This story was commissioned by Wolf, who provided an excellent plot outline to work with. The entire story was written as a single commission, but I’ve decided it works well posted as two parts. Here’s the first.

Karen McDonald stormed into the office. “You won’t believe the journey I’ve had!”

“Oh?” Victoria Pearson looked up from her desk. Karen’s daily commute was nearly always “unbelievable”. What would it be this time? A ten mile walk on hot coals? A fight to the death with a dragon at Paddington station? A troll (of the traditional variety) bestriding the Bakerloo line, demanding the answer to a riddle on pain of disembowelment?

“The girl next to me had her earphones loud enough to hear every word,” Karen griped. “And it wasn’t even decent music. And then this happened!”

Karen barged into the personal space behind Victoria’s desk and clumsily raised a thigh into the latter’s face, her curvy figure threatening to topple onto her slender subordinate. Squinting, Victoria made out a faint, light-coloured stain on her manager’s suit trousers.

“Some little brat spilt his milkshake all over the table!” Karen clarified.

“Yeah, I see it. Terrible!” Victoria fought to keep a straight face. If a splash like that vexed Karen, the next hour was going to be quite something.

“They shouldn’t be allowed on trains during rush-hour,” Karen complained.

“Little brats or milkshakes?”

“Both! But it gets worse! When I told him off for it, he reached over… and… and…” Karen paled, struggling to get the words out.

“Touched the hair-band?” said Victoria wearily.

The hair-band (always the definite article; the possessive adjective was redundant, since no-one else’s hair-band merited consideration), which held Karen’s medium-length blonde hair in a ponytail, was beyond sacrosanct. Karen had been tormented by boys pulling it off at school, Victoria gathered, and bore the psychological scars to this day.

“Is it still in place?” Karen anxiously turned her back to Victoria.

“Still in place.”

“Thank goodness for that.” With a final shudder, Karen put the horrors of the commute out of her mind, only for another bone of contention to replace them. “Something you’re forgetting to say, Vicks?”

“Not at all,” smiled Victoria, who had not yet had the opportunity to speak on her own account. “Happy birthday, Karen! The Big Three-O!”

“There’s no need to rub it in,” grumbled Karen. “Anyway, it’s time for the meeting. I hope your presentation’s ready.”

“Oh it’s ready,” nodded Victoria. Little did Karen know, it was to be a very up-close and direct presentation.

The two proceeded to the meeting room, a slight frostiness between the curvy blonde and the slender, tanned brunette as they walked the corridor. They had once been good friends – still were friends, Victoria grudgingly supposed – but their relationship had been under strain since Karen had been favoured over Victoria for promotion to team manager. Said promotion had meant a de-facto demotion for Victoria, whom Karen was prone to treat as a PA, contrary to her job description. To add insult to injury, it was usually Victoria who got the job done while Karen lost her head and later took the credit.

All this was why Victoria had contacted a TV producer to arrange what was about to occur.

“What’s with this plastic sheeting?” Karen tapped her shoe on the meeting room floor as they entered.

Victoria shrugged. “Decorators, I guess.”

“And the cameras?”

“Video conferencing.”

“And what’s that all about?” Karen pointed to a trolley with a chequered cloth loosely draped over it.

“Caterers,” said Victoria nonchalantly, inwardly brimming with excitement as the moment approached. She avoided eye-contact with colleagues as they entered, distrusting her resolve not to giggle at the secret they commonly held.

Karen, for her part, noted many staff members from other departments, who had no reason to attend the meeting. The room became far more packed than expected, with staff not only seated at the conference table but standing several rows deep around it. She cringed. Flash-mobbing on milestone birthdays was not unheard of, and she braced for an embarrassing intrusion by senior management.

What she did not envisage was the colourfully clad man and expensively dressed young woman who entered, though they were vaguely familiar to her. The room’s several dozen other occupants evidently did expect the arrival, and cheered loudly.

“KAREN MCDONALD!!” announced the man, his hand on her shoulder. “I understand you’re celebrating the Big Three-O!”

“Err, yes,” said Karen.

“Jonny!” hissed the woman, now standing at Karen’s other side. “Don’t you know it’s rude to mention a lady’s age?”

“Age? Jonnie, I assure you, I was referring to her size,” he quipped back, with a flourishing gesture to Karen’s plump figure. His partner play-slapped his face.

Karen might have been more incensed had she not been so baffled. Her eyes darted around the rows of grinning faces, to Victoria, who was giddy with excitement. Then Karen saw the cameras homing in on her, now with human operators. A boom-mic swung overhead.

The penny dropped: these were Jonathan Day and Joanna Giles, presenters of The Two Jonnies (and also the hottest and most volatile couple in telly). Then the significance of the plastic sheeting dawned on Karen. Although not a regular viewer of the programme, she knew that gunge and slapstick mess were staples. She put a palm to her forehead.

“See Jonny, you’ve made Karen shy,” tutted Joanna, who to some extent played ‘straight girl’ to Jonathan’s goofery, though not without an air of sarcasm. Indeed, she could be the far meaner of the pair when the situation demanded it, harshly domineering and infuriatingly smug. While Jonathan was tastelessly attired in a loud suit, the petite twenty-two-year-old boasted immaculate businesswear, probably more expensive than the combined clothing of the rest of the room. Her long, brunette hair was neatly plaited in a single ponytail down her back.

“But never mind him, Karen,” she continued. “I’ve got some good news for you. Your birthday isn’t the only thing to celebrate; you’ve also been named…”

“EMPLOYEE OF THE GUNKED!!” the pair shouted together.

The crew wheeled on a throne, suitably indecorous and mocking in its design, with said title writ large above the seat. Karen groaned.

“That’s it, you come and take your place on the throne,” instructed Jonathan. A whoopie-cushion engaged as Karen sat down. “Oh dear, shouldn’t have had that curry last night, should you?”

Karen flushed. She regarded Victoria’s gleeful demeanour, and knew in that moment that her ‘assistant’ had set her up for this.

Joanna stood in front of Lindsey, addressing a camera. “Yes, this is Employee of the Gunked, the part of the show where those most precious of workers get rewarded by their colleagues. First of all, can we have Patricia Dent please? Patricia, are you here?”

Patricia stood up – a small, impish woman with curly black hair.

“Now Patricia,” said Jonathan. “I understand that you have a grievance with Karen regarding an umbrella…?”

“That’s right,” said Patricia. “One day, when there was a heavy thunderstorm, I went to leave the office and discovered my umbrella was missing. I got soaked! The next day I found out Karen here had swiped it; she returned it to me, but there was no apology.”

Booing ensued from the assembled workers.

“What do you have to say for yourself, umbrella thief?” Joanna asked Karen.

“It’s a manager’s prerogative to commandeer a junior staff member’s umbrella when required.” It was the kind of jokey response that went down well on the show, but Karen spoke only in semi-jest.

“Hmm, I’m not sure Patricia agrees,” said Jonathan. He picked up a large steel pail from the trolley. “Patricia, why don’t you make it rain for Karen?”

Karen’s jaw dropped as Patricia approached with the pail. “No no no!” she protested. She looked imploringly to Joanna, but was clearly going to get no reprieve from the smug celeb, so she turned her pleading on Patricia. “Now now, Patricia, your promotion prospects are very good. Don’t spoil it for yourself!”

“Oh, I’d give it all up for this moment,” Patricia assured, raising the bucket above Karen, who leant forwards with her arms over her head.

Joanna jabbed Karen in the ribs, her mean side coming to the fore. “Let’s have a good posture on the throne please.” Karen unwillingly complied, screwing her face as Patricia tipped the bucket.

If Karen had hoped for glitter or some other fake water, her hopes were dashed as a downpour of the very real and very wet stuff engulfed her. And it evidently wasn’t warm, either, judging by the way she shrieked. Her blonde hair and grey suit turned shades darker. Her shirt went see-through, revealing a white bra around her ample chest.

Patricia wore a big grin as she put down the bucket. Karen wriggled uncomfortably. Meanwhile in her seat, Victoria tossed back her head as she laughed and clapped; she was loving this!

“Maybe Karen will think twice before stealing umbrellas in future,” chuckled Jonathan. “Next up we have Rob Reeves. Rob, up you come!”

Karen was far from happy to hear this name called. A tall, 30-something man swaggered from the back of the room.

“Now Rob, you and Karen had a brief fling a few months ago, so I guess you have more horror stories to tell than most.”

“Oh, we could be here all day,” said Rob cockily, lording his moment in the limelight. “But to keep things family-friendly, I’ll just tell you about Kaz’s pizza habit.” A dripping Karen rolled her eyes as Rob continued: “Kaz gets these late-night cravings for pizza, you see. So when she came round my place she’d order one, eat it in bed, get crumbs on the sheets. But worst of all, in all the time we were together, she never offered me a single slice.”

“Dear me, Karen!” tutted Joanna. “It’s a girlfriend’s duty to share pizza with her boyfriend.”

“And it’s a boyfriend’s duty to order pizza for me so I don’t have to,” retorted Karen, laughing despite herself.

Jonathan was back at the trolley. “What pizza topping do you prefer, Karen – tomato or cheese?” When Karen declined to answer, he said: “Best make it a bit of both then.” He picked a piping gun and a bowl of grated cheese. Karen closed her eyes with a whispered “oh my God”, realising the drenching was just the start of her woes.

“Rob, the lady thinks you should serve her pizza, so give the lady what she wants!”

Holding the gun in a vulgar fashion at his hip, Rob fired dark pizza sauce towards his ex. It spurted thick and gloopy, causing Karen scream as it heavily impacted her suit and shirt. Within seconds, her work attire was a sloppy maroon-red. Rob moved his aim higher, catching Karen’s face and hair and splattering the back of the throne around her head.

“Ooo, I love a nicely-topped pizza,” enthused Joanna, dumping the bowl of grated cheese over Karen. The yellow strands stuck to the sauce. Karen sat and pouted as Rob blew her a kiss.

Jonathan rubbed his hands together. “Thank you, Rob. Now let’s hear from Glenda Thomas. Glenda, my love, up you come!”

A middle-aged woman in overalls approached.

“Karen, you might not know Glenda, but she cleans your office every night. Glenda, I believe that Karen’s section of the office takes longer to clean than everyone else’s. Why is that?”

“It’s because of the toffee wrappers,” grumbled Glenda. “On her desk, on the floor… If I had a pound for every toffee wrapper I picked up I’d be retired to the Bahamas by now. You wouldn’t think she had a bin right next to her.”

“Karen,” said Joanna with mock sternness. “Did you think the Toffee Fairy has been picking up your wrappers?”

Karen was still rasping from the sauce in her face. “Those wrappers were simply transitioning to the bin,” she said in typical business-speak.

“Oh really? We’ll here’s something transitioning your way,” said Jonathan, lifting a bucket from the trolley. Karen groaned; she had a pretty good idea what it contained. “Glenda the Toffee Fairy, get your revenge!”

Glenda upturned the bucket to much cheering, dumping light-brown goo over a squalling Karen. The sugary slop congregated over her head in a shiny mound before running down her forehead and onto her shoulders.

“Now I have to say that all of Karen’s colleagues are finding this most enjoyable,” said Joanna, the camera panning round her as she walked down the room. “But none more so than young Victoria here.” Joanna stopped by the immaculate young brunette, who was so overcome by mirth she struggled to stay on her chair. “Victoria, you were the one who wrote to us to have Karen set up, weren’t you?”

“I knew it!” shouted Karen, scooping away toffee. “Just you wait til your birthday, Vicks!”

Victoria blinked away tears of laughter as Joanna led her to the front of the room.

“Now Victoria,” Joanna said. “In your letter you mentioned an item that Karen treasures above all else. An item she attaches an almost religious significance to…”

Karen’s eyes widened. “Oh no, not the hair-band! A joke’s a joke but you’re not touching the h—no, get off me!! DON’T TOUCH IT!!”

But duck and squirm as Karen might, Jonathan seized the sacred accessory. Karen’s pony-tail unfurled, the lower parts of it still relatively clean.

“Give it back!!” she growled.

“Why so fussed? It’s ruined anyway.” Jonathan tossed the accessory teasingly in his palm. Karen looked ready to leap from the throne and claw the hair-band from his possession, but Joanna’s steely glare made her think twice about it.

Jonathan unveiled the final item on the trolley, ostensibly a birthday cake, in reality a huge pile of white cream with “30” piped in pink on the top.

“Oh can I? Can I?” Victoria was jumping up and down like a little girl in a doll shop.

“You certainly can,” said Jonathan, handing her the cake.

Victoria trembled with excitement, so much so that she nearly dropped the cake as she stepped up to the throne. Sitting in the mess, Karen couldn’t help smiling ruefully despite her best efforts to be cross.

“You, Miss Pearson, are so for—MMFFF!!”

Victoria sprang, smothering her boss’s face with the great clod of cream. “Ah, ha ha ha!!” she cackled, one hand on the back of Karen’s head to hold her still, while she twisted and screwed the cake in. She pushed it onto the top of Karen’s head, revealing a face dishevelled in white.

“And let’s toast the celebrations, shall we?” Joanna winked to the camera as she pulled a lever. A siren sounded “WOOP!! WOOP!! WOOP!!” and Victoria jumped away just in time as green and yellow gunge gushed from nozzles built into the throne. Completely disorientated with cake over her face, Karen’s head shook as the colourful gunge covered over the white cream, her arms flailing.

Such was the closing scene that the played out on the big screen as the audience applauded. Seated half-way back, a clean Karen smiled wryly to the camera, playing the good sport, while in the next seat Victoria reprised her hysterics.

Jonathan and Joanna stood on stage, he in a marginally more sober suit, she in a short sapphire dress.

“And I can you tell you, Karen needed more than a stolen umbrella to get home that day!” Jonathan remarked. “But Glenda happily reports not having to pick up a single toffee wrapper since.”

“We’ll be back after a quick break, so sit tight,” announced Joanna.

“That especially goes for our studio audience, as there are a few surprises coming up!” Jonathan added, pointing a finger.

With that, the pair waved – he zanily, she alluringly.

“And cut!” shouted the director. Crew milled onto the stage, setting up props for the next segment. What was billed as a “quick break” was in fact a half-hour turnaround; the show wasn’t live.

“That Victoria’s more hyper than my nephew on Tizer,” Jonathan remarked as he and Joanna walked off-set.

“I know. Can’t wait to turn the tables in the second half of the show,” said Joanna. The couple exchanged a quick kiss as they reached the dressing-room doors. “I reckon she’ll be rather less amused when we unveil the Messy-Go…”

Her voice fell away as she clapped eyes on a self-invited and unwelcome guest. The girl had parked herself on Joanna’s chair, seated sideways to the arriving couple, one boot-heal casually kicking the floor, the other boot laying across Joanna’s make-up table. Between said knee-height boots and a micro-skirt, plenty of thigh beckoned. A leather jacket hung open, revealing a slim white mid-rift and a scarlet crop-top. Expensively-styled red hair with highlights tumbled over shoulders.

For a few seconds Jonathan didn’t recognise the visitor. It was only by staring at the freckled face that his brain overcame the dissonance. “L-Lizzie!!” he blurted.

“This is a private area,” Joanna said coldly.

“Oh, it’s okay. The director gave me a backstage pass.” Lizzie repositioned her foot, kicking over Joanna’s lipsticks as if to make the point. “So you share a dressing-room now. How cosy.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Joanna pressed up tightly against Jonathan, slipping her arm around his lower back. “After all, we share a bed.”

