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Commission: Saturday Splatdown

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This is a story that a member of the community commissioned (paid me to write) about a year ago. The characters are based on his friends but names have been changed in the version below.

He is commissioning a sequel from me (and it will probably be posted publicly like this one), so feedback or suggestions for games would be greatly appreciated.

Introduction

“This is it, I guess,” enthused Jenny, as the quartet posed backstage for a pre-show photo. “May the best team win!”

“Conceding defeat already?” smirked Bethany.

“Nope, claiming victory,” retorted Eve, a competitive glint in her eye.

Meanwhile, in the studio, a stagehand raised an “applause” sign. The audience complied, their cheers and whistles all but drowning out the tacky theme music. The show’s title descended from the ceiling in giant gold lettering, and two women emerged from an archway at the center of the stage. The first was a tall dark-brunette, dressed in a bottle-green evening gown. She smiled confidently at the clapping spectators. A brunette of lighter shade followed in a short white dress, less self-assured and mindful to keep a few steps behind.

“Good Evening!” beamed the green-clad woman. “Welcome to Saturday Splatdown – a brand new game-show that pits brains and brawn in a battle to the messy end! My name’s Shawna.”

“And I’m Lindsey,” added the girl in white.

“Two teams are competing tonight,” announced Shawna. “One will win a fantastic prize…”

An “oooooo” went up from the audience, again prompted by the stagehand.

“…and the other will get a nasty surprise! So Lindsey, please introduce the teams!”

“With pleasure,” smiled Lindsey. “On the red team, we have Hannah and Bethany!”

The pair strolled on to hearty applause. Hannah, elegantly attired in a strapless gray-blue dress and with curly brown hair just past her shoulders, flashed a broad smile. Bethany – who bore Asiatic features, an olive complexion, and straight, dark hair – also beamed, thrilled to be on TV. Her dark-green dress was more conservatively cut than Hannah’s, but equally glamorous. Only a scarlet sash around each girl’s waist indicated their team.

“Welcome both,” smiled Shawna. “Now Hannah, I understand you’re a budding journalist; will you be writing a review of the show?”

“Could well be. If you want me to say nice things, you’ll have to let us win,” Hannah winked.

“Ooo, nice try, but I’m not open to bribes,” laughed Shawna. “Bethany, you list sports and fitness among your interests; reckon that’ll stand you in good stead tonight?”

“Yes, I think so,” Bethany nodded. “I enjoy physical challenges.” She looked round nervously. “I just hope I don’t get too messy!”

“Oh I’m sure that won’t happen!” said Shawna, before feigning laughter behind her hand. “Anyway, that’s the red team. Now let’s bring on the blues!”

“Tonight’s blue team are Eve and Jenny!” announced Lindsey.

The blue-sashed pair jogged on, impatient at their opponents’ hogging of the limelight.

Eve, with long, mid-brown hair, wore a patterned dress on her full yet athletic figure, and an expression of steely determination on her face. By contrast, her champagne-blonde, petite-framed partner Jenny grinned zanily as she scampered center-stage in a polka-dotted black dress.

“Welcome you two,” beamed Shawna. “Now Jenny, you’re a scientist. Are you counting on your logical skills to see you through?”

“Here’s hoping,” grinned Jenny. “Though as Eve will tell you, I’m prone to blonde moments.” Eve pursed her lips and nodded.

“Eve, it says here you’re very competitive,” Shawna read from her card. “Good thing, because trust me, this is a game you don’t want to lose.”

“The reds’ll just have to deal with it,” smirked Eve.

“Fighting talk! I like it!” Shawna rubbed her hands together. “Have to say girls, you’re all looking very smart tonight.”

“We’ve just been at a wedding,” explained Jenny. “We saw a billboard advertising for contestants, and we thought, why not?”

“Ah-ha! You know each other already?”

“Yep, we’re all friends,” confirmed Hannah.

“Hmm, but will your friendship survive the heat of the competition?” Shawna raised an eyebrow. “You see Ladies, you’ll be competing for points in our five rounds. The team with more points at the end wins – simple as that. Lindsey, tell us what they’ll win.”

“Tonight’s prize is a fortnight at a five-star resort in Cancun!” revealed Lindsey, while idyllic images of white coastline, blue skies and sun-baked tourists flashed on a screen. “Our lucky winners can enjoy tanning on the beach, getting pampered in the spa, and chatting up the boys in the bars and nightclubs. The prize includes first class flights, and we’re even throwing in $2000 spending money to help things go with a bang!”

The audience wooed once more. The girls’ eyes lit up.

“That’s one fabulous vacation,” whistled Shawna.

“Sure is,” nodded Lindsey, in a woodenly scripted spiel. “It’ll suck for the losers to miss out on that.”

“But Lindsey, you’re forgetting; the losers get an exciting trip too!” Shawna led everyone to a corner. “Behold! The Train of Terror!”

The so-called “train” was little more than two wire-mesh seats and a safety bar, offering potential passengers little protection from the elements. It was mounted on a track that snaked around the stage’s perimeter. A multitude of pipes, nozzles and hoppers lay in wait along the route.

“Ooh yeah, the losers are gonna be taking a ride!” Shawna grinned wickedly. “And although you’ll miss out on Cancun’s beaches, you’ll still get to wear bikinis! Lindsey, if you could please demonstrate the forfeit-wear…”

Suppressing a sigh, Lindsey undid her dress and let it fall to the floor, revealing a skimpy, white string-bikini with “LOSER” printed across each cup and vertically down the crotch. Lindsey twirled, blushing at the ensuing wolf-whistles. The bikini left nothing but the essentials to the imagination.

“What do you think ladies?” smirked Shawna.

The girls’ faces spoke for them. Even Bethany, something of an exhibitionist, looked terrified at the thought of being messed in such a skimpy outfit.

Shawna looked round with satisfaction. “So girls, now that you know how high the stakes are, Let’s go play the first round!”

Round 1: Brainbox Bake Shop

While Lindsey sprinted to the wardrobe department, Shawna led the four contestants to another area of the stage, set out like a traditional bakery. A red and blue table faced each other, each with two stools. Shawna directed the girls to their respective team tables, then stood at a small counter between them.

“Round one is Brainbox Bake Shop,” said Shawna. “I’m going to ask some questions; if you think you know the answer, buzz in.”

Each contestant saw she had a buzzer before her.

“Answer correctly, and you’ll win ten points. You’ll also get to choose an opponent to receive a cake, courtesy of Lindsey… where is she? Lindsey!!”

“Coming!” Lindsey hurried over in a risqué waitress uniform, wheeling a trolley piled high with cakes, pies and pastries. The girls eyed the wares and then each other apprehensively.

“However, get it wrong,” Shawna continued, “then your opponents will get the ten points, and your team-mate will get caked.”

“Ooo, that’s mean,” remarked Hannah.

“Mean is my middle name!” grinned Shawna. She picked up the question cards. “And by the way girls, strictly no conferring. Hands on buzzers, here comes the first question: which president was assassinated in 1881?”

Immediately a buzzer sounded and a blue light lit up around Eve. “James A. Garfield!” she shouted.

“Correct!” replied Shawna. “Ten points to the blues. Eve, choose one of the reds to pie.”

Eve grinned. “Well, Bethany was acting a bit big for her boots earlier, so let’s give her a cake!”

“Wow Bethany, first ever mess on the show! Aren’t you privileged?” crooned Shawna. “See to it, Lindsey!”

Bethany certainly didn’t feel privileged. She scowled at Eve, then grimaced and tensed as Lindsey approached with a key lime pie, mounded high with cream. “Sorry,” whispered Lindsey as she put one hand on the back of Bethany’s head and smashed the pie with the other, while a squelching sound effect played. Bethany’s face was left a mask of greenish-white goo. Blobs of cream plopped down onto her chest and dress. She squawked in distress as she wiped her eyes, her humiliation all too clear.

“I don’t think Bethany liked that!” chuckled Shawna. “Next question: how many incisors does a human adult have?”

The same buzzer tone sounded, but this time Jenny’s segment lit up. “Eight,” she asserted.

“Correct!” affirmed Shawna, “Who gets the cake?”

Jenny smiled. “I’ll choose Hannah to even things up.”

Lindsey picked a chocolate torte from the trolley. Hannah pouted in exaggerated horror, perhaps attempting to hide any genuine nerves. Lindsey planted the torte,turning Hannah’s face a glistening brown. Globs of cream and syrup hung from her curly hair and dripped onto her strapless shoulders. “At least it tastes good!” She licked her fingers.

“Question number 3,” read Shawna. “Which English rock group released ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ in 1973?”

Bethany lunged for her buzzer – it guaranteed she wouldn’t get messy. “Queen!”she blurted.

“Queen?!” exclaimed Hannah. “It’s Pink Floyd!”

“Hannah’s right, but it’s another cake for her!” cried Shawna. Hannah smiled wryly as Lindsey hit her with a coconut cream pie. Lindsey pushed the pie upwards onto Hannah’s head, plastering her hair with white.

“Ok, next question,” read Shawna. “Which two countries fought the ‘Winter War’ of 1939/40?”

Hannah’s segment lit up. “Finland and Russia.”

“Uh-uh, Finland and the Soviet Union,” replied Shawna. Hannah cursed under her breath. “Bethany, guess what!”

Bethany whimpered as Lindsey selected a cherry pie. Lindsey went easy and plonked the pie onto Bethany’s head, causing red to splatter down her hair.

“Forty points to zilch,” noted Shawna. “A clean sweep so far for the blues – in every sense.” Indeed Eve and Jenny did look self-gratified. “Next question: which sporting event was held in Turin in 2006, Vancouver in 2010, and Sochi in 2014?”

Hannah buzzed in. “The Winter Olympics!”

“…is correct! Congratulations reds, you’re away! Who’d you like to cake?”

“I think Eve needs that smile wiped off her face,” said Hannah without hesitation. Eve frowned as Lindsey delivered a custard pie to her face, turning it a gunky yellow.

“The color suits you, Eve!” chuckled Shawna. “Next question: which countries are in the G7?”

Hannah and Jenny both raced for their buzzers, but Jenny was a whisker ahead. “United States, Canada… uh, United Kingdom, France, Germany… uh Japan. Damn, what else?” She turned to Eve. “Do you reckon Aus…”

“NO CONFERING!” screamed Shawna. White foam sprayed from the table at Jenny and Eve, coating their faces and fronts. Jenny screamed hysterically and Eve huffed. The reds laughed.

“That’s what you get for disobeying,” shrugged Shawna. “Jenny, you’d better finish your answer quick.”

“Oh oh oh!” Jenny flapped. “Australia and New Zealand.”

Shawna gave a confused smile. “Jenny, that’s eight countries. There’s a clue in G seven.”

“Damn!” Jenny palmed her foamy forehead as the audience laughed.

“One of your blonde moments?” teased Shawna. “Anyway, neither Australia nor New Zealand are right; the country you wanted is Italy. Eve, another treat for you!”

“Sorry Eve,” whispered Jenny. Eve was mostly pissed at conceding the points, but her forfeit added insult to injury. Lindsey planted a treacle tart in Eve’s face and smeared it over her head, covering the yellow custard with dark brown goo.

“Final question,” read Shawna. “Phobos and Deimos are moons of which planet?”

Eve whacked her buzzer, determined to claw back the lost points. “Mars!” she barked. “And I’ll pie Hannah.”

“Woah, steady on, Ms Confident!” exclaimed Shawna. “The answer is in fact…”

“But I’m sure it’s Mars,” frowned Eve.

“…Mars!” confirmed Shawna. “See to Hannah, Lindsey!”

Lindsey dutifully sandwiched Hannah’s head between two lemon meringues, leaving her to contend with Eve for messiest contestant as the round ended. Jenny sighed with relief, having only got the foam.

“And so, the reds have twenty points,” Shawna announced, “but sprinting off to an early lead are the blues with fifty!”

Eve and Jenny whooped and high-fived, while Hannah and Bethany commiserated.

“It’s time for a commercial break,” said Shawna, “but stay with us, cos the mess is just getting started!”

The segment played out with replays of the cakings.

Round 2: Dunkin’ Donuts

“Welcome back to Saturday Splatdown!” smiled Shawna, standing with the contestants. The girls still wore their formal-wear and, despite a quick toweling during the break, their faces and hair remained streaked. “One round down and the blues lead fifty-twenty. Eve and Jenny, a strong start for you.”

“Yep, we’re starting as we mean to go on,” grinned Eve.

“Reds, you were slow out of the blocks there. Should I take your bikini measurements now?”

Bethany stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Nah, we’re just lulling the blues into a false sense of security.”

“Is that so? Well let’s see how things go in Round 2: Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s sponsored by the same-named chain, and it’s sure to get our contestants running!” announced Shawna. “Lindsey, if you’d please demonstrate…”

“Certainly!” said Lindsey, back in her white dress. “Ok girls, at the start line, you need to collect some donuts and put them around your waist. Take as many as you like, but be warned, they are heavy! Then go to our first ingredient…”

“Er, Lindsey,” Shawna interrupted. “I asked you to demonstrate.”

“I am…,” Lindsey frowned.

“Donut around your waist then.”

“Uh, ok,” Lindsey self-consciously stepped into a donut. “Then go to our first donut batter ingredient – milk!”

She gestured to a pool set into the floor. “After traversing the milk…”

“Demonstrate, Lindsey!” grinned Shawna.

Sighing, Lindsey poised at the edge. She jumped in, shrieking as she landed up to her bust, and began wading. Halfway across, a bar spanned the pool just above the surface. Lindsey grimaced and ducked under, submersing in the milk. She clambered up steps at the other side.

“The next ingredient is egg,” Lindsey shivered, her dress clinging and see-through. She entered an area where giant ‘eggs’ were suspended on ropes, intermittently rising and falling. “Break an egg using only your head.” She pogo-ed under the eggs, and after several attempts burst one. Real yellow egg splattered over her wet hair.

“Ewww,” Jenny pulled a face as she watched.

“Last, the flour!” Lindsey arrived at a sloping pit with tight netting over it. She slunk under and crawled upwards through the pit, cringing as the flour stuck to her milky, eggy form. Reaching the top, she jogged onward, trailing a white cloud.

“With your donut prepared, it’s dunking time!” Lindsey approached two dunk tanks shaped like take-out coffee cups. “Here you’ll find your team-mate waiting. Simply deposit the donuts…”

“Take a seat, Lindsey.” Shawna walked over.Sighing, Lindsey climbed onto the dunk tank.

“Drop the donuts into the slot – ten points apiece,” Shawna demonstrated. The seat collapsed, plunging Lindsey into light-brown coffee.

“And then switch places with your teammate,” Lindsey spluttered as she re-emerged, the audience applauding her efforts.

“Ok teams, decide who’s going first,” instructed Shawna.

The pairs respectively concluded that the more athletic Bethany and Eve should start as donut collectors. Hannah and Jenny assumed position on their dunk tanks.

“One more thing: drop a donut from your waist, and you lose it,” warned Shawna. “Ok, two minutes on the clock. Ready! Set! GO!!”

Bethany grabbed two donuts and put them around her waist. Seeing this, Eve opted for three, giving Bethany a head-start into the pool. Bethany screamed as the cold milk soaked her dress. She splashed through the pool in an ungainly mEver, ducking straight under at the midway bar. Eve, struggling with the unwieldy donuts, all but dive-bombed into the milk,
making a huge splash and going straight under.

Bethany climbed out and jogged to the egg area. She soon discovered that popping the moving balloons with her head wasn’t as easy as it looked, but succeeded after a few tries. Yellow egg plastered her milk-soaked hair. Bethany hated it, but with notime for griping, she raced towards the flour pit. The flour felt horrible and cloying as she crawled through it.

Meanwhile, Eve had only just reached the eggs, and began jumping. Like Bethany, she found it no easy task, especially with her three donuts, and grew angry and flustered, leaping indiscriminately. Heavily-floured, Bethany reached the reds’ dunk tank. Bracing for the fall, Hannah gripped onto her strapless dress. She plunged into the pale brown liquid, resurfacing with lank hair, but relieved her dress had stayed intact. She climbed out and went to the start line, while Bethany took over on the seat.

Jenny shouted encouragement to Eve, still stuck at the eggs. Just when things couldn’t get any worse, a donut slipped to Eve’s feet. She stooped to pick it up, but Shawna whisked it away with a shepherd’s crook.

“Uh-uh!” taunted Shawna. “Drop it, you lose it!” Eve cursed, but her luck improved and she finally smashed an egg. She plowed through the flour with her remaining donuts. Meanwhile, at the start line, Hannah grabbed two donuts and leaped into the milk. She waded to the other side as a white-crusted Eve arrived at the dunk tank, dunking Jenny. The blonde squealed in shock as she resurfaced and wrung coffee from her hair.

“Never mind that,” growled Eve, “We’re behind! Get going!”

Dripping wet, Jenny climbed out and rushed to the start line. She played it safe with one donut, much to Eve’s displeasure, and jumped into the milk. Hannah, having burst an egg, tried to negotiate the flour in her precarious dress. She emerged caked in the stuff. She deposited her donuts, sending an unwilling Bethany to a coffee bath.

“One minute!” shouted Shawna.

“COME ON!” Eve urged Jenny, who was stuck on the eggs and at risk of being lapped. Jenny broke open an egg just as Bethany exited the milk.

“Oh Yuck!” Jenny cried, as the slimy egg ran down her face. Mindful of Eve’s glare, she hurried to the flour, whining as it stuck all over her. Behind her, Bethany struck gold, bursting an egg first time. She climbed faster than Jenny, so that their arrivals at the top – and the resultant dunkings – were almost simultaneous.

“Thirty seconds!” shouted Shawna.

It was a race against time. Hannah again took two donuts. Eve threw caution to the wind and again plumped for three. She barged past Hannah and plunged into the milk, Hannah following close behind. As the pair vied for the dangling eggs, things got heated and they started bumping into one another. One of Eve’s donuts dropped to the floor in the scuffle. “Not again!” she cried.

“See you sucker!” laughed Hannah as she smashed an egg and went to tackle the flour.

Fuming, Eve headbutted an egg and got a faceful of yolk.

“Ten! Nine!…,” Shawna counted.

Rasping flour from her face, Hannah thrust her donuts into the slot, giving Bethany her second dunk.

“EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX!” the audience joined in.

With a war-cry, Eve clawed through the flour.

“FIVE! FOUR! THREE!”

Eve lunged for the slot.

“TWO! ONE!”

Screaming, Jenny made splashdown at the klaxon.

“In the nick of time there, Eve!” remarked Shawna. “Lindsey, what are the scores?”

“The reds got eight donuts, giving them 80 points,” said Lindsey, “while the blues’ five donuts get them 50 points!”

Hannah high-fived Bethany over the rim of the dunk tank. Eve stamped her foot while Jenny wallowed glumly.

“And that sets the scores at 100 apiece!” enthused Shawna. “We’re going to another break, see you in a sec!”

The show transitioned to commercials with a montage of the action.

Round 3: Card Shucks

“You’re watching Saturday Splatdown, the brand new messy game-show!” announced Shawna, sitting at a gaming table. “If you’ve joined us, let me tell you it’s neck-and-neck between the red team, Hannah and Bethany, and the blues, Eve and Jenny. I have to say girls, your wedding frocks have seen better days. Got a good dry cleaner?”

The camera zoomed out to reveal the teams seated either side. The girls had toweled off the worst but their dresses were soggy and splotched, and their hair slicked back.

“The dress won’t matter when I’m sipping cocktails on the beach,” said Eve, putting a brave face on her lackluster performance in the previous round.

“More like, it’ll be the least of your worries when you’re riding that train!” goaded Bethany.

