’s “Matriarch of Mess”, she was becoming a sort of villainous figure akin to Simon Cowell or Anne Robinson, and she didn’t mind that one bit! She was looking fairly smart-casual, wearing a form-fitting black dress with a denim jacket and pristine blue high-top sneakers. Her ginger hair gleamed under the the spotlights, and trailed down behind her head to around her waist. Her make-up highlighted just how piercing her blue eyes could be, and that despite her mean and moody persona, she did have some cute features like her mouth and lips. Perhaps those who were unfamiliar with the presenter could be fooled into thinking she was much nicer than she appeared…

“Hi, I’m Nicki Stevens, and this is Cash or Trash,” she said as the crowd cheered. Even if she loved being a villainess, being a popular one had its charms. “This is a talent show with a difference. Each week I’ll be inviting people up onto this very stage and letting them perform for the most cruel and unforgiving judges of all, my gorgeous Cash or Trash Studio Audience!” One again, the audience cheered out in rapturous applause. “All you have to do is vote ‘cash’ if you like the act, and ‘trash’ if you don’t. If the act gets mostly cash votes, I will write out a cheque for £1000 and give it to them, right on the spot. Who says I’m not generous!” she giggles, winking to a camera. “But if they’re voted trash… well, you know the kinds of show I normally host! I’m sure you can fill in the blanks! Let’s bring out the first act.”

A woman in her early twenties walked out. She had olive skin and hair dyed a deep purple colour. Her hair was tied into a pair of ponytails at the front, with a fringe. Her eyes were a greyish blue, and her expression was one of confidence. She was 1.65m tall, with a thin body. On it she was wearing a rather floaty mauve dress that showed off her modest cleavage and reaches the knees, showing off her smooth and elegant legs, which vanished into a pair of purple ankle boots. Attached to the dress was an elegant white cape, which trailed down her back. She waved to the crowd with her right hand as she walked out, showing off the ornate purple manicure. In her left hand was a tiny cardboard box.

Nicki looked to the girl. “Welcome to Cash or Trash. What’s your name and where are you from?”

“I am Lucia the Prodigious, and I’m from Northampton,” the woman stated, bluntly.

“And what act are you going to do tonight?”

Lucia scoffed and turned her nose up at Nicki, despite being the shorter of the two. “I’ll have you know that what you are about to witness is no act. I am an adept scholar of all things arcane. When it comes to magic, there is nobody better than I am. Like I said, I’m a prodigy.”

“So in other words, you’re a magician and you’re going to do a trick,” Nicki smirked, looking to Lucia’s left hand. “A card trick, I’m guessing?”

“Nicole Stevens! Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks!” Lucia barked at the presenter. “The display I am about to put on for you is no mere illusion. I am going to tap into your aura and blow you away!” She took a breath and continued, though with a much calmer tone. “I just require one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“I need someone to perform my routine with. A volunteer, in other words.”

“Not a glamorous assistant? Though good luck finding someone as glamorous as I am in here!” Nicki says, giving a wry look to the camera as she teasingly played with her hair.

The self-styled scholar cleared her throat. “Like I said, I’m no mere magician so I don’t need a ‘glamorous assistant’,” she said, before muttering under her breath, “though no doubt there are plenty of people out there who would love to see you bisected.”

“What was that?” Nicki asked, glaring at Lutia.

“An unimportant aside,” said the purple-haired woman as she opened the top of the box. As Nicki suspected, she had a deck of cards. “Now, as our tonight’s not-so-gracious host got right, I am going to perform with these,” she said, turning to the audience and placing the cards face-down on her outstretched right palm, before picking the cards up with her left hand and letting them drop back into place. She then split the deck and put the cards into a pair of great fan-like arrangements, crossing her arms over and letting the audience view them. “Fifty-four absolutely standard playing cards, including two Jokers. As I’m a mage of profound genius, I have split them exactly evenly, twenty-seven in each hand.” She then turned them so the audience could see the faces of the cards. Sure enough, every card was different – even the two Jokers were, being a red one and a black one. “What I will now do is reunite the two half-decks.” In a swift movement, the two great fans returned to being piles in Lucia’s hands. She placed the cards in her left hand on top of the ones in her right hand, making sure they all faced down. “Next, I will shuffle them.” Her hands moved like a blur. She closed her eyes, not looking at them for even a split second, before stopping. Somehow, not a single card was missing, and they were all neatly in a pile on her left palm, still facing down. “Nicole, draw the top card and look at it.”

Nicki drew the card and looked. “I’ve seen enough of these to know not to tell you or let you see the card,” she chuckled.

“My eyes shall remain closed, but you may show the audience the card if you wish,” Lucia said quietly.

“Very well then,” Nicki said, showing her card to a nearby camera. It was the Eight of Clubs.

“Now place your card back on top of the deck. Do not let me see what card it is,” instructed the mage. Nicki followed the instructions to the letter. “Now, once again I must shuffle the deck.”

As Lucia’s hands once again became a blur, Nicki asked a question. “So, Great and Powerful Lucia, do you perform this tr… I mean, feat of magic daily?”