Jonathan rediscovered his voice. “Lizzie, you look so different! What happened to…?”

“The old wardrobe?” Heavily made-up eyelashes fluttered. “I slung it out, along with the old attitude. No more Little Miss Nice.”

Lizzie, now 20, had been Jonathan’s girlfriend prior to Joanna. They’d got together in the final year of college, their relationship weathering Jonathan’s ascent from jobbing agency actor to the nationally recognised face he was today. While Lizzie had naturally been pleased for his success, his new-found fame also brought its challenges. As his fresh face came to feature in magazine articles and interviews, everyone grew keen to know what lucky lady held his affections. A reserved and private woman, Lizzie was discomfited by the mere mention of her existence in the gossip-sphere, but Jonathan proved a very protective boyfriend, declining to divulge this aspect of his life. However a few press members, not to mention Jonathan’s jealous admirers, were more persistent. Lizzie found herself followed and even confronted in the street, a distressing situation in every instance.

That was when Joanna suggested that Lizzie appear on the show – an opportunity to sate the press’s curiosity, and to inform the stalkers that Jonathan was happily spoken for, ta very much. Best to resolve matters in a controlled environment, Joanna said, secretly resolving that the control would be exercised by herself.

Lizzie wasn’t so sure. She hated being videoed even at family events; the prospect of cameras relaying her every movement to the nation was hellish. She dreaded the attention this would bring, everyone from aunts to colleagues saying “Ooh, I saw you on the telly!” Lizzie was also mindful of the show’s prank-ridden nature. She knew that many a schmuck was lured into the Two Jonnies’ clutches on false pretences, only to be embarrassed, or worse. And there was something about Joanna that unsettled her – the girl’s falseness, her smarminess, not to mention how she’d started behaving around Jonathan…

But Jonathan assured Lizzie that nothing nasty would happen to her. She had his word on it.

And so, Lizzie made her TV appearance. She dressed conservatively in a dark-blue blouse (top button undone was the limit when it came to baring flesh) and flared trousers. Her ginger hair was straight and unhighlighted in those days, a basic style with a horizontally snipped fringe. Pretty, sweet, but not really sexy. A good girl.

In a rather laboured script, Jonathan and Joanna gave Lizzie a ‘tour’ of the set and she ‘helped out’ with various aspects. She handed out the microphone during a segment involving audience participation, tried her hand at operating the camera, and placed cards on a board during a quiz game.

Joanna, at face-value, put on a welcoming and friendly air towards the guest, but there was a patronising undercurrent in her manner. And her interactions with Jonathan went beyond the typical chemistry between TV presenters; she openly flirted with him. Her body, clad in an extra-revealing black dress, pressed against him. She was openly mocking Lizzie, making moves on her boyfriend and daring her to do something about it.

But of course Lizzie didn’t. She was too obedient to the crew’s stage directions, too self-conscious under the glare of the cameras, too deferential to challenge this glamorous, extroverted woman.

“And here we have the gunge tank!” Joanna purred as she and Jonathan led Lizzie centre-stage. Of course, the show had many gunging devices; the one in question was the classic, upright cubicle, with a seat inside, a gunge-containing compartment above, and a lever beside it. Such a configuration had been used time and time again, yet hadn’t grown old.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Lizzie, a little pathetically. In truth she found such things far from nice. She disdained the boisterousness, the mess, the humiliation of the victim who was then expected to grin like a good sport while they dripped in discomfort and everyone laughed at them. Whenever Lizzie watched the show – as she often had no choice but to do – she quietly shuddered at the gungings.

“You know, it would be a shame to visit the studio and not experience what it’s like just to sit in the dreaded tank.” Joanna opened the perspex half-door, licking her lips, her eyes upon Lizzie.

“Oh I don’t know…” Lizzie breathed deeply. She could see the gunge in the compartment – bright green and pink. This device was no dud; it was primed and poised to dump its load at the pull of the lever. She was loath to spend a second inside. But her deference was her own worst enemy; she couldn’t make a scene or refuse. The show had a script to run to, she figured, and she’d have to go along with it. And besides, Jonathan was right here with her; he’d promised nothing unpleasant would befall her.

So unhappily Lizzie stepped into the tank, bunching up on the small, low seat as a grinning Joanna closed the door behind her. Rows of audience members faced her, sniggering at a joke she didn’t want to contemplate. Cameras manoeuvred, trained upon her vulnerable form. She felt like a zoo animal, a caged specimen. Every muscle tensed under the scrutiny. Joanna was right; it was an experience. Not a pleasant one.

“Well that’s very interesting…” Lizzie stood up. The door didn’t budge when she pushed against it. Self-consciously she fumbled with the catch.

Joanna put a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, pushing her back onto the seat. “No no. Not just yet,” her voice oozed. “But fear not. The questions I have for Jonny are very easy.”

“Huh? Questions…?” Lizzie looked anxiously to Jonathan, but he only shrugged.

Joanna retrieved a card from somewhere in her cleavage. “Ok Jonny, I have three questions. All you have to do to save your girlfriend from the gunge is answer just one correctly. So she shouldn’t be in any danger, should she?”

“Fire away, Jonnie,” said Jonathan.

Despite her ample attire, a chill swept Lizzie. But Jonathan wouldn’t let her down, she was sure.

Joanna looked at the card. “Hmm. Sorry to disappoint you, folks, but these questions really are easy. Question 1: Who was Prime Minister immediately before David Cameron?”

Lizzie breathed easier; that was indeed an easy question. Yet her boyfriend hesitated; he seemed somehow distracted. His eyes swept Lizzie in the tank, and then to Joanna, who slightly hitched up her skirt, showing off thigh. Lizzie watched him swallow.

Gordon Brown, Gordon Brown, Gordon Brown, Lizzie willed him.

Jonathan puffed out his cheeks and replied, “Tony Blair?”

The audience laughed. Lizzie’s stomach dropped. “Ooh Jonny, that’s wrong!” tittered Joanna. “The answer is in fact Gordon Brown. You should’ve known that!”

Jonathan pulled a goofy shrug to the audience.

“But don’t worry; you’ve got two more chances to save your girlfriend from an awful fate,” Joanna chuckled. “Next question: Lisbon is the capital of which country?”

Lizzie heartened. She knew Jonathan knew the answer; they’d recently enjoyed a romantic break in that very city. But again Jonathan faltered. He regarded her there in the gunge tank, a glint in his eyes – the same glint she’d seen many times on the show when he was tormenting some poor guest.

“Come on Jonny! We ain’t got all day.” Joanna flicked the question card in her cleavage, knocking back the opening of her dress to reveal even more of her breasts.

“Spain,” he spoke firmly.

The audience laughed again, anticipation growing. Lizzie’s blood froze. What was he playing at?!

“Oh Jonny!” cried Joanna, eyes glowing with glee. “It’s Portugal, you silly boy! Dear me, folks, is Jonny a dummy, or does he want to see his girlfriend covered in all that icky sticky slime?”

Lizzie flushed, wanting to shrivel in the glare of the cameras. Her cheeks were surely crimson. She sensed the enormity of the green and pink gunge above her, and it sent shivers right to her core.

It’s just a skit, she told herself. They taking it down to the wire to create suspense. She only wished she’d been let in on the joke beforehand.

Joanna now had her hand on the lever, her fingertips sliding over its shaft, stroking the bulb. “You’ll have to get this one right, Jonny boy.” She glanced at the question card. “In the alphabet, which letter comes between N and P?”

There was no way Jonathan could get this wrong. But instead of answering, he tentatively approached Joanna, who rubbed a hand across his chest. Leaning into her, he faced Lizzie, wearing an expression that he’d never conveyed to her before, but that she instantly recognised – betrayal.

“H,” he uttered.

Lizzie’s entire body seemed to slump. She dropped, through the foundations of the TV studio, deep into the Earth, into a chasm of anguish. Yet at the same time, the seat held her in place to face her fate. She was frozen, unable even to cower or duck, as that woman towered over her, smug and sexy, entwined with her boyfriend. And above, the gunge loomed, the hatch ready to open.

Could there still be a reprieve, some final twist? Might Jonathan yet act on the his word?

“Well, we know what happens now, don’t we?” Joanna announced ecstatically. “Izzy whizzy, let’s gunge Lizzie!!”

“No!!” cried Lizzie. “Please!” But Joanna, embracing Jonathan so that her scarcely-concealed breasts squashed against him, cranked the lever. The siren screamed in Lizzie’s ears – a braying rise and fall that echoed the audience’s cheers. Lizzie’s hands twitched aimlessly in front of her. They were actually doing this!

The pink erupted first, a fairy-ring of jetlets that hemmed Lizzie in, gushing onto her legs, shoulders and back. Lizzie bleated, her skin crawling as the salmon-pink pooled in her lap and began soaking through her blouse. A trickle entered her neckline and ran down her chest, its cold fingers encroaching on her breasts. Yet she exhorted herself to sit bolt upright in this fairy-ring, fleetingly hopeful that her head could avoid the worst by staying in the middle.

These hopes were cruelly dashed as the green descended, a singular torrent straight onto the crown of Lizzie’s head. Crushing in every sense of the word, it forced the air from the depths of her diaphragm in an unladylike “Yyaaarrrggggggghhh!!!” The slime instantly smothered her soft red locks, running down the sides in a green shroud. It accumulated at her fringe before breaking free and invading her face. Squawking, Lizzie leant forward, but this subjected her back to the full force of the torrent, which plastered her hair nastily against her saturated blouse.

On and on the deluge came, second after second of toe-curling torment. Why did they have to use so much? Surely she was covered already! But gallon upon gallon, wave after wave, the stuff slopped and splashed upon her. It piled around her tight buttocks and ran down her legs, pooling at her shoes.

After an excruciating age, the green deluge abated. The pink jetlets, losing pressure, swept inwards as they waned, giving Lizzie’s face a final coating. Lizzie slumped, drenched and sticky. As the siren died, the laughter and cheering of the crowd became the overarching sound. Lizzie peered out miserably as the cameramen crowded in for their close-ups. Even as tears welled in her eyes, she forced her mouth into a lame half-smile, whether playing the good sport or simply the fool she wasn’t sure.

“Well Lizzie, you’ve certainly had the full Two Jonnies experience now!” gushed Joanna, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “What a makeover for those dull clothes!”

Jonathan and Lizzie split up a few days later. The gossip columnists assumed that she’d dumped him for caddishly humiliating her on TV, but the truth was more humiliating still. Lizzie in fact forgave Jonathan his broken promise, but Jonathan couldn’t get Joanna out of his head. Even during the intimate moments of his final nights with Lizzie, his mind’s eye returned to his co-presenter: the harsh grin on her painted lips, the erotic manner in which she’d gripped the lever, the domination over the cute, sweet girl in the tank. So mean, so catty, so utterly sexy. It was too much for Jonathan; he broke off from a devastated Lizzie and so began his relationship with Joanna.

Presently, as Lizzie locked eyes with Jonathan across the dressing room, he relived this entire experience. Joanna, discerning this silent contemplation, tightened her grip on him.

“Yes, I learnt that day that nice girls lose,” Lizzie said. “But I’m not a nice girl anymore.” She swiped her leg across the dressing table, scattering lipstick tubes and foundation trays onto the floor.

“Hey!!” cried Joanna. Instinctively she stooped to collect the items, giving Lizzie the opportunity to pounce on Jonathan.

“Oh yes. Meek little me wasn’t exciting enough for you,” Lizzie purred, her hands on Jonathan’s lapels, her thrusting groin just shy of touching his. “You like a bad girl, don’t you, Jonny?”

“Well, uh…” A sweat bead trickled down Jonathan’s brow as Lizzie’s scarlet fingernails shimmied down his lapels. His gaze was led inexorably downwards, past Lizzie’s cherry lips. Her crop-top had a zipper, pulled half down. In all the time they’d dated, Jonathan had never known Lizzie to sport cleavage.

She leant in and whispered in his ear. “Tell me, am I bad enough for you now?”

Jonathan was lost for words, but Joanna had plenty to say. “Get out of my dressing room!!”

“Perhaps Jonathan wants me to stay.” Lizzie’s fingers were now at his belt buckle. “Maybe it’s YOU who’s making it a crowd in here.”

Joanna snarled. Grabbing Lizzie with pinching nails, she yanked her clear of Jonathan.

“Easy Joan, don’t get overblown.”

“I said GET OUT OF HERE!!” Joanna repeated, throwing the door wide-open. “And don’t show your face here again!”

“Sorry to break this to you, but my pretty face is sticking around – right in the front row of the audience.” Lizzie puckered her lips towards Jonathan. “Perhaps if you perform well enough, I’ll throw my knickers at you.”

“OUT!!!” screamed Joanna.

Lizzie was halfway through blowing a kiss when Joanna slammed the door on her.

“What on Earth’s got into that girl?” Joanna shook her head in a mixture of anger and disbelief. “I’ve never known her to show such front!”

“Neither have I.” Jonathan exhaled heavily, thinking about those sprightly breasts peeking from the crop-top. Joanna fixed him with her blackest glare.

“What’s the problem?” Jonathan shrugged. “I didn’t do anything!”

“That’s the problem,” fumed Joanna. “You didn’t push her away, didn’t tell her to take a hike, didn’t come over to me. You just stood and gawped at her!”

“I was just surprised. That’s all,” Jonathan insisted. “That outfit really shows off her ass…”

Joanna looked fit to explode.

“…sertive side,” Jonathan hurriedly finished.

“Well, we’ll see how assertive she is when she moves onto her next new look,” Joanna fumed. “Which will be of the messy kind!” She grabbed the phone on her dressing table and dialled the director.

“…Are you aware that Jonathan’s ex is wandering around the dressing rooms?…” she frowned “…Ah, so you did invite her… Got something planned for her then?… No?… Seriously, this opportunity is too good to miss… she’s dressed all slutty and thinks she’s top dog… oh come on, we’ve got to gunge her!… How about the Messy-Go-Round?… Yes, I know we’re meant to put that girl Victoria on it, but… What do you mean, no?” Joanna stamped her foot. “What happened to giving me creative control?… Right, screw you!” She slammed the phone down.

“Constructive conversation, dear?” Jonathan nonchalantly enquired.

“That bloody director!” Joanna balled her fists. “What’s he playing at? Says the bitch is strictly off-limits!”

“Best just ignore her then,” Jonathan suggested diplomatically.

“Yes, and that’s exactly what you’re going to do, too,” Joanna instructed him. “One glance in that slut’s direction, and you’re for it! She may talk the bad girl talk, but I walk the walk, and I’ll make sure you know it!”

Jonathan did his level best to heed Joanna’s warning when the pair returned to the studio, for Lizzie had seated herself in the front row as promised. But the flash of red hair never quite escaped his vision, and whenever his gaze swept the sea of faces, it momentarily stopped on his ex. Every time, she flashed back a smile – a smile that still bore the vestiges of that cute, demure Lizzie he used to know, but was now seasoned with something spicier, something that set his heart racing. On every occasion that his eyes caught her they lingered for longer, and he swore that her minimally-clad legs were more parted each time.

None of this escaped the attention of Joanna, who showed her displeasure with sidewards glares and snorts whenever the camera wasn’t on her. Her ire intensified at Jonathan’s telling slips of the tongue. For example, he inadvertently said “crop top” when talking about Top Shop. He began to miss cues completely, wrecking carefully crafted jokes with hesitation and stuttering, until his focus was wholly on Lizzie. She cocked back her head as she smiled at him. Her panties were on view between her legs, black and sparkly. She’d never worn such undies when he’d dated her, even when they were…

“…Jonny?” snapped Joanna. “Earth to Jonny!! Come in please, Planet Jonny!”