Shawna smirked. “Famous last words, one way or another! Well, round 3 could be the big-scorer that shakes things up. It’s a game of cards, with our lovely Lindsey as dealer.”

The camera moved to Lindsey, standing in her not-so-white dress by a board, holding adeck of cards.

“Lindsey will deal the cards one by one, and the team in play can call higher or lower.

For each correct call, ten points are added to the pot. Four correct calls in a row, and you’ll win the pot, plus a 20 point bonus, and your opponents will get a ‘treat’ from above.”

The girls looked skyward to discover a chute above each of their heads.

“However, call wrong, and your opponents will win the pot, while you’ll get the ‘treat’. To avoid the risk, you can choose to bank your points and end your turn. Aces high, pairs lose, jokers win. Do you like jokes, Lindsey?”

“Maybe,” cringed the brunette.

“What a great assistant you are,” chuckled Shawna. “Ok, two turns each. We cut the cards earlier and decided that reds go first – game on!”

Lindsey placed the starting card on the board – four of hearts. Without reservation, Bethany and Hannah called “higher!”

Lindsey produced the ace of spades. The reds grinned. “Lower!

King of hearts.

“Yes! Lower!”

Six of diamonds. This time Hannah and Bethany looked unsure.

“There’s 30 points in the pot. You can bank them or call,” Shawna told them. “Call incorrectly and those 30 points will go to the blues. Call correctly you’ll win 60, including the bonus.”

The pair discussed. “More likely higher than lower,” pondered Hannah. “but it’s safer to bank.”

“I say we chance it,” argued Bethany. “Let’s call higher.”

Hannah pursed her lips before reluctantly nodding, “ok, higher.”

With a flourish, Lindsey dealt the crucial card. It was a joker.

“Reds win 60 points!” cried Shawna. “Eve and Jenny, enjoy!”

Bethany and Hannah cheered. Above the blues, bright green Nickelodeon slime descended. Eve yelped as it domed over her head, coating her hair and shoulders incopious amounts. Jenny made the mistake of looking up, screaming as she got a faceful.

“Wow blues, you should change your name to the greens – it really suits you!” laughed Shawna. “Lindsey, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the joke.”

“What joke?” gulped Lindsey.

A fountain of green slime erupted from concealed nozzles at Lindsey’s feet. She screamed as it sprayed up her dress.

“That joke!” Shawna turned to Eve and Jenny. “Your turn blues. You’ve got some points to make up. When you’re ready Lindsey!”

Squirming and wriggling her legs, Lindsey swept away the old cards and dealt a new starter – nine of hearts.

The blues deliberated. “Lower.” Lindsey dealt a jack of diamonds.

“I don’t believe…” Eve started, to be cut off by a deluge of pale-yellow semolina.

The thick pudding glooped over the girls’ heads and ran down their bodies. Jenny squealed and shook at its cold heaviness. Eve flicked back her hair and scowled.

“Bad luck blues!” tittered Shawna. “No points in the pot I’m afraid, reds, but it’s your turn again.”

Lindsey dealt two of hearts.

“This is so fixed,” muttered Eve.

“Higher!” grinned Hannah and Bethany.

Nine of diamonds.

“I guess we go lower?” Hannah ventured. Bethany concurred.

Ace of diamonds.

It was the blue’s turn to cheer as black molasses spewed out of the chutes over the screaming reds, the shiny black plastering their hair, followed by a flurry of feathers. A chicken sound effect played to compound their humiliation as the feathers stuck.

Hannah took it with a philosophical smirk; Bethany pouted with her hands on her hips.

“Oh dear, reds. Your luck ran out!” laughed Shawna. “10 points from the pot, blues.

And it’s your turn.”Lindsey dealt. Seven of diamonds.

Jenny calculated. “There are more numbers above than below, but I think there have been more high numbers dealt out than low so far, so it’s hard to tell. Maybe we should bank.”

Eve put a palm to her semolina-coated forehead. “Jenny, there’s nothing to bank! Let’s go for lower.”

“No! Higher,” interjected Jenny. “I think higher is still more probable.”

“Higher then,” nodded Eve.

Lindsey dealt. Three of hearts.

“Sorry Eve,” cringed Jenny. The heavens unleashed a torrent of chocolate batter upon them, the dark brown goo contrasting with the light semolina and bright green slime.

“See, we should have banked,” Jenny squeaked, drawing laughter from the audience.

Her once-blonde hair hung like a pair of gunky curtains. Eve looked seriously unimpressed. She folded her arms as chocolate continued to drip onto her.

“And that ends round 3,” announced Shawna. “The blues trail on 110 points, while the reds storm ahead with 160! Join us after the break!”

The gungings were replayed in slo-mo before the commercials.

Round 4: Slops ‘n’ Robbers

“Hello again! You’re watching Saturday Splatdown, where winners go on vacation, losers get humiliation!” Shawna stood by the Train of Terror with the contestants, who had undergone a more substantial cleanup and ditched their ruined formal-wear.

Instead, Jenny and Hannah were in police uniforms while Bethany and Eve had black and white striped jerseys on.

“Reds, after a faltering start you’ve steamed into the lead,” remarked Shawna. “Are you imagining yourselves on that beach in Cancun?”

“Mmmm, yeah,” gushed Bethany. “I can almost feel the sun on my skin, hear the waves…”

“We’re taking nothing for granted,” Hannah chided her. “There are still two rounds to go, and we’re fighting for every point.”

“And blues, how are these seats looking?” Shawna patted the train. Jenny whimpered and Eve flushed.

“They’re looking perfect for the reds’ butts,” Eve snapped. “We’re gonna win this!”

“Well, there are some big point-scoring opportunities ahead,” said Shawna. “So let’s play the penultimate round: Slops ‘n’ Robbers!”

They went to an area of the stage where a mural depicted a row of houses, but with real doors. Hannah and Jenny ascended stairs to the roof level of the houses, while Lindsey fixed up Bethany and Eve to bungee cords opposite, so that Bethany faced Jenny, and Eve Hannah.

“Ok, Bethany and Eve are our robbers and they’re aiming to steal bags of loot from behind the doors and bring them back to their dens. Some bags are worth 10 points, some 20, some 30 – it’s pot luck,” explained Shawna. “However, trying to make their life difficult are our cops, Jenny and Hannah, armed with foam cannons and slime balloons.”

The cops grinned and drummed their fingers together. Bethany looked rather displeased at the thought of Jenny bombarding her with mess. Eve thought only about winning the points as she readied herself.

“Two minutes on the clock,” said Shawna. “On your marks! Get Set! GO!”

Bethany and Eve leaped from start line. Initially they sprinted with ease, but as they approached the doors the bungee cords tightened and slowed them down.

Hannah and Jenny got to grips with the foam cannons, which required them to turn a handle with one hand while aiming with the other. Eve yelped at the pressure as Hannah blasted her across the chest. Jenny struggled to get her cannon working, allowing Bethany to yank open a door and grab the swag bag.

To Bethany’s disappointment it had a number 10 written on it. She sprang back on the cord and dropped it into her den. Eve, meanwhile, fought blindly forwards as Hannah sprayed foam in her face. She pulled open the door and grabbed a bag, also worth 10 points.

When Bethany returned for her second steal, Jenny switched to slime balloons. Her first throw missed Bethany but burst in front of her feet. Bethany slipped on the puddle, sliding back on her knees. As she got to her feet, Jenny lobbed a second balloon, which scored a perfect hit on Bethany’s head. Bethany scowled as blue slime splattered over her dark hair. But she persevered and opened a door, grabbing another 10-point bag.Hannah also decided to utilize the slime balloons. She dropped two on an already foamy Eve, who grimaced as first yellow, then purple slime splashed over hair and face. She battled against the bungee cord, opening a door and snatching a 20-point bounty.

The game wore on, with the robbers becoming increasingly coated as the cops alternated between their weapons. The floor became a wet slick, causing Eve and Bethany to slip and slide as they struggled to reach the doors. But despite their difficulties, both managed to rack up a few more swag bags. It appeared that Bethany had an edge on Eve, but it was impossible to be sure.

With questionable aim, Jenny wildly swung her cannon, and caught Hannah to her side.

“Heyyy!” shouted Hannah, as the foam coated her curly hair on one side. She tossed a balloon at Jenny, who screamed as the missile exploded on the side of her
head, turning her blonde hair bright red.

Jenny retaliated with a balloon of her own. Bethany turned her head in perfect time to have a shower of green gunge explode in her face.

“Bleeugh! You asked for it!” snarled Hannah, her face dripping. She turned her cannon full-beam onto Jenny. Squealing as she turned white, Jenny blindly fired back.

While the pair turned each other into foamy snow-women, the robbers took advantage to steal some swag bags unmolested.

“FIVE, FOUR, THREE…!” chanted the crowd. Eve and Bethany slid on their fronts in a last-ditch effort to get their bags home.

“TWO! ONE!!” A Klaxon sounded.

“Ok girls, stop what you’re doing!” shouted Shawna. “Stop! I said STOP!!” She was shouting not to Eve and Bethany, but to Hannah and Jenny, still engaged in tit-
for-tat warfare. Shawna turned a master stopcock to shut off the foam.

“Getting a bit carried away, ladies?” she grinned. “Lindsey, could you please count up the swag?”

Lindsey went to the red’s den and began tossing out the bags. “Ok, the reds have 3 tens, 4 twenties, and 2 thirties. That gives them 170 points!”

Bethany nodded as she wiped herself down.

“And as for the blues,” Lindsey sifted through Eve’s loot, “3 tens, 3 twenties…ARGHH!!” A slime balloon exploded on the side of Lindsey’s head, plastering her hair and face
with pink gunge. She looked round to ascertain its origin, though she already had a very good idea. Shawna stood whistling with her hands behind her back, while the audience laughed.

“Cheers Shawna,” spluttered Lindsey. “…And finally, 2 thirties. That gives the blues 150 points!”

Lying in a pool of foamy slush, Eve slapped the floor in frustration.

“And that puts the reds further ahead at 330 versus 260! Is it all over for the blues, or will they snatch victory in the final round? Keep watching to find out!” Shawna smiled at the camera before the scene cut to the customary replays.

Round 5: Sliming Bee

Shawna and the contestants stood in a darkened area of the stage. An interrogation light hung over a single wooden chair, which had cuffs attached to its arms and legs. Several yards away was a rail, and behind it a table stacked with pies and buckets. The contestants still wore the cops and robbers outfits, and had undergone minimal toweling in the intermission.

“It’s the moment of truth on Saturday Splatdown!” Shawna rubbed her hands together. “Soon we’ll know who’ll be jetting off to Cancun, and who’ll be changing into this!”

She held up a “loser” bikini top and cackled. “This is our fifth and final round – a spelling bee with a difference. It’s also an opportunity for Eve and Bethany to get revenge on Hannah and Jenny after the last round.

“You see, Hannah and Jenny, you’ll each take a turn strapped into this chair, where you’ll have 90 seconds to spell as many words correctly as you can, while Eve and Bethany will try to distract you by throwing a selection of goodies from behind the rail.

“Now, blue team, if you want to avoid riding the Train of Terror, you’re going to have make up 70 points on the reds. The good news is that this is a high-scoring round. For the first word spelled correctly, you’ll win 10 points. For the second, 20 points. Third, 30. And so on. But of course, the words will get longer and harder.

“Reds, because you have the lead, it’s your choice to go first or second.”

“We’ll go second,” answered Hannah.

Bethany nodded. “With luck we won’t need to play at all.”

“Just you wait,” growled Eve.

“Very well,” said Shawna. “Jenny, come over to the chair. Bethany, get ready behind the rail. Eve and Hannah, please head backstage with Lindsey.”

A very reluctant Jenny sat down. Shawna cuffed her wrists and ankles into place and then retreated.

“Are you ready, Jenny?”

“No, but let’s get it over with,” cringed Jenny.

“Your 90 seconds start now: Obese.”

“O…B….,” Jenny began.

SPLAT! A pie, launched by Bethany, struck her shoulder, sending cream across her chest and hair. She shrieked and jolted in the chair. “…E…S…E,” Jenny blurted, while another pie narrowly whizzed past her ear. A bell tinged.

“Correct! Cellist,” read Shawna.

Before Jenny could answer a pie smacked her in the face, coating her features with cream and creating a halo in her blonde hair. Jenny dislodged the paper plate with a flick of her head. She rasped. “C…H…”

A buzzer snarled. “Wrong!” shouted Shawna. Jenny cursed at herself. “Plateau.”

“P…L..A…TEEEE!!!” Jenny squealed as Bethany launched a bucket of ice water at her torso. “…E…U…” The buzzer sounded again.

“Recommend.”

“R…E…C…O…M…” A volley of custard splashed up one side, coating Jenny hair. She wracked her brains as to whether recommend should have one or two ‘m’s. “…M…E…N…D!” The bell dinged.

“Luxuriance.”

“L…U…X…U…R…” Jenny squirmed as sticky rice pudding splattered over her. “…I…A…N…C…E.”

Ding!

“Judiciously.”

“J…U…” Bethany launched a bucketful of eggs, which had been cracked so that the yolks remained whole. These yolks burst in little showers of yellow over Jenny’s front and face, oozing in a sea of gooey eggwhite.

“Greeeughh!” cried Jenny in disgust. “…D…I…C…I…” A bucket of blue gunge plastered her side. “O…U…S!” She waited for the ding, then remembered it was the
adverbial, not adjective form. “…L…Y!!” The bell chimed for a fourth time.

“Knowledgeable.”

“K…N…O…” Bethany switched back to the pies, launching one that hit the side of Jenny’s face. “…W…L…E…” The pies battered Jenny but she plowed on. She had gotten into the swing and was actually enjoying herself. “D…G…A…”

The buzzer damned Jenny’s efforts. She cursed.

“Transcendentalism.”

“God,” gasped Jenny. “T…R…A…”

The audience would never know if Jenny could spell transcendentalism, because the klaxon sounded to mark the end of her turn. Bethany threw one final bucket of orange gunge over her for good measure.

“Stop!” Shawna walked over and released a relieved Jenny, who took the opportunity to wipe her face. Lindsey returned with Hannah and Eve.

“So Jenny, you got four spellings correct,” said Shawna. “That makes 100 points, so blues, your final score tonight is 360!!”

“We’re still in it, Eve,” Jenny said as she stood up, letting a puddle of goo fall to the floor. Eve forced a wan smile back at Jenny. Both knew in their hearts it was unlikely
enough.

“Jenny and Bethany, off you go with Lindsey,” instructed Shawna. “Eve, get behind that rail. Hannah, over here.” Shawna shackled Hannah into the chair while stagehands replenished the selection of goodies at Eve’s disposal.

“Ok Hannah,” said Shawna. “You’re on 330, so you need 2 correct to force a tiebreaker question, 3 to win outright. Are you ready?”

The nerves showed on Hannah’s face. If she screwed up now her humiliation would be all the greater. “Yes,” she breathed.

“Your 90 seconds start now: mauve.”

Before Hannah could even open her mouth, the barrage of pies began. Eve unleashed a furious assault, in an attempt to prevent her opponent even speaking. She was a good shot too, the pies splatting over Hannah’s face and hair, covering her in gooey cream. Hannah shook away the plates, trying to get a word in. “M…O…” The buzzer honked.

“Detach.”

“D…E…T…” Hannah, white with pie, spluttered and gasped. “A…T…”

Again the buzzer.

“Absence”

“A…B…S…” Eve discovered the downside of her quick-fire pie technique – she had already run out of pies. She picked up a bucket and sloshed spaghetti hoops over Hannah. “…E…N…S…” For third time the buzzer announced Hannah’s blunder. She was seriously panicking now.

“Etiquette.”

“E…T…I…” A bucketload of batter surged over Hannah, making her face a gunky mask of beige.
She spat and carried on. “…Q…U…E..” Dark molasses covered over the batter. “…T…T…E.” The bell dinged. Hannah sighed with relief, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“Logarithmic,” read Shawna.

Hannah groaned. Math wasn’t her strong suit, and neither was spelling its terminology.

“L…O…G…” Eve experimented with swinging two buckets simultaneously, resulting in yellow and blue slime splashing on Hannah’s sides. “A…R…H…” The buzzer of despair sounded.

“Objectivity.”

Hannah thought she could get this one. She had to get it; the thought of wearing that bikini was too dreadful. “O…B…J…E…” Pea soup splashed her front. “C…T…I…V…I…T..Y!!”

The bell rang, signaling that the reds had secured the tiebreaker. Eve bellowed as she doubled down on her gunge-slinging, knowing that another correct spelling would spell the end for her and Jenny.

“Deterioration.”

“D…E…T…E…A…” Hannah cursed as her prospects of victory deteriorated. The last few seconds ticked down. Eve was almost out of ammunition, scrabbling through empty buckets for something to chuck.

“Conspiratorial,” Shawna read.

Hannah closed her eyes “C…O…N…S…P…I…R…A…T…O…R…I…A…L!!!”

The klaxon blared, but just before it the bell rang.

“Out of time surely!” cried Eve, her hands at her temples.

“Nope, just squeaked in!” grinned Lindsey, as she unclamped Hannah.

“YESSS!!!!” shouted Hannah.

“No no no no no!!!” Eve slumped over the table.

Lindsey brought Bethany and Jenny back onto the stage. The former bounded over and hugged Hannah, not caring for the mess. The latter looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“I don’t think it needs saying, but reds, you score 60 points, making your final score 390!” gushed Shawna. “Hannah and Bethany, YOU’RE GOING TO CANCUN!!!”

The victors cheered and hugged again, as glitter sprinkled down, sticking to the mess.

“And Eve and Jenny…,” Shawna adopted a mocking tone. “Do you recall what happens to the losers on this show?”

Jenny was too horrified and Eve too anguished to speak.

“Here’s a reminder!” Lindsey tossed a bikini set to each of the girls, similar to that she herself had modeled, but light-blue instead of white.

Shawna turned to the camera. “So don’t go away folks, because the best part of the show is yet to come. Join us after the break when Eve and Jenny will ride the Train of Terror! Oooo yeah!!”

The Train of Terror

The show’s final segment opened with Hannah and Bethany lounging on a sofa, clinking champagne glasses. They were dressed in smart clothes, completely clean with their hair dry.

Shawna came over and sat down. “Well reds, the final touches are being put on your travel arrangements, a limousine is waiting to take you to the airport, and before I forget, here’s that spending money.” She handed over a wad containing $2,000. “Have you enjoyed your time this evening?”

“It’s been great fun,” beamed Hannah.

“Can’t say I enjoyed getting messy but it was worth it for the vacation,” conceded Bethany.

“Any sympathy for Eve and Jenny?” enquired Shawna.

“A little,” grinned Hannah. “We’ll be sure to send them a postcard!”

Shawna got to her feet. “Speaking of the blues, let’s bring out those losers! Come on girls, don’t be shy!”

Eve and Jenny shuffled barefoot onto the stage through the archway. They too had completely cleaned off and dried their hair, but were wearing nothing but the humiliating bikinis, which declared their loser status in big black lettering. Plenty of Eve’s ample cleavage was on display and the shapes of both girls’ butts were discernible through the tight fabric. The pair squirmed and blushed at the wolf-whistles echoing around the auditorium. Eve stared at the floor, while Jenny looked around, terrified.

Shawna strolled over, struggling to make herself heard over the cacophony. “Ok audience, that’s enough! HUSH!! What are you – a bunch of animals?” She stood between the embarrassed girls and put a hand on each’s shoulder. “Dear oh dear, girls! Eve, we heard a lot of confident talk from you during the game, but look at you now! Your friends Bethany and Hannah are heading on a paradise vacation, and you and Jenny are going home with absolutely nothing except this humiliating send-off. Pretty sucky, huh?”