“Why I do indeed. This one is my signature feat, though I’m also rather proud of one which involves live cobras. For some reason, the health and safety executive weren’t keen on me performing such a display,” Lucia shrugged her shoulders as she kept shuffling.

“So you perform a card trick that requires you to shuffle the deck every day.”

“That’s correct.”

Nicki gave a cheesy grin. “So, everyday you’re shufflin’!” she sang.

Lutia gave a sigh that was a mix of contempt and impatience. “I’m not sure which has gotten worse with age – that joke or the song it’s derived from.” She then placed the cards back in the box. “Now, here is where the magic truly begins.” Lucia pulled the top of her dress open and placed the card box between her breasts, much to the delight and shock of the crowd. She let go of the neckline before stretching her arms out and jumping on the spot. “Occumbo!” she called out as she raised into the air, her breasts jiggling. As she landed, the card box fell between her legs, onto the floor. She then crouched down to pick the box up. “Here, Nicole,” she said, passing it to the presenter. “Have a look in there and see if you can find your card.”

Nicki opened the box and took the cards out. “Okay, I’m not seeing it yet,” she said as she flicked through it, with Lucia looking over her shoulder. “No, I don’t think it’s in here,” she said as she kept looking through. “Oh, I just found the Ace of Spades again. Nope, not there.”

“Then where do you suppose it is,” Lucia smirked, looking to her chest.

“You mean it’s…?” the redhead blushed as the violet-haired woman tapped her left bosom with her index finger, pointing between her breasts. “Are you asking me to…”

Lucia giggled. “Stick your hand down my dress? Well, how else are you going to get that card?”

Nicki looked away and covered her eyes with her left hand, trying to put on a brave smile as she reached down Lucia’s chest with her right hand. “I can’t believe this is the first act!” she said, blushing, though she was drowned out by the jubilant whooping from the studio audience. After running her hand hesitantly between Lucia’s breasts for a good five seconds, she thought she felt something thin and papery. “Ah, think I’ve got it!”

“Already? Strange. You took less time to find the card between my breasts than most people do,” Lucia smirked. “Well, go on. Is that your card?”

Nicki cleared her throat, but then looked to the card. “Actually, yeah. That’s the Eight of Clubs, which is what I picked earlier!” The audience clapped as Nicki showed the card to the camera. Sure enough, the trick seemed to have worked. “However, embarrassing as that was, it’s nothing compared to what Lucia might have to face in a moment.”

“Oh really now? What could be more embarrassing than having to touch a strange woman’s bosom?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Nicki beamed as light struck the previously darkened part of the studio. There was a small room surrounded by thick, yellow wooden walls. The exterior was made to look the entrance to some sort of medieval dungeon. “What happens now is you have to enter my Chamber of Judgement. Once you’re inside, the audience will vote for if you deserve the cash, or if you deserve to be trashed!”

Lucia looked at it and smirked. “And knowing your curriculum vitae, the ‘trashing’ would involve lashings of gunge, would it not?”

“You know me so well, Lucia!” chuckled the presenter. “If I may ask you to take your shoes off and step into the Chamber…” As she started the instruction, Lucia lifted her right foot up and pulled her boot off, followed by the tiny white sock she had on underneath. “I never said you had to take your socks off too,” said Nicki as Lucia placed her now-bare foot on the ground and gave her toes, which had the same polish on the nails as her fingers, a brief wiggle.

“I expect I’ve proven myself worthy of victory, but in case I haven’t, I’d rather not be forced to stand around in soggy socks,” Lucia said as she stripped her right foot of its boot and sock. “But, one thing I must know,” she started as she removed her cape and let it fall to the floor. “Would you really be more embarrassed if you were to be gunged than you were when you touched my breasts?”

“I’d be mortified! Now, go stand in the Chamber of Judgement!” Nicki said, pointing to the chamber. Lucia obliged and stood in the middle of the small space, looking around to see if she could spot any obvious nozzles or trapdoors from which the gunge might seep out and splatter her. As confident and self-important as she was before, she suddenly felt very nervous and vulnerable. Her heart raced as Nicki called out, “Okay, if you were bewitched by Lucia’s card skills, vote ‘cash’. If you want to see Lucia looking like a loser, vote ‘trash’. Everyone vote now!”

The audience all pressed their buttons as Lutia put her hands together and kept looking around to see where the gunge might spew forth from. Her toes twitched nervously as she wondered just what exactly might happen if she got the “trash” vote. Eventually, the voting stopped and red lights turned on inside the Chamber of Judgement. “Ooh, tough break, Lutia! For your next trick, we make your cleanliness disappear!”