“Ohh!?” His nick whipped round. “Yes Jonnie?”

“Something distracting you, Jonny?” Joanna glowered. “Something sitting on your mind?”

“I wish it were sitting on more than my mind,” murmured Jonathan. The audience laughed, thinking this was all a gag. A camera had located Lizzie, who stood out among the front row due to her provocative attire, but no-one recognised her as the shy, awkward girl who’d visited the studio a few months ago. The audience assumed she was either a planted model, or a genuine audience attendee who’d found herself in the wrong place wearing the wrong outfit, and would now be at the duo’s mercy.

Joanna, however, was not laughing. “Jonathan, I warned you!” She yanked him by the wrist. It was a bad sign when she used his proper name on-set. “Perhaps the Gloop Chute will help you focus your attention!”

The audience whooped as this unexpected turn of events. The ‘Gloop Chute’ consisted of a circular pool and an open metal chute extending towards the middle of it. The pool would be filled with gunge or some other substance, while the victim would be made to lie at the head of the chute. Initially horizontal, the chute could then be raised by turning a wheel, until so steep that the victim slid helplessly into the gunge. It was one of the show’s meaner methods of messing, subjecting the poor dupe to a protracted ordeal as they struggled, perhaps hoping to avoid the gunge by either reprieve or sheer physical tenacity. The fate was inevitably the same. The chute could be raised to vertical if necessary, though for a victim to hang on past forty-five degrees was rare.

Joanna jostled Jonathan past the glistening gunge – pink and purple were today’s colours. “Lie down!” she barked, pointing at the end of the chute. Jonathan looked around, saw that the director and crew were more than happy for the show to take this turn, and reluctantly lay on his back in the chute, his feet pointing towards the pool. The audience were loving the spectacle. Although the show featured mess galore, it was an established if unspoken law that the hosts were never on the receiving end. And while some had speculated that Jonny and Jonnie would get their desserts at the series finale, nobody had expected such a situation at this juncture, a little over halfway through the series. There was much intrigue and excitement as to whether Jonathan would actually get gunged or whether it was a scripted tease from which he would escape.

Joanna took her place by the big, metal wheel. “So Jonathan,” she said icily, slowing turning the wheel, “do I have your full attention now?”

Peering down, Jonathan saw the pink and purple slop come into view between his feet. “My mind isn’t exactly wandering,” he admitted.

Joanna kept the wheel turning at a slow but steady pace. “And tell me, Jonathan, who is the sexy lady in your life?”

“Apart from Chrissie Williams, you mean?” Jonathan quipped. Chrissie was the presenter of rival show Talent Spotters, and it was a running gag, not taken too seriously, that Jonny had a debilitating crush on her and would go weak at the knees at the mention of her name.

“Joke at your peril; the last laugh will be mine,” scowled Joanna. “Now tell me: who is the sexy lady in your life?”

“Oh, I’m quite sure it’s you, darling,” Jonathan answered, feeling the gradient now, the rows of spectators coming into view as the chute ramped up.

“Quite sure?”

“Oh, I’m definitely sure,” he hastily promised her, pressing his feet against the sides to steady himself. “Positively head over heels for you, darling. You know that.”

A glimmer of satisfaction spread across Joanna’s face, but she didn’t let up with the wheel. “And what feelings do you have for that tart over there?”

She jabbed a finger towards Lizzie. The audience sucked through their teeth; even for a ‘robust’ show like this, Joanna’s manner and language struck them as a bit harsh. Lizzie, for her part, gave no overt reaction, her red lips risen in a faint smirk, sitting back to let Joanna self-destruct in a mushroom-cloud of her own rage.

“Jonathan, I asked you a question,” demanded Joanna.

“I… uh…” Jonathan’s position was precarious, his limbs spread crab-like. One false move and he’d start to slide, and then he’d be in the gunk. Yet, as he looked across to Lizzie, his words caught in his throat. She stared directly at him now, her slender chin cradled on her hand. And in that moment Jonathan ached for their tender past, and the promises a future with the new Lizzie could hold.

“Jonathan!!!” screamed Joanna. “ANSWER OR ELSE!!”

She jolted the wheel to ram home her point. Jonathan teetered on the brink. He was slipping out of his suit-jacket; any moment something would give. Beneath him the gunge shimmered, like a giant strawberry and plum blancmange. The pool was deep, he knew, and immersion was a cert. Indeed, a cruel irony of the Gloop Chute was that the longer the victim clung on, the higher whence they fell and the harder they sploshed.

Lizzie got to her feet. “Leave him alone.”

The audience’s clamour and cheering gave way to muted fixation. A few murmured in realisation that the audacious redhead striding onto the stage was Jonathan’s ex, once that timid girl with the conservative blouse and dowdy fringe, unceremoniously dumped by means of gunge tank, now remoulded and reborn from the embers of her humiliation.

“Leave Jonathan alone,” Lizzie repeated, now mere feet from Joanna.

Her hands still on the wheel, Joanna’s response could have gone either way. She easily could have cranked the chute full-tilt in a frenzy of fury, tipping Jonathan to his doom, but instead jealousy caused her to reverse the wheel by a half-revolution. How dare you be protective of my boyfriend!? I’m the only one who can be protective off him. Look, I’m protecting him right now!!

Sighing with relief at the decreasing incline, Jonathan recovered his grip.

“Sit down, Lizzie,” Joanna said coldly. “Jonathan chose me over you, and ditching the librarian look ain’t gonna change that.”

“Oh, really?” returned Lizzie. “Then why have you so completely flipped over his looking in my direction? Why are you forcing him to disavow me on pain of gunging?”

“I’m not forcing him to do anything,” Joanna insisted, and to prove the point she wound the chute all the way to the ground. Jonathan eagerly clambered out, but had barely time to pat down his suit when Joanna bear-hugged him. “See!!”

“He’s still looking at me,” Lizzie noted. “Your eyes are all over me, Jonathan!” She reached out and pulled at Jonathan’s tie, brazen as Joanna continued to cling to him. “Admit it, Jimbo: she doesn’t satisfy you the way I did… the way I will!”

“WOOOOOOOO!!” went the audience, enthralled by this love triangle saga.

Joanna lunged at her rival. “YOU BITCH!!” she screamed, grabbing a tuft of Lizzie’s red hair, yanking it until Lizzie was bent double, grunting.

“So you’ve gone for a dirty image, eh?” Joanna growled. “Well let’s get you dirty – on the Messy-Go-Round!” Sod the director’s orders; the bitch was getting what she had coming and Joanna would lose her job if necessary. She began tugging Lizzie away. “Jonathan, help me here!”

Jonathan stood by awkwardly. “Can’t we sort this out—?”

“Jonathan!!” shouted Joanna. Jonathan obeyed, taking Lizzie in a civil but firm armlock, while Joanna kept hold of Lizzie’s locks. Together they marched Lizzie to the starting point of the Messy-Go-Round, as the audience clapped rhythmically in anticipation.

The ‘Messy-Go-Round’ was loosely based on the Trip Around the Great House, only absent of the stately home décor and with a small dodgem in place of the waltzer; it was strictly a ride for one. It was typically used at the end of the show, sprung as a surprise on someone who thought they’d escaped a messing or were just there to set somebody else up. While the credits scrolled across the screen, the victim would be transported around passageways and side-rooms, accruing various forms of mess, until they re-entered the studio under an archway to receive a finale gunging as the show came to a close.

As Lizzie was bundled over to the waiting dodgem, she put up a verbal rather than physical resistance. “Oh Jonathan, you couldn’t do that to me. Not after I just saved your neck!”

“Don’t listen, Jonathan!” ordered Joanna. “Do as I say!”

“I don’t think he can,” retorted Lizzie. “He likes to see a bad girl come out on top.”

Jonathan’s stomach played host to an entire butterfly farm as the trio approached the small black seat. It was true he liked to see the bad girl win. He liked even more to see a bad girl, accustomed to winning, have the tables turned on her by a yet meaner girl. And there was no question who was winning today: Lizzie remained cool and sardonic despite the approaching peril; Joanna had shown herself to be nervy and neurotic. She was losing her grip on the situation even as she grasped her rival’s follicles.

Heart thumping, Jonathan loosened his hold on Lizzie. Though the pair neither spoke nor made eye contact, the plan seemed to be communicated between them. Arriving at the vehicle, Joanna pulled back the metal bar that spanned its front (supposedly for safety reasons, but its true purpose was to trap the victim in the car). Jonathan released Lizzie’s arm and grabbed Joanna’s wrist, forcing her to relinquish Lizzie’s hair.

“Hey!!” Joanna barely reacted as Lizzie spun her round and pushed her down. Her buttocks hit the small, hard seat. “Oh no you don’t!” She tried to get up, but Jonathan brought the bar down across her struggling thighs. It clicked into place, pinning her into the vehicle. And with belief-defying deftness, Lizzie whipped a pair of handcuffs from her handbag and clapped them onto Joanna’s wrists, such that the chain looped around the bar. Joanna was completely helpless; she’d be unable to fend off her attackers, block any mess that came her way, or even wipe her face. Her vibrant blue dress left little thigh covered when seated; her cleavage was plunging. She was outflanked, outwitted, and utterly exposed.

“Oii!! Let me go!! You better end this joke right now!”

“This ain’t a joke, sweetie.” Lizzie slid an arm around Jonathan, pressing her crudely clad body against his. “It’s very serious.”

“Jonathan… what?… no!”

“Sorry babe.” Jonathan’s tone conveyed not so much an apology as a confirmation of the betrayal. He placed his hand on the back of Lizzie’s micro-skirt and gave her buttock a squeeze.

Joanna gawped. A chill swept over her, confusion and frustration replaced by abject horror as two terrible truths sank in:

He was dumping her.

He and that woman were going to gunge her.

“NO! NOO!! NOOOO!!!” she screamed, her stiletto heels pounding the base of the car with the small amount of movement her legs were granted. “You won’t! You can’t! This is my show!!”

“And you’re going to be the star of it!” crooned Lizzie.

“This isn’t allowed!” Joanna babbled. “Where’s the director? I demand to speak to the director!”

But no intervention came from the director. Whether by design or serendipity, the man had an absolute jewel in his hands, and he wasn’t going to pass it up.

“Jonathan!” Joanna hissed. “Think about this! Think about us! There’s no way back for you if you do this!”

“You think he wants a way back? You’ve lost him, hun.” Lizzie took the lever, delicately, sensually, between her fingers. “Well Jonny, what shall we do? Tease her with the three-questions routine – like she did me – or get on and gunge her?”

“Hhmmm,” Jonathan stroked his chin, feigning contemplation. “I guess we should… get on and gunge her!”

The audience cheered.

“Jonathanillhaveyourballsforbreakfast!!” Joanna incoherently ranted.

Lizzie gave a sarcastic little finger-wave. “Ta-ra Jonnie!!” She ripped down the lever.

“…andllhaveyourtitsforlunchyoufuckingwhore!!”

These words echoed in Joanna’s wake as she was spirited into the entrance tunnel, disorientated by a combination of synthetic smoke and strobe lighting. As she turned the corner, a batch of gelatinous green slime descended from above. It was a lame hit, glancing her shoulder and running down her arm, but it was enough to break the spell of her perfection. The smarmy, smug persona known as Jonnie was tarnished forever. Joanna snarled in discomfort and disbelief.

The next batch of slime was positioned more centrally but timed on the early side. It deluged Joanna’s bare thighs, coating in translucent green the sexy flesh she so loved to flash. The waning torrent splashed up her chest, ruining the front of her dress and splashing her cleavage. “Uuugh!!” Joanna spasmed.

The third batch hit the jackpot: straight onto the crown of Joanna’s head. “YYYUURRRKK!!” she squawked as her soft, brunette hair became a wet, shiny mess. The stuff dangled and dripped, over her ears, onto her face, down her neck.

Chilling air rushed past Joanna as the car took another turn. The gloop continued to taunt her skin, seeping into her dress, trickling through every possible pathway. She could feel it flow into her shoes. Blinking and rasping, she arrived at the next stage of her journey… and of her emotional rollercoaster.

The cold, nasty slime became a secondary offender compared to what greeted her. Discomfort and distress yielded to pure loathing. “You… bitch!!”

A table was laid out with sweet items, and beside it was Lizzie, a heaving cream pie in each hand. The redhead gently oscillated the confections up and down in her palms, as if comparing their weights. Her clean, perfect cleavage beckoned between them.

“So rude, especially when I’m about to give you a free makeover,” Lizzie remarked.

“Keep your fucking hands off me!!” fumed Joanna, wrestling futilely with the bar and cuffs. The car had slowed to a glacial crawl, giving Lizzie ample run of her prey.

“Okay, my hands won’t touch you.” Lizzie raised the pies high. “Let’s start with a boob job; you could do with a bit of padding.” She flung down the pies, slapping them onto Joanna’s breasts. Velvety cream squelched out around the foil tins, enveloping Joanna’s firm mounds of flesh and flooding into her cleavage. She moaned deeply as the cream oozed downwards on the slick of slime, entering the front of her frock.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!!” Joanna thrashed under the slithering pile of cream. “JUST WAIT TIL I GET OUT! JUST WAIT TIL I—”

“Face-pack,” announced Lizzie calmly, flinging a dark brown pie into Joanna’s face. She delivered it with the blasé roughness of a school bully, sending rich chocolaty goo into Joanna’s mouth and up her nose. Joanna spluttered, shaking away the foil tin in a rage. Although she couldn’t see her own face – indeed, with this chocolate mask, she couldn’t see anything – she imagined with great clarity the appearance of her brown-coated face.

“Shampoo.” Lizzie upended a bowl of English trifle above Joanna’s head, fruit and cream burying her hair. “And conditioner.” A jug of custard added to Joanna’s humiliation. Her ponytail hung like a sodden piece of rope. She fumed and seethed and fizzled as item after item was lavished upon her helpless form. Something lumpy was tipped down her back. Something syrupy was drizzled along her legs. And now…

SLLLOOOOOSSSSHH!! Sticky wetness raced up inside the hem of Joanna’s dress, slapping her rudely in the crotch. Exactly what item on the ‘makeover’ this represented, nobody knew, because Joanna’s screams and bellows masked everything else. The unidentified substance taunted her private parts and oozed its way around her buttocks. The bitch had actually done this to her – violated her in this way!

“YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!!”

“Wow, you’re so rocking your new look!” Lizzie called, as the car regained speed. “See you on the flipside!”

Joanna’s butt quivered in the puddle that filled her dress. Still robbed of her vision by her ‘face-pack’, she felt the car weave through the labyrinth, further mess splashing and spraying at her. Eventually she slowed again. A hand wiped her eyes, but the sight it unveiled only exacerbated her frustration.

Jonathan stood over her – smirking, flippant, laddish – things that still attracted Joanna to him, but now also infuriated her. She was hopelessly torn between begging him not to leave her and screaming at him to fuck off for good. In any case, Jonathan was casually stepping away from her. He picked up a hose.

“Jonathan, how could you?”

“How could you do it to Lizzie?” He readied his finger on the trigger. “You started this. What goes around comes around.”

“Me!? It was just as much you!” Joanna couldn’t believe he believed himself. “No… Jonathan… don’t you dare fire that hose!! Jonathan, I’m warning—AAIIIIGGHH!!”