Eve pursed her lips. “We nearly fought it back,” she asserted with bitter pride. “We had ’em scared at the end.”

“And Jenny,” asked Shawna, “have you any idea how messy the Train of Terror is going to be?”

Jenny replied with only a petrified giggle.

“No? Well it’s time to find out!” With firm hands on the blues’ shoulders, Shawna showed them to the train and to the uncomfortable seats – Eve on the left, Jenny on the right. The girls winced at the cold metal against their buttocks. When Shawna locked the “safety bar” into position, they realized its main purpose was not safety but to force them to sit upright.

“Bethany and Hannah, you have the privilege of sending the losers on their journey.” Shawna gestured to a podium with a button on it. The reds strolled over.

“So long suckers!” shouted the reds, thumping the button. A shower of sparks erupted and the train jerked into motion, making Eve and Jenny scream. Jenny’s eyes boggled with terror and even Eve looked apprehensive as they trundled forward.

A payload of translucent yellow-green slime dropped over Eve from above. She screamed as the cold, sticky goo covered her hair and coated her bare shoulders, chest
and back. Jenny yelped too as the slime caught her arm, but this was soon the least the her worries; a similar of deluge of pink slime rained directly down on her. She squealed and spasmed at the cold.

Light blue slime sloshed in from the side over Eve, covering her abdomen and legs, while Jenny got a load of whitish goo from her own side. The slime was thick and sticky enough to make the girls messy, but sufficiently see-thorough to leave their scantily-clad bodies on display. The sodden bikinis were not hiding much either. Jenny cupped her hands over her chest to protect her modesty. The girls wriggled and squirmed, wondering where the next mess would come from.

They could never have guessed it would be beneath. Two fountains of slime erupted from the floor, spraying through the mesh seat at the girls’ bottoms. Eve and Jenny gaped in shock.

“I think that hit the mark!” cackled Shawna from the sidelines. “Ok, that’s the pre-wash done. Let’s move on to the main event.”

The train turned a corner and entered a gauntlet between two rows of catapults, each primed with a creamy pie. The catapults sprung into action, pelting the gooey girls high and low. Eve and Jenny flailed their arms, trying with little success to block the high-speed missiles. They yelped with each cold, hard splat against their bare skin. Cream, chocolate and custard exploded over their hair and bodies. As they reached the end of the gauntlet, a trough of chocolate syrup overturned above the girls, causing them to arch with shock.

As the passengers concentrated on wiping their faces and slicking back their hair, they were unaware of the train’s next port of call.

“Hi Eve! How you doing?” called Bethany’s voice. Eve looked around in confusion.

“Up here Eve!”

Eve tilted her head back to see Bethany grinning at her through a metal grid walkway. She glared back through the mess.

“Eve, I know how much you love rice pudding, so have some of this!!” Bethany heaved over a huge barrel.

“Don’t you d…,” Eve snarled, before she was cut short by a faceful of the creamy pudding. The lumpy, off-white slop surged through the grid, engulfing Eve below.

Eve let out a muffled moan as the river of cold pudding buried her head, and dragged heavily down her skin, threatening to take the flimsy bikini top with it. The rice pudding stuck in thick layers to her; it had got everywhere. “I am so going to get you back for this!” Eve spluttered, as she shook violently,partly from the sensation of the rice pudding all over her skin, partly from humiliation.

If things were bad for Eve, they were about to get even worse for Jenny. Hannah was also waiting on the walkway with a barrel of her own. “Sorry Jenny, but it’s all part of the game!” she called, overturning a barrel of her own. A flood of baked beans descended on the unfortunate blonde. The beans plastered Jenny’s hair, and oozed down her face on a river of tomato sauce. They slid down her front and back, running over her bikini top and forming a mound between her legs. The poor girl was in hysterics, screaming as she tried to shake off the hundreds of beans that stuck to her.

Hannah and Bethany high-fived. The train turned another corner, onto its final stretch. As Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture blared, all hell broke loose. Multicolored gunge spewed out of pipes, nozzles and chutes, turning the girls into a gunky rainbow mess. Silly string sprayed onto them. A series of cannons fired in time with the music, blasting them with foam.

Eve and Jenny clung to each other in the face of the assault. The train hit the buffers, marking the end of the ride, but the mess was not quite done. As the final chord sounded, a giant trough inverted above the wailing girls, smothering them with tarry black sludge.

“Oh. My. Goodness! What a finale!” cried Shawna, who had herself not seen the Train of Terror in full operation until now. “Reds, you must be relived to have avoided that.”

“You can say that again!” whistled Bethany, as she and Hannah laughed and pointed at their trashed opponents.

“Poor Eve and Jenny! I wonder if they’ll be clean by the time we get back from vacation!” added Hannah.

“Ha ha, looks doubtful! Congrats once again, reds,” said Shawna. “And there’s someone else I’d like to congratulate. Lindsey, this was your first appearance on TV, and I’m
pleased to say that you’ve passed your probation with flying colors. In fact, I’m so pleased with your performance, I’ve got a present.” Shawna opened a gift box and produced a custard pie. “Why don’t you come over here and get it?”

“Aww, thanks Shawna, you shouldn’t have,” Lindsey smiled as she walked over. If Shawna had paid more attention to the chuckles from the audience, she might have realized something was afoot.

Lindsey faced Shawna. “And I’ve got a present for you too!” She pushed against Shawna’s shoulders. Shawna staggered back, her lower calves catching against the rim of something.

“WOAHHH!” Shawna thrust out her arms, trying to regain her balance, but to no avail.

She toppled over backwards, landing like a snow-angel into a giant custard pie that the crew had wheeled in. To add insult to injury, the pie she was holding smashed into her own face, not that it made much difference. Floundering in the pool of custard and cream, Shawna fought her way to her knees, her elegant green dress, long dark hair, and pretty face all coated in gunky yellow and creamy white. She flapped her arms about in shock.

Lindsey pumped her fist, delighted to have her revenge. “It just goes to show that anything can happen on this show!” she grinned. “Thanks for watching Saturday Splatdown. We’ll be back next week with two more teams vying to win a dream vacation and avoid humiliation. See you then, and good night!”

As the credits rolled across the screen, Lindsey showed Hannah and Bethany to a limo that had rocked up on the stage. Shawna struggled to her feet, then slipped over, landing on her ass in the pie. The scene then returned to the losers, unrecognizable as they stewed on the train. The slighter of the blobs, Jenny, waved wearily to the camera, glad that her ordeal was almost at an end and she could soon go to the showers. The Eve-shaped blob sat sulking with her arms folded, but eventually raised a reluctant hand to wave. The scene faded to black.



Gunge Grand Prix 2016: Winner Revealed!

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Evening All,

It gives me great pleasure to announce that the winner of the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix, with an impressive 81% of the vote is………………………………………………………………………..

JENNA LOUISE COLEMAN!

Jenna Louise Coleman

Jenna Louise Coleman

Congratulations (or should that be commiserations) to Jenna, and thank you to everyone who has voted in this year’s competition.

We’re now ready to move on to the next phase of the Grand Prix, which is the story competition. Further details on this to follow at the end of the week.


The Crow’s Nest – part 4

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“Double-crosses are my favourite type of setup,” Lucinda leered down at the messy pair. “But this must be my first double double-cross.”

“How easy it was to set these schmucks upon each other,” remarked Rachel. “Most amusing to watch. Good thing you could operate that cannon remotely, Lucinda; trust Helvetica to fluff an open goal. Utterly useless.”

Grey-skinned Helvetica said nothing, not daring to look at her boss.

“Their efforts on each other are only the start,” smirked Lucinda. “Now the fun really begins.” Her mouth dropped to a glower, bottom teeth bared. “STAND UP!! HANDS ON HEADS!!!” she bellowed, edging on a scream.

Helvetica obliged with fearful promptitude. A residual flake of pastry slid from her tit and settled on her big toe. She fixated on this fallen fragment as she pressed her hands into the mass of goo in her hair.

Amanda too clambered to her feet, but the fight hadn’t left her yet. Feigning contrition, she began to raise her arms, then bolted like a greyhound from the traps.

“OOOIIIIII!!” yelled Lucinda, leaping in the periphery of Amanda’s vision. The Crow clawed the tail of her blazer, but Amanda jerked out of the ruined garment. Down to her sodden shirt and tights, she sprinted on through the cervix.

Time distended as she pelted down the vaginal tunnel. Each dogged stride took an age, feet jarring to Earth, muscles contracting like pistons. The bumps and ridges on the crimson walls moved by slow enough to study. Behind her Lucinda snarled with fury, and ahead, the studio lights glowed soft pink through the labial curtains. Life itself beckoned at the end of this birthing canal – her first gasp of freedom. She prayed the crew members she’d sweetened would stand aside to aid her escape. She’d scale seating if she had to – never mind the gawps and protests of the audience as this messy, skirtless girl clambered over them. Then it would it be into her car, her bare foot on the accelerator. She’d get that flight to Hong Kong, back to her family. Even Lucinda wouldn’t be so obsessed as to fol—

AAARRRGHH!!” Two steps short of the tunnel’s labia, and Amanda’s panties and tights were sucked up into her own. Fingernails sliced her buttocks, snatching a handful of fabric. Her feet were plucked from the ground, transferring her entire weight and momentum to a thin strip across her vulva. Gasping in the wedgie, she was spun round, and her buldging eyes came inches from her captor’s.

The presenter seemed to have morphed into her very namesake. Her nose jabbed like a viscous beak, eyes shruken to lightless marbles deep in her skull. The obsenities she screeched were primaeval and demonic, bereft of linguistic content. The leather jacket had become black wings, and they flapped in a frenzy. One claw continued to lift Amanda by her crotch; the other plunged as though for her heart. Seam by seam, button pinging upon button, the Crow ripped Amanda’s shirt to shreds. A black bra went zinging up the tunnel, snapped elastic stinging Amanda’s back.

Amanda’s torso was largely clean, if damp and splotched. Ripe jugs glistened in the pink lighting, dark areolae round as five-pound crowns, each centred with a large, upstanding teat. A snapping sound and Amanda screamed from sharp pain at her left breast, enough to distract her from the wedgie, and surely beyond even a Crow’s talons. She looked down to see the areola crimped under the metal jaw of a mousetrap. She screamed again.

The Crow cawed – a spiteful, mocking caw that evoked the bleakest days of winter. Another mousetrap clicked by Amanda’s right boob. She struggled in terror, but the Crow held her fast, its wings beating down her arms.

“No no!” Amanda begged. “Please… AAAHHHH-OH-HOH-HOH!!!” The metal jaw sprang, this time pinning her nipple alone to the wood. Tears of pain formed in the Asian’s eyes as the Crow carried her, a trophy, back to its lair. The cervical doors slammed and locked.

Rachel had a hose trained on Helvetica, lest the girl should try mischief of her own, but Vet hadn’t moved a muscle. Amanda was shoved next to her, mousetraps jiggling.

“Disobey again and I’ll snap one on your fucking clit!” hissed Lucinda, returning to the English language. “NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!!”

“You won’t get away with this!!” wailed Amanda, verging on a sob. “I’ll have you done for this. Just cos I’m a con don’t I think I won’t go to the Filth!”

Rachel regarded her with surprise. “But my dear Miss Tang, you agreed to all this.” She opened her briefcase and retrieved the bulky contract Amanda had signed in the pub. “I mean, you did read this, didn’t you?”

“It’s a release for tonight’s show,” chuckled Lucinda, returned to human form. “Rejoice, Amanda – you’re going to be a star! Quod petis, accipies.”

A capite ad calcem,” Rachel added with faux solemnity. “Oh, and Helvetica, you’re signed up to the same. You really should pay attention to the paperwork I give you.”

Amanda cursed her rashness. Her cheeks puffed, the sting of the traps periodically dwindling then returning with avengence, but pain took a backseat to fear. It was the sheer mutability of Lucinda’s moods that unnerved her most – one minute a savage beast screeching through primivative throat, the next exchanging Latin quips in scholarly tone. Despite the heavy mauling to which Crow had subjected Amanda’s messy form, the woman had not a speck anywhere beyond her fingertips. Amanda didn’t give credence to folklore, but she couldn’t shake off the spine-chilling sense that the presenter was not off this world – a shapeshifting ghoul who couched carnal ferocity behind classical music and green tea. At the least, the melding of brains and barbarity gave Lucinda an aura of invincibility. The leather jacket was destined for cleanliness, the crown of black spikes hers for keeping. It stood achingly, self-kickingly obvious that Amanda’s plot had been doomed to fail. She rued that sunny morning she’d driven to Surrey, rued ever posting her CV to Lucinda, rued her very ambitions.

“But why?” she blurted. “Why?! Rachel, I came to warn you of Lucinda’s plot. I offered you the perfect opportunity to take the Crow’s Nest off the air. And instead you side with her and stitch me up!” She turned on Lucinda, mousetraps wobbling from her heavy breaths. “And Lucinda, Rachel has nothing but contempt for you; she wants to boot you off the airwaves. Why are you working together? You hate each other!”

“Oh no no no,” purred Rachel. “Don’t confuse rivalry, however bitter, for hatred. Lucinda and I are old Oxfordians – Edmondsians, moreover. We’re part of a sisterhood. And like sisters we scuffle, we scratch and shout, we strive to win. But we never lose sight of our common provenance. We always act with honour.”

“And we’ll always close ranks against traitors,” said Lucinda icily. “But enough of the philosophy class. Let’s get these losers hosed down.”

Rachel nodded severely and turned the valve on the nozzle. Water, not mess, surged out, but it proved little blessing, being bitingly cold. Helvetica screamed and doubled up, while Amanda twisted away.

“FACE FORWARDS!! STAND UP STRAIGHT!! KEEP YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS!!!” roared Lucinda.

The pair obeyed, continuing to squeal and grimace. Lumps of goo dripped and slithered from hair and bodies as Rachel steered the hose with an adept hand. Sometimes she concentrated on one girl, methodically washing up and down the body, giving the other momentary cause for relief; other times she switshed the hose, alternating quickfire between the two. Amanda cried out as the jet buffeted the mousetraps, tormenting her nipples further. Helvetica’s panties, sopping and heavy, gave up their struggle. They slipped down her thighs, revealing a neat thatch even curlier than her head hair. She didn’t dare to pull them back up, nor did she protest when Rachel chased them all the way down to her ankles.

“TURN AROUND!!” ordered Lucinda.

The two girls duly presented their backs for wash-down.

“She thinks its a sexy arse,” Lucinda remarked of Helvetica’s prone, naked buns. “What say you?”

“I think it’ll be a very sorry one,” said Rachel, giving it a blast.

After an excrutiating age, Rachel shut off the hose. The girls hunched and shivered, bruises rising from their scuffle. Vet’s hair lay a flattened pile askew on her head; Amanda’s ponytails hung limp and her tights were streaked.

Lucinda rubbed her hands together. “Let the punishment begin!” she announced, as if events so far had been some sort of jolly for the girls. “Rachel, I’ll leave you to deal with your little snitch.”

“This is purely business, Helvetica,” said Rachel, as she indicated a set of stocks. “Your P45 awaits on Monday, but I’m afraid that isn’t punishment enough. Disloyalty is something I can’t afford to tolerate.”

Helvetica quietly took in her fate. The stocks were a double-seater (evidently Amanda would be joining later) but for now it was a ride for one. The naked girl padded over to them silently, not only resigned but somewhat relieved. The new Helvetica didn’t suit her; the pressure of audacity and defiance had started to take her toll. There was a wistful familiarity with which she reassumed the old Helvetica, re-affixing that “kick me” sign to her back, letting life buffet her along the course it had carved out.

She placed bare buttocks on a cold, meagre seat. A pair of planks formed two wide-set holes for her ankles; a horizontal pair provided a restraint around her neck. Rachel tied Helvetica’s wrists onto armrests.

“Your breasts are nearly as underwhelming as your productivity,” Rachel tutted. “We’ll have to do something about that.” With characteristic speed and efficiency, she wrapped further twine around Helvetica torso and looped it around those small portions of mammalian flesh. Skin was yanked and squeezed, rendering Helvetica’s breasts a pair of golf-balls up by her armpits, already adopting a blue tinge from the constriction. Not done yet, Rachel waved two glass tubes in front of Vet’s face. Vet was too naïve to realise their function, but learnt soon enough when Rachel placed one over her nipple, squeezing a pump to evacuate the air. Helvetica gasped as the tube pinched against her skin, her nipple swelling against the suction. Rachel repeated with the other breast.

“So you think it would be funny to set me up for a humiliating gunging on TV?” asked Rachel sternly. “To destroy my clothes, hair and reputation – you’d find that amusing, would you?”

“Oohh – no!” cried Helvetica, wincing at the treatment of her nipples. “I wouldn’t find it amusing at all!”

“The position you’re in, Helvetica, it’s not advisable to lie.”

“Ok,” admitted Vet, shame-faced. “Yes, I – oww! – I thought it would be funny. But I don’t now – honest!”

“Oh, that’s a pity,” said Rachel sourly. “Laughter is very beneficial. In fact, I’m going to let you have a good, long laugh.”

She wheeled over a squat device, with two feathery brushes attached to rotary motors. Helvetica had no doubts as to the purpose of this gadget, which was aligned with the brushes against the soles of her small, prone feet.

Rachel flicked a switch. Instantly Helvetica spasmed, her body bucking against the grip of the stocks. “Hih! Hih! Hih! Hih! Hih!…” came her rhythmical giggle, like a steam train on helium. The suction tubes wagged, as if conducting orchestras through a staccato piece. Her open thighs clenched and jerked as much as the ankle-holes would permit; her pussy appeared to be laughing along with her mouth.

“Yes, hilarious, isn’t it?” remarked Rachel dryly, turning a dial towards “max”. The whir of the brushes increased and with it Helvetica’s writhing cranked up a gear. Her giggles graduated to hearty belly-laughs, punctuated by gulps of air. “You can have a good few minutes to laugh over the matter.”

One person not laughing was Amanda, stone-faced with terror as Lucinda cajouled to a dim corner of the dressing room. There stood a statue of a femine figure, fashioned in crude artistry from bent metal rods. It stood at Amanda’s height, its hands on its head in mimicry of her present pose. The front half hung slightly separate from the rear half, a small gap between them. It wasn’t a statue at all, but a cage!

“No no no! NOOO!!” screamed Amanda. “Not in there! Please not in there!!” Her tight-clad feet slipped and scrambled on the slimy floor, fruitlessly trying to dig in. But Lucinda manhandled her inexorably towards her new prison.

“Such ingratitude!” sighed Lucinda, pulling the front half fully open. “I had it made at great expense to your exact measurements. It’s going to be a very a snug fit.”

“No no no…” The metallic scent heightened Amanda’s dread. The dull brown of the unfinished copper added an extra edge of barbarity to the eyeless husk of a figure. Resist as she might, Amanda found herself bundled into its embrace. The halves clanged and clicked, and she was trapped. Lucinda wasn’t fibbing about the custom built; at any point, the cage lay no more than a quarter-inch from Amanda’s fearful flesh. One cream bun too many and she might not have fitted. The copper conformed to the contours of her hips and the peach of her arse. It looped in glassless spectacles around her eyes, and a miniature construction enclosed her nose, adding to the sense of true imprisonment. Gaps at the breasts let the mousetraps protrude, and similarly there were spaces to allow Lucinda access at all the pertinent places.

Right now Lucinda utilised one of these access points at Amanda’s crotch, pulling out the waistband of Amanda’s tights and panties. She took a moment to peruse Amanda’s pussy; a dense tuft of black hair sprouted above her slit, as oriental ladies tended to have. Lucinda nodded in approval, but instead of inserting a hand, she fed in some tubing. Amanda let out a cry as the cold nozzle slid along her lips. Her arms instinctively made to defend herself but were trapped in position above her head. Her eyes widened further as they traced the hose back to its source; a transparent hopper of baked beans, mounted at the ceiling.