Lutia looked to Nicki as the presenter spoke, and gave a brave little laugh, which in turn proved to be a bit of a costly blunder. Without her noticing, a door opened up above her head, and thick, cold, lumpy yellow gunge with a strong smell of dairy fell down onto her. It splattered on her head, turning her violet hair into a clumpy, matted and very sticky mess. She wailed as it hit her, before two waves of glossy-coloured gunge flew out of the walls at her. From her left she got splattered with crimson slop, and from her right it was royal blue, both of which smelled of cheap, noxious perfume. All she could do was stand there, frozen in shock like a small, helpless animal that was about to be turned into roadkill. Her thin, flowing dress did very little to protect her, and she could feel it seeping through and sticking her clothes to her body. Underneath her dress, a black thong could be seen, but the coldness of the gunge had set her nipples on edge, and the transparency of her dress’s fabric made it clear to the audience (as opposed to just Nicki) that she hadn’t been wearing a bra for that routine. She shivered as the colourful sludge trickled down her body and pooled at her bare feet. The sensation of the cold gunge going between her sensitive toes made her squirm a little. “Eurgh, gross!” she shuddered as her toes curled. Her dress made a horrible squelching noise as she pulled it up to try and prevent a wardrobe malfunction.

“Well, that was one heck of a gunging! Who wants to see a replay?” Nicki asked. The crowd roared back in appreciation. “Well, here you go!”

The replays begin, first showing initial Lucia’s gunging in slow-motion from the front. This time, the slimy sorceress had the chance to watch it herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to. As the yellow gunge fell on the replay, she looked away and probably would have blushed, though the thick coating of the lumpy yellow sludge on her face made it difficult to tell. She caught a shot from above, again showing the initial yellow gunge falling onto the top of her head. This time she looked, just to see how badly the gunge had messed up her hair. She patted it with  her right hand and sure enough, it felt very sticky. She couldn’t bring herself to watch the rest of the replays, and just looked down at the floor, pouting.

“Well Lucia, thank you for coming on the show and being a good sport. Too bad you didn’t win, but I hope you enjoyed your time on the show,” Nicki said, waving as Lucia walked off the stage, leaving a trail of goo behind her. “I know I certainly did!”

Lucia then arrived in front of a camera. “I can’t believe the British public have no appreciation for my genius and talent! I earned that money, regardless of what they think, but instead they had me covered in disgusting gunk!”

The camera cut to some people in the audience. The first one was a balding middle-aged man. “Well, I voted for her to win the cash. That tit trick was brilliant!”

A young blonde woman was next to give her thoughts. “I didn’t like her from the moment she got on the stage. She had such a big ego and that trick was so clearly for the lads that I couldn’t stand her. So glad she got gunged!”

The camera returned to Nicki. “Well, that was certainly something. I’m going to get a coffee and let the Build Team clean up the Chamber of Judgement. Join us in a few minutes for more Cash or Trash!”

I was only going to do this as a little aside… so of course I wrote nearly 2900 words. Still, I’ll probably do these as and when I fancy them. I’ve got a few ideas for contestants, but I’m open to suggestions. Future ones will have less of the description that was present at the beginning and two contestants, not all of whom will be getting messy. Can’t let it get too predictable, after all!

Sian bursts onto the stage, beaming and waving to the boisterous and humilitainment-hungry audience.

Sian: Thank you! Thank you so much! Woo! I’m Sian Welby and you’re watching Comeuppance, the only show that allows you to get revenge on those professions that wind you up, rip you off, and wear you down! Tonight we shall meet three representatives of such professions – no actors, no celebs, just ordinary folk who work day-in-day-out in these troublesome trades. Each will put their case, then you decide who gets put in their place! What is that place? It is of course our super-sucky yucky Mucky Dip!

While the audience whoops and cheers, a high-set camera surveys the portentous vat. A dense dry-ice fog flows over the rim, intermittently rising and surging as if something is stirring beneath.

Sian gingerly approaches the Dip, brandishing a stethoscope.

Sian: You’ll have to wait until later to see exactly what lurks within, but now, for the first time, we’re going to hear what goes in the dire depths!

Wincing, Sian places the stethoscope against the wall of the vat. Bubbling, gurgling and squelching reverberate around the studio. The music of Chris de Burgh can also be faintly heard.

Sian: [withdrawing stethoscope and sidling away] Now that sounds nasty, doesn’t it? But when it comes to the wrongdoers on this show, we can’t make things nasty enough! Let’s get on with meeting them!

The market researcher
Sian: Languishing in purgatory from the previous episode, we have Gail – a 28-year-old market researcher from Edinburgh.

The audience boos and hisses while Sian’s pair of uniformed henchmen wheel on the caged blonde.

Sian: Now Gail, we didn’t get very far with your interrogation last week, because every time I tried to ask a question, you responded with a potted survey question of your own!

Gail: [in a sugar-coated voice] I’m sorry to hear that Sian. How should I respond this time: one-word answers, lengthy expositions—

Sian: You’re doing it again!

Gail opens her mouth to speak.

Sian: [snapping fingers together] Np!!

Gail falls silent.

Sian: You actually led last week’s poll for quite a way, so for your own sake you better behave yourself. And after that episode aired, a few people contacted us saying they’ve received cold calls from you, even though they’re registered with the Telephone Preference Service!

Gail: [smugly] Ah, interesting fact: market research isn’t covered by TPS. We’re not selling anything, you see.