A jet of baked beans erupted from the hose, blasting Joanna in the abdomen. Baked beans were her most hated food – even the sight and smell of them turned her stomach – and Jonathan bloody well knew it. The orange sauce made dark brown of what little blue remained in her dress, and the beans piled in her lap by the hundred. Screaming, she tried to swipe them away with what little movement her hands had, but they kept coming.

Jonathan swept the hose down Joanna’s thighs, blasting away some of the excess cream, but only to replace it with the disgusting, skin-crawling beans. She felt them slide down her calves and shins, even getting in her shoes. But now Jonathan moved the hose up again. The beans rained into her cleavage. Any minute now, they would…

“NO Jonathan! NOT MY FACE!! NOT IN MY—GLUMMFF!!”

Joanna clamped shut her mouth and eyes, and wished she could do the same with her nose and ears, as the beans engulfed her head. The smell nauseated her, beans crawling over her cheeks and embedding themselves in her messy hair.

After what seemed an age, the car resumed motion. Jonathan kept the hose trained on Joanna even after she passed him, firing a volley at her back. The car took another turn and it was to her partial relief that Joanna realised she was on the home-stretch. She braced for the foam spray that erupted from the walls, and then spluttering under this penultimate blanket, made a right-angle turn back into the studio.

The audience were jubilant, enraptured, squawking like birds at her entrance. Phone cameras snapped aplenty (in breach of studio rules, but no-one stopped them). But Joanna could tolerate the audience; she was a performer, after all. What really crushed her was the grinning pair – or should that now be couple – entwined just feet away.

“Dear me, doesn’t Jonnie look funny!” Lizzie tittered to the audience, acting like she’d taken over the show.

Joanna didn’t say anything. The fight had gone out of her, her lungs exhausted of insults. Tears pricked her eyes as she wallowed in the pile of goo. It dawned on her that she’d lost not only her boyfriend, but her presenting job as well. It was hard to see how ‘business as usual’ could resume next week; her taunts as she dished out mess to some member of the public would ring hollow after the epic humiliation she’d just been subjected to.

“Interesting how we’ve gone full circle isn’t it?” Lizzie remarked. “Don’t worry, Jonnie. I didn’t have much to say when I was in your place.” She and Jonathan each placed a hand on the lever, keeping their other arms wrapped around each other. “Let’s have a big countdown: FIVE! FOUR!”

“THREE!!” the audience joined in. “TWO!! ONE!! GUNGE HER!!!”

Jonathan and Lizzie pulled the lever. The klaxon screamed, the audience roared, and the gunge came down. Streams of yellow, red, purple rained down on Joanna, not that the colour mattered much. She just sat and took it, not ducking, not shaking, completely resigned. And although she didn’t look directly, from the corner of her eye she knew that Jonathan and Lizzie were kissing.

When the downpour ended, Jonathan and Lizzie walked off, leaving Joanna to soak in the archway. “Whew!” exhaled Jonathan. “I get the feeling people will claim this is all scripted, but let me tell you, I had no idea this was going to happen.” He became a bit sheepish as events sank in, realising they’d overdone it with their treatment of Joanna. “It goes to prove, anything can happen on this show!”

“This show is the best!” Lizzie gushed, squeezing his hand. “It’s a pity my studio tour was cut short last time. I didn’t get to see that Goo Chute, for instance.”

“The Gloop Chute,” Jonathan corrected her.

“But of course,” Lizzie smiled at him sweetly. “Can you show me how it works?”

“Er, sure.” Jonathan led Lizzie over. “It’s pretty simple, really. The victim goes in the chute and—”

“Can you demonstrate, darling?” Lizzie requested. “Can you get in and show me?”

“Well, uh, you did see me in it earlier,” Jonathan said uneasily.

“I know, but that nasty woman distracted me,” Lizzie griped. “Go on, lover, get in and show me.” She swept a hand over his trousers and whispered, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jonathan gulped. Just the thought of lying down in that chute brought back the panic and discomfort of earlier, but the prospect of disobeying Lizzie sent yet deeper chills down his spine. She was just too alluring, too domineering, too damn sexy to be defied. “Uh…okay then.” He clambered into the chute, barely letting his back touch the metal before making to sit up again. “Like this, see?”

But Lizzie laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “That’s a bit of a boring way to go down the slide, Jonny. Why not on one’s front, head-first? That would be much better.”

“Maybe,” said a nervous Jonathan. “We’ve never done it that way.”

“Try it out,” she said smoothly. “Go on, lie on your front facing the gunge. Just so I can see what it looks like.”

Jonathan clumsily repositioned himself. “That’s it – flat out on your belly,” Lizzie ordered. “Get your face right down.” Jonathan grunted as something jabbed hard into his butt. Turning his head as far as he could, he saw Lizzie’s wonderful, supple leg bent over the side of the chute; it was her boot-heel that presently dug into his rear.

“Now I’ve got you exactly where I want you,” Lizzie purred. Then the boot-heal lifted. There might have been a brief window for Jonathan to escape, if he’d had his wits about him, if he hadn’t been frozen into submission. But the opportunity passed; Lizzie was at the wheel. The audience cheered, shouting “DO IT!” and Lizzie did. The chute began to tilt.

“Do you really think we’re an item again?” Lizzie gave the wheel one rough spin after another. “That I came here to win you back? That I’m dressing like this to impress you? That what you did to me is just water under the bridge?”

“I’m sorry, really I am,” Jonathan squirmed. “It was a stupid thing to do.” The pink and purple gunge came in view beneath him, the manic audience beyond, Lizzie and the wheel beside it. She wasn’t slowing. “W-what else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want to hear you say anything,” Lizzie replied through her cherry lips. “I want to see you in that gunge! I’ve served my revenge on phony Joanie; now it’s your turn!”

Though being cranked upwards, Jonathan had a sinking feeling. He was single. Joanna surely wouldn’t take him back, not after this betrayal, and as for Lizzie, she was going to give him nothing but a messy rejection.

“What’s best of all” – Lizzie’s cleavage gently bobbed as she heaved on the wheel; she looked spectacular – “is that you two have done this to yourselves.”

Jonathan groaned. Here he was, a TV trickster, well and truly tricked. Lizzie’s plot seemed so obvious in hindsight. The only question was whether the director had connived with her from the start, or whether she had worked alone, but either way, this was TV gold. The audience were worked to a frenzy. Several women were on their feet, shouting encouragement to Lizzie and abuse at Jonathan, calling him a scoundrel and a love-rat. Many had felt his original treatment of Lizzie had been bang out of order, and seeing him repeat his behaviour against Joanna had confirmed his nature to them. But in truth Jonathan wasn’t a nasty guy. He just had a fatal weakness for bad girls; they induced him into doing bad things. But no-one was going to understand or excuse that.

The ramp had attained a steep gradient by now. Below the swirls of pink and purple glistened – humiliating girly colours. Jonathan dreaded going in, but knew the longer he clung on, the harder he would hit. In any case, the decision was ceasing to be his; he was beginning to slide.

An involuntarily cry escaped his lips. Lizzie blew him a kiss as he accelerated. Instinctively he flung his arms in front of him, but this only made him more streamlined. Like a diver, he swooped off the edge of the ramp, his arms breaking the surface of the gunk. The gunge hurtled towards his face, vibrant fuchsia pink filling his vision, then wetness slapped him, and all went dark.

The gunge was cold and thick, clinging stringily at Jonathan as he submerged. It seeped and squelched into the layers of his suit and shirt. His hands brushed the base of the pool and he fought to right himself. First a thrashing leg, then an arm broke the surface, and finally his head emerged.

Jonathan spat as he surfaced. The gunge clung to his face and coated his hair. As he rose from the mire, his ruined suit jacket slipped off his shoulders, his shirt plastered to his torso. But how slimy and uncomfortable he felt was only a tenth of how ridiculous he looked, and the audience made sure he knew it. The roar was deafening, even through his gunge-muffled ears. Briefly he raised his hands in a shrug and flashed a goofy grin, trying to accept his drubbing with the good humour of his screen character. But good humour wasn’t on the minds of the women in the audience; this was punishment and payback, pure and simple.

The gunge came up to Jonathan’s mid-chest, and because the pool was set into the stage, Lizzie looked down on him. Her boots were planted at the edge of the pool. Two thighs led up to micro-skirt (a little sparkle of panties visible), leather jacket and crop-top, and above them all a grinning pair of cherry lips.

“The colour really suits you, Jonny!” the victor laughed, tossing her soft red hair over her shoulders. “But I think you should try on another, just to be sure.”

A crew member handed Lizzie a hose, and she opened fire without reservation. Green-tinged foam blasted Jonathan in the face, filling his mouth. Unable to breath, he jerked away, and in doing so tripped up and re-immersed in the pink slop, to the hilarity of everyone. A cackling Lizzie was waiting with the hose when he resurfaced, showing no mercy as he staggered and spluttered his way around the pool trying to escape.

Eventually Lizzie bored of this sport, but the ordeal wasn’t over for Jonathan, nor indeed for Joanna. A cage was wheeled out and the pair were instructed to squelch over to it, which they did without struggle or argument. Joanna permitted herself her a small smirk of satisfaction as she perused Jonathan’s trashed state, glad that things hadn’t worked out how he’d envisaged, but neither was thrilled to be shoved into the pokey cage together, their slimy bodies pressed up to one another. It was awkward on steroids.

“You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve signed the paperwork and you can watch Lizzivision same time next week!” She winked at the camera, taking to the presenting role like a swan to a lake. “But to end today’s show, it’s only fair we give the outgoing hosts the send-off they deserve, so roll up, roll up!”

With hoots of excitement, hordes of audience members, mostly female, bustled onto the stage, snatching up pies and buckets from well-stocked tables.

“WAIT!! Any room for a little one?”

The voice belonged to Karen, who barged her way through the mob. In her custody was Victoria, the tanned brunette’s wrists bound by the hair-band (for once, Karen wasn’t afraid to remove it).

“Let me go, dammit!!” Victoria wriggled.

“You promised me I could get revenge on Vicks,” Karen reminded the crew. “It’s the only reason I agreed to turn up.”

“Be my guest,” smiled Lizzie, gesturing the cage.

“What?! NO!!” Victoria’s heels scuffed the floor. “No WAY am I going in there! Don’t you dare!! If you don’t let me go, I’ll…”

“You’ll do what?” enquired Karen. “I’m your boss, remember?”

Victoria bleated as Karen shoved her into the cage, her expensive cashmere top and pleated skirt making contact with the sticky, dripping forms of Jonathan and Joanna. They in turn were pressed even closer together, cheek to cheek.

“Don’t get any ideas,” muttered Joanna. “We’re through.”

The credits rolled across the screen (or at least would do when the show came to air). Lizzie took a few steps back, clear of the coming maelstrom of mess, supremely satisfied as the vengeful women readied their ammo.

“It’s goodbye from her. And it’s goodbye from him.”

cc0

It’s Friday night. It’s coming up to 1am. You’ve just about staggered home without chucking up your donner kebab and thankfully there’s some beer left in the fridge. It’s cheap shit but it’s cold and it’ll do. Any port in a storm, right? You’re too drunk to try playing FIFA right now, you can barely manage to turn the television on, but you need to find that programme that Craig was talking about on Monday. Hot or Not, or something like that. On one of those channels they bury away under a load of other shit you don’t watch, except tonight’s different. Tonight you’ve gotta turn on and tune in because there’s a revolution taking place and you wanna be able to say that you did watch it this time, so that you know just what this thing is, no matter how crap it actually is. It’s less of a programme and more of an experience.

Ah, there it is. That’s the channel, you’ve just gotta ride out the adverts, and your old friend beer will help with that. Your phone’s still in your pocket, perhaps you’ll even join in, there’s some kinda phone voting thing, you remember it being mentioned, but you can’t remember it. It’ll make sense in a few seconds, you’re sure of it. Here it is, the show’s starting! There’s that giant nose they mentioned!

Fuck me, that music’s awful.

The show’s opening credits gave way to an overhead shot of tonight’s audience. The booze was free flowing and there wasn’t anyone in shot without a drink in hand. Again, the audience was mostly male, but there was a small group of women stood together, as if the girlfriends had been forced together for the night while the men leered over the show’s contents instead.

Stephanie Davis walked out from the dry ice mist and onto the set, holding her arms out to her side, basking in the cheers of the crowd. Tonight she was wearing a white sleeveless top with an “OMG” print on it and a pair of very tight black jeans, along with a pair of black flats. She looked good, as she always did, but probably less dressed up than she had done for the show’s first episode and perhaps that was part of why she seemed so much more at ease this week. Maybe it was the fact that no-one had slated her for her involvement in the show last week and that whilst a lot of people had dismissed the show as trash and little more, it did appear to have formed a bit of a cult following. There were several websites that had sprung up dedicated to the show and maybe this wasn’t the worst thing that the former Hollyoaks actress could be involved with.

With a big smile, she raised her arms and addressed the audience. “Welcome, welcome one and all to my little den of iniquity! You all know why you’re here, you’re our judges, the folks at home are our jury, and I, Stephanie Davis, am your executioner extraordinaire!” She smiled and took a mock bow as the audience cheered her again, the booze certainly endeared them towards Steph, and to the show in general. “So, just in case we’ve got any newcomers that missed last week’s show, we’ve got a really simple concept here. We take two beautiful women, put them on show for your viewing pleasure and ask one you to tell us which one of them is too hot for the snot!” She pointed upwards and smirked as the camera panned up towards the oversized nose, looking much the same as it had the first week, but no less threatening, and even Steph didn’t seem too sure about standing under it for too long. “And obviously enough, the other unlucky contestants gets a load of the green stuff. Yuck!” There was a loud sniffling noise as Steph warily glanced upwards, “The nose knows, and he sounds like he’s ready to blow, so we’d better get on and meet our contestants for tonight!”

Steph strolled over to the side of the stage where there was a black sheet over a gunge tank. Without even breaking stride she grabs the sheet and gives it a pull, causing it to drop forwards and reveal the figure sat inside of the tank. She was a young woman, in her early twenties with sun-kissed skin, long naturally-blonde hair that fell in gentle waves, and a cheeky smile.

She was wearing a white and blue striped bikini and sat with her ankles crossed and her arms folded behind her head. After a moment’s blinking, she spotted the camera and grinned, giving an almost frantic wave with both hands, garnering cheers from the audience before she turned her attention towards Steph.

“This is Grace,” said Steph, showing her off, almost like she was a prize that had just been unveiled. Perhaps to some people, she was. “She’s twenty-three, from Leeds, and works as a dance instructor, and looking at those legs you can see just much good that’s doing for her! I’m a little jealous myself!”

Grace smiled inside of her tank, just a hint of colour in her cheeks as a result of the attention she was getting, but she shuffled forwards on the stool and pointed her toes at the floor of the tank all the same, showing off her legs as best as she could within the confines of the tank. She ran her hands down her legs and then waved them at the camera with a cheeky grin before sitting back as she was on the stool. The audience responded as expected, with whoops, hollers and plenty of wolf-whistles, which put more colour in Grace’s cheeks, but there was a clear smile on her face, too.

“I can see you’re gonna be popular, but do you think you’ll be popular enough?” asked Steph, folding her arms. “You did see the show last week, didn’t you? I mean, you saw what happened to Marianne last week, didn’tcha?”

Grace hesitated, taking a deep breath and then giving a slow nod. She said something and then bit her bottom lip, looking out to the audience.

Steph nodded, “She saw it alright, folks! And she’s still here!” Looking back to the girl in the tank, Steph shook her head, “What a mug!”