“They’re good for your heart, apparently,” chuckled Lucinda, revelling in the way her victim whimpered and trembled. Out of all the points in Rachel’s and her plan, Lucinda had fretted most about expending Amanda’s messy virginity, which she’d preserved with such patience, in the brawl with Helvetica. She’d worried it would blunt the girl’s squeamishness when her own turn came around. But far from it, Amanda’s quivering seemed undiminished, perhaps even enhanced, by this prior encounter.

“Bon appetite.” Lucinda flipped a valve. The beans surged under siphon action, flooding into Amanda’s pants with breathtaking pressure. Within seconds the undergarment brimmed, lumpiness bulging around her mound and buttocks. Packing tighter, the beans worked deeper, into her crack and the folds of her sex. She emitted a tormented moan as the individual legumes rubbed against her clit. The slimy coldness advanced into her pussy, and even threatened to invade her arsehole.

The panties could hold only so much, and the excess had to go somewhere. First a stream of beans erupted from the waistband at Amanda’s crack, then the floodgates opened via her leg-holes. The orange sauce ran in rivers to her feet, staining her tights, but the beans themselves got held up in the rungs of the cage, accumulating in bulges before overspilling to the next level. All the while, Lucinda cackled in Amanda’s face, partly metamorphosed yet again; only the cage protected Amanda from that jabbing jet beak.

The hopper emptied and Amanda stood shuddering in a feet-to-fanny encasement of baked beans. Lucinda withdraw the tubing and hit a switch, setting the cage spinning. Faster and faster Amanda whirled, akin to a pirouetting skater in her hands-on-head position. The beans rippled in her tights under the centrifugal force. Through the repetitive blur of spotlights and luxury furnishings and mess, the smudge of black that was Lucinda unfurled another hose.

With a stomach-turning gurgle, semi-set mashed potato spewed irregularly forth. Cold yellow-white splattered Amanda’s nude, spinning chest, like something from a porno Bodger and Badger. Sloppy yet powdery and thick, the stuff stuck to her flesh, covering her tits, mousetraps and all. Lucinda swept her aim vertically, coating her victim’s torso and the outside of her tights, though seemingly taking care to avoid the face and hair.

Once Amanda was thoroughly covered, the hose stopped. And so did she – a sudden, dead stop that left her head spinning. Amidst the disorientation, a hand pulled away the front of her panties again. Lucinda scooped out the bulk of the beans, leaving space for the latest material – a king-size tub of ice cream. Amanda reacted with horror, but in her dizziness and discomfort could not spit out the words of protest. Only the first frigid kiss against her lips shook her from silence.

“No, no no! Please Lucinda, no oooo-hoo-hoo!” Lucinda, unamenable to requests, shovelled at quickening pace into the panties. The ice cream pressed into Amanda’s loins, cold enough to hurt, but there was something else too: a fuzzy warmth encroaching between her labial folds.

“Wh-what flavour ice cream is this?” she enquired shakily.

“Cayenne pepper,” Lucinda answered in deadpan, as she grabbed the waistband and yanked in a wedgie.

“WWWAAAAAAAA-HAAAAAAA-HAAAAAAARRRR!!” Amanda’s howls filled the sound-proofed chamber, her vulva simultaneously frozen and aflame.

While Amanda’s agonies unfolded, Helvetica continued to thrash and guffaw as the spinning brushes played havoc with the nerve-endings in her soles. Rachel stood by checking her emails, not wishing to dirty her hands (literally or metaphorically), greeting Helvetica’s ordeal with nonchalance. Occasionally she paused to tip some ice from a champagne bucket over Helvetica, causing further wriggles and squeals.

Eventually, she shut down the tickling machine. Helvetica likewise wound down with a closing “heeee….”, decreasing in volume and pitch. Her muscles slackened and she went limp in the stocks, relaxing in relative comfort. She could almost have been slouching in an armchair at her grandmother’s on a Sunday afternoon. But her respite didn’t last for long. Rachel towered over her, bearing a sack.

“Seeing as your fingers itched over the intercom buttons,” said Rachel, “here’s something for the rest of you.” She shook a white powder over her disgraced employee, sparing nothing from the shoulders down. The powder stuck fast to Vet’s wet flesh, coating back and front, dust clouds rising as the sack’s contents fell. Rachel trained the dry snowfall along Helvetica’s legs, dusting the soles of her feet and leaving a hefty pile around her crotch. She even instructed Vet to lift her bottom from the seat (something achieved with difficulty), so that she could place a pile there.

“Er, perhaps I should mention I’m gluten intolerant,” rasped Helvetica as she lowered her behind into the pile.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” said Rachel smoothly. “It ain’t flour.”

She held up the sack for Helvetica’s perusal. The girl’s eyes all but popped from her skull and her jaw dropped to between her tied and suckered tits. Itching powder, the label proclaimed. The knowledge brought a thousand prickles to her skin, perhaps real, maybe psychological, but all intolerable. Her body wriggled as it had done under the tickling. Hands scrabbled against restraints.

“Tang by name, Tang by nature,” Lucinda tittered, unclasping the human cage to let her prey stagger out. Amanda, reeling from the piquant ice cream on her most tender square-inches of flesh, didn’t fight as Lucinda jostled her towards the stocks; the rush of endorphins left her in a daze. Lucinda tore her tights away (it only took the slightest pull to finish the bean-stretched hosiery), and the panties followed. Amanda, now fully au naturel, was secured into the stocks, side by side with Helvetica. Rachel turned the device so that the occupants were confronted by themselves in the full-length mirror.

“Quite a state.” Lucinda echoed their lamentations. “But as much as I love mess, it never takes that long to clean up. A severe trashing might require a few hours showering at most, and even indelible dye or a foul stench will be gone after a week or two.”

Lucinda stood rear of Amanda, Rachel behind Helvetica. With towels they ruffled their victims’ hair dry.

“We want to give you a longer term punishment,” said Rachel. “Something to remember us by – a reason to contemplate your treachery over the months, perhaps years ahead.”

Stomachs turned to stone as eyes caught hairdresser’s tables in the mirror, equipped with scissors and shavers. “Not our hair!” cried Amanda.

Lucinda answered by lopping off one of Amanda’s ponytails. Such a casual snip, such a devastating result. She tossed the dissevered plait into the bin, then chopped and chucked the other. Years of painstaking growth gone. Amanda had no words.

Helvetica too, who had so far accepted her humiliation without resistance or complaint, sat mortified. “But what will my boyfriend say?” she bleated.

“You’re dumped, probably,” Rachel scoffed as she revved up a shaver. “Let’s do this Lucinda!”

Over the next five minutes, the predominating noises were the buzz of the appliances, the sobbing of Amanda and Helvetica, and the singing of old college songs by Rachel and Lucinda. It was a rousing chorus, like shepherds filled with the joys of spring. Amanda and Vet, their heads held fast between the planks, could only watch the destruction of their barnets in the mirror. Helvetica’s unruly curls fell in piles as she was shaved to the scalp, Rachel leaving only a centimetre-wide stripe down the centre. Amanda didn’t have the small mercy of a fashionable punk cut; Lucinda hacked her hair into a monkish ring, surrounding a bald, shining dome.

The singing of shavers mechanical and human came to an end. Lucinda blew away some stray wisps and rubbed polish into Amanda’s newly exposed crown. Rachel applied hairspray to stand Vet’s new mohawk on end. “Maybe we should bury the hatchet for good and set up a salon together,” said Rachel.

“We could call it Crow and Dry!” Lucinda laughed as she opened the doors at the cervix.

“Two minutes to air, Lucinda!” called the director from the studio.

“Bang on time!” said Lucinda breezily. “Let’s get to work on the final stage.”

The snivelling girls had their bonds rejigged so that each’s wrists were poised over her neighbour’s crotch.

“I’m in a kind-hearted mood today,” Lucinda announced. “So here’s a little contest: whoever can make the other come first will not be humiliated out there in front of millions of viewers. On your marks! GET SET! GO!!”

Amanda was straight out the blocks, desperate for any means to lessen her ordeal. All the devastation and anger at losing her locks, she focussed into pummelling Helvetica’s roast beef. After some hesitation, Helvetica reciprocated, more from obedience than an urge to win this perverse contest. Amanda grunted as Vet’s fingers worked the (sp)ice cream into her sex, a burning blend of pain and pleasure. Helvetica too was getting hot and bothered, and not just from the itching powder. But though Amanda was her partner in mutual masturbation, it was Lucinda’s leather-clad thighs that filled her thoughts. It was that cleavage, round and perfect, that set her moaning in time with Amanda’s thrusts. Try as she might to summon her boyfriend into her fantasies, Lucinda dominated all.

Eyes closed as hands doubled down. Lucinda winked to Rachel and gently pushed the set of stocks. They rolled off into the vaginal tunnel, picking up speed on the shallow gradient.

The muted pink light of the labia dawned on the pair. The hubbub of the audience drew near. Lucinda had tricked them into further debasement, but even with time to cease their stroking, they found themselves unable to stop. Fatalism moved their hands; an unspoken agreement committed them to common orgasm, to complete their own humiliation in a burst of bliss.

The crimson curtains swished aside. A docking rail prevented the stocks careening down the steps. The pair had been reborn, naked as the first time, similarly wet, sticky and lacking in hair. The air was cool and the reception cooler. Idle pre-show chitchat tapered to stony silence. Row upon row of faces stared agog, cameras crowded round, and beyond, exclamations were uttered in thousands of living rooms. Helvetica wondered if her boyfriend still found her the prettiest girl on the screen. What on Earth would she tell him about the dress? She and Amanda – the punk and the clown – sat in the stark glare of scandal, unable to hide their faces or close their legs. They kept their fingers busy, wanking away their last shreds of dignity.

Both were close to the edge. Moans turned to pants rose to bellows. Climax hit, and a siren wailed above, perhaps emanating from the neon clitoris itself. The pitch modulated with the waves of orgasm, and as the girls squirted into each other’s hands, two deluges of PVA glue descended, slapping onto bald heads, running down faces, coating tits and the torturous appendages that wagged from them in shudders of mortified ecstasy.

The white glue hid Vet’s and Amanda’s blushing shame. Clouds of black feathers billowed upon them in their post-orgasmic dismay, making crows of a sort – not sleek and sly like the woman who’d orchestrated their downfall, but buffoonish caricatures. The raven plumes fell and stuck by the hundred, and the audience’s stunned silence cracked into laughter.

“Hmm, I reckon that was a draw.” Lucinda peered from the cervix at the rumpus. “Glue and black feathers was an excellent idea of Tang’s. I’m annoyed I didn’t think of it myself.”

“It’s certainly a new low for your programme,” Rachel commented disdainfully.

Lucinda snorted. “Not being at all hypocritical, are we Silverstein? Anyone would think you had nothing to do with events.”

Rachel shrugged. “Officially I don’t. It’s your name on the show.” A triumphant smirk spread across the businesswoman’s face. “You’ve fallen straight into my trap, Crow. OfCom will go nuclear over this; Wetherby will have no choice but to axe you.”

“We’ll see,” Lucinda replied nonchalantly. “Think I’d still be on air up ’til now if I didn’t have friends in regulatory places?” She checked herself in the gunge-splattered mirror. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a show to present.”

“Wait, just a minute.” Rachel retrieved a 1999 Moët from the champagne bucket and two flutes from her briefcase. “We should toast our success before we turn on each other’s throats again.”

The cork pinged off the wall behind Lucinda and froth gushed like a fountain of youth. Lucinda turned up her nose. “You know I don’t touch that poison.”

“I know something quite to the contrary.” Rachel filled a second glass, softly singing, “livin’ la vida loca!

Lucinda scowled at this skeleton from her past, through not without a flicker of fondness. “I have a show to present,” she repeated.

“C’mon,” Rachel held out a glass with one hand. The other ran down Lucinda’s lapel, fingers creeping inside to caress her breast. “Let’s party like it’s nineteen ninety-nine.”

“Alright!” Lucinda snatched the vessel and brought it tentatively to her lips. The alcohol greeted her unaccustomed throat harshly, but she found the champagne’s bitterness pleasing, not unlike green tea. Another cautious sip was followed by a gulp, and the glass was soon empty. She grabbed the bottle and poured another.

“We could’ve made quite a couple, Rachel,” she mused, strutting a little unsteadily around the room. “It could’ve been ecstasy. Too bad you were too proud.” She flopped onto a sofa, rapidly draining her second glassful. “You weren’t prepared to serve me.”

Rachel took a small sip as she watched her old rival. “If serving you meant getting a throatful of pubes every night, I’m most glad it didn’t happen.”

“You’d have loved it,” purred Lucinda, stifling a hiccup.

“Lucinda!” The director’s voice echoed up the vagina. “Lucinda! Are you ready? We’re on air!”

“Can you go to adverts for ten minutes?” Rachel called back. “She’s having a lie down.” Rachel told the truth; Lucinda lay sprawled on her back, her jacket crumpled, one nipple exposed. Her neck dangled off the edge of the sofa, eyes closed, teeth flashing in a tipsy grin. An arm held the flute tilted in the air.

“My glash sheemsh to be empty,” she announced with a giggle. “I need shome more. Sherve me!”

Stealthily, Rachel selected a head-shaver from the table. The trademark black spikes would go first, she decided, then that tangle of pubic hair would be glued in their place. The public may have been scandalised by Amanda and Vet’s obscene entrance, but they’d seen nothing yet.

She placed the shaver on a trolley loaded with pies and cakes, which she wheeled, without so much as a squeak, alongside her intoxicated arch-nemesis. She then pulled an unused hose from the ceiling and discharged a muffled test squirt into the side of the sofa – a lumpy green-brown slime, with a most unpleasant whiff. Perfect.

Lucinda’s eyes remained closed on her inverted face. Her famous mouth – bearer of that sardonic leer, domineering pout and derisive smirk – hung slightly open in a goofy grin. It was with this mouth that Rachel lined up the nozzle of her hose. A pang of affection struck her as she regarded her on-off friend and almost lover, but then she recalled her “trashing”, and knew what had to be done.

“Sherve me!” the mouth repeated, while the hand waved the glass aimlessly. “Sherve the Crow! Now!”

Quod petis, accipies,” replied Rachel, readying her finger on the trigger as she scooped up a banana cream pie in her other hand. “Say when.”


The End

 

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Gunge Grand Prix 2016: The next stage

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Evening All,

So Jenna Louise Coleman has been confirmed as the winner of the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix! Now, it is time for you to decide HOW she will be gunged! Nominations for the method of gunging are open and will remain so until next Sunday (16th). The 5 ideas with the most nominations will then go forward to a final vote. The rules are as follows:

1) Each design should be both customisable and plausible and likely to be something you would see on a TV show.

2) Whatever design ends up winning, the stories should keep to the spirit of the design.

All previously used methods can be nominated, in keeping with the clean slate on contestant nominations. Nominations should be submitted by commenting below.

Also, please fill out the feedback survey if you haven’t done so already, as this will help determine the format of next year’s competition.

Thanks, and start nominating!


Introducing Messy Commissions

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For a while now it’s been my ambition to turn this writing passion of mine into an earner. While I’d love to become a full-time pro at this, that’s a rather tall ambition and for now I’ll be content if I can bring in some extra pocket money on top of my day-job.

You might have seen Saturday Splatdown, which was a writing commission (custom WAM story) I undertook as a one-off last year after being approached. Now I’ve decided to take commissions on a regular basis, and you can find out more at:

messycommissions.wordpress.com

Commissions can be either public or private. If you’re interested, please get in touch using the contact details on the site (if you have my old Hotmail email in your address book, please don’t use this; I don’t check it very often and the inbox is flooded with junk). Be aware that I already have a few commission bookings to keep me busy until the New Year, but if you express your interest now, I’ll reserve you a place in the queue (you don’t have to commit or pay anything until it comes to your turn).

I hope you’ll be interested in using my services. Cheers, TG.


Ketnet Kingsize curvy mother

Dog ate my homework episode 1 2016 Miss McCall

Gunge Grand Prix 2016: Gunging Method Vote Live! Survey Results

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Hi All,

Firstly, please accept my apologies for the delay in getting the gunging method vote up. I have been under the cosh with both work and my part-time degree in the past month, and this is the first time I’ve been able to come up for air!

However, I am back and I’m now pleased to say the gunging method vote is now live! As there are so many options you can select up to three choices in this vote. Go to the gunge grand prix 2016 page and select gunging method vote to cast your vote. The vote will close at approximately 8.40pm next Monday (21st November).

Also, as most of you will be aware I launched a survey following the completion of this year’s competition to obtain feedback and help determine the shape of next year’s competition. You can see the full results by clicking the link below:

https://polldaddy.com/surveys/2317323/report

I will be announcing the changes to the 2017 competition following the conclusion of the gunging method vote, so stay tuned!



Commission: Saturday Splatdown II

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Introduction

The ‘applause’ sign was raised, the gold lettering lowered. Shawna strode through the archway in a figure-hugging green dress. She waved confidently to the audience and cameras; she’d built up a high profile over the previous series.

“WE’RE BACK!!” she shouted, spreading her arms wide. “Welcome to a new series of Saturday Splatdown – a competition of epic sloppiness, fantastic prizes and dreaded forfeits!”

The audience cheered some more.

“It’s out with the old, in with the new,” Shawna continued, gesturing the revamped studio. “And that includes my assistant. Yes, I’m afraid Lindsey played one prank too many on me,” she remarked icily, “so her contract wasn’t renewed. But in her place, please give a warm welcome to Tricia!”

A slender light-brunette strolled out in an elegant fuchsia frock, visibly more confident than Lindsey in her maiden entrance.

“Tricia! Welcome to the team!” gushed Shawna. “Were you a fan of the first series?”

“A huge fan,” Tricia recited from one of the show’s typically wooden scripts. “Right from the start.”

“Then you’ll remember our very first contestants – Hannah and Bethany versus their friends Eve and Jenny. Let’s take a look.”

A montage relived that epic battle: the messy highlights of the games, the eventual victory of the reds, the blues boarding the Train of Terror in the losers’ bikinis before ending their journey unrecognizable.

“A sticky end for the blues there,” chuckled Shawna. “But guess what? Those suckers are back for more!”

Tricia nodded. “Please welcome back Eve and Jenny!”

The two girls emerged. Jenny flashed a sunny grin that mirrored her long, blonde hair as she scooted into the limelight. Eve, who’d had her brunette locks cut shoulder-length since the previous appearance, entered more warily. Both wore strapless dresses – Jenny’s red with white flower patterns, Eve’s cream with bead decorations – and had blue sashes around their waists.

Shawna hugged the pair. “Hey ladies! Great to see you looking spick and span again! How long did the clean-up take?”

“No comment,” said Eve sourly.

“And have your pals Hannah and Bethany stopped ribbing you yet?”

“No comment.”

“Oh dear, nerves a little raw still,” Shawna teased. “Which begs the question: why risk it all again?”

“For the vacation,” said Jenny, unhesitating. “Bethany and Hannah’s snaps looked fabulous.”

“And we will win this time,” added Eve, flashing Jenny an icy glare to say she wouldn’t tolerate failure.

“Time will tell,” smirked Shawna. “We don’t usually grant second chances, but we’re making an exception here.”

Tricia took up the thread. “You may recall that last time, Eve and Jenny, along with Hannah and Bethany, were en route from a wedding. Well, tonight the blues will face off against the bride and her bridesmaid! Please welcome the red team: Yulia and her sister Sofia!”