Sian: Except that you are! You’re selling the data you collect to other companies, who will more likely than not bombard the poor householder with even more cold calls!

Gail: Actually, the whole point of my surveys is to assess a householder’s socioeconomic status and consumer profile. That way, they can receive more cold-uh… more marketing correspondence regarding what interests them, and less regarding what doesn’t. So one simple, straightforward, 45-minute survey with me, and a lot of those unwanted calls will go away.

Sian: Forty-five minutes!? And what if the householder declines?

Gail: [voice hardens but smile remains painted on] Well, we won’t know what they do and don’t like, so they’ll receive marketing correspondence for pretty much everything!

Sian: [staring aghast] Right, so your approach is “answer my questions, or I’ll unleash a flood of cold calls on you!” That’s not market research, Gail. It’s a protection racket!

The audience boos profusely.

Gail: [looks round sheepishly] More Nectar points, anyone?

Sian: Screw the Nectar points! What people would really like to see is you make a cold call – a cold, sticky, stinky call – into the Mucky Dip!

The audience cheers at the thought. Gail folds her arms and shudders.

Sian: [to the camera] And I’m sure you’re all raring to dial in to make that happen, but please hold on until you’ve seen who Gail’s up against.

The used car dealer
Sian: Next up in tonight’s selection is Ashley. She’s also 28, she’s from Swindon, and she’s been selling used cars for the past five years.

Ashley is wheeled on-stage to the standard reception.

Sian: Ashley, when people are asked to picture a used car dealer, they imagine a man – bad suit, greasy hair, moustache, willing to flog a rust-bucket to his own grandmother! Are you female dealers any different?

Ashley: Well we don’t have moustaches. I have to say Sian, the wheels on this cage are rather squeaky. Have you thought about using cars instead?

Sian: [frowning] Cars?

Ashley: Yes, why not have the contestants drive onto the stage. I have three lovely motors that are perfect for the task. Low mileage, one careful widowed owner, and a great price just for you! And as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll even do a trade-in on these cages.

Sian: We’re happy with the cages, thank you.

Ashley: Price not good enough, eh? [Scratches her head with a world-weary sigh] You’re taking food from my kids’ mouths, Sian… but seeing as you’re buying three together, I guess I can knock a bit off.

Sian: We don’t want any cars! Now let’s get back on topic, shall we? We had an estate agent on a while back, and she was bad enough, but you lot win hands-down for aggressive and manipulative sales techniques!

Ashley: [with an expansive shrug] If we seem pushy, it’s because we’d hate for you to miss out on a great deal! Take, for example, these three cars you’re looking to buy…

Sian: I said I’m not look—

Ashley: What kind of car do you drive currently, Sian? Don’t tell me… you’re a hatchback woman! Fuel economy, ease of parking, zip around town with the boyfriend – I get all that. But why not upgrade to a saloon for a just a little extra. As a lady driver myself, I know you’ll appreciate the personal space and power.

Sian: [exasperated] Stop trying to sell me cars!!

The audience boos and hisses.

Ashley: [with a hurt expression] I realise you have a budget, Sian – don’t we all? Look, I’ll go speak to the manager. Can’t promise anything though…

Sian: I’m the manager here, and we have a lovely vehicle for you! 15,000 litre capacity, automatic transmission, eight previous passengers, and it puts Volkswagen in the shade for noxious emissions! It could be yours to drive away by the end of the show!

The spectators show their keenness for this idea. Ashley folds her arms and pouts.

Sian: [faces the camera] And I’m confident you’re all thinking about handing the keys to Ashley…

Ashley: What’s there to think about?

Sian: [tuts] But before you seal the deal, let’s meet our third… [taps her earpiece] Ah yes, I’m supposed to do a shoutout for a hen party. Are Leah and her crew in the house?

There comes a raucous cheer from a conspicuous group of women in a rag-tag assortment of fancy dress, occupying the first three rows on the left-hand side of the seating area.

Sian: Couldn’t miss you really. But which one of you’s Leah?

A dozen fingers point at a brunette in a devil costume, seated in the middle of the mob.

Sian: Leah, hi there! Are you enjoying the show?

Leah: [smiling shyly] Yeah, I’m having a great time thanks!

Sian: Glad to hear it. Who’s the lucky feller?

Leah: Mark!

Sian: [cupping ear] Sorry, did you say Mike?

Leah and hen party: MARK!!

Sian: It’s not very congenial to chat like this. Why don’t you come up on the stage Leah? Come on, up you come!

Rather bashfully, Leah gets to her feet. Her entourage whoop and pat her on the back as she gingerly steps to the end of the row. She climbs a set of stairs and approaches Sian.

Sian: Well you’re walking straight, so you can’t be that drunk. Nice costume!

Leah: Oh, thanks Sian.

Sian: So you’re getting married to Mark. When’s the big day?

Leah: It’s in three weeks.

Sian: Lovely. And where have you travelled from?

Leah: [growing more at ease] The mighty mighty Norwich!

The hen party and no-one else cheers.

Sian: Ah well, never mind. I presume you’re not an agent of Satan on a day-to-day basis, so what’s your occupation?