Grace’s jaw dropped in shock as she folded her arms and smiled ruefully, now resigned to her fate, whatever that may be.

After dropping her insult, Steph spun about and marched to the other side of her set. “And, of course, we can’t just have Grace, so let’s all give it up for her opponent tonight, Lisa!”

With another tug, Steph pulled down the second sheet to reveal another blonde woman sat in a tank. By contrast, Lisa looked a little older, but a lot more mature, not nearly as fazed by her surroundings, or by the show, and with sly smile on her face that suggested it would take quite a bit to ruffle her feathers. She was close to 5’11” wearing a black bustier and knickers, along with a pair of black stockings, and with her pulled back hair and make-up, the outfit all made her seem that much more mature and adult than her opponent. Lisa was sat with her hands on her lap and one leg crossed over the other, her nylon-clad toes pressed up against the front of the tank as she too found its confines limiting.

“Welcome to the show, Lisa,” said the hostess, looking over the show’s second guest. “Another fine body, and that’s no surprise, Lisa here actually works as a model, don’tcha? Are you specifically an underwear model, or do you turn your hand to anything?”

Lisa leaned forwards and explained herself to Steph, with the presenter covering her microphone as she replied, before Lisa nodded and gave a reply, holding out her hand and pointing her fingers to and fro. Steph nodded and then uncovered her microphone, “So Lisa’s mostly done underwear and lingerie modelling, hence the body, but she’s also a personal trainer, too. Makes sense, I guess.” Steph looked back into the tank, “Finally, Lisa is from Nottingham, and is 28 years old, too, for those of you that care about that kinda stuff. Not me, I just care about who’s getting snotted and right now, I reckon that might be all that Grace and Lisa care about!”

From inside of her tank, Lisa gave a single nod, whilst Grace held her hands up to her face and winced.

“Now that I’ve introduced our two contestant tonight, the phone and text lines are open. Remember that you’re voting for who’s hottest, to save them from the snot! If you think that Grace is hotter, call now on 0800 123 7668 1, or text us on 72831. But, if you think that Lisa’s the hottie that should avoid getting snotty, then you’ll wanna call 0800 123 7668 2, or text us on 72382, or you can do both if you really wanna make sure your vote gets counted!”

As Steph ran through the numbers, the show’s standard disclaimers whizzed by, threatening repossession of property and court judgements for those that couldn’t afford to make the payment. Or words to that effect.

“Right, that’s enough for now. After all that talking I need a drink, so someone get me a beer!” Steph pointed to the crowd, generating cheers and raised glasses from those in the audience. “Why don’t you grab one at home too, and I’ll see you back here shortly when we get to know our two blondes a bit better? Don’t even think of changing the channel! I’ll see you soon!”

And there you have the start of episode two! Hopefully this is a sequel that won’t suck. As before, I’m looking for questions from the audience, so get voting and get commenting and I’ll see you again for part two!

Evening All,

Here are the results from the last matches in Round 2 of the 2017 Gunge Grand Prix, as well as the attached spreadsheet with the full third round draw. Round 3 will get underway at 6pm on Wednesday 3rd May, so make sure to tune in and vote!

Gunge Grand Prix 2017

“Welcome back to the show!” shouted Steph, stood back in the middle of the stage with her microphone in one hand and a pint in the other. True to her word, she had picked up a beer during the adverts and had drunk a fair amount of it. “How great is my job? I get to hang out with these party people and they pay me to drink beer too!” She then looked to her sides, and to the giant nose hanging ominously above, “And of course I get to help the nation decide who’s hot, and who gets the snot! So let’s not waste any more time, because the nose knows who’s on course for a thorough coating of the sticky green stuff, and it’s time for him to share it with us!”

Turning her back to the camera, Steph looked up to the large screen on the back wall of the set. A basic frame appeared, with the two girls’ names on it, as everyone looked to the screen now. “Right, if we’re all ready, let’s take a look at those halfway scores!”

“Oh, shit!” exclaimed Steph, covering her mouth and laughing. “It’s well past the watermark, so I can swear all I want, it’s cool.”

From the two tanks came two very different reactions. Lisa, sat in her tank gave a small shrug of the shoulders and a smile, clearly pleased by the current score, but not giving too much away.

Grace, however, had turned bright red. Her jaw very nearly hit the floor, and everyone got a good view of the silver tongue stud she had as she sat there in total disbelief. From just off of the camera, Steph opened the tank door, leaned in and closed Grace’s mouth, “You’ll catch flies doing that!” she added, laughing, before shutting the door. “We’ll come back to you shortly, sweetheart, but I’m gonna go and talk to Lisa first!” Inside of the tank, Grace just shut her eyes and ran both of her hands back through her long blonde hair, leaning back a bit on her stool and letting the revelation sink in.

“Well, you look pleased, and so you should be!” announced Steph as she approached the lingerie model’s tank. “In our battle of the blondes, you’re leading by quite a margin. I’ve gotta say, I really thought it was gonna be closer than this, you’re both good looking women, but you clearly have that bit of something that’s got the public well and truly on your side!”

Lisa smiled and nodded. She was someone that spoke a lot with her hands, holding them out, gesticulating, waving them back and forth, but even as she became more animated, she still gave off the vibe of someone well and truly in control. She just seemed effortlessly cool and, whilst she did show some signs of relief at the score line, she hadn’t been breaking much of a sweat beforehand and she certainly wasn’t doing it now. Covering the microphone, Steph had a bit of back and forth with the model, rather than repeating everything as she had done the first week. The microphones were expensive, and sensitive – putting one inside the tank was just asking for it to get ruined by the snot, so it was decided against.

Uncovering the microphone, Steph held it to her mouth, “So Lisa here wants to start by thanking everyone that’s voting to save her from the snot. She says you all have impeccable taste and that you’re to keep up the good work!” Just behind Steph, Lisa could be seen nodding and then giving the camera a wink and the OK sign with her right hand. “She’s understandably very happy with how things are going and is as surprised as I am, because she thinks that Grace is a very hot young lady and that the gulf in scores serves to flatter her!” Steph shrugs, “She’s either very modest, or she’s schmoozing you to get more votes!” From behind Steph, Lisa can be seen putting her hand to her forehead and sighing.

“But that’s enough Lisa for now!” says Steph, almost jumping back to the centre of the stage. She finishes her beer and sets the glass down, “We’ve got to talk to you instead,” she says, pointing straight at Grace and smirking. As she does, there’s a dull rumble as the nose lurches to the side, moving across its rollers and then stopping over the bikini-clad girl. Steph followed it across and then leant against the tank with her elbow, propping her head up with her free hand as she held up the microphone. “So, Gracey, I would not wanna be in your position right now. How d’you feel?”

Grace had just about returned to her normal colour now, instead of the tomato red she had turned when the current score was first revealed. She hesitated at first, but then started talking quickly to Steph, her speech interspersed with sharp intakes of breath and the occasional glance upwards. Throughout all of it, she was bouncing up and down on the stool, her legs swinging freely beneath her, as much as the confines of the tank would allow them to.

“Right, right,” said Steph, nodding as Grace finished. “It should come as no surprise either that Grace hates you all thinks you’re all a bunch of shits!” The blonde gasped inside of her tank, tapping on it and waving towards Steph. Laughing, the brunette host gave a shrug of the shoulders, “She didn’t say that, I did. Of course Grace was far more diplomatic about, she’s trying to win you over, so she would never say she hated you, but I think the gist is much the same – she’s not happy with the current score and hopes you’ll all find it in your hearts to spare her from her snotty fate!” Grace agreed with this message lot more, clasping her hands together and begging from behind Steph, putting on an over-the-top frown to try to garner more support.

“But, as we’ve still got plenty of time to run in this vote, I’m gonna open the floor now to our studio audience,” said Steph, stepping away from Grace’s tank and looking out upon her drunken Friday night revellers. “So, who’s got a question? Hands up high where I can see them!”

Scouring the group for a moment, the hostess pointed to a man on the second row, wearing a dark blue shirt with black hair. “Alright handsome, you’re up first. Let’s have your name and then your question for the girls – make it a good one!”

“No pressure then!” he replied, before standing up. “Alright, I’m Terry, and I wanted to ask the girls what their thoughts were on the possibility of being gunged?”

“For one of our two, it’s more than just a possibility right now,” said Steph, grinning as she turned back to Grace. “Still, let’s find out. I guess it’s fair to see how game they are for a snotting, so what do you think Grace?”

Grace gave it a moment and then started talking. She spoke quickly, but avoided eye contact with the host, staring down at the floor instead as she continued to swing her legs beneath her. Steph nodded and then turn back to Terry. “Grace agrees that it’s less possible and more probable that she’s gonna get snotted tonight. She’s not keen, but she’s sure it’ll wash out in time and she doesn’t think it’s gonna be all that bad. She’s done Pretty Muddy before now, and got pretty muddy during it, so she thinks she’s got an idea of what’s in store for her.” Steph smiled at the camera and mouthed “She has no idea”, which Grace was entirely oblivious to from her position.

Marching across the set, Steph stopped outside Lisa’s tank. “Same to you, Lis, what do you think about our snot? Up for it?” The blonde model had had more time to think over her answer and was able to start responding immediately, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. It became apparent from the way she talked that Lisa was more comfortable with the attention, blinking a lot less and looking from Steph out at the camera and audience as she spoke. Steph nodded along, “Right, so Lisa came here knowing she could get snotted, so she’s not afraid of it, but she’s very happy to avoid it if possible! Much like Grace, she believes it will wash out without too much trouble, but she’ll take it as well as she can if it does go against her.” Lisa then added something else that caused Steph to smirk, “Oh, and she doesn’t think green’s her colour, and it might be better suited to Grace instead!”

From inside of her tank, Grace scoffed and rolled her eyes before shaking her head. A bit of the red blush was back in her cheeks now, especially with her opponent taunting her, and, given the way that Steph seemed content to taunt them both, she was starting to feel like she was up against it now.

“Thanks Terry, good question, you can sit yourself back down now the pressure’s off” said Steph, looking out to the audience again. “And now we’ll take a question from the dark-haired guy on the back row, the one with the beard. Name and question, sunshine!”

Standing up, a man in his late twenties stood up and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Dave,” he said, before taking a swig of beer. “So I wanted to know how the girls think their opponent will react to being slimed.”

Steph furrowed her brow, “So, you wanna ask Lisa how she thinks Grace will take it?” Dave gave a bit of a shrug as Steph responded in kind. “Alright, sure, let’s see. Lis?”

The blonde looked over to her opponent briefly, then to the giant nose, and then started talking. “So Lisa thinks that Grace is gonna be a bit of a screamer, she’s expecting a lot of theatrics and that while Gracie might try to shy away from the snot, she’s not gonna have much luck with it!” Steph grinned and moved quickly back to the other tank. “What do you think, Grace? Is Lisa on the money?”

Biting her lip for a moment, Grace gave a sigh and then a small nod. “Looks like it!” said Steph, “But now it’s your turn, how do you think Lisa will react to a good snotting?” Grace looked to her opponent and frowned, before giving her answer. Steph furrowed her brow, “Interesting, you might not be wrong about it, either,” she said, before turning back. “Grace thinks Lisa won’t give much of a reaction. She believes Lisa when she says she’ll take the snotting to the best of her ability, but it’s not really gonna make much of a spectacle if she just sits there and takes it. She thinks there’s a chance that Lisa might actually lean back and take it too, but she’s not so sure!” Turning to the side, Steph shrugged at Lisa, “Well?”

Lisa looked thoughtful for a moment and then gave a shrug, looking up to the nose above Grace before holding her hand out flat and twisting it back and forth, the look on her face suggesting it wasn’t the most likely outcome.

“Thanks for that Dave,” replied Steph. “Who’s next then?” Panning the crowd, Steph singled out a guy with glasses and light brown hair on the end of a row. “Let’s have your question!”

Standing up, he cleared his throat. “My name’s Yann and I wanted to know if their families and friends know they’re doing this, and if they think their family would vote to spare them or snot them.” He cleared his throat again and then sat back down.

“Well, Grace? Do Mum and Dad know what you’re doing on a Friday night?” asked Steph, looking to the blonde girl behind the perspex. Grace shook her head very quickly and laughed a little, before giving Steph a quick answer. “She says that she hasn’t told them, it’s not really their kinda thing and she wouldn’t want them watching, whatever the outcome. She’s only told one or two close friends, but she’s pretty sure that they would vote to snot her, given the choice.” Steph smiled, “She’s also admitted that she’d happily snot them too, so I guess that’s fair.”

She strode across to where Lisa was sat, “What about you?”

Steph was barely able to finish her question before Lisa cut her off with her answer. “Oh,” replied the hostess, before the blonde then carried on her spiel. “Right, right,” she added, before turning back around. “Lisa doesn’t know or care if her family are watching. She doesn’t have anything to do with them and hasn’t done for a long time, so I think that’s probably as far as we’ll go on that. She’s mentioned it to her friends, apparently we’ve contacted some of them already, so it’s on their radar and it’s not uncommon for people in Lisa’s line of work to do this kinda thing. She reckons her friends would be an even split, she knows some would spare her, but some would definitely snot her!”

Looking back out to the audience, Steph rubbed her chin. “We’ve got time for one more question before the final break, so who should I pick?” A sea of hands greeted the presenter, waving back and forth as she looked them up and down. “We’ve not had a girl yet, so how about you, darling? Front row, left side, dye job. Name and question?”

Standing up, the girl placed her hand on her hip as she chewed on her gum. “Yeah,” she said, flipping her jet black hair, “I’m Paula, and seein’ as one of them’s gonna get a facefulla snot, what I wanna know is which of these girls has had a slimy facial before tonight.” She smirked, clearly proud of herself, before adding, “If you catch my drift, and I reckon you do, Steph.”

“I have no idea what you’re implying, but I’ll ask the girls anyway,” she replied curtly. “Lisa?”

The blonde rolled her eyes and then nodded, looking as unimpressed with the question as Steph did, not even answering it with words. Looking across the studio, Steph called out to Grace, “And you, Grace?”

Grace was obviously more perturbed, not nearly as able to hold her composure as Lisa had been, turning redder at the question and the thought. She fluttered her eyelashes, before realising that the camera was now switched right onto her, so she looked at it and sighed. She glanced down at her bare knees and gave a slow nod, keeping her head down and avoiding eye contact with the camera again.

“And there’s your answer, now get your mind outta the gutter and sit back down,” admonished Steph as she moved back to the centre stage. “Right, we’ve got one more set of adverts and then we’ll be back to find out how this vote’s going. Grace is gonna be hoping hard for a miracle, we’ll see if she gets one when we return!” Picking up her glass from before, Steph pointed to it, “I’m gonna need a drink, so I’ll meet you back here in a few! Keep voting, and don’t touch that remote!”

Sorry this one took a bit longer, I was hanging back to see if I got any more questions, but now it’s up and hopefully you’ve got a better idea about Grace and Lisa now! I’ll be closing the poll on Sunday morning, so you’ve only a few days left to make your vote(s) count!

The sky had changed from a light baby blue to a deep orange and red. The warmth of the afternoon was quickly melting away and a bone chilling wind was starting to blow across the field. The ground lay barren. Before me, I could see a vast section of scrubland. Through the withered branches and stumped trees, I could see small orbs of light glowing in the dimming daylight.