Here Comes the Bride peeled as Yulia strode out in a strapless white wedding gown. Sofia, slightly taller, followed in her sister’s shadow, wearing a royal purple bridesmaid’s dress with lacy straps. Both wore red sashes at the waist. The bride had chestnut hair, tied up under a veil, while Sofia’s sandy locks flowed freely.

“Welcome to Saturday Splatdown! And many congratulations on tying the knot!” beamed Shawna. “Yulia, I have to ask, is that the dress from the day itself?”

“The very one,” Yulia affirmed proudly.

Shawna feigned concern. “You do know what this show is about, don’t you?”

“You mean getting the dress messy? Your producer wouldn’t let us on unless I wore it,” huffed Yulia.

“Is that so? How mean!” Shawna exclaimed melodramatically, already knowing this. “Anyway, I hope that all of you ladies are well taped in, cos things are gonna get pretty wild. Sofia, I understand both you and your sister are nurses. Reckon your knowledge will help you in the quiz rounds?”

“Yes, and we’re fighting fit for the physical rounds too,” replied Sofia, though her shy demeanor didn’t quite back up her words.

“Well ladies, both brains and brawn will be tested tonight, and as in marriage, there’ll be an element of luck too. Your aim is to amass points in five wedding-themed rounds. Tricia, what will the higher-scoring team win?”

“Tonight’s prize is a fortnight in Rio de Janeiro!” announced Tricia, as a paradise show-reel commenced. “The Olympics may be over but the party never ends, and our winning team will score gold with sunbathing at Copacabana, samba at Ipanema, and lofty views from Christ the Redeemer. And as always, we throw in first class flights and $2,000 spending money!”

The audience wooed. The players exchanged expressions of excitement and renewed determination to win.

“Wow, what a wondrous trip,” enthused Shawna. “But on Saturday Splatdown, we don’t like losers to feel left out, so we’ve arranged a trip for them, too. That’s right, folks – the Train of Terror is back!”

Shawna gestured the notorious ride for two. The vehicle resembled a wedding car, including white ribbons. The course had a similar nuptial theme, decked in white and pastel shades, but the array of nozzles and hoppers spelled anything but matrimonial bless.

“Ooh yeah, it’s more terrifying than ever!” Shawna cackled. “But ladies, we’re not so cruel as to make you ride in those pretty frocks, so we have some alternative attire. Tricia…”

The assistant duly dropped her dress, leaving only the infamous string-bikini, which had LOSER emblazoned on each cup and down the crotch. More exhibitionist than her predecessor, Tricia grinned and wiggled her toned body to the appreciative audience.

The contestants looked less enthusiastic. Eve and Jenny knew the humiliation from last time round; Yulia and Sofia preferred not to discover it.

“An awe-inspiring prize, an awful forfeit,” Shawna summed up. “But first, the groovy games. Battle commences after a short break!”

The four girls shook hands as the scene faded to commercials.

Round 1: Get Me to the Church on Time

“This is Saturday Splatdown, and ding-dong, bells sure gonna chime!” Shawna stood at the start-line of a race track, between two open-topped rickshaw bikes in the team colors. Eve and Sofia were at the pedals, Jenny and Yulia on raised seats behind.

“In this opening round our teams have to get to church for the wedding, collecting essential items on the way. Tricia, please demonstrate.”

Tricia winced; the demise of her fuchsia dress was imminent. “Our teams must hit the road” – Tricia jogged along the track – “passing through the marketplace.” She entered a gauntlet of market stalls, from which audience volunteers chucked tomatoes, eggs and other foodstuffs, causing her to scream. “Where they must grab a bouquet – aaaaghh! – worth 10 points.” She gestured to myriad flower bunches, rising and falling on strings above.

“Then it’s to the bakers…” Relieved to escape the market, Tricia found the bakers, with jets of frosting spraying across, no safer. “…to pick up a wedding cake – yeeep! – for 20 points.” The bulky cakes moved in reverse on conveyor belts either side of the track. Grabbing one would require reaching through a cascade of strawberry syrup.

Tricia fled the bakery, her dress and hair heavily streaked with multi-colored frosting. “Next stop, the farm,” she revealed warily, “to collect a hog for the feast.”

The “farm” was a pool of mud, into which the track gently sloped. Fans blew straw across it, and giant inflatable pigs bobbed. “Your hog is worth 30 points,” Tricia said, hoping not to go further.

Shawna coughed impatiently. “Don’t play dumb, Tricia; you know what to do.”

Sighing, Tricia ventured into the mire, submerging first her expensive shoes, then the hem of her dress. She waded to above her knees before losing her footing, shrieking as she slid under. She re-emerged completely brown, thrashing amongst the pigs as the audience cheered.

“Try to avoid doing that!” laughed Shawna, doubling up with mirth as Tricia slipped and disappeared again.

Eventually Tricia was upright, immersed to her waist and plastered in mud and straw. She spat out a stream and said sourly: “once you’ve got your pig it’s an uphill struggle to the church.”

She plowed up the gradient, determined not to slip again, until out of the pool. A ribbon hung across the church entrance. “The game ends when one team crosses the finish line, winning themselves 40 points.” Tricia made a grudging bow and squelched to the side, muddy hair and dress sticking to her.

“Hmm, a good opportunity to get an early lead,” Shawna remarked. “Ready teams? On your marks! Get set! GO!!”

Sofia and Eve hit the pedals. The former struggled for traction, allowing the latter a head-start. Jenny and Yulia wobbled on their high-set seats as the rickshaws trundled forward.

The blues were first to market, and it fell to Jenny to grab a bouquet. Her height disadvantage became clear when she stood up, and Eve’s determination to keep pedaling made her task harder. “Wait!” Jenny called, as green globs splattered her dress.

Eve stopped pedaling. “Hurry up!” she urged, her mood worsened by an egg smashing in her brunette hair.

While Jenny reached vainly, the reds caught up. Yulia whimpered as she entered the gauntlet, her white dress ruined by the first impacts of color. “In your own time,” muttered Sofia, tomatoes bursting in her hair.

Jenny and Yulia grabbed bouquets almost simultaneously, stashing them in their vehicles as the drivers pedaled away. The reds took the lead thanks to the inside line on a corner. Eve seethed.

Bride and bridesmaid arrived at the bakery, squealing as frosting squirted over their dresses. Yulia tentatively reached for the cakes on the conveyor, but every time her wrists went through the curtain of syrup, she flinched back.

The blues caught up. Jenny was no keener about the syrup, but she sensed Eve’s impatience and lunged through, the goo soaking her hair and shoulders as she snatched a cake.

Yulia remained frozen in fear for her dress. “Jeez!” tutted Sofia, dismounting. She pounced on a cake, getting thoroughly coated, and handed it to Yulia with a withering look.

The next bend was to the blues’ favor, gifting them a further lead. Eve hurtled down the slope to the pool, not thinking to apply the brakes. Jenny tumbled from her seat, plopping head-first into the mud. She emerged coated, much to the amusement of Shawna and the audience.

Jenny pulled up her sodden dress around her cleavage. Eve, sitting up to her waist, was unsympathetic. “Get a pig and get back on!” she hissed.

Meanwhile, the reds approached the pool. Seeing Jenny’s fate, Yulia screamed and closed her eyes. But Sofia maneuvered more carefully, sparing her sister the worst.

Brown and straw-covered, Jenny remounted her rickshaw, clutching the comically large pig. Yulia grabbed a hog of her own, disdainful of the mud it transferred to her dress. The race was on to reach the church.

After her flat-out start, Eve was flagging. She moaned in frustration as the reds broke ahead. But within feet from the ribbon, Sofia lost traction and rolled back into the pool. Yulia screamed as mud splashed up her back. Bellowing, Eve exerted herself, and the blues’ rickshaw burst through the ribbon. A klaxon blew.

“STOP!” shouted Shawna, walking over. “Dear me, what a mess! Tricia, what are the scores?”

Tricia returned, having splashed off the worst of the mud with water. “The reds got all three items, earning them a respectable 60, but the blues romped home there with 100!”

Inside the church, Eve pumped her fists, and even Jenny, the round’s messiest casualty, looked pleased. The sisters commiserated as they abandoned their vehicle and waded through mud and straw. A montage of race highlights played before fading to another break.

Round 2: Cut the Cake

The contestants sat at a round table, team members opposite each other. Only some token toweling had occurred in the intermission, and the girls were heavily stained. Jenny, in particular, had gone from blonde to brunette. A mud-encrusted Tricia stood in front of a giant wheel, while Shawna stood smugly by.

“Welcome back to Saturday Splatdown!” she smiled. “Blues, you’re ahead, but don’t get too confident; you took an early lead last time, too…”

“This time we’re gonna keep it!” snapped Eve.

“And Yulia, your concern for your dress seemed to hold you and Sofia back,” Shawna commented.

“Have you any idea how much it cost?” Yulia flashed back indignantly, scowling at the colored patches on the gown.

“Is it worth a ride on the Train of Terror?” smirked Shawna. “Anyway ladies, best of luck to you all. And I do mean that, because this round is largely a game of chance. It’s based on that annoying pie-face game that’s all over YouTube.”

Shawna gestured a device mounted to the table, comprising a neck-rest and a spring-loaded arm on which was poised a mini “wedding cake” (in reality a cylindrical block of cream).

“The machine will revolve to each of you in turn,” Shawna briefed. “I think it’s self-explanatory where you put your head. Tricia will then spin the wheel.”

Said wheel was divided into ten segments: the numbers 1 to 4, with 2 and 3 duplicated, two question marks, a pot of gold and a skull and crossbones.

“If you get a number then you must crank the handle that many times,” Shawna continued. “If the machine doesn’t trigger, you get ten times that number of points. If it does, then bad luck – nil points and cake in the face. A question mark means a multiple-choice quiz question; get it right and you’ll earn 30 points. A pot of gold wins you 50 points, and a skull and crossbones means 20 points to your opponents and a nasty surprise for you.

“We play clockwise, two turns each. Blues, you’re ahead, so you choose who goes first.”

I’m going first!” said Eve instantly.

“Okey dokey,” said Shawna. The table spun so that the cake faced Eve, who put her head in position.

“Tricia, spin the wheel.”

Tricia spun. The arrow at the top indicated a ‘4’.

“OK, four cranks!” announced Shawna.

Eve purposefully turned the handle. It clicked and nothing happened. She turned again. With a “boing!” the cake sprang, transforming her face and the front of her hair into dazzling white. The audience whooped.

“Ooo, too bad! No points!” Shawna laughed with the audience.

“It’s a fix!” Eve’s white face spluttered.

“Do you mind? We’ve had our machine independently audited and it’s all above board.” Shawna put a new cake in place. “Yulia, it’s over to you.”

The table rotated and Yulia apprehensively put her head on the rest. Tricia spun.

The skull and crossbones.

“Oh n—” The cake catapulted into Yulia’s face mid-utterance. Her features were ensconced in white, but it wasn’t over; a deluge of green slime dropped from above, coating her hair and shoulders and further wrecking her wedding gown. Her veil dripped with green. A Thriller-style evil laugh sounded.

“Oh dear, oh dear!” tittered Shawna. “20 points to the blues!”

“Still think it’s rigged, Eve?” muttered Sofia while her sister flapped in distress.

Shawna replaced the cake and the table rotated to Jenny. Tricia spun, landing a ‘2’. Whimpering, Jenny cranked the handle. Click. She cranked again. Another uneventful click drew a relieved smile.

“Another 20 to the blues,” indicated Shawna. “On it goes to Sofia.”

Tricia spun. Sofia’s eyes widened as she saw the spinner on course to stop at the skull and crossbones. She willed it to miss, but to no avail. The redhead yelped as the cake sprang into her face, followed by dousing of a green slime.

“How nice to show solidarity with your sis!” chortled Shawna. “Yet another twenty to Eve and Jenny!”

Eve was loving this. She laughed and pointed at her slimed opponents as the device returned, freshly reloaded with another cake. Tricia spun the wheel, which landed on ‘1’.

Eve cranked, and her partially wiped face was spared a second pie.

“Ten points!”

Yulia hoped for better luck on her second turn. The wheel landed on a question mark, causing the audience to “oooo”.

Shawna read from a question card: “Which bodily organ produces insulin? Is it (a) the liver, (b) the pancreas, or (c) the gall bladder?”

A broad smile spread on the nurse’s cream-coated face. “The pancreas,” she answered confidently.

“Correct! You’re out of the blocks with thirty points.”

“Now that is fixed,” tutted Eve.

The cake went on to Jenny. The wheel again dealt her a ‘2’. Knowing that Eve had already spent one crank, she fearfully turned the handle. Nothing happened. She cranked again, and cheered when nothing happened, having escaped any mess this round.

“Twenty points! Over to Sofia for the final spin.”

Tricia gave the wheel an extra hard heave.

“Oooo, is it going to strike gold?” Shawna mused. “Is it? Is it…?!”

The wheel looked set to overshoot the pot of gold, but stayed in by a whisker. Sofia and Yulia both cheered, but someone else screamed; a jet of golden goo sprayed from the wheel, blasting Tricia.

“Wow reds, you pulled it back with a 50-point bounty, and it looks like Tricia struck gold too! Ha ha! What are the overall scores, golden girl?”

Tricia scowled at Shawna as she shook herself off. “The reds have 140 points, but the blues have extended their lead to 190!”

Eve and Jenny celebrated, while Yulia and Sofia wrung out the green slime. The segment closed with slow-mo replays of the cakings.

Round 3: For Wetter or Worse

“You’re watching Saturday Splatdown. If you’ve just joined us, where the hell were you?” Shawna taunted as the camera zoomed out to reveal Jenny and Sofia standing either side of her. Behind were dunk tanks styled as wishing wells, above which Eve and Yulia dangled on seats suspended by cables. As before, the contestants had toweled themselves down but remained damp and mess-streaked.

“So far the blue team have stolen a wedding march on the reds,” Shawna recapped. “I say reds, but right now they’re looking more green!” She laughed at the tinge Sofia and Yulia had acquired. The sisters pouted in response.

“This round provides Eve and Yulia the opportunity for a wash-off,” said Shawna. “Though for Jenny and Sofia things may get messier as they collect rings from our wedding church.” She gestured the play-area, which resembled a congregation seating area, the pews soft inflatables. Scattered around the place were giant rings – more like hoops if truth be told.

“Bronze rings are worth 10 points, silver 20, and gold 30,” Shawna explained “Simply grab and drop in your opponent’s slot, sending them for a cold bath. You can collect more than one at a time, but they’re bulky, mind, and any you don’t bank before the klaxon won’t count.”

“That doesn’t sound too hard,” Sofia commented – a line she’d clearly been fed.

“I thought you might say that,” smirked Shawna. “So there’s a twist.”

Tricia stepped forward and fastened blindfolds on Jenny and Sofia.

“You’ll have to rely on your partner to guide you! Oh, by the way, rough and tumble is fine, but no outright violence. Ready?”

The contestants affirmed.

“Two minutes start now – GO!!”

As the clock started, jets of foam sprayed out over the church, swishing back and forth. Sofia jogged blindly up the aisle. Her foot snagged a ring, nearly tripping her, and she stooped to retrieve it – it was silver, though she couldn’t see this. Jenny stumbled forward much more cautiously, hands feeling her way. She screamed as a jet blasted her. Eve shouted at her to go faster.

Sofia turned down one of the rows between the pews. The ring she carried proved unwieldy, as Shawna had warned, but she hooked it on her shoulder. Yulia shouted that there was a ring at the end of the row. Sofia stumbled along and collected it – gold.

“GO RIGHT!” Eve shouted to Jenny. Jenny, in one of her blonde moments, turned down the pew to her left, which sadly offered no rings. Eve bellowed in exasperation as Jenny became increasingly disorientated, the latter yelping as a foamy jet periodically caught her.

Meanwhile, Sofia had gathered two more rings – another gold and a bronze – but began to struggle. She attempted to grab a further bronze ring, but was caught off-guard as a batch of orange slime descended from the rafters. “Leave it! You’ve got enough!” shouted Yulia, who started to direct Sofia towards Eve’s dunk tank.

Jenny meanwhile, had begun to find success. She picked up first a bronze ring, then a gold. “There’s another gold one!” Eve yelled. “There! You’ve gone past it!”

Some blue gunge descended onto Jenny, coating her blonde hair.

“NO!” roared Eve. THERE! RIGHT NEXT TO—ARRGHH!!”

Eve was cut short as the cables on her seat went slack – Sofia had reached the tank and was inserting the rings through the slot. Eve plunged into the water, slamming straight under. The cables tautened to haul her up, her dress sodden and revealing her curves, her hair lank. She shrieked at the coldness, but barely had time to react before the mechanism plunged her down again. This happened twice more (one duck for each ring, it turned out).

By the time Eve’s soggy torments ended, Jenny had found the gold ring through her own efforts. Eve bellowed directions at her, keen to turn the tables and dunk Yulia. With her rings awkwardly round her waist, Jenny took a couple more wrong turns, but eventually got there. Yulia screamed, plummeting into the frigid tank.

Three dunkings left Yulia completely bedraggled. Her sopping wedding dress had become incredibly heavy, dragging down to reveal more cleavage. Fortunately, the tape she’d applied held (Shawna hadn’t been joking), saving her from mortifying exposure.

Sofia and Jenny each made a second deposit, sending Eve and Yulia to another round of duckings. But it was evident to anyone paying attention – not least an agitated Eve – that Sofia had the edge on her opponent, both in number and value of rings.

Then came the moment when the players dove for the same ring at the same time. Jenny clapped her hands around it, while Sofia hooked in her arm. At first, each failed to realize the other had staked a claim, but then they started yanking, heaving to and fro. The battle was on.

“DON’T LET HER GET IT!!” shouted Eve, while Yulia yelled, “HOLD ON TO IT!!” The ring was only bronze, but neither party was prepared to concede.

The tug of war wore on, until the ring slipped from their slimy hands, flying away like a frisbee. Neither Jenny nor Sofia knew this, so when they lunged, they found themselves grappling in hand to hand combat, trying to steal each other’s rings.

“FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!!” The audience were loving it.

“Sort it, Tricia!” ordered Shawna.

Unenthusiastically, Tricia strode into the foam jets, carrying a pair of custard pies. She shoved one into each girl’s surprised face and pushed them apart.

“Twenty seconds!” called Shawna, reveling in the spectacle.

“GET BACK!!” Eve and Yulia called in unison.

Clutching her two rings, Sofia scrambled over pews towards Eve’s dunk tank; by now she had a good sense of her bearings. Jenny tried likewise, but tumbled over a pew. Her sole ring slipped over her head and rolled away.

“COME ON!” Eve was at her wit’s end. “YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF—glub!”

Sofia silenced Eve by depositing her rings, condemning her to another two dunks.

“FIVE! FOUR!…” The audience counted down. Jenny wasn’t going to make it. “…THREE!! TWO!! ONE!!”

The klaxon blared. The foam jets and slime downpours ceased, leaving Jenny and Sofia to wipe themselves down. Tricia came over and removed each’s blindfold.

“What a round that was!” Shawna gushed. “And I reckon we’ve some high scores to go with it. Tricia, please tot up the bling!”

Tricia unlocked the compartments beside each dunk tank and rifled through the rings. “The blues have three bronze, two silver and two gold – a score of 130 points, which brings their total to 320. But the reds have three bronze, three silver and four golds. That earns them an awesome 210, enough to leap-frog into the lead with 350!

Sofia bounded over to Yulia and reached up to deliver a double-high-five. Jenny looked glum, and Eve slapped her sodden dress in fury. The segment went to commercials with replays of the dunks and the messy fight action.

Round 4: Wedding Belles

“You screwed that right up,” Eve grumbled to Jenny as they hung around (literally) waiting for the next round to commence.

“I did my best,” Jenny defended herself. “You should’ve collected the rings if you thought you could do better.”