Leah: I’m a hairdresser.

The audience boos, taking Leah aback.

Sian: Ooohh, they don’t like that! You wouldn’t be one of those really pricey salon hairdressers, would you?

Leah: [defensively] I run an upmarket establishment, if that’s what you mean.

Sian: [stroking chin] Yes, hmm. You see Leah, your friends have told me that you pester them to get their hair done at your salon, and then charge them an arm and a leg for it!

Leah: [glaring down at her friends] I give them a 20% discount!

Sian: Yes, and it’s still very expensive. They also tell me that you “suggest” hairstyles for them, they decline your “suggestions”, and then you do it your way regardless!

Leah: [shrugs] What can I say Sian? I love my friends dearly, but they don’t have a clue when it comes to style. I mean, look at them!

There’s an “oooOOOoo” from the audience. The camera cuts to Leah’s pals feigning offence.

Sian: Hmm, yes, they told me you’re rather snooty like that, and they’ve had enough of it. They think you need… [scratches head] oh, what was it? [Looks to hen party] Help me out, girls. What does Leah need?

Hen party: A COMEUPPANCE!!

The guards wheel out an empty cage. The audience roars while Leah squeals. Her eyes boggle and she puts her hand to her mouth, bending over double. Below, her friends cheer and clap ecstatically.

With a huge grin, Sian holds open the cage door.

Sian: Your friends have set you up good and proper! By the way, that form you signed on the way in – did you bother to read it?

Leah: [through her hands] No!

Sian: That was your agreement to take part! So come on, in you get.

Blushing, Leah reluctantly steps into the cage.

Sian: Bring a change of clothes?

Leah: Umm, I have some at the hotel!

Sian: Oh dear, could be an interesting trip back there!

Leah groans as Sian clangs the door shut. Sian strolls to the front of the stage, rubbing her hands together.

Sian: You know, I reckon our audiences will be a bit less relaxed from now on!

The audience laughs nervously.

Sian: [addressing the camera] So that concludes tonight’s line-up. Three very worthy candidates for a comeuppance, I’m sure you’ll agree, but it’s up to you, the viewers, as to which of them goes in our Mucky Dip. The numbers for voting are up on the screen. If you want to give Gail the full weight of your opinion, then dial 0900 68259 01. If you’d like to send Ashley for a test drive, the number’s 0900 68259 02. Or if you think it should be shampoo and conditioner time for Leah (look at her, she can’t believe this!) then 0900 68259 03 is what you need to dial. We’ll be back at 9 pm for an update, and then again at 10:30 for the main event! Until then, it’s over to you.

Suppose that Get Your Own Back returns for a series of 20 episodes. 19 of these feature a super-attractive 18-25 year old woman (I mean really, really, gorgeous) against a man. In every single one of these episodes the hottie avoids the gunge. In the remaining one episode, a 45-year-old woman of average attractiveness gets gunged.

A Gunging for Poor Katherine
By
Sunflower.

Katherine took a deep breath as she walked into the duel classroom. The Home Education was twice the size of your normal classroom. This was due to the fact that one area was reserved for cooking and sewing and the other area was reserved for coursework. All in all, Home Education was a good class, not a super easy class but something one would take if they needed a easy credit or good solid ‘A’.

Releasing her held in breath, she quickly moved from the doorway to her seat. Once she was seated she reached into her backpack and pulled out a lime green binder. Once the green binder was taken out, and placed down upon wooden surface of her desk, she then started the progress of fishing for a pencil or a pen.

She been rumbling around for around thirty seconds, when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of somebody peering down at her. Quickly she stopped what she was doing and paused to look up. The sight that greeted her was one that chilled her to the bone. For standing there, peering over her was her teacher. A young raven haired women who was known among all the students as ‘The Caner’ because of her love for the Cane.

“Hey there Katie.” She said with a small smile. “Its so good to see you.” She said shifting her eyes down at Katherine. “Have a minute dear heart?” She said pulling up a seat and sitting down.

Katherine could feel the tension building. Her teacher was behaving oddly nice and civil for once. Such treatment was normally only reserved for her favorite students and those privileged few who formed the upper-crust of Benton Academy Society.

“Sure..” She said, taking a deep breath. “Its your class room after all.”

The young women smiled softy and nodded her head.

“You know, The ‘Benton Fling’ is coming up. And all the profits go directly to Charity?” She said folding her arms across her chest and peering down the ridge of her nose at Katherine A pause of a few seconds then took place before the teacher pressed on. “This year, the somebody had the bright idea of building something called a ‘Gunge tank’.” She paused again.

Katherine blinked and blinked again as she looked up and peered toward the women. Slowly, her cheeks started to turn from a pastel white color, to a faint glowing reddish color. The mental image of a four posted tank, holding around sixteen gallons of slop quickly formed in her head. Sitting between the four wooden post, there could be found a wooden stool, above the seat of the wooden stool, there was a trap door, the only thing holding back the massive waterfall of goo.