“Man.” I said taking a deep breath as I peered toward the handmade sign that dotted the car parking lot. The lettering on each sign was dripping black, kind of like the title of the ‘Goosebumps’ books. Words such as ’Danger! Do not cross’ or ’Haunted Meadow Ahead! 4 miles’ really brought to mind why I was here. To get scared out of my wits.

“So.” A voice from behind me said. “Having second thoughts or something? I mean its not to late to turn back.” There was a hint of teasing to the voice. But a strong sense of motherly love and concern overshadowed any hints of teasing the voice might hold.

“Nah.” I said closing my eyes as I turned around and peered the source of the voice. The voice belonged to a women, roughly a head taller than me. She had a round face, one framed with long locks of fiery red hair that reached down to her shoulders. A midnight black dress hugged her slender frame. Cobweb patterned stockings, black as her dress provided a little warmth from the chilly wind blowing across the open field. And finally simple, black dress shoes brought everything into completion.

“Okay. Just making sure honey. I’ve been hearing some nasty rumors about this place online. Like, people have been touched by the staffers and such. One girl even claimed she was pushed last year.” The women said as she walked up behind me, taking a deep breath, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around me. With a gently sign she pulled me close to her chest and whispered softy. “Just don’t want anything bad to happen to my little princess.” And with that she planted a soft kiss on the top of my forehead.

A sudden blush colored my cheekbones. I leaned into the hug and accepted the kiss and closed my eyes. Lost for a minute in my mothers warm embrace. Slowly I opened them and with a careless grin upon my face, I shifted my head upward.

“Its fine mom. I mean.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “I practice Kendo. And plus you’ve armed to teeth with everything you could think off.” I said grinning a little. I could not help but be a little cheeky around my mom.

“Ok, okay you can go ahead.” My mom said taking a deep breath. “But I’m holding onto your phone and wallet. Don’t want you to lose those when your running scared. Plus, that dress.” She said eyeing the long sleeve gown I was wearing. “Has no pockets. Plus, knowing you my daughter. Your wearing nothing but a pair of panties.” And with that she gave my bottom a gently swat.

I giggled and blushed.

“Sure.” I said nodding toward the car. Everything in the back.” I said pointing toward the black car that was my moms pride and joy. In front us, I could hear the crowds gathering around costumed staffers who where collecting money and stamping those who paid.

“Hurry along.” Mom said taking a deep breath. “The tour is starting now. I already paid for your ticket. So go, enjoy yourself.” And with that she swatted my bottom again.

Quickly I turned around and peered toward my mother. Rubbing my swatted bottom, I stuck my tongue out before noticing she was already inside the nice warm car. Reading no doubt a cheap, dollar store novel about cowboys, cowgirls, rangers and hustlers. My mother loves stories about cowboys, but her biggest weakest is cheap love novels that border on porn. In the internet fiction community we call them ‘Lemons’ because there suppose to sour like a lemon. I suppose a better word for them would be ‘Hot n’ Spicy’ because normally anything written by fan girl ends up being hotter that grandmothers fried chicken. And my grandmother knows how to cook true Creole chicken. And trust me, nothing is hotter than true Creole cooking.

Soon though, I found myself standing in line. A women in a store brought witch’s costume was the one checking us in. A wooden sign next to her had this warning written on it. ‘Warning Zombie Crossing ahead!’.

The line though was moving at a snails pace as the women took her time, cackling and laughing and pointing with a boney finger into the woods as she rattled out a warning. But after five painful minutes of waiting. My turn came. The witch took a deep breath as she looked up and down, like a tailor eying a model for a new dress.

“The fairies.” She said peering toward me with a smile that made the blood in my body turn from warm water to freezing cold water in a matter of seconds. “Will be looking at you tonight. They don’t like young maidens who rival them in beauty, grace and charm.” She reaching out and taking hold of my hand.

I could not help but raise a eyebrow as I peered toward the women. Slowly nodding my head along with her words, I rolled the mental dice and pulled my hand free the minute I thought I spotted a opening. Once my hand was free I peered toward her with a confused and concern looked. Clearly somebody must have been dipping a little too hard into the pumpkin juice.

“Right.” I said peering toward her. “What, is Tinkerbell and all her Pixie Friends from Pixie Hollow worried that I’m going to steal Peter Pan and all the Lost Boys with my charm?” I said rolling my eyes a little at her comment about fairies.

“You’ll see.” Was all she said before letting me pass through the gate.

The minute I passed through the gate, was the minute I noticed a change in the air. The flat open space of the parking lot was gone. Narrow, winding trails cut through the thick bush. Sounds of laughter and fright filled the cold, night air. Gathering my courage I started down the trail, the night was a clear night and dozens of stars dotted the night sky.

Now, the plastic props did not scare me. There nothing to be afraid of her plastic tombstones and canned laughter being played from behind a cheap card board cut out of a iconic monster. But there was something chilling about being along, in the middle of a thicket. And knowing you where being watched by something. Something that felt, not really all together human.

I felt something otherworld was watching me. This feeling of being watched increased with each step I took. Now, there was no one trail to follow, once you where allowed in, you where pretty much free to just wonder at will. Actors where stationed all across the area. A lot of the people seemed happy just to wonder about and let the actors jump out and scare the ever loving lights out of them. I could tell this by the faint screams, followed by pearls of laughter that filled the cold night air.

I was lost, from where I stood, I could clearly see a old abounded, lights flickered on and off from the inside of the old animal house, the sounds of machines coming to life, mad laughter and screams filled the air around it. Steeling my nerve, I made my way toward the barn, when from the corner of my eye I noticed something.

In a open field next to the barn there stood a women. She had long golden hair that seem to shimmer in the starlight. She wore a simple, dress ivy green in color that hugged the curves of her body. And oddly enough she seemed to sparkle almost in the pale moonlight. Slowly she turned her head toward me and offered a little smile as she lifted her arm and called me over with a crooked finger.

I was struck for a minute. But quickly I came to my senses, driven by some unknown force, I started to make my way toward her. A dozen questions where going through my head. Was she a actor? Why was she wearing a simple, sleeve dress? Why was she shimmering and sparkling in the moonlight? And above all, the question that kept nagging at the edge of my mind. Why do I feel this women does not belong here?

My mind pondered all these questions as I kept walking toward her. But each step I took toward her, she seemed to take four or five steps away from me. So instead of getting closer to her with each step, I was really getting further away.

Seconds turned to minutes and the minutes melted into hours as I followed the women, lead on by her enchanting beauty and her grace. Soon, I found myself standing on a narrow dirt road that twisted and turned in front of me. The women was now standing a dozen or so yards in front of me.

“Who are you?” I called out as I started to slowly pick my way down the old country road. Ahead of me, I could see a old twisted tree. Its bare branches reached high into the air and its twisted limbs reminded me of witch’s fingers. I could almost see the tree being a blacken claw, reaching up from the ground. Its goal, snatch the guiding moon from the sky and leave me in pitch black.

“Tinkerbell.” She cried out as she peered into my pale pink eyes. “Come to take you to Pixie Hollow.” She stated as if it was a simple fact. There was something about her voice, something enchanting. Almost like a soothing melody that lures one to sleep. Taking a deep breath she shifted her eyes toward a yonder hill.

“What, do you mean Tinkerbell?” I said peering toward the women as I started to run toward her. “I’m not going anywhere with you!” I cried out. As I peered toward the women who was standing now upon the hill. Other women where appearing around her. There where four of them now, all dressed in simple, white, sleeveless gowns. All of them seemed to glow as they danced upon the hilltop.

“Come, come and dance with us!” They seemed to all say as they danced together. Twirling about with grace and balance all interwoven together.

Soon I felt myself stepping off the solid ground and onto something, something wooden. My weight shifted from the toe of my shoe down to the heel with each step I took, the wooden planks, aged and old seemed to groan and shutter with each step I took. Then it happen, I felt something take hold of my ankles. Cold, windy fingers wrapped themselves around my ankles and held me in place. The blood in my body froze, turned to ice and slush. Then it happen, I felt a sudden shove in the small of my back. Tumbling forward I felt myself flying through the air. Then, mere seconds later I felt myself splashing down into the water below.

The water was ice cold, as soon as I splashed down, I felt some of it get into my mouth. The taste was beyond words. To give you a general idea, take some three week old gym socks, then soak them in some water that been left out in a bucket for a day in a half. Add grass clipping and to taste and there you go. First came the taste, then came the smell. The smell of sour mud filled my nose and caused me to almost gag.

The mud was thick, gray with long lines of blue running through it. It smelled of cow dung and clung to my dress. The thick, greasy feeling mud, coated my stocking covered legs, my white slippers had been sucked into the mud and slipped off my foot with practical ease. After thirteen seconds of quick thinking, I knew the slippers would forever be lost, swallowed whole by muddy bottom of the pond.

Breathing through my mouth as to avoid dragging the stench through my nose, I started to waded toward the faint shoreline. It felt like I was treading through a marsh. Duckweed and roots held me back with each step I took. The ribbons of silver moonlight danced upon the black surface of the water.

I was near enough to the shore to make out the ring of cattails that grew in massive clumps one the slopping land. Then it happen, I felt my foot become tangled something, a underwater root by the guess of its shape and feel. Before I could catch myself, I felt myself falling face first into the water. Closing my eyes and thrusting my arms in front of me to help brake the fall, I felt my nose become fouled with the thick mud as my face broke the surface of the water, being now in the shallow part of the pond, I feel straight into the muddy bottom.

“Bloody hell!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I raised my head out of the water, slippery strings of moss where now tangled in my hair. The water around me turned from something of a mucky brown color, to a very unpleasant brownish color. One that brought to mind the ditch behind my grandmothers house. “Bloody hell!” I shouted even louder. My southern accent making the words the ‘H’ in ‘Hell’ sound more like a ‘Y’ this time. So it sounded more like ‘Bloody yell’.

“Who pushed me! Who is the noise in the air, bitch that pushed me!” I shouted at the hill top, the women had now stopped there dancing and where now pointing and laughing at me. One of them, a tall women with red hair that reached all the way down her back called out.

“Silly girl!” She shouted as she made her way down the hillside, stopping just at the edge of the water. Her eyes the color of molten gold. “Testing the fey during Samhain. Consider yourself lucky, all you got was a little trick, instead of a treat!” And with that she vanished before my very eyes. The others then vanished, the dying sounds of there laughter and giggles filtered through the cool, autumn air.

Once more my blood ran cold. Quickly, I pushed through the much. The chill in the air was nothing. My mind was racing now. Now, you see, I have a aunt, Ceriden. She something of a practicing Wicca. She very cool, and treats me kind of like the daughter she never had. She left the Episcopal Church when she eighteen or nineteen years old, a major thing since where basically a very old Episcopal family. Anyway I’m getting off track here. Ceriden and I about once a week, we talk about everything. So I’ve picked up a little Celtic/Pagan/Wicca lore from her.

And unlike most high church Episcopalians, I’m pretty open minded when it comes to the supernatural. I’ve seen ghost most of my life. And so when she mentioned the word ‘Fey’ I started to run like a bat out of hell Shoes be damned, and boy did I run. I don’t know how long I ran, but I was soon out of breath and breathing hard.

Beads of sweat started to appear on my head, my breathing became ragged and cursed myself for not having my puffer with me. Finally after I know a good thirty minutes of running across countless fields, scaring the heck out dozens of people, including a few of the staff. I felt safe enough to ease off of my running.

“SUSAN ELIZABETH MARI BELL!” I heard a voice cry over my shoulders. The voice was that of my mother, and she had called all four of my names. Part of me wanted to shout back ‘Isabella Mari Bell’ or her maiden name ‘Isabella Mari Upton’ but my better senses soon told hold of me. Turning around, I saw my mother coming storming toward me, she seemed to shorting fire. Her blue eyes flickered in the moonlight.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD, THE TRINITY, THE WHOLE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING YOUNG LADY! I’VE BEEN HEARING REPORTS OF SOME POND MONSTER RUNNING AROUND THE COUNTRY SIDE, SCARING THE TAR OFF THE ROOTHS OF BARNS. AND WHAT IN THE BLUE, FLAMING BALLS OF HELL HAPPEN TO YOU!?” Her voice traveled and echoed across the country side. Everybody seemed to stop and turn and peer in my direction. And I mean everybody. Right there and then I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

“The fairies played a trick on me.” I said taking a deep breath. My mom and I both have a temper. One of us needs to keep a level head or both of us would clawing at each other soon.

The hard look on my moms face soften. Quickly she reached down and took my gently by the hand.

“Come along.” She commanded. “I always keep a few things in the trunk of the car. We need to get you out of that dress, before you get sick again. No need to have you spend thanksgiving in the hospital. And no need for you to catch your death, running around her all soaking wet.” She said pulling me toward the car.

“Susan,” My mother said once we where halfway toward the car. “Did you really see a fairy?” It was a point, blank question. Her voice had calmed down a little.

“Yes ma’am.. I did..” I said in a now meek tone of voice.

My mother wheeled around, peered right into my eyes. Then despite the fact I was muddy as hell, wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a tight hug. “So, you have the gift too, runs in both families it does.” She said hugging me tighter. She cradled my head between her breast.
“Gift?” I said titling my head to the side.

“Clairvoyance, you’re a clairvoyant girl. Just like me, and maybe your brother. And your father too.. The whole damn Bell and Upton family is ripe with it. Old Norman blood I think, or just a greater sense of understanding. Maybe even some Celtic and Flemish blood too.”

And that’s how my adventure ends~

A gentle breeze blew across the parking lot. In true delta style the parking lot was paved in gravel. White, rocks the size of a half dollar covered the whole section. The sky above us was clear, with a few white clouds moving slowly across. It was a baby blue sky, one that foretold of clear weather for the coming week ahead. In front of me, there stood a large, box like building with red title roof.

“So.” A voice behind me said. “What you think about it?” The voice belonged to a women. She was around my eight, she had long flaming red hair and her deep blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the after afternoon sunshine.

“Looks pretty nice.” I said taking a deep breath. The sign above the two front doors spelled out the words ‘The Cow Pen: Steakhouse & Mexican Bar and Grill’ below it the words ‘Fineness steaks in the Mississippi Delta.’ the last part I questioned, since every restaurant we passed that day, always seemed to boost of having the best of the best.

“You know.” My mom said as she walked up behind me. Quickly she folded her arms around my body and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Your dad, proposed to me here. Six months, that how long we dated. Six very short months. Your dad, young law student straight from Ol’ Miss. The ink still wet on his law diploma. And me, a freshly pinned nurse working the graveyard shift in the A & E room at River Regional Hospital.” My mother
Said as she sighed.

“Cool.” I said smiling a little as I peered toward the old building. The more I looked at said building, the more I noticed how odd it seemed. Built right on the Arkansas-Mississippi state line it had once been a old cattle inspection station. Once the inspection station closed down, a fellow by the name John Paul and his wife Linda Paul sunk there live saving to buy and remodel the building. And thus the Cow Pen had been born.

“Your dad was pretty cool back then.” My mom said as we started to walk toward the two double doors. “ He had all the southern girls chasing his little tail around the town. But I knew, the minute he walked into the A & E room at the River Regional Hospital, panting like a dog, breathing hard, covered in wasp stings. I knew from that time on I wanted him.” She paused and then added. “And I don’t mean, I just wanted him inside me either. I wanted to be part of his life through and through.”

“Mom.” I said taking a deep breath. “Please, keep what you and dad do in the bedroom to yourself.” I said taking a deep breath as I looked up at her.