“And have you direct me?” Eve snorted. “You don’t know your left from your right!”

Nearby, Sofia smirked to Yulia. “We’re ahead now. You can thank me whenever you’re ready.”

“I think you’ll find it was my excellent skills in guiding you,” Yulia flashed back.

The camera swept the studio, catching Hannah and Bethany in the audience, who were greatly entertained by the messy escapades of their friends.

“Welcome back!” Shawna stood by a pool of pink and purple gunge, above which the contestants were suspended on harnesses. They’d showered clean and exchanged their trashed frocks for sparkly gold costumes with narrow bodices and brimming skirts, designed to look like bells.

Shawna peered up at the suspended girls and winked. “I’m sure the guys envy this view! Ladies, I’m gonna ask quiz questions; you must chime in to answer.” (Each player had a button strapped to her abdomen.)

“If you’re right, you’ll win twenty points and you can choose an opponent to lose a life. If you’re wrong, it’s 20 points to them and your team-mate will lose a life!” Shawna licked her lips. “You each have three lives; can you guess what happens when you lose them all?”

The girls peered apprehensively at the gunge and nodded.

“When one team is eliminated, the victors will score 30 points for each remaining life. Reds, you have the lead, so you choose the subject for our first question.”

Shawna gestured to Tricia, standing at a table. She too had cleaned up and changed – into a slinky black number. Three stacks of cards stood upright on the table. At the front of the stacks were cards marked ‘music’, ‘science and nature’ and ‘arts and literature’.

The reds conferred. “Arts and literature,” Yulia requested. Tricia handed the card to Shawna.

“Get ready with those buzzers.” Shawna read from the card: “Who wrote the novel ‘The Three Musketeers’?”

A bell chimed and a spotlight shone down on Jenny. “Alexandre Dumas?” she ventured.

“Is correct!” said Shawna. Jenny and Eve grinned at each other. “Choose a red to lose a life.”

The blues conferred. “We reckon Sofia.”

Scowling, the redhead was lowered. She yelped as a deluge of cool whip coated her hair.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, there’s a forfeit when you lose a life!” Shawna chuckled. “Blues, choose the next category.”

‘Music’ and ‘science and nature’ remained on offer. Where the ‘literature’ card had been, ‘food and drink’ now showed. Jenny suggested science but Eve, overruling, requested ‘music’.

“Who sang the duet ‘Love the Way You Lie’?”

Several hands moved to buzzers, but Yulia pipped it by a whisker. A different chime sounded as a spotlight fixed her. “Rihanna and Jay Z?”

“No, Rihanna and Eminem!” returned Shawna, with much of the audience answering along with her. “Sofia, you lose another life!”

Yulia cursed her mistake, though didn’t rue it as much as her sister. Sofia descended again, until her feet dipped into the gunge. A thick, green substance splattered down, providing a second coating over the cool whip.

“Ah, the guacamole!” laughed Shawna. “Sofia, you’re on your last life. Blues, choose another topic.”

‘Sport’ had replaced ‘music’ and Eve wanted to go for it. But this time Jenny was insistent on science.

“What chemical has the formula H2O2?”

Yulia again chimed first. “Hydrogen peroxide.” Sofia looked relieved.

“Is correct!” Shawna revealed “Choose a blue to goo!”

“Eve! Definitely Eve!” the sisters laughed together. A grumpy Eve was lowered, receiving a shower of baked beans as she went.

“Can’t think why you chose Eve,” smirked Shawna. “Choose a subject.”

Another ‘music’ card had been uncovered. The sisters steered clear of it after Yulia’s blooper and went for ‘food and drink’.

“What type of animal is a Bombay Duck?”

Yulia buzzed in again, more from habit than intention. “Oh, er, I don’t know. A goose?”

“Nope, it’s a fish!” grinned Shawna.

Yulia!” groaned Sofia.

“Speaking of fishes, it’s time for Sofia to join them. Goodbye!”

Expecting to be lowered, Sofia screamed when instead her harness released. Her skirt billowed as she dropped, giving a few frames of panty-shot to anyone who bothered to freeze-frame. She submerged into the gunge and bobbed up seconds later, her face coated blue and her hair bright pink.

“So sorry Sofia!” called her still-clean sister. Sofia only spat as she swam front-crawl to the pool’s edge.

Shawna had other ideas. “Uh-uh, Sofia – you can wallow in there till the end of the game! Blues, choose a category.”

Joining ‘sport’ and ‘music’ was ‘places’. “Sport,” Eve snapped, wringing beans from her hair.

“I’ll allow you to be one above or below here: how many silver medals did USA win in this year’s Olympics?”

Eve slapped her buzzer. “37.”

“You know your stats, Eve.” said Shawna. “37 is dead on. Yulia, down you go!”

A cringing Yulia was lowered. When no slop rained on her, she looked up in relieved surprise… and got a faceful of yellow curry.

“Oh, they fall for it every time,” Shawna grinned, shaking her head. “Blues, please pick.”

The new category was ‘TV and movies’. Eve and Jenny decided to go for ‘music’.

“The highest-pitched string on a standard guitar is—?”

Yulia hit her button before Shawna could finish. “E,” she spluttered from her yellow-stained face.

“I was gonna ask what’s the string made of!” said Shawna. Yulia’s face fell. “Naw, only kidding – the question was ‘what note’, and E is indeed the answer. Which blue would you like to punish?”

“Eve again,” replied Yulia. Eve scowled as flour heaped upon her, sticking to the bean juice. She dangled with her feet in the gunge.

‘History and people’ had replaced ‘music’, and Yulia plumped for it.

“Salvador Allende was president which country from 1970 until a military coup ended his rule and his life in 1973?”

Again Yulia. “Chile.”

“Absolutely right! The choice is yours, Yulia: spoil Jenny’s clean sheet or finish Eve off?”

Yulia pretended to ponder, before announcing with a smile: “Finish Eve off.”

Eve put her hands on her hips – a position she maintained as she dropped into the slop. She re-emerged completely coated, and swam to join Sofia in the corner of the pool.

The available cards were now ‘places’, ‘TV and movies’ and ‘pot luck’. Yulia went for ‘places’.

“Which city is the capital of New Zealand?”

Jenny chimed in. “Auckland.”

“No – it’s Wellington!” revealed Shawna. “Since Eve’s been eliminated, you lose a life yourself!”

Jenny gawped as ranch dressing umbrella’d off her head.

“Two lives apiece!” said Shawna.

Another ‘history and people’ card stood in place of ‘places’. Yulia chose it.

“Who was president in 1900?”

Silence fell as both girls dredged up their school-day recitals. “Come on, I’ll have to hurry you!” warned Shawna.

Jenny chimed. “William McKinley?” she attempted, cringing.

“Don’t look so worried. It’s right!” Shawna revealed.

Yulia puffed as she was lowered to just above the gunge. Another torrent of yellow decorated her – this time custard.

The new topic was another ‘science and nature’. Unsurprisingly, Jenny selected it.

“Kepler’s laws describe the motion of what?”

Both Jenny and Yulia pounced, but Jenny proved a fraction faster. “The planets!” she answered breathlessly.

“You’re confident and rightly so.” said Shawna. “Yulia, farewell!”

Jenny performed a victory dance in mid-air. Yulia groaned and held her nose as her harness gave way. She sank like a stone, then leaped up again, recolored in pink and blue.

“It’s all over!” announced Shawna. “Blues, you get sixty bonus points for Jenny’s two lives. Tricia, please update us on the scores.”

Tricia obliged. “The reds have netted 80 points, bringing them up to 430, but the blues gain a thumping 180, which puts them back ahead with 500!”

Jenny cheered again, and even Eve looked pleased as she bobbed in the goo.

“With just one round left, can the reds pull it back?” asked Shawna. “Join us after the break for the final battle!”

Yulia, Sofia and Eve hauled themselves from the pool. Slow-mo replays of their plunges followed, in all their up-skirt glory.

Round 5: Wedding Breakfast

All six women stood in front of the Train of Terror. Shawna and Tricia remained in their dresses, while the contestants’ attire consisted of a raunchy, feminine spin on tops and tails. The top hats were strapped under their chins and had large, transparent bowls on top.

“It’s the final round! In a few precious minutes we’ll know which duo will be jetting off to Rio, and which will be changing into one of these” – Shawna held up a LOSER bikini – “to sit on this.” She patted the train seat. “Eve and Jenny, you’re 70 points ahead. You must be bullish of avoiding repeat humiliation.”

“We’re gonna stay focused,” Eve said firmly. “And not screw up, right Jenny?

Jenny nodded, looking very nervous.

Shawna turned to Yulia and Sofia. “Sweating it, reds?”

“The lead’s gone back and forth,” Yulia replied, trying to look calm but betraying her nerves. “We can fight it back.”

“We trounced the blues in the last physical round,” added Sofia, “and we’ll do it again.”

“Don’t get too cocky, cos this round’s gonna test brains as well as brawn.” Shawna led the girls to the start of an assault course. “It’s a messy word-search.”

She gestured a board that listed a good twenty wedding-related words. Supersize waffles stood upright either side – one red, one blue – forming grids of letters.

“Our players must locate the words in their waffle, and stick letters onto them. “Tricia, would you kindly demonstrate how they get the letters…”

That word. Tricia’s smile sank. “Not this dress as well!”

“Come on, you know what’s expected.”

Sighing, Tricia approached a ridge of humongous pancakes, which had maple syrup flowing down them. “First our contestants must traverse the pancake mountain.” Grabbing a rope, she tried to haul herself up. She soon discovered stiletto heels weren’t the ideal footwear and ditched them, wincing as the syrup soaked into her tights.

The next task was to get down the other side. Tricia tried to gingerly clamber from the ridge, but with a squeal slipped and slid down on her posterior.

“That’s generally the quickest way down!” laughed Shawna.

Frowning at the stickiness, Tricia came to a giant bowl of porridge, with an equally giant spoon perched across. The balance beam had been her favorite apparatus at gym class, and she hoped to benefit from those skills here. It proved harder than she’d anticipated – the spoon twisted under her weight – but she made it across, and hopped onto dry ground sporting a beatific smile.

This smile faded as she arrived at the final station – a pool filled with orange slime and sponge letters, to resemble alphabetti-spaghetti. There were also some fried-egg- and sausage-shaped floats. Grimacing, Tricia jumped in, landing up to her waist. “And it’s here the players collect their letters. M and W are interchangeable, as are N and Z. You can take as many as you like, but you must carry them in the bowl on the top of your hats.” She clambered out, looking relieved. “And that’s about it.”

“You haven’t demonstrated the route back,” Shawna remarked pointedly.

“If I must,” Tricia sighed, stepping back onto the spoon. She edged along, determined not to fall into the cold oatmeal. She nearly achieved that goal, but misjudged her balance towards the end, tumbling face-first with a splut. She stood up in the goo, her face and front caked, her black dress turned white, soaking up the cheers and laughter. Cursing, she heaved herself back over the pancakes and returned to the waffles, finishing with a resentful bow.

Shawna took over. “Then stick your letters to the grid. Every spelled-out word gets you ten points per letter, but watch out – you get nothing for incomplete words, and misplaced letters incur a ten-point penalty. Three minutes on the clock; it’s up to you how you organize yourselves. READY! GO!!!”

The contestants sprang into action. Eve and Sofia cleared the pancake wall with little effort, while Yulia and especially Jenny struggled. Eve was first to the porridge bowl and began edging along the spoon. Though fit and sporty, she wasn’t particularly graceful, and moved falteringly.

Yulia stepped onto the spoon, which twisted, causing Eve to lose her balance. She fell backwards with arms outstretched and went under, leaving a snow-angel indent in the porridge.

Eve snarled as she stood up, dripping with porridge. “Whoops! How careless of me,” chuckled Sofia, making breezy progress on the spoon. Eve reached out and twisted the spoon, causing a screaming Sofia to totter and splat in the porridge herself. Ladylike niceties were out the window; this was war.

Eve hauled herself out of the bowl and jumped into the spaghetti. Glancing back at the list of words, she tried to pick out some letters that fitted, but soon gave up and simply bundled as many as possible into her bowl. She didn’t mind how messy she got; she cared only for victory.

Yulia helped Sofia get up from the porridge, and the pair of them plunged into the pool. Jenny was flagging; she stood repeatedly putting one foot on the spoon, but not daring to make a step.

With letters tumbling from her bowl, Eve plowed through the porridge (Shawna hadn’t stipulated that traversing the spoon was mandatory) and met Jenny. Acknowledging her team-mate’s struggles, she proposed a division of labor; she would run the course, while Jenny would concentrate on spotting the words on the grid and placing the letters.

Jenny agreed and carried back the letters in her bowl. She felt sauce dribble down her neck and realized the thing was leaky. As she approached the waffle, gunge started shooting out of random holes, catching her chest and face. Discovering she had the necessary letters for “RING”, she stuck them on.

Eve meanwhile was back in the pool, while Yulia and Sofia traversed the spoon on their return journey. This time Yulia toppled, but managed to land upright, saving her upper half from the porridge. The two sisters vaulted over the pancakes and arrived at the waffles. They’d been conscientious in their selection of letters, and were able to spell out “GROOMSMEN”. They considered splitting their work like the blues, but decided they were better staying together.

The game continued to and fro, acrimony simmering as the players bustled in their lexical quest. Then the tension overspilled when Yulia and Eve simultaneously lunged for a contested letter. Yulia grabbed it first by a split-second, but Eve wasn’t going to let it lie. She snatched the letter and pushed Yulia, who fell backwards and submerged in the orange goo.

“HEY!! Don’t treat my sister like that!” Sofia grabbed a sausage float and bopped Eve around the head, causing letters to spill from the bowl on her hat. Furious, Eve fought back with a fried egg. Yulia, spluttering as she resurfaced, joined the fray, splashing slime, ostensibly trying to get Eve but in practice catching her sister just as much.

“Time’s ticking girls!” Shawna called.

The clock was indeed low. “TEN! NINE!…” the audience shouted, while the scuffling and splashing continued. “…THREE!! TWO!! ONE!!”

The klaxon honked.

“STOP!!” shouted Shawna. Down in the pool, the three feuding women seemed unaware the game was over. “Stop, I said! STOP!!”

Eventually the girls calmed down.

“As breakfasts go that was pretty heated,” Shawna winked at the camera. “Tricia, how did they do?”

Tricia perused each waffle in turn. “Blues have got ‘RING’, ‘TOAST’, and ‘GARTER’; you didn’t finish ‘RECEPTION’ so I’m afraid it doesn’t count. Reds have done nicely with ‘VOWS’, ‘VEIL’, ‘GROOMSMEN’ and ‘BOUQUET’ – singular – that stray ‘S’ at the end costs you 10 points.”

Yulia and Sofia didn’t mind this finicky catch-out; they were doing the math and they liked it. Jenny, conversely, paled as she totted up the figures. Eve was in denial.

“The blues score 150 points, leaving them on a 650-point finish,” Tricia continued. “But the reds score a stupendous 230, clinching victory with an overall 660!”

The sisters cheered, hugged and jumped up and down in the orange slime. Eve groaned and sank to her neck. Jenny whimpered.

“Congratulations Yulia and Sofia; that Rio vacation is yours!” Shawna beamed. “But at look at the faces of Eve and Jenny! They know from experience what happens to losers on this show, and they’re set to face it all over again! Stay with us for everyone’s favorite part of the show – the Train of Terror!”

The camera zoomed out, showing the red’s ongoing celebrations, and the blue’s shellshock.

The Train of Terror

Champagne flutes clinked. The two sisters – bride and bridesmaid, brunette and redhead – grinned as they reclined in easy-chairs, dressed smart-casual and as clean as when they’d arrived.

“Congratulations again ladies,” said Shawna. “A stunning comeback for sure.”

“Meh, we never doubted it,” lied Yulia.

“The flights are booked, hotel suites are waiting, and the $2,000 is yours to spend.” Shawna presented them with a wad. “Don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do. Have you enjoyed yourselves?”

“I’ll enjoy the prize,” said Yulia circumspectly. “I’ll try not to think about my wedding dress while I’m away.”

“Oh, ignore her whining,” Sofia chipped in. “We’ve had a great time, thanks.”

“Well, to help get you into the Rio spirit, we’ve a carnival spectacle,” smiled Shawna. She looked over her shoulder. “Bring out those chumps!”

Tricia (in her original fuchsia dress, post-laundry) escorted an unwilling blue team through the archway. They too had cleaned and dried their hair, and their skin was spotless – plenty of it on show! Pale blue bikinis clung tightly to Eve’s generous curves and Jenny’s petite figure alike, “LOSER” flashing from each segment of fabric. They squirmed at the mixture of snickers and wolf-whistles from the audience.

Déjà vu, déjà vu!” Shawna smugly sauntered over. “Blues, talk about snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.”

“Uh, any chance of a third try?” asked Jenny sheepishly. The audience laughed. Eve just huffed.

“I reckon it’s time you gave up,” laughed Shawna. “No dream vacation for you yet again – instead another ride on the Train of Terror! All aboard!”

Tricia strapped the losers into the rudimentary wedding car, while Shawna invited the victors to a podium beset with a giant button.

“Reds, do the honors…”

“Enjoy your trip!” The sisters grinned as they hammered the button. The car jerked into action with a shower of sparks, carting away a fuming Eve and a petrified Jenny.

The first port of call was a garden decorated with wedding garlands. Water sprayed from sprinklers, soaking and – evidently from their screams – chilling the girls. Their hair became lank and their bodies glistened. A giant fan blew rose petals, which stuck to their wet forms, but far worse was to come. Eve screeched as a batch of creamed corn fell, turning her brunette hair yellow, while Jenny underwent the opposite transformation, gravy dropping on her fair locks.

The train climbed a gradient onto a raised section of track, and into a section decorated like a chapel. Directly under the track, Tricia sat at an organ playing the Wedding March. The organ’s pipes fired up a spectrum of gunge. Eve and Jenny shrieked as the jets blasted through the wire-mesh seating, painting their posteriors and shooting up between their legs and behind their backs.

The train proceeded through a hole in the wall and immediately adopted a steep descent. The girls’ eyes gaped as they plunged flume-style into a pool of semi-set blancmange. The waves subsided to reveal them completely pink. They wiped their eyes to discover they were in a mock-up of a wedding banquet. Waiting for them were not only Yulia and Sofia, but also Hannah and Bethany, armed with a veritable feast.

“Hey there Eve! Hey Jenny!” laughed the girls as they began launching their ammo. Yulia and Sofia lobbed the contents of great tureens – clam chowder and scotch broth were the soups du jour – while Hannah and Bethany upended a giant shrimp cocktail over the car. Eve fought back, chucking the food that was piling around her, while Jenny scrunched up and wrapped her arms around her head, not that she found much shelter.

After starter came the mains,with buckets of Texan barbecue and blue cheese sauce being doled out. The blues had become completely coated, neither hair nor bikinis visible. Then dessert time came. Eve’s head was sandwiched between two flans heaped with pastel frosting, while Jenny had a huge coconut pie smashed in her face.

The vehicle clacked onwards. Eve and Jenny cleared their eyes in time to see a heart-shaped entrance looming upon them, the words “Tunnel of Love” above it. A more accurate description would have been “Tunnel of Foam”, as that was what sprayed from the walls, smothering the girls as they passed through.

The car made one last ninety-degree turn and terminated under a heart-shaped archway strewn with white flowers, its passengers misshapen blobs. Shawna and Tricia stood by, and the other four women ran from the banquet room to join them.

Tricia handed hoses to the victorious reds. “OK ladies,” Shawna instructed, “finish them of.”

Eve and Jenny wiped their faces only to find themselves being doused with honey. Yulia and Sofia grinned as they swept the hoses over their defeated opponents, the sticky amber goo mixing with the foam.