“Okay.. And your reason for bringing this up Mrs. Amber?” Katherine said peering into her teachers deep, green eyes. Something about those eyes made her blood run cold again, something about there color, for they where green as a cats. And unlike most girls, Katherine hated cats, for they reminded her of the cheerleaders, who where always judging the girls who where below them in both looks and social standing.

Mrs. Amber smirked softy as she peered into Katherine’s baby blue eyes. She could feel, something akin to fear brewing deep inside her. She could almost sense the feeling of being cornered and played. The feeling that you where nothing but play dough in the hands of somebody smarter, stronger and bigger than yours, was a horrible feeling. A feeling she knew all too well from her childhood.

“Because we a willing volunteer. Somebody not on the social radar. Somebody, like you.” She said finally smiling as she did so. “I mean it is for charity, and you are quite popular in your own circle.”

Katherine blinked and blinked again. Quickly she felt her cheeks flush with color as her brain tried to process the words that her teacher just spoke to her. Thirty seconds passed before she could mutter out a few words and when she did it was a string of pure disbelief.

“What!” She loudly proclaimed.

“So I can depend on you?” She said smiling softy as she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a form. “Because, I would hate too.” She paused to built the tension. “I would hate to make a mistake while grading your upcoming final. You know, if you bomb your final. You’ll fail my class for the quarter.” She said sliding the form down upon her desk..

A sour look crossed Katherine’s face, quickly she took a deep breath. “Okay fine I’ll sign the blasted paper.” And with that she picked up a pen and in her best penmanship she started to fill in the blanks. Ending with signing the bottom space with her full name. And before the ink could dry, she handed the paper back to her teacher. The class would starting soon, and the empty classroom will be flooded with a dozen or so voices.

“Wonderful.” She said smiling softy as she folded the piece of paper and slide down into her pocket. “I knew you’ll see things my way honey.” Mrs. Amber said almost purring as she looked down at the young girl. Slowly she licked her lips as the mental image of this little tomboy, sitting in the tank, while above her, there sat a dozen of gallons of cold, slime.

Katherine took a deep breath as she watched her teacher fold the piece of paper up and slide it into her back pocket. Once the paper was secured, she folded her arms across her chest.

“One more thing dear.” She started. “You’ll need to wear something..” Her voice trailed a little as she unfolded her hands and placed her fingers upon her forehead. “You’ll need to wear something a little more lady like.” She said finally after a brief pause.

Katherine felt the heat rising in her cheekbones. Quickly she formed her lips into a cute little pout as she folded her arms under her developing breast. Then tossing her nose into the air she said.

“Pardon me?” Despite trying to keep her tone of voice neutral, one would notice a sharp rise in it from a few minutes ago.

“Nobody going to pay to see a tomboy get covered in slime.” Mrs. Amber said bluntly. “They want to see a well dressed young women get totally drenched in this mixture of applesauce and food coloring.” Then spotting a chance to sneak in a sly remark. Mrs. Amber quickly added the following. “I mean you do own a dress or two right?”

Katherine felt her jaw drop open.

“Of course I do!” She said blushing a deep ugly red color. Sure she was a tomboy, but she was not that much of a tomboy. She liked to get prettied up ever know and again. She even enjoyed the occasional trip to ‘Grand Creation‘ a hairdresser and nail salon that offered a li.

“Good.” Mrs. Amber stated flatly. “Cause, come Saturday, I fully expect you to see your prim and proper. You know, Shave your legs, your underarms. Wear a flattering dress, paint your nails and do your hair, make yourself look decent.” And with that said. Mrs. Amber turned upon her heel and walked away, leaving Katherine to stew and ponder.

Katherine took a deep breath as she peered toward the gathered crowd. It seemed all of Benton had turned up. The young teen felt remarkably exposed tonight as she wore dark blue sundress that had been decorated with white flora flowers. The dress reached down to her knee-caps, Open toe, sandals with a three inch heel.
Completed the look. She had taken Mrs. Amber’s advice to heart, if you could call it that. As such her nails and toes had both been painted a nice pastel blue color. For make-up she had chosen some peach colored lip gloss and some eyeliner. She wanted to keep things simple after all. Releasing her deep breath she peeked out onto the stage. A few members from the local volunteer fire department where hauling the tank onto stage.

Katherine whimpered softy as the strong shouldered farmhands, manhandled the tank onto stage. The thing was not pretty to look at, having been built on site. Mr. Hammer, the instructor of the woodshop, one a three vocational programs hosted at Sharps Vocational Center had supervised the construction. Planters and Farmers or just P & F a local bank that chattered to the need of the small community had granted some three hundred dollars for the building of the thing. Smiths General Store, the only store in town, and one stop shop for most of your basic household goods, had provided the nails, lumber and everything else. Free of charge of course, this was after all a community project. And finally Ace Cleaners, had agreed to clean her dress, free of charge.

“Look on the bright side.” She said to herself. “Its all for charity.” And with that she tried to gather up her courage. Rolling the dice, she looked up again to see that the fireman had finally hauled the four posted machine into place. Machine was a textbook example of the “Simple Machine”. A simple wooden frame had been built using four wooden post. The wooden frame had been fitted onto a rough wooden platform that been outfitted with four sets of wheels. Inside the confines of the box, there sat a old barstool, something somebody savaged from storage. Above the barstool there sat a tank that was filled to the brim with what appeared to be sky blue colored apple sauce.