“Fair enough.” She said removing her arms from around my shoulder as she sighed. “I guess daughters don’t want to hear about there mothers having sex time. She said taking a deep breath as she open the door. A sudden blast of cool air hit us dead in the face. “We’ll come on in birthday girl.” She said nodding me in with her head.

“Honesty, I don’t. My room is right next to yours. I’ve heard everything you guys do. And some of those noises really make me wonder what kind of fifty shades of grey you’ve been reading.” I teased as I walked into the waiting area. The coolness of the restaurant.

A sudden blush colored my cheeks, as my mom’s strong hand kissed the backside of my bottom. I turned around quickly to see her glaring at me. Shifting my eyes down I nodded. I had crossed a line and she was firing off her first warning shot.
As I stewed there, rubbing my bottom my mother handled the business of getting us a table. Soon our host, a big, tall fellow dressed in tight form fitting jeans, and a rolled up long sleeve shirt and cowboy boots. Was guiding us into the waiting room. Giving us both a big smile he seated us in the center of the room. It seemed all the tables with two chairs, where clustered in the center of the room.

“Ya’ll ladies enjoy now.” He said in a thick southern accent. His words rolled off the tip of his tongue. And boomed like thunder in my ears. There two types of southern accents now. There the high-class plantation style, often heard in the hollow grounds of high southern living, the local country club. Or spoken from the lectern of your local Episcopal Church. This is the accent I have or been graced with.

Below that is the thicker one, this one has more of a rural twang to it. It sounds harsh and rough. Its not the speech of tea sipping ladies or coat and tie wearing gentleman. it’s the speech of common man. Rough and to the point, lacking all the grace and charm of the south its often heard in the smoke filled pool halls, and juke-joints that are the haunt of the common working man. Its words are often shouted and barked, sometimes slurred and murdered in cold blood.

A third, and the most common of all is the ’Yankee Tongue.’ it sits dead in the middle of the two. Not really highborn southern, and now really country its something of a catch all twenty one. The rise of the internet, the massive production of books and better schools and generation after generation of English teachers correcting students have given birth to this middle section. Yankee, of course being a slang word for are friends to the north of us. Its called the ’Yankee Tongue’ because of the way the person sounds. Kind of accent free and bland.

Anyway getting on with the story now.

Once we where seated, and are purses where placed under the table, and the menus placed before us, a silence fell over both my mother and I. After a few minutes my mother broke the silence by saying.

“Order anything you like honey.” She said taking a sip of from the small water glass that had been brought are table while my mind mused on Southern accents and such. A small plastic bowl, filled to the brim with golden chips had also been place between us.

“Thank you, mummy.” I said blushing as I looked down the menu. “I’m thinking about the nineteen ounce ribeye.” I said noting it was one of the better values for your money and that was USDA Choice beef. It also came with a half a dozen so fresh gulf shrimp.

“Good choice. I think I’ll go with the chicken, shrimp and beef fajita myself.” She said folding the menu to the side and smiling a little as she looked around. “So, what’s going on in your life?”

I took a sip of my water and rolled my shoulders.

“Nothing much, cheerleading practice is going okay. Where about to start working on are Silver Award for scouts. Getting everything ready for are next session of Summer Camp, and that’s about it.” I said.

“Keeping busy, that’s pretty good.” She paused. “Is there a special boy you like? I know you’ve been talking with Brian Walker. His mother and I had lunch together at the country club yesterday.”

I was thankfully saved from answering said question by the arrival of are waitress. A young blonde hair women, who was dressed in a white form fitting, button down blouse and a jean skirt and cowboy boots. Smiling a little her baby blue eyes peered my direction as she took her notebook in hand.

“Hey Ya’ll.” She said smiling. “My name is Holly and I’ll be your waitress for this evening.” She said smiling a pearly white smile. Her full attention this shifted on me. “And ya’ll girls all dressed up now, something must be going on.

“Its her birthday.” My mother said before I could answer. A sneaky little smile played across the bow of her lips.

Holly eyes started to sparkle as she peered toward me, quickly she jotted down a note upon the booklet. There was something, unsettling about the look that crossed over her face. It was look of somebody waiting to play a trick on somebody. Swallowing hard I looked down at my menu. Something told me that a birthday prank would heading my way sooner than later.

“We’ll happy birthday darling.” She said smiling as she turned to my direction. “What can I get the birthday girl now on her special day?” She said as she eased the tip of her pen down upon the notebook.

“I’ll take the nineteen ounce ribeye. With the six jumbo size gulf shrimp, and for my sides, I’ll like a double helping of French fries.” Might as well stuff my face now, for soon I’ll be tossed into the insane world of Girlscout camp. Two weeks of doing badge work, helping with badge work, doing chores around the camp. Giving the Girlscout’s of Mississippi twenty hours a week of free labor as we maintain trails, build roads and cook for are fellow scouts.

“Good choice.” She said smiling as she wrote down my order. “And to drink?” She inquired.

“Sweet tea.” I said smiling sweetly. In the south, sweet tea is the choice of drink. Everybody drinks sweet tea, it’s the house wine, the beverage of people, only Coke Cola beats it.

My mom then placed her own order, Holly then left us and returned a few minutes later with are drinks. And then we’ll my mother and I just mellowed. We made small talk, nothing big you know. Nothing really where I opened my heart and spilled everything, and nothing where she really opened up about her girlhood. It just mainly us, relaxing and spending time together.

Soon are meal arrived and then the only thing that could heard was the scrapping of knifes and forks and the chewing of food and the dropping of drink glass’s as I sucked down one glass of ice tea after the other. Finally the last piece of my steak was finished and the last of my moms dish was finished. And Holly was appearing again with the check.

“Could you ya’ll hold on a minute. We got something planned for the birthday girl.” She said as she placed the check down upon the table. She then gently reached down, wrapped her arms around my shoulder and gently stood up me up and marched me into the center of the floor. All eyes turned toward me.

“LISTEN UP YA’LL.” She called out in her sweet southern voice boomed over the low leveled conversations. “THIS LITTLE LADY HERE, IS CELEBRATING HER BIRTHDAY WITH US. NOW, YA’LL DON’T KNOW THIS. BUT WE GOT SOMETHING SPECIAL PLANNED FOR HER.”

Then from around the corner there came a procession of men and women. Three of them held large buckets in there hand, one held a wooden stool, the last two held a small, child’s size wadding pool. The two men holding the wadding pool set it down before me, the women holding the three legged stool, then eased the stool down in the middle of the pool. The reaming three, the ones holding the bucket lined up behind the pool.

Holly then offered me her hand, blushing a little O took it, but not before removing my boots. Tossing the boots to the side, I noticed my mother stood up and quickly collected them. Barefoot and blushing, then stepped into the pool. With Holly guiding me, I made my way toward the stool. Taking a deep breath, I climbed up and eased my bottom down upon it.

“Here at the Cow Pen.” She said taking a deep breath. “We have a special tradition that was started by are founder John Paul. For years, when a member of the staff would have a birthday. That one member would be given a free Mexican dinner with all the trimmings.” She paused and blushed. “There was a catch though, the person would end up wearing it. And trust me nobody was spared. Not even his own daughter!” She said patting me on the shoulder as she gently walked around me.

“Now John Paul, or Daddy as I like to call him has gone to that big steakhouse in the sky. But his memory still lives on. And so keeping, the playful memory of Daddy alive, we decided to start offering birthday dinners as they where called to all are guest.” She placed a firm hand upon my shoulder. I guess to keep me in place.

All eyes where not centered on me. Taking a deep breath I raised my hands up and placed my face into my hands, in hopes of hiding my the deep blush that was coloring my face. Holly, despite my blushing kept pushing on as she took a deep breath and shouted.

“Now, since where all family, where going sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the birthday girl. And we’ll like it if you all to join in.” She then bent down and loudly said. “What’s your name sweetheart?” She asked.

“Susan..” I answered taking a deep breath as forced a giggle. I’ll be honest if you. It felt kind of nice being the center of attention. But it was totally embarrassing having a room full of total strangers all looking at you. It was a odd feeling of being flattered and of wishing the ground would open up under me and swallow me whole.

Soon the whole crowd started to sing.

“Happy birth day to you! Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Susan! Happy birthday to you”

I’m going to say, there something flattering about having three dozen people, people you’ve never seen before and people you might never see again. All these people, some of them drunk off there redneck asses that they give up after the second verse. Some just singing along because everybody else is doing it. Others are just looking at you, like you spouted a extra head.

Once the song ended. Holly once more stepped toward me and offered a little smile.

“Okay, where starting off the birthday girls free meal with some nice, warm chips.” She said smiling as she reached down and picked up a small, plastic basket filled to the brim with chips. Dipping her hand into the golden mountain she picked them up and started crumble them. A golden shower of crumbs fell down upon my head.

As the crumbs fell on my head, I just stood there blushing. You know there just crumbs, nothing really major, nothing a good brushing would not get rid of. Sure they felt funny, and small shards where falling down the front of my dress and down my back, getting lodged in places that would hard to reach. But still nothing major!

“Now, chips along is a major bore.” She said smiling as she nodded for a waiter holding a big, black bucket to step out from the three. The waiter, a tall young man with short cropped brown hair and tall slopping shoulders stepped out from the line and stepped into the pool. I could smell him behind me. The smell of his body spray sent chills down my spine and made softy groan, he smelt good!

“Salsa goes good with chips!” She chirped as she nodded toward the man holding the bucket.

A little smirk played across his lips as he upturned the bucket, soon a thick, chunky waterfall of diced up tomatoes and peppers was rolling down upon my brown locks of hair. The juice soon followed. The smell of the spices filled my nose The Juice was cold, and its sour smell teased my nose and caused me to shutter. The coldness clung to the front of my dress and big drops rolled down my back! A loud uproar of laughter, joking and clapping filled the room. A few people, having consumed one to beers or one to many glass’s of the house wine, whistled there approval.

“Yuck!” I said flinging my arms around as I peered toward the many faces.

“Okay, now here comes the next bucket!” She said smiling soft. “See at here at the Cow Pen, we pride ourselves on the quality of our food. That’s why we use only the finest USDA Choice beefsteaks and only one hundred percent USDA Ground Chuck for are meat dish’s and garden fresh veggies for are other meals.” She said winking.

Once more I felt somebody standing behind me. I could tell it had to a women because of the smell of there perfume, it was sweet and flowery. Taking a deep breath I closed my eyes and softy whimpered as I felt the bucket being raised up above my head.

“Trust me, you need to take a deep breath. This is kind of stinky.” She said smiling as she raised the bucket high above my head. I took her advice and drew in a deep breath as I squeezed my eyes shut.

Then it happen, I felt something thick rolling down upon my head. The fumes rose up around me, causing me to gag almost. Everything seemed to be falling down upon my head. A thick red sauce with some swirls of what appeared to be sour cream mixed in coated the front and back of my dress. A thick brownish mush rolled down the back of my dress, the coldness of the mess sent shivers down my spine. Small bits and pieces of what appeared to me ground beef, browned fell down the ridge of my nose and landed in my mouth.
There not a word powerful enough to tell you how that stuff tasted! Everything was so blended together and cold. And the smell, the smell clung to me and wrapped his fingers around my throat and forced me to breath through my nose, as a result, some small pieces of salsa went into my nose. Rust colored grease came next, it dripped in long streams, and added its own unsavory flavor to the mess blow. The bottom of the pool was starting to look like a second grade finger painting. And the fumes rising up made me shutter. I was glaring daggers at my mom, who was just sitting there, a look of utter confusion sketched upon her face. It was like she was torn between laughing or crying. Maybe her mind could not possibly process the scene unfolding in front her. Holly on the other hand was standing there, looking smug as a cat.

Feeling my blood starting to boil, I stood up and flicked some of the gathered mess at the bottom of the pool toward her. Grinning like a cat, I smiled as I watched the huge ball of slime, slapping Holly right on the left breast, causing her to squeak and others around me to laugh and joke and point.

“You little bitch.” She said peering toward me as her face turned from white to red. “Your so going to pay for that!” She then cleared her throat and peered toward the crowd.

“I was going to leave the birthday girl off with just some chips. But you know. You can’t have a birthday party without a birthday cake. And we’ll cake along is just super boring. So are third and final bucket is birthday cake flavored ice cream.” She said yelling the last part.

“Oh Fudge Puckers..” I muttered under my breath as I felt the first wave of melted cream land down my back. It popped down with a wet squish. The cold, melted, half frozen cream rolled down my back and the front of my dress. Its sweet, sugary smell filled my noise and the coolness caused me to shiver. White, blue, yellow and a green all mixed together and formed a thick coating. Slowly a little smile formed upon my face, it was over, over at last. Then something else hit me, something that felt like oil, slimy and slipper, and freezing cold, it rained down upon my head and flooded into places I never knew I had.

“Ya’ll I think we left the ice cream out a little to long tonight. The cream has separated from the other stuff. As a result, the birthday girl got a double helping. I thin she starting to shiver a little.” Holly said winking a little.

“Lets give the birthday girl a big round of applause for being such a good sport!” Holly then shouted as she marched in front of me. The whole of the dinning room then rose to there feet and started to clap there hands together. And so the clap of roughly one hundred pairs of hands, the most humiliating night of my life drew to a close. In the end, I was given a free teeshirt, a local Walmart provided a change of clothing and the Greenvile Welcome Center, so happen to have washroom and with some free samples of shampoo, soap and such. And as luck would have it, we ran out of gas around Leland. And we spent the better part of two days milling around that town before Daddy finally found us! But that’s a different tale, for a different day.

Since I feel this applies more than in most celeb stories:

Disclaimer: Although this story mentions real persons, corporations, TV shows and places, it is purely a work of fiction for personal enjoyment. The story does NOT describe real events and should NOT be taken to accurately portray any real entity mentioned. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

The Slop Drop stage was overhauled after the controversial online special. The usual mix of grungy pseudo-scrap metal and neon lighting remained, but the layout was drastically different. Now the back wall was a huge double door, and the stage area was much smaller. The sofa was gone, replaced now by a very fancy black pleather chair in the middle, and two smaller red plush seats to each side. On the black seat sat Suzi Harrison, dressed in a red vest top and white jeans, her feet bare as they usually were on the old shows. Currently the seat was facing away from the audience, but as the cameras started rolling the seat turned 180 degrees to the right as a spotlight fell on the seat. A booming voice shook the studio. “It’s time for Suzi’s Slop Drop, with the Duchess of Dunkings, Suzi Harrison.”

With the chair’s slow rotation complete, Suzi looked rather imposing on her seat, with one leg crossed over the other and her arms on the armrests. She was just a fluffy cat on her lap away from looking like some sort of Bond villain pastiche. “Justice,” she said, her tone rather serious and . “It’s something all humans have a sense of, but a very different perception of. For millennia, societies across the world all formed their own laws, with punishments they thought befitted the crimes committed by breaking those laws.” As she spoke, she curled some of her elegantly long mousy brown hair around her right index finger. She almost seemed to purr her words as she arrived at her main point. “Here on Suzi’s Slop Drop, our system of justice is pretty simple. Two celebrities come and make their case about how the other one should take a trip into my slimy pit. You decide who deserves said trip. I make it happen. Let’s meet tonight’s plucky vengeance seekers!”

The voice boomed again. “Frontwoman of the metal band Arch Enemy, Alissa White-Gluz.”

As Alissa’s high-heeled boots clacked across the laminated studio floor, the camera panned up her body, showing off her impressive physique. She seemed very well dressed for the occasion, befitting for job title the disembodied voice had bellowed out before. She was wearing a black knee-length dress, with lightning bolt earrings. Her blue hair flowed down past her shoulders rather elegantly. She sat down to Suzi’s left and waved to the camera. “Alissa, welcome to the show,” Suzi smiled.

“Thanks, it’s great to be here!” Alissa put her hands on her lap and turned to the host. “Is that chair real leather?”

Suzi shook her head. “No, we’re big on animal rights on our show. We believe that only human beings should be given any sort of systematic degradation, and certainly not one on the level of being skinned, tanned and sat upon!” she giggled, before clearing her throat and talking in her serious tone. “Now, you’re one of the most prolific women in metal at the moment. You went from one amazing band to one that’s simply huge, collaborated with bands like Kamelot and Delain, recently did a headline slot at a new festival up in Edinburgh… Basically, I’m wondering who on Earth you might have a problem with!”

“Well, it’s my old band as a whole really, but I could only pick one person so I picked their new singer, Vicky. I don’t like the way my old band sounds with her. Her harder vocals just can’t compare to my own, and the material of their last two albums is just weak! I also don’t like how she pretty much usurped my position of The Agonist lead singer!” Alissa explained.

Suzi raised an eyebrow. “Usurped? How?”

“Well, when it was announced that I would be the new frontwoman of Arch Enemy, it was also announced by the rest of The Agonist that Vicky would be their new frontwoman. I wanted to continue in that band too, but she stole my chance to make it work,” Alissa frowned.

“Interesting! Thanks for putting your point across, Alissa,” said Suzi. The blue-haired woman smiled and waved the crowd as Suzi turned back to face centre stage. “Well well, there are some clear shades of the Nightwish episode here, but it takes two to make an episode of Suzi’s Slop Drop. Let’s meet Alissa’s opponent!”

“Frontwoman of the metal band The Agonist, Vicky Psarakis,” boomed the disembodied voice.

The singer walked out to much the same level of applause as Alissa. Vicky was a tad more slender than her rival, and her outfit while slightly more revealing, was also more casual. Much like Alissa, she was dressed entirely in black, with a few metal (in both material and subculture) accessories. Her feet were clad in black high-tops, with jeans on her thin legs and a crop top covering her chest. Her blonde hair, longer than Alissa’s and rivalling Suzi’s, hung loosely over her back. She smiled bravely as she sat to Suzi’s right. “Welcome to the show Vicky,” said Suzi.

“Thank you! I’m looking forward to this!” Vicky smiled.

“I’m sure you are!” Suzi chuckled. “I can probably guess, but what’s your beef with Alissa?”

Vicky pondered for a moment. “Well, until she said all that mean stuff about me just now, I didn’t really have any. I’m more here for the honour of the band than anything,” she said heaving a sigh, before looking to her blue-haired opponent. “Until I first auditioned to join the band, I looked up to you. It’s a rough life, especially for us girls in such a masculine scene. I don’t see why there needs to be so much drama and why you feel the need to put us down whenever you can.”

“Well you picked a fantastic show for someone who doesn’t like drama,” Suzi scoffed.

“Hah, true!” Vicky said, cracking a grin. “That’s the point though. I hope that whichever one of us ends up dunked in goop tonight, both of our bands can move on. I’ll try to address Alissa’s specific points though.” She turned in her chair once again to look at her rival. “Look, I’m sorry you don’t like how I sound with the rest of The Agonist. We’re still going strong though, so I must be doing something right. I’m also sorry you didn’t like the last two albums. That’s fine, since I was pretty let down by War Eternal. Call it even? I also didn’t ‘usurp’ you. The rest of the band, not your band but the band, decided they couldn’t wait on you to make time for them and wanted someone who could commit to their music – to our music. Like Suzi said, you’d been doing work with other bands already, which was just one reason that they fired you. I could bring up so much more, but like I said, I want to put an end to the drama and move on!”

As Vicky wrapped up her argument, Suzi led the audience in a round of applause. “Thanks for making your point! Now, I have a few questions for you two, and since I’m already facing this way, I’ll start with you, Vicky.”

The blonde seemed rather stunned. “Okay, shoot.”

“It seems to me that this is more about closure to you than about gunge. Are you really sure you’re on the right show?”

There was laughter from Alissa, the audience and Vicky alike, but the thin blonde lady nodded. “Of course! Alissa made some awful claims about myself and my fellow bandmates, some of whom were her friends once. I’m just here to set things straight and get some justice!”

“Well that depends on the voters now. You’d better hope they’re swayed by your argument!” Suzi winked, before spinning her chair over to face Alissa. “As for you, Alissa, what do you make of Vicky’s olive branch approach? I don’t think we’ve seen that before on the Slop Drop!”

Alissa scoffed. “She’s just hoping that it’ll save her from the slime!”

“That is the point of her making a counter-argument, yeah…” Suzi mumbled.

“I mean like, even if she loses,” said Alissa, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. “Like she’s trying to get on my good side. Ain’t gonna happen, she’s going down!”

Vicky shook her head. “I’m not a pussy, and I’m not going to get slimed tonight!”

“No way! There’s a huge pit of sludge with your name on it, Vicky!”

“Yeah, with the word ‘rules’ right after it!”

Suzi shook her head as the two singers continued their verbal volleys. “Dear oh dear, I think this is shaping up to be our fiercest rivalry yet! Here’s how to vote. Dial 08756 737 67 and add 1 if you think Alissa White-Gluz should become Alissa Slime-Goo, or add 2 if you think Vicky Psarakis should become Sticky Psarakis. Alternatively text SLOP and either ALISSA or VICKY to 87894. Small print is on the screen! Join us in part 2 where, if these two stop bickering, we’ll see what weird and wonderful contraption the Build Team have given us this week!”

With that, the show cut to a commercial break.

Update next Monday, results the Monday after.

K

The 1am adverts are the worst kind of adverts, after all, if they were selling anything worthwhile, they’d be shown during daylight hours. These get shown at a time when the advert slots are cheap, and from the looks of things, the production values are even cheaper.

And speaking of cheap production values…

Cameras panned across the show’s drunken audience, catching them drinking, some dancing, plenty of guys trying to hit on the girls, and a few even succeeding. There was a conspicuous absence of Paula, but perhaps she just went to the bathroom?

“Welcome back to the final part of tonight’s show!” shouted Steph, her cheeks looking ever so slightly flush as she held another half-pint of beer in one hand and her microphone in the other. There was maybe just something to suggest that she’d had more drinks than the cameras had caught, but she was still aware of the camera and still quite capable of doing her job – there was no staggering or slurred speech so far.

“This is the bit that really matters too, you’re here to find out which one of tonight’s contestants is hot, and which one’s gonna get the snot! If you’ve been voting, please stop now, we’re counting up the final scores and votes will still be charged even if they’re not counted.” Steph shrugged her shoulders, “So no matter how hot you think one of our girls is, it’s all over now and we’ve just gotta reveal those final scores!”

As she spoke, Stephanie began walking across the studio. “Scores that might not be so good for one of our girls, right Gracie?” she asked, stopping beside the tank housing the bikini-clad blonde. “You had less than a third of the votes last time we checked in, that’s gotta make you nervous about what’s gonna happen shortly.” Steph nodded up at the nose hanging over Grace, “He’s in position, and I think you said you saw last week’s ep, right?”

Grace placed her hands on her head and then ran them back, scooping up her long blonde hair and pulling it back behind her, holding it as she shut her eyes and then laughed. She opened her eyes and said something to Steph before letting go of her hair and glancing down at the base of the tank ruefully. Steph smirked, “She just said ‘I’m gonna get snotted so badly, aren’t I?’ for those that were wondering, and, as for what Grace is wondering, I can tell you that yes, if you lose, you’re gonna get totally snotty! I’m not even sure that Marianne’s managed to get it all out of her hair yet and it’s been a week – you’re gonna have the same problem!”

The blonde smiled weakly and shook her head. She looked entirely resigned to her fate, even without knowing the final result, it was as if she’d given up, and probably not without just cause – the screen in the back of the set still displayed her paltry score of 32% for all to see. She stretched her bare feet out, pressing her toes to the cool floor of the tank before swinging them idly beneath her, glancing up at the pair of nostrils above and then over to Steph before she furrowed her brow and asked something. Subconsciously, she ran a hand back through her hair, holding it to the back of her neck as she waited for Steph to reply.

“So Grace just asked me if it’s gonna be like it was next week, when the snot comes down,” said Steph, taking her time as the blonde leaned in for the answer. “I can say that there will be a lot of green snot, so that’s gonna be like last week, if that’s what you meant!” She laughed as Grace threw her head back and looked away, her cheeks reddening again as she scoffed at the lack of support from Steph. “Sorry sweetie, there’s no spoilers from me!” retorted Steph as she bounced back over to the centre of the stage.

“But we won’t need spoilers in a mo, because we’re about to watch that snotty nose blow!” shouted the brunette, saying it almost like a witch’s chant. “We’ve let Grace sweat for long enough, let’s see if she’s really in trouble, and if Lisa’s got any right to be smiling like she is! The public have voted, so let’s see who’s hot, and who’s gonna get the snot, will it be Grace or Lisa?”

The bars disappeared, leaving only the axis and the two girls’ names on screen. From the top of the screen, red and blue pixels “dripped” down, like liquid, filling the bars up, with them both keeping pace up to the 30% mark, at which point Grace’s started to slow down until the final result was revealed…

On screen the red bar tipped over to 41% and then flickered green.

Simultaneously, there was an incredibly loud sneeze and, from the nose, two streams of lumpy green snot poured straight down onto Grace. Having turned to face the screen, and presumably expecting something like the first episode’s snotting, Grace was caught entirely unaware, catching a snotty facial from one nostril that she was leaned into, while the other slopped straight down her back. The mixture of shock and coldness caused the girl to scream and inadvertently arch her back, leaning further into the flow to get another faceful of the green goo! Her scream, muffled by the tank walls was cut short before she got a mouthful of snot, but as she quickly adjusted herself to a normal sitting position and bowed her head, more squeals and whimpers could just about be heard. They had to be pretty loud, given how soundproof the tanks were, and also how loud the noise of the snot raining down on her was, too. Grace lifted her head somewhat and, with both hands, brushed her slimy hair back from her face while rubbing her bare soles around in the snotty puddle that had formed on the floor of the tank. She scraped the snot from her eyes and then wiped it from her lips too, before it slowed to a dribble, twin streams trickling down onto each of her shoulders.

“Wow,” said Steph, grinning wickedly. “Someone get that girl a Kleenex!” she laughed and moved across to where Lisa was sat in her tank. She was watching Grace’s gunging with great interest, her smile seemed like more than just relief at escaping the snot, but suggested that she was genuinely enjoying the sight of Grace getting covered in it. Steph reached down to the door handle, which was only present on the outside of the tank, and opened it up, holding her hand out towards the blonde inside. “Congratulations, Lis, you’ve escaped the snot!”

Lisa grinned, taking Steph’s hand and shaking it before standing up. “You’ll forgive me if I wanna get out of here quickly, won’t you?” She brushed past Steph and stepped out, her nylon-clad feet moving to the studio floor as she wriggled her toes slightly. “I’d be amazed if there was any snot left after the amount you just dumped on poor Grace, but I don’t fancy sitting around like a mug just in case.” She glanced back towards the tank and took hold of the door from Steph, shutting it behind her. “I can finally relax, it’s not the most comfortable place to sit, and that’s even without that nose hanging over me. I dread to think what it was like for Grace.” As she spoke, Lisa continued to gesture with her hands as much as she had done inside of the tank, perhaps even more so now, from pointing to the tank, to Grace, to the nose and just about everything in between. “But I definitely wanna give a big thanks to the folks at home, and a massive thumbs up! Nice work!”

Steph chuckled, before pulling something out of her back pocket. “Well, Lisa, you came on the show and risked it all, but you and your lingerie are going home snot-less tonight! As proof that the nation does indeed find you hot, please accept this medal with my congratulations!” Steph unfurled the medal to a trumpet fanfare piped over the sound system, before lifting it up and motioning for Lisa to bow. The blonde stooped to one knee and lowered her head, as if she was receiving a knighthood from the Queen, before Steph lowered the medal’s ribbon over her head and let it drop around her neck. Lisa than rose to her feet as Steph led the audience in applause, while the lingerie model cheered, raising her arms in celebration.

“Not only that, Lisa, but you’re top of our leader board now!” said Steph, pointing to the screen as the graph faded away to show a Top Hot Ten, with Casey second on the list, scoring 56%, and Lisa’s name at the top, next to her score of 59%. “We thought it was worth keeping tabs on our scores, so we can see who’s truly the hottest of the hot, because after all, that’s why we’re here, right?”

Lisa shrugged, staring up at the short list with a small smile. “Well, it’d be something if my name was still on the top at the end of the series, wouldn’t it?” She laughed, “I’m not sure it’s something I’d wanna tell the grandkids about, but it’s still something!”

“Absolutely,” replied Steph, and speaking of something, why don’t we catch up with something that looks like it’s come from the local swamp – and I don’t mean Old Trafford!”

Her comments were met by boos from some sections of the crowd, and cheers from others, but Steph quietened them all down dismissively as she approached the tank door. Inside, Grace had wiped most of the snot from her face, though her hair was still sodden and matted together, clinging to her head as she looked up at Steph. The tank’s internal coating had worked again, and the slime had slid down to gather at the base of the tank, forming a small pool, only an inch or so deep, in the drip tray at the bottom. Grace’s bare feet were in the gunge, almost submerged as the camera panned up from the bottom, taking in her toned, tanned legs, now adorned with streaks of green snot, leading up to a pool of it gathered in her lap. The gunge looked just as thick and lumpy as it had done when it first poured from the nose, glistening grossly in the studio lights and wobbling slightly every time Grace moved. Her stomach and arms were streaked with the snot, and it was clear that some had found its way into her bikini top, from both the visible paths into her cups and the equally visible bulges now present that she hadn’t felt able to deal with when there were so many cameras present.

The camera finally moved up to the blonde’s face and, as much as she had wiped most of the gunge away, there was still traces of it left, clinging to her eyebrows, her cheeks, her ears and even her nose. As she looked directly into the camera, she frowned and shook her head, causing some of the snot to drip from her hair.

“We got you good!” declared Steph proudly, looking over the nose’s handiwork with profound glee. “You are well and truly snotted, girl,” she said, before reaching for the door handle and carefully pulling it open. “How do you feel, Grace?” she asked, folding her arms. “What’s going through your mind right now, after a snotting like that?”

Grace shook her head, her rueful smile returning momentarily, changing into a smirk. “Steph, to you and to all the people at home that voted for Lisa, I’d just like to say two words…”

But her words were drowned out by the similar-sounding “achoo” of the giant nose above her as it returned to action briefly, dumping a short blast of snot over the already-covered girl. Grace’s mouth was wide with shock as her eyes turned towards Steph and she lifted her gunge-coated hand to point accusatorially at the host. Steph’s eyes widened too, before she hurriedly slammed the door shut, leaving Grace to bang futilely on the door.

“How rude!” exclaimed Steph.

Lisa shook her head, “She doesn’t seem too impressed!”

“I know,” replied Steph, not having to feign shock for once, this was genuine. “And she came across as all sweetness and light earlier!” The host shook her head, “You think you know someone.” Looking back into the tank where a little more snot was dribbling down onto Grace, who had now calmed down quite a bit, but did stick her middle finger up at the camera, Steph shrugged her shoulders. “You know, maybe I can’t blame her. I’m not sure I’d be too thrilled if I was her right now!”

Steph then stepped