Honeymoon – geddit?” winked Shawna. “And a wedding wouldn’t be complete without confetti…”

The coup de grâce came in a massive torrent of said paper flecks, which stuck to Eve and Jenny, head to toe, giving them a fluffy appearance.

“Dear me, what a mess!” chortled Shawna. “Welcome back Hannah and Bethany, our previous winners. Ladies, did you enjoy the vacation in Cancún?”

“Loved it,” smiled Hannah.

“Poor old Eve and Jenny, second time unlucky!” giggled Bethany.

“Hmmm, you two have been too smug, I’d say,” said Shawna. “That’s why I’ve arranged a little gift for you.”

Crew members wheeled out a gunge tank. Shawna ushered the pair over to it, and opened the door.

“That’s very kind of you” said Bethany. “But the thing about gifts is…”

Hannah finished: “…it’s better to give than receive!”

With that Hannah and Bethany grabbed Shawna. Taking her unawares, they shoved her down onto the gunge tank seat and closed the door.

“HEY!! WHAT ARE YOU—” Shawna’s protests broke off with a scream as a torrent of blue gunge descended, burying her dark hair and saturating her exquisite dress. When the deluge finally abated, she slicked back her hair and looked up to see Tricia with her hand on the chain.

“There’s the something blue!” Tricia grinned, delighted at her revenge. “And that wraps up tonight’s Saturday Splatdown. Join us next week, when two more teams will play to win a vacation, and avoid ending up like this.” She gestured Eve and Jenny as yet more confetti fell on them. “GOOD NIGHT!”

Credits rolled, and Tricia showed Sofia and Yulia to their airport limo. Smirking ruefully, Shawna got out of the gunge tank, dripping blue goo, and chased after Hannah and Bethany.

Under the archway, the confetti monsters slowly stood up and attempted, fruitlessly, to shake themselves off. Eve’s eyes – the only part of her discernible – glared at the camera. Jenny, despite herself, wore a wry smile under the mess, accepting her fate with gracious, if reluctant, humor.


Gunge Grand Prix 2016: Gunging Method Result, Story entries OPEN, Plans for 2017

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Evening All,

The vote to decide how Jenna Louise Coleman is to be gunged has now ended, and I can now confirm the method of gunging will be….’Flushing Toilet’!

With that decided, I can now confirm I am now ready to receive your stories! Before you begin writing, please take into account the following rules:

1. Jenna Louise Coleman must be gunged using a ‘flushing toilet’ method.

2. Only Jenna Louise Coleman can be gunged in the ‘flushing toilet’

3. Anyone included in the polls must remain clean

4. Any extra gungings included in the story must not overshadow the main gunging Jenna receives.

5. Attire: What Jenna wears is up to you as long as it’s something she would wear normally in public. This means she wouldn’t be naked, she wouldn’t wear a inflatable suit, she would wear something a little more real

6.Reference to this competition is allowed (and encouraged). This includes the final result (you may quote the percentage)

7. Any story published will be entered into a poll at a later date to let people vote which story they liked the best. All stories will be posted anonymously.

8. All entries should be submitted to custardshoots@gmail.com by no later than Tuesday 29th November 2016.

I look forward to receiving your entries

Finally, based on the feedback survey results, here are my plans for the 2017 Gunge Grand Prix:

1. Number of contestants – There was a tie between 128 and 512. I have decided to maintain numbers at 512 for now, although the earlier rounds will sped up by the next change.

2. The first round will now see the 512 contestants split into groups of 4, with only the winner progressing to the next round, meaning 128 will progress to round 2. This should hopefully cut down the competition length and also bring a new dynamic to the competition. Again it was essentially a 50/50 split between group stage introduction or maintaining the current straight knockout format.

3. The number of nominations people will be allowed to submit will be limited to 20 in 2017. This should allow more people to have a say in the contestant line-up. The vote was in favour of limiting nominations to 10, but I feel that’s too small a figure and could lead to a significantly longer nomination period.

The plan is for the 2017 competition to start in February.

That’s all for now. I look forward to receiving your entries. Get writing!

 


The Wammies 2016 – nominations open!

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wammies2016

That time has rolled round again – our annual thanksgiving for the great and gooey that has graced this year. It’s the Wammies!

As usual, awards are up for grabs in the following categories:

  • Best celebrity wamming for a female public figure who got wet or messy in 2016.
     
  • Best WAM show for a commercial programme (TV or online) that consistently produced good scenes.
     
  • Best civilian WAM for media of ordinary people getting wet or messy for ordinary reasons.
     
  • The Holy Grail Award for the turn-up of a classic scene, where either the scene wasn’t previously available or the quality or length is significantly improved.
     
  • The Goolitzer Prize for a work or series of works in WAM literature or art, published here or elsewhere.
     
  • The Showercap of Shame for the biggest downer of the year, be it a gutting escape, a lame scene that didn’t deliver to its potential, or an event that negatively impacted the community.
     

Nominations will be open for approximately three weeks, after which the nominees will be put to public vote. You may make as many nominations as you wish.

Reminder: As per the site rules, all nominations must be age 16+


Gunge Grand Prix 2016: Story Vote Open!

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Evening All,

Story entries for the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix have now closed, and I’m pleased to say we have two entries. To save you having to scroll down for all eternity, I have attached the two stories in word documents below:

story-a

story-b

For the interests of the vote, the authors will remain anonymous until the winner is announced. The vote is now open, and will close at roughly this time on 14th December. The vote can be accessed via the Gunge Grand Prix 2016 tab.

Happy reading, and happy voting!


Sarah’s Christmas Family Meal

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Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. It does NOT describe real events and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to real events or persons is coincidence. In keeping with it’s 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.

Trigger warning: If Benny Hill style humour and blatant sexism played as family-friendly humour is not your thing, don’t read on.

 

 
The family were having a Christmas meal at their favourite restaurant in a rural village. Sarah wore a short pink halter neck dress with pink high heels and a white basque underneath.

Though she liked to look her best, she was starting to worry that it was a bit revealing, but her husband told her that she looked great and that they didn’t have time to get changed now anyway as it was time to set off.

When they got to the car park, there were several family members waiting there already so that they could all walk in together. Sarah was careful not to slip in her high heels as there was lots of snow and ice on the ground.

There were also three young boys hanging around in the car park and chucking snowballs. Before Sarah knew it:

PAFF! A big powdery snowball exploded against her chest.

“YES!!!” Cheered one of the boys. “Direct hit, right in the tits!”

“You could hardly miss,” said the second boy. “They’re HUGE! Tell me you got that?”

“Oh yes,” said the third boy who was filming on his phone. “Just wait ’til you see the replay in slow-wobble-motion !” And then they ran off.

Everyone except Sarah was laughing. Anything to do with her prominent chest was just comedy gold as far as everyone, even her own family, were concerned. Anything that happened to them, no matter how humiliating, uncomfortable or even downright painful, was just one big joke. She was trying to brush all the snow off but there was a lot of it and it was already turning to ice water and trickling down her basque.

“Shall I help?” Laughed her nephew, Andrew.

“You’re gonna need a bigger shovel,” said her brother.

Then her Dad said “Plenty of snow on those hills…” but he was looking up the road towards the moorlands, so she couldn’t be sure if he was teasing her too or admiring the scenery. Anyway, she just ignored them all and they crossed the road to the restaurant, with Sarah still wiping away at her bosom.

As they went through the door, the Chef was standing there to greet them one by one. He took hold of Sarah’s hand and said:

“Hello Sarah, it’s a pleasure to see you both,”

He looking straight at her tits as he said it and kept shaking his hand up and down really hard so that her chest wobbled out of control and he didn’t let go for ages.

When he finally released her hand, a young waitress whispered to Sarah.

“That’s how he gets when he’s been at the sherry. I just try to ignore it…”

Then she did a little “eek” because the Chef pinched her bum as he strolled off back to the kitchen.

When they all sat down, Sarah realised the short dress was a mistake. It wouldn’t fold underneath her so she just had to let it fan out. The chair felt cold against her exposed skin and thin underwear. She shivered as she squirmed her 10 denier nylon against the hard wood, which still felt a little slippery from being polished.

Then she did a little yelp as something landed between her boobs. She tried to pick it out but it just slipped further between them and got lost.

“Oh bother, what was that!”

“It was an olive,” Andrew owned up. “It just slipped out of my fingers,”

“Nonsense,” she snapped. “You must have aimed it there!”

“Leave him alone, Sarah,” said her brother. “Your Knockers take up half the room. There’s a 50% chance that anything randomly thrown in the air will end up between your gigantic Bangers!”

“Dad! Tell them!” she whined to get her Father to step in and stop the teasing.

“Really, Sarah. You could have worn something a little more conservative…”

Great, thought Sarah. So everyone’s picking on me but somehow it’s my fault.

Then Chef started working his way around the table asking people which turkey portion they wanted. Leg or breast?

When he got to Sarah, he didn’t even ask her but winked and said loudly to the whole table:

“With her, I’m thinking Breast!”

“Actually, I’m a vegetarian,” Sarah said proudly.

“No way!” Replied Chef in disbelief. “What do you eat to grow them that big? Coconuts?”

“No,” laughed Andrew. “She’s on a strict diet of giant Melons!”

“Or big fat Pumpkins!” Said her young cousin.

“Or massive Milk Jellies!” Added his younger brother.

“Enough with the boob jokes!” Sarah said angrily. “Or I’m going to end up kicking someone in the…”

“Nut-cutlet?” Said Chef.

“Thank you, that will be fine,” she replied politely.

But before Chef walked away, he picked up a garlic mushroom from a bowl on the table and pressed it firmly into her cleavage.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she squeaked.

“Sorry,” said Chef. “They looked so squashed together – I didn’t think you could find MUSHROOM between them! Geddit? Mush-room!”

He walked away laughing as she started to fish it out using a napkin. Andrew offered to help again but she ignored him. Sarah eventually got the mushroom and the olive out but she could still feel slimy garlic butter and olive oil sticking her basque to her skin and the only way she could deal with that was a trip to the bathroom.

But then the entertainment, Dave, arrived. Sarah had booked him to come and play some music before the main course was served and she had agreed to go and help him set up on stage when he got there so now she didn’t have any time to go and get cleaned up.

Dave shouted over to her to bring him a bottle of beer and he added that she should bring her own drink up with her too in case they did a toast.

So, Sarah’s high heels carefully tottered over to the small stage as she carried two drinks. All eyes where upon her as Dave made a comment about her dress.

“Doesn’t she look lovely everyone? If my guitar takes one look at her I think all the strings will snap off!”

Sarah blushed as she stepped up onto the stage with him. She tried to hand him his beer but he ignored it and said:

“Sarah, can you hold the microphone for a moment?”

“I’ve got no free hands,” she explained.

“You’ve got a good point,” agreed Dave. Then he turned to everyone and said:

“Actually, she’s got a couple of good points hasn’t she?”

He waited for the laughter to die down a bit and then he shrugged and pushed the microphone down between her boobs and left it there. It made a loud noise through the speakers as it squashed right down into her cleavage. Everyone laughed at Sarah’s shocked face as she became a human microphone holder.

What made it even funnier was that Dave had some sort of sound effect pedal – he tapped it with his foot and suddenly everyone could hear a loud heartbeat noise – ‘Lub-Dup, Lub-Dup, Lub-Dup’ – thumping through the speaker.

“That’s strange,” said Dave and squeezed the microphone back out with a loud PLOP! “Let’s see what else it can pick up…” then he held it up against her head. The sound effect that he played now was a loud ‘DURRRRRR!’ noise, as if the mic was picking Sarah’s brain activity – or lack of.

“Nope, nothing interesting going on up there. The bra is full but the head is empty!” he added. Everyone laughed at the girl being made fun of on stage.

Dave noticed that the microphone was now slimy with garlic butter so he quickly wiped it on the hem of Sarah’s dress! She was still too shocked to tell him off and her hands were occupied so she couldn’t slap his face like she dearly wanted to.

Then he finally put the microphone in it’s stand and put the guitar around his neck. As he did this, the head of the guitar caught under the hem of Sarah’s dress and lifted it up – showing off her stockings tops and knickers. She couldn’t unhook it because she still had both hands full.

“Sarah! Watch what you’re doing!” Dave scolded her like it was her fault. She tried to pull away but he just seemed to keep moving with her so that her dress remained stuck in the hoisted up position.

“Well one of us needs to stand still!” Sarah snapped – but whichever way she moved, the guitar just followed her and lifted her dress higher and higher. Everyone was howling with laughter. Eventually Sarah managed to slam Dave’s bottle of beer down on top of the speaker and use her free hand to wrestle her dress away from his guitar.

“Okay Jumbo Jugs,” said Dave, “You’ve held up the show long enough. Run along now!” and he swung the head of his guitar to give Sarah a little tap on the backside and push her off the stage.

“Yeouch!” she clutched her free hand to her bottom and gave a little squeal as she stumbled back towards her chair, trying not to spill her glass of wine. Everyone was still laughing and applauding as Sarah sat down. Her Dad said to her,

“Well done Sarah, I didn’t know you were going to arrange a musician AND a comedian,”

“Neither did l,” she muttered.

Dave performed a couple of xmas songs then he said he was dedicating the next song to Sarah. She thought that seemed like a sweet thing to do until he began to sing a version of ‘My Milkshake Brings all the Boys to the Yard’. Everyone had good laugh at the expense of her hilarious Bangers once again. She was annoyed at the teasing but she had to admit it was quite a catchy cover version.

Soon, the main courses were being served and eaten. Chef was still being very jolly and going around the table checking that everyone was enjoying their meal and had enough gravy or cranberry sauce. When he got close to Sarah, she heard him say.

“Who would like gravy on their breasts?”

It sounded innocent at first but – hang on a minute! Does he mean?…but before she could prepare for danger, he was standing behind her and was tipping the gravy boat. Sarah went cross-eyed for a second as she watched a steady brown trickle start to appear about an inch in front of her nose, and she felt a warm pool of thickened meat juices plopping onto her skin and flooding the valley of her Va-Va-Vooms.

“What on earth are you doing?” she screeched as she tried to push her chair back from the table and stand up – but Chef was quite a heavy man and was leaning against her, trapping her there. Everyone laughed as she struggled and protested and waited for the warm, brown deluge to cease. The gravy was beginning to leak onto her chair underneath her dress and trickle onto the floor.

Finally, Chef put the empty gravy boat down on the table and let Sarah stand up. She really wanted to give him a piece of her mind but there were children present and she didn’t want to ruin anyone’s Xmas. So she just clenched her fists, said “OOOOO!!!” and gave Chef a hard stare before storming off to the bathroom. She added a little “eek!” As he patted her on the bottom on her way past. Everyone was cheering like Chef was some sort of comedy genius.

Sarah cleaned up with paper towels and dabbed herself with as much water as she could get away with without making the front of her dress totally see through. She checked her hair and make up in the mirror before strutting back out with her head held high – trying to show everyone that she could and would rise above their silliness.

She quickly checked with her husband if the gravy on her seat had been cleaned whilst she had been gone. He nodded, so she confidently fanned out her short dress and sat back down.

PLOPP!!! She gulped in surprise as her backside collided with something cold and wet, squishing it against the chair. Her eyes went wide with horror.

“You told me the chair was clean!!!” she hissed at her husband through gritted teeth.

“No I didn’t. You asked me if there was any gravy left on the chair,” he shrugged as he corrected her. “You didn’t ask whether Chef had left a pie on there instead!”

Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes as she felt herself sink a little deeper into the sticky, fruity mess. With sloppy lumps of pie squashing upwards between her thighs, she squirmed uncomfortably.

“Banana Cream?” she asked defeatedly.

“Good guess,” her husband confirmed, trying his best to stay deadpan.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Well, it was a specialty on their dessert menu – and Sarah thought she could detect the shape of the gooey banana slices amongst the soft cream.

Sarah slowly arose from her seat, hoping that she could make it back to the bathroom without anyone noticing. That’s when she realised that it wasn’t just Chef and her husband who were in on the joke. The whole room were watching her and erupted with laughter at the awkward way she had to peel her dress away from her thighs and the way she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Before Sarah could give anyone a piece of her mind or storm off to the bathroom, Chef arrived with a food trolley and effectively blocked her exit. There were five more fruit and cream pies on the trolley and Chef picked up two of them.

“Pie Sandwich!!!” someone shouted out – though this is a technically inaccurate term, because it doesn’t describe the contents of the sandwich.

“Tit Sandwich!!!” shouted Andrew, which was somewhat more apposite. Chef was ahead of him as he brought both pies together on either side of Sarah’s bust with a mighty percussion.

SPA-LAMM!!

Cream burst outward and upward and all over the front of Sarah’s dress in a massive wobbly wave. Everyone cheered at the tremendous splash of pie goo and the hypnotic jiggling. Chef kept his hands there for a moment, squeezing his fingers and crumpling the foil pie tins so that they moulded to Sarah’s messy Knockers and stayed there when he took his hands away.

“Milk bottle tops!” shouted one of Sarah’s cousins.

Chef already had a third pie in his hand. He whirled it around in a big circle, dancing his way up to Sarah and making a show of it. He teased it in front of her face for maybe half a second as a distraction from his real target. Then his arm dropped and the pie was turned from horizontal to vertical and slapped firmly between Sarah’s thighs.

TWWAATTT!!

Sarah lurched forward and stumbled a little on her heels. Still too stunned to speak or make any defensive moves, she merely gave the whole room a withering, slow burn stare of contempt as she peeled the three foils tins from the front of her dress with dainty fingers and let them clatter to the floor.

No sooner had she looked back up from the floor where they fell, that Chef was ready with the fourth pie which he bought down atop Sarah’s head like a gooey hat. Cream, fruit filling and pastry crumbs rained down over the her shoulders and spattered everywhere, adding to the carnage in her cleavage. Sarah’s entire body shuddered.

Chef had the fifth and last pie in his hand now. He was bouncing it gently up and down in his palm, strolling casually toward the decimated female stooge. This was it, the grand finale. Everyone applauded, cheered and whistled as Sarah started to shake her head – No, please don’t – Chef just nodded. As he moved closer, Sarah shook her head harder. No, no please don’t. I’ve had enough…

Chef applied the pie. No huge impact, no big splash. Slowly, he pushed it against her face and just pressed. Moving his hand in a slow circle, he began to smear it around. Cream spread, fruit spilled, crumbs fell. Sarah just stood there and shuddered as Chef smothered to the left and to the right, slowly and cruelly. Everyone watching loved it and applauded the showmanship and silliness of it all.

Eventually, in the slowest movement of all, Chef slid the pie upwards to displace the foil tin already on Sarah’s head – this fell to the floor behind her with a loud splat as the new one was left in place. Sarah’s messy eyelashes blinked heavily for a few seconds before she began to wipe the gunk from her face and flick it to the floor with her fingers.

Sarah’s Dad stood up from the table, cleared his throat and tapped on his wine glass with an item of cutlery to gain attention.

“It’s always good to see the family together on an occasion like this. Sometimes we go to the pantomime, sometimes to the restaurant – but this year let’s all thank Sarah for bringing the spirit of panto right to our dining table. Three cheers for Sarah. Hip Hip!”

“Hooray!”; “Hip Hip!” “Hooray!; “Hip! Hip! Hooray!”

Sarah gazed dumbfounded at her cheering crowd, spat out a glace cherry, and said

“Err, Merry Christmas Everybody, I think…”
The End.

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Gunge Grand Prix 2017(?!) Nominations Open!

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Good evening everyone,

I have been debating all week about whether I should do this, but as it’s December, and Christmas soon, I’ve decided to treat you all with an early present. Therefore, I can confirm that nominations for the 2017 Gunge Grand Prix are now…..OPEN!!!