Then, from the other side of the stage, there appeared something that chilled her blood more than strange, and poorly build machine standing in the center of the stage. For from out from the shadows, there appeared a clown and just any clown, but Benton’s very own. Inky. With a smile upon his grease painted lips, he winked toward the gathered crowed. The fact he was pushing a trolley laden heavily with four or five homemade pies was not lost on the crowed.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman!” Inky loudly proclaimed. “I hope you’ve been enjoying this little show.” He said brining his cart to a stop. “Because, its about to get even better. Now, as you know, we have something special planned.” He paused to straighten his back and straighten his bowtie and remove his old John Deer cap. “Yes sir, we have something extra special planned for you lovely folks tonight.”

Katie took a deep breath, she hated clowns, ever since Lana had tricked her into watching ‘It’ when she was nine.. She had nursed a feeling of intense hatred and loathing for the profession. Releasing her breath and calming her beating heart, she could not help but frown as the peered toward the collection of pies, sitting upon his trolley. She had a pretty good idea what those pies where going to used for, and eating was not high on the list.

“Now.” The clown said taking a deep breath. “Mrs. Amber, told me that one of her students. A sweet little belle by the name of Katie has so kindly agreed to take the sauce tonight.” His voice was thick with the accented that marked him as a member of the hill folks. A rough, low, drawn out tone of voice.

A loud applause arose from the gathered crowed.

Whimpering a little, Katie slowly made her way onto stage. Forcing a small smile, she offered everybody gathered around the wooden raised platform a little wave. Then steeling herself, she paused and peered toward Ink, who was holding the door of the tank open for her. Quickly crossing herself she stepped into the confines of the tank. In a last ditch effort to maintain some manner of self control, she smoothed out her dress as she perched herself upon the old barstool. Once she was seated, Inky, the clown from hell. Closed the door. Once the door was closed, he secured it with a piece of tie down cord.

“Now folks!” He said walking around the booth and taking the cord that would release the mess tightly into his grip. “Ya’ll give me a count down, and we’ll slop this little lady real good!”
Katie could only blink her eyes, before the landslide of chilled applesauce fell down upon her head. For a minute, everything was on solid color, as the near frozen mixture splattered down upon her head, a second later, her perfectly curled hair was in a state of pure ruin. As the pressure built, the mixture rolled down her back and coated her bare shoulders, chilling her to the bone and making her gag on the smell along. Her thin cotton dress was soon soaked to the gills with the oily mixture of crushed apples.

The crowed roared with laughter and shouted out catcalls with gusto. Another wave followed the first one, the second batch had been left uncolored or its natural tan color rained down upon the remaining specks of pink. As the second wave of cold slush poured down upon her, the first wave pushed deeper and deeper into her dress’s, chilling her to her core. Her pretty little party dress had been reduced to a ruins state in only thirty or so seconds.

“Wow.” Inky said smirking a little as he reached down and picked up a fine looking Buttermilk chest pie. “I think somebody deserves a treat for being such a good sport. What do you say boys and girls?” Balancing the pie in one hand and opening the door with the he stepped in. He caught Katie trying to remove the bulk of the frozen mush by raking it off with her hands. Grinning like mad man he upturned the pie over he head, smashing the heavy treat onto her already ruined hair.

This brought a loud round of cheers and cat calls from the gathered people. Katie forced herself to look down, she could fell the trust and the filling of the pie sliding down her dress. Her cheeks where flushing a deep red under the layers of mess. All of there laughter, all of there cheering all of there jeers and catcalls where for her. And that made her feel almost worthless. Soon she could feel hot salty tears building.

“Now, now don’t you cry.” Inky said smiling softy as he peered toward her. He walked over to the trolley and picked up too thick pies. Balancing one pie in each palm of his hand. He walked over to the booth. Smiling a wicked smile, he brought both pies smacking into Katie head. Katie world turned white as cream covered her head, clogged her ears.

A roaring laughter ushered from the throats of all.

Katie could only place her hands in the palm of her hand and gently cry to the sound of a hundred or so different laughs.

The scene opens with Sian standing in front of the Mucky dip, the suspended chair at stage-level to one side of her.

Sian: Welcome back to Comeuppance, with me Sian Welby! In tonight’s vote we have market researcher Gail, used car dealer Ashley, and last but not least, hairdresser Leah, who thought she was here for a pleasant hen night! Thanks to everyone who’s voted so far.

Sian ambles over to the contestant holding zone.

Sian: Ladies, I have at my disposal the interim scores. Perhaps they’ll reveal who’s cruising to safety and who’s heading for a comeuppance; perhaps they’ll be as marginal as they were last week. Either way, you’re going to have to wait in suspense while tonight’s Mucky Dip is unveiled in all its ghastliness! So without further ado…

Audience: LET’S PREVIEW THE GOO!!!

As always, an overhead camera provides a top-down glimpse into the Mucky Dip. The design that greets the audience members, TV viewers, and above all contestants is the most colourful so far, resembling a rainbow tie-dye. Firey reds, sunny oranges, dazzling yellows, lush greens, fresh blues, cool indigos and trippy magentas blend and swirl in an imprecise spiral.

The scene switches to the rimside camera, away from which the vivid gunk stretches like a vast, psychadelic landscape. It is evidently extremely thick, drifting into layered plateaus and shallow valleys. The surface is matte and slightly crusted, like blancmange left out from last night’s party, but the boldness of the colour makes up for this dull finish.

While all this is going on an inset box shuffles through the reactions of the potential comeuppancees, none of whom look too enamored with the Muck they could be meeting. Gail reverts to chewing her nails, her eyes darting as if trying to keep track of survey answers. Ashley furrows her brow and breathes deeply, as if contemplating a sales strategy for a particularly stubborn customer. Leah slowly shakes her head with a stupefied half-smile, still struggling to believe that she is in this situation.

Sian: Wow, what a technicolour dreamcoat for one our contestants! And I can vouch that there’s a similarly lucid spectrum of aromas drifting down from the Dip, none of them sweet – or even savoury! So ladies, hold that dazzling display in your heads while we reveal those mid-way scores:

Leah’s jaw drops the best part of the way to the floor. Down in the spectators’ area, her friends celebrate giddily. Ashley and Gail exchange smug glances through the bars of their cages.

Sian: [chucking] Well, uh, not exactly a tie this week, is it? We almost ran out room on the screen for all your votes, Leah!

Leah: Arrghhh!! Why’s everyone voting for me?!

Sian: Can’t say for sure, hun, although we have had a lot of calls from some guy called Mark! [Looks around at crew] Guys, how about we do the Mucky Dip now and knock off early?

Leah: [horrified] You can’t do that!!

Sian: I’m only joshing. We pride ourselves on doing things by the book, and besides, anything can happen on Comeuppance! So in that vein, each of you will now tell the public why you shouldn’t do time in our colourful slime. Ashley, you may be a long way from the lead, but the battle for that coveted third place is very much on. You have fifteen seconds to sell yourself like an old banger that’s twice round the clock.

Ashley: [adopts a gleaming smile and points at the camera in a slightly aggressive manner] Is it your lucky day or is it your lucky day?! I’ve got some top deals for you! Classic coupés, executive estates, sexy sports – yours to drive away in exchange for just one Jammy Dodger trophy! (plus some money)

The klaxon pierces the air, followed by some muted boos.

Sian: Never miss an opportunity, do you Ash? Gail, let’s hear from you.

Gail: [Spreads her arms in a shrug and grins smarmily] What do I have to worry about? I only need to come second, and the margin is huge! Opinion polls may be wrong, but never that wrong. [Puffs herself up] If I get voted for a Comeuppance, I’ll kiss a pig as I go into the Mucky Dip!

The Klaxon blasts just as Gail finishes. There follows a moderate level of booing and some scoffs at her confident assertion.

Sian: [smirks] Be assured that we will hold you to that! [Turns to Leah] But Gail’s right; things are looking pretty dire for you! But I realise we didn’t give you as much time as the other two to explain yourself earlier, so we’re going to be generous and double up your appeal to thirty seconds. You’re going to need every one of them. Go!

Leah: [earnestly as possible, doing her best to ignore the faces her friends are pulling at her] Come on guys! I know that hen nights are about pranks, but this is going too far! I’ve got to get married in three weeks, and I can’t walk down the aisle smelling of fish or with my hair a strange tint! I’m an excellent hairdresser, my tariff is very reasonable, and I only modify my friends’ requests for their own good. They’ve been very sly in setting me up like this; don’t give them the satisfaction of getting me gunked!

The Klaxon thunders, followed by a cacophony of booing and heckling led by the hen party.

Hen party: MUCKY DIP! MUCKY DIP!

Rest of audience: [catching on] MUCKY DIP!! MUCKY DIP!!

Sian: [holding up her hands as she walks to the edge of the stage] Ok, thank you! Thank you!! You’ve made your point! THAT’LL DO!!

Eventually calm restores to the studio.

Sian: Well folks, this is the most one-sided vote we’ve held so far – the kind of situation the director calls a “Nicola Stapleton”. Is Leah’s comeuppance in the bag, or are we all in for a big surprise? It all depends on what you the public decide, so keep those votes a-flowing. See you in a bit!

Evening All,

We have now passed the halfway mark in the first round of the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix. Results for matches 129-160 are posted below:

You will note from the list that there are still a couple of results outstanding. Taeler Hendrix v Amy Schemer finished as a tie, and so the vote on that has reopened for a further 24 hours to determine a winner.

With Leah Owens v Kelly Clarkson, it appears I failed to set the vote correctly, which means it ended after just one vote had been cast. Therefore I have reopened the vote on this match for a further week.

Matches 161-192 go live tomorrow at 8pm, so stay tuned and get voting!