Why now? After all, it’s still 2016, and we haven’t even decided what the winning story of the 2016 competition is yet. Well, I happen to have a small window of free time to take on nominations. On top of that, it also give me ample time to get the pages in place ready for the 1st Round to kick off on January 26th 2017, when I will have 6 weeks without university to do all the necessary admin.

So that’s the explanation, now for the rules. Please read these carefully as there are some changes from 2016, which are in bold:

  1. The nominee must be female and ‘well known’. By that I mean that I don’t need to go to page 37 on Google to find out who they are.
  2. As winner of the 2016 competition, Jenna Louise Coleman can’t be nominated this year.
  3. The nominee must be at least 18 years old as of 26th January 2017. As such, each nominee is taken as being such age on that date, and the associated looks (with leeway for such things as pregnancy/accidents).
  4. Each person may nominate up to 20 people only. Failure to follow this rule may result in nomination rights being removed. (Also note that Tellygunge or myself may check for sockpuppetry, which is against site rules anyway, and this will result as a violation of this rule). All nominations can be submitted in one go.
  5. People may nominate until the ajudicator (me) says they have reached the total of 512 names (although I shall keep you informed of how many names have been nominated so far via my twitter account @phd2207).
  6. Upon the checking process, any repeats at that stage will be changed by the ajudicator. The list will then be double checked by a willing admin (TG, wanna volunteer for that task?).

People have stated previously they would like to submit their own photos of their nominees, and I’m more than happy to facilitate this. Therefore if you wish to submit photos of your nominees please do either one of the following:

  1. Email them to custardshoots@gmail.com, putting the nominee’s name in the file name to avoid identification issues.
  2. Post a link to the necessary photo on your comment next to the name of the relevant nominee.

That is all for now. Please get commenting below with your nominations and I will try to update once a day with numbers so far via my twitter account @phd2207.

Thanks, and get nominating


Ketnet Kingsize two mothers


Imperfections

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Author’s note: A short story loosely based on something I wrote for Wam Story Archive a long, long time ago before it got shut down.

Dating a woman of his own wealth sometimes proved to be tiring. On one hand, it was advised that he did, for she had money of her own and thus no interest in his. She was with Ian because she liked him. On the other hand, Victoria was materialistic, self absorbed and cared far too much about her appearance. Thankfully it wasn’t a loveless relationship; he did care for her very much. Every now and then he considered proposing to her. Though he supposed love didn’t come without its annoyances. Everyone did indeed have their own faults, after all– no one was perfect. As close as she was and tried to be, she wasn’t, but neither was he. His main flaw was impatience.

It was a flaw that often clashed with Victoria’s flaw of vanity, for she took ages getting ready. Always the perfectionist, she spent hours making sure every meticulous detail was right. However, tonight was Ian’s birthday and she was, once again, late. Most people of his status and money usually threw spectacular evenings for their birthdays, inviting all of their many friends, the whole ordeal. Ian preferred something in-between. The layout of food was what people would see at a large party, but it was just him and his girlfriend tonight. He simply wanted to spend time with her. But, of course, she was two hours late. Another one of Victoria’s flaws; she was inconsiderate.

When she eventually showed, he rose from the sofa and briskly walked towards the door. His butler went to do it, and Ian would usually let him, but he wanted to answer the door for Victoria. Opening the door, he wore a smirk, allowing her inside.

“Nice of you to finally show.” he commented. Look at her, he thought. That dark hair pinned up flawlessly, her makeup accentuating her face, eyeshadow and eyeliner bringing her blue eyes to pop like sapphires. And that dress, that beautiful dress with a matching earring and necklace set. The black and gold palate of her attire and jewelry looked stunning on her, and Ian was sure she spent a good while coordinating everything to match. Victoria was young, but she was the type of woman who acted older than she was; all regal and sophisticated.

“I was getting your present. I know I should’ve got it beforehand, but I couldn’t decide what to get you.” Victoria insisted, taking off her coat and then showing the wrapped gift as an example.

“So, you put it off to the last minute then?” he asked as he closed the door behind her.

“Don’t put it like that. You don’t even care about gifts, in fact, you always tell me not to get them for you.”

“You’re right.” Ian chuckled. “So if getting a gift had been a hassle, you should’ve just forgot it and come without one. That way, you wouldn’t be late.”

She glanced up at him with an accusatory expression. “Is that what this is about?”

“Yes, darling.” Ian muttered. “I try not to complain too much about it, but I have missed you. It’s been a week since I’ve seen you and there’s no one I’d rather spend my birthday with. See, I’m even wearing a suit for you.”

Victoria raised a brow, her own lips curving upwards. “I see. That’s because you’re rather handsome in a suit. It looks lovely on you.” She always thought he was ruggishly handsome, with his beard and his thick, curly black hair and him often wearing a simple shirt and jeans. He did clean up rather nicely though; his beard was actually classy and well groomed, and damn did he look fantastic in a suit and tie.

“You care too much about looks, Tori.” he told her with a short laugh, before turning and walking with her towards the dining room. “How long did you spend getting ready tonight?”

The question surprised her. “Does it matter?”

“Not really.” he admitted. “But I’m curious.”

“It’s not important, Ian.”

Victoria sat down in the chair he pulled out for her, before Ian went to the other side of the table and sat across from her. After setting her present down on the table, she was looking in awe of the display Ian had set up. There was such an assortment of sweets: pies, pastries,  a rather large two-tiered cake.

“You really went all out, didn’t you? Someone have a sweet tooth?”

“Somewhat. Mostly, it’s for you– I know how much you love sweets. Even if you try to hide it.”

Victoria glanced up from the desserts and at Ian. “What?”

“Oh, I know. You want everyone to think that you are above eating sugar because of how bad it is for you, blah blah blah. I’ve seen your candy bar wrapper stash in your purse.”

“You went through my purse?” she asked with furrowed brows.

“That one time when you asked me to hand it to you? It was open, and yes, I took a quick peek before giving it.”

A tiny scoff, before a sigh. “But why have all of this for me even though it’s your birthday, not mine?”

“Because I’m happy that you’re here with me and I wanted you to enjoy yourself. Because I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you.”

“Oh.” Victoria looked across the table at him, slightly baffled. Then she saw Ian smirk again.

“Funny, though, you sometimes lack that same appreciation of me.” Victoria was a good woman, she really was, but she was selfish. He supposed he could be selfish at times too. “So, how long did it take you to get ready?” Another one of his flaws was being stubborn.

Victoria gave an annoyed laugh. “Is that what that whole guilt trip speech was about? It’s not that important; I’m not telling you.” She was stubborn as he was. Folding her arms, her eyes followed him as he rose from his seat and went to stand by her side.

He went to undo the pins from her hair, watching it fall into brunette ringlets against her shoulders. “So, you curled your hair, and then put it up? God, how long the hair must’ve taken on it’s own. You don’t have to do all that, you know.”

She glared up at Ian now, frustrated with his persistence. “You know, not everything has to be simple and without effort. Not everyone is lazy.”

It wasn’t so much as she struck a cord, or perhaps she did, but it was mainly the fact that both of them were too stubborn and set in their ways, and he found her obsession with her appearance, her vanity, her perfectionism to be, at times, very annoying. Ian took one of the chocolate cream pies into his hands and flipped it over onto the top of her head.

Victoria gasped in disbelief, frozen in shock as cream and chocolate engulfed her hair. It dripped down onto her nose, a bit of the broken crust sliding down her hair and down the back of her dress. Ian only laughed though.

“And not everything, Victoria, has to be so tense and uptight. We can just not care so much and have fun.” he told her.

Gasping, hands slowly touching her hair, Victoria lightly pressed her fingers into the cream. A chill went up her spine. She was cringing, blushing, absolutely embarrassed. “Four hours.” she huffed.

“Is that how long getting ready took?” he asked with a grin.

“Yes.” Victoria snarled.

“Well here.” Ian murmured and picked up another pie, only to smash it into her face. Victoria squirmed and squealed trying to get away from it as he rubbed it into her features. When he pulled it away, she looked mortified. Pie covered her face, running down her neck and into her lap.

“You are acting like a child.” she muttered, wiping cream from her eyes as she sat there in devastation.

“Well, at least I’m having fun.” he spoke with a grin. “Come on, Tori, lighten up a bit. It’s just food. Harmless. See, look.”

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare!” she screeched as he lifted her up from her chair and onto the table, setting a pie right under her so she would sit into it. She squeaked, before he gently pushed her down and rubbed her face into the cake in the center of the table. “Mmpf!” Her head sunk into the icing and her noises of displeasure were muffled. Ian chuckled as he gave her face a good smear into the frosting, before letting her fall against the table, Victoria’s torso landing in the cake as well.

Lifting her head, a whimper escaped her, her hands trying to push herself up out of the cake. Her neck, arms, chest were plastered with cake and frosting as she lied there, but it was her face that was the most thickly covered. “This was a very expensive gown.” she muttered, feeling humiliated.

“I’ll by you a new one.” Ian assured. Victoria finally managed to sit up again, though she soon found herself underneath a flow of chocolate. Ian had ditched the salad from the salad bowl and filled it up from the chocolate fountain when she hadn’t been looking. She shrieked, squirming with the horrible sensation of chocolate streaming down her head and face, quickly dripping onto the rest of her.

“Ian!” she huffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands when the deluge finally stopped. “Why are you doing this?” she spoke with the tone of commanding an answer.

“Because you know what, it’s fun. You know, like when we were kids, it was fun to get messy. As an adult, weirdly enough, this is kind of attractive.”

“I never got messy as a child.” she scoffed.

“Ohhhh. Wow, that explains a lot.” Ian laughed.

Victoria let out a cry of anger and got a handful of cake to toss at him. “This is fun to you? I can’t even understand that, let alone how this could possibly be attractive. I must look awful right now.”

He didn’t even try dodging when the cake was flung at him, it hitting his face with a smack. Ian licked his lips. “Yes, it’s fun. C’mon, try it. Throw some more at me.”

Pursing her lips, she continued to glare at her boyfriend, but throwing something else at him was tempting. With another huff, she picked up a pie and went to stand up on the table. Aiming to throw it, her foot slipped on the puddle of chocolate and she fell. Ian hurried to catch Victoria in his arms, and she landed safely in them. Except that the pie she held in her hand was now self-squished into her own face. “Augh!” Shaking her head, she threw the pie tin to the floor as Ian gently set her down in the chair. Victoria quickly rose to her feet, however. “This is horrible. I’m an absolute mess and it’s all your fault!”

Ian only continued to grin at her, handing her another pie. “Then have a go at me. C’mon, Tori.”

Holding back another whimper as one of her hands was feeling how thickly her head was covered in dessert, her other hand held another pie. Victoria glanced down at it. Her  attention was soon back up to Ian’s face. She walked closer to him, raising the pie and firmly pushing it against his face. For extra measure, she rubbed it in a bit before letting the tin drop. She looked up at him, still frowning. Victoria tried gaining composure.

Ian, on the other hand, was laughing. He licked his lips again and blinked cream away from his eyes, gazing at Victoria. “Oh come on. Don’t tell me you don’t think this is amusing at all.”

“It’s not.” Victoria insisted as she began wiping the thick layer of chocolate covered frosting and pie off her face, although when she looked up again at him, a slight smile cracked onto her lips.

“Really?” he questioned again with a smirk. “Seeing me with pie all over my face, that’s not funny in the least?”

“Stop.” she spoke again, her smile widening as Ian made a face, which looked absolutely ridiculous underneath that cream. Ian then smashed an eclair into her hair as an extra texture, before he picked up a cupcake and squished it against Victoria’s face. She squirmed, even more so as he grabbed another one and rubbed it in. “Alright, alright, it is!” she exclaimed, right as he brought another cupcake inches away from her nose.

“It is, what?” he asked teasingly.

Victoria rolled her eyes. “It is amusing.” she finally admitted. She then gasped as Ian smashed the cupcake against her nose anyway.

“Good,” he remarked. “Because I do find this to be rather sexy. You, a complete mess.”

“Why? That doesn’t make sense.” she scoffed, her nails scraping the pastry crust from her hair.

“Not sure exactly. Maybe something to do with how obsessive you are about your looks, so seeing you all messy is a pleasant change.”

“I hate you.” Victoria pouted.

“Love you too, darling.”

Fishing chocolate-coated crumbs of cake out of her cleavage, she sighed in defeat.

“Also,” Ian spoke. “I don’t appreciate being called effortless and lazy. I put a lot of effort into my company and the things I invent.”

She looked up at him, a brow raising. “Had that offended you?” Victoria asked in surprise. “I know you’re not. I was just… you know I say things out of frustration. Your inventions are amazing. I apologize.”

“Thank you.” Ian smiled. “Hold on just one minute.” He left the room to approach the kitchen, and Victoria turned around cautiously.

“Ian? What are you doing?” she asked in horrified anticipation. When he came back, he had a bulk-sized bucket of chocolate fudge. Her eyes widened in shock. “Ian! No no no no…” She heard the snap of the container opening and shrieked when she felt Ian’s hand on the back of her head. He dunked her head into the bucket, making sure it was covered completely, before pulling her head out of it and then pouring the remaining fudge down her dress. The fudge was so rich and sticky. It persistently clung to every inch of her face and hair. It ran down her dress like a thick sludge.  “Ew… ew…ewww…” she whimpered.

“Now your apology is accepted.” he teased as the bucket was emptied. Grinning in amusement, he very willingly took the backlash consisting of Victoria throwing fudge and pieces of smashed cake at him.


Gunge Grand Prix 2017: Nominations Update & Advice required

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Evening All,

Just writing to give you a quick update as to where we are with the nominations for the 2017 Gunge Grand Prix, and to seek advice as to how we can reach the 512 target.

Currently, our total nominations stand at 336, which is good, but ultimately it has taken 10 days to get there, whereas we had made the 512 target in less than a week for the 2016 competition.

The number of nominations coming in is stagnating  I received just two names over the weekend, and I fear that we may reach a point where we can’t start on the 26th January as planned because we won’t have 512 names.

I introduced a restriction on the number of nominations people could make in order to allow more people to have a say. However this appears to have lengthened the nominations process. Conversely, there are many who have nominated who have not used their full quota of 20.

Ultimately, this is run for your benefit, so please comment below or email me custardshoots@gmail.com with suggestions as to how to get the nominations process moving. I will also post a spreadsheet tomorrow with a list of who has been nominated so far as I’m currently on my phone with no access to the spreadsheet. ***UPDATE SPREADSHEET NOW ATTACHED****

gunge-grand-prix-2017

Thanks, and please get commenting.

 

 

 

 


Gunge Grand Prix 2016: Winning Story Revealed!

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Good Evening,

The vote to decide the winning story of the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix has now ended. And I am pleased to reveal the winning story is…..Story A, submitted by GunkDunk94! Congratulations to you. I would present you with a trophy at this point, but I’m afraid there isn’t one…so…you know, well done anyway! For those who have not had the chance to read the winning story, it is attached below. I also want to commiserate the writer of Story B – Briff1es – who should be applauded for his fantastic efforts and a great story.

Just a gentle reminder that nominations for 2017 are still open, with 374 nominations already accepted, and still 138 places to fill. Please see the featured post at the top of the page to submit your entries.

Please note I am moving house over the next few days and will be without wifi until at least the 30th December, so will be relying on 3G to keep pace. I will try and respond as much as possible to nominations, but if anyone is willing to keep tabs with things over the next couple of weeks, that would be greatly appreciated.

All that’s left for me to say is thank you for your support of the 2016 Gunge Grand Prix and I look forward to seeing you again for next year’s competition. Thank you!

story-a


The Wammies 2016 – Voting open!

The GYOB Redux

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So, it’s been quite a while since I’ve properly wrote anything on TellyGunge. Busy year and all that, we all have em. It’s been a long time since NGYOB, and I have to admit, that itch is starting to come back, as well as other messy story ideas.

I had a huge response a couple of years back, when I decided to cease as many celebrity stories, and instead allow you guys to ‘Get Your Own Back’ in a revamped version of the old show, with real suggestions of victi – contestants. I had a lot of people saying they enjoyed the stories, and to a couple, I think it felt like some form of the show had actually returned. The last story I did that was GYOB related, was giving Lisa Brockwell her long deserved trip to the Gunk Dunk, last christmas, which you can view here. 

Since then I guess I just haven’t been fully up to continuing NGYOB, burnt out in the end I think. Instead deciding to do a couple of small private stories for some who requested it. But a full blown return to NGYOB? Well it wasn’t on the cards – I guess I was having a long hiatus.

However….I’m feeling that itch again, and I had an idea that was formed out of the Lisa Brockwell story. So before any new NGYOB series returns fully, I wanted to scratch that itch with something else…

Ever asked what if?

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Julie. Aida. Michaela. 

Just three random women who appeared on Get Your Own Back at different times, but never found themselves gunged; not even sat above it in the case of Julie and Michaela. The latter of which was bloody ridiculous, going up against a fixed Mr Blobby – I mean come on, Michaela should have been above the gunge on that episode, even as a bonus. I’ve heard countless times people rant about it and rightly so, heard of many that never went in the gunge or got messy – sods law in most cases, it was the way of the game. As Wammers, it’s something we deal with these days, never having clips or memories of what may have been great gungings.

So enough waffling, why am I going on about this? Well I want to gauge interest/suggestions for an idea.


THE IDEA

I want to do a series of short stories for TellyGunge. Some ‘What If’ Gunk Dunks, featuring the ‘ones that got away’. With the aid of photo’s from some YouTube clips or whatever, I want to redo Gunk Dunk’s featuring the many women who never ended up in or above the famous gunge pit. A couple of things I’m aiming to do right for this:

  • They’ll be on for the same reason. (Eg. Bad singing, bossy, etc.)
  • They’ll appear above the Gunk Dunk of whichever series they were on.
  • They’ll be in the same team colours.
  • They will be brought on by the same child as they were in the actual show.
  • The Gunk Dunk for that show will be the same (This one is tricky, so give or take it may differ)
  • Again, as much as I can, they will be realistic in how they act above the gunge.
  • Yes, celebrity suggestions are welcome too if they were on the show but didn’t receive mess!

Rather than of course doing the full shows of these already made episodes again, I’ll be focusing on just the Gunk Dunk side of things. If though, there were any women who escaped a gunging earlier in the show, then I may be able to quickly cover those too. As such with the Gunk Dunk, I’ll be aiming to keep truthful to how it was in the series, so not over the top as my NGYOB series had it’s Gunk Dunk.


That’s where you guys come in. Although I can pinpoint a few women who escaped, there’ll be others I haven’t thought of or maybe even know about. I’ll be checking on the threads I know of to get an idea, but it would be great if any of you guys knew of ones straight away to remind me of.

So if there’s any particular woman you remember on GYOB and were disappointed because they never got gunged, let me hear them! Just a couple of details would do:

  • Their name.
  • The series you know OR think they were on.
  • A brief description of why they were on the show and what they looked like – not in huge detail, just the basics of course.

I can see if I can do the rest. If you know where you can find clips or images featuring these ladies, let me know how to find them as I want to include one or two images to help the stories along if possible.


A fun little idea which may please one or two people, and I know for a fact I’ll enjoy writing the stories!

If this all goes well then I hope that I will be getting back into a new series of NGYOB next year. I still have a few old requests and since the last time I put finger to key on it, I’ve thought of one or two fun games to go along with it. I have to admit, I may somehow streamline the stories down, as they were a huge task to write, but they will still be packed with detail and mess all being well!

So, if you suddenly thought to yourself whilst reading, “Oh man, XXX never got a blob of mess on her that episode”, then let me know who they were and they will rightfully be above the Gunk Dunk!

MsM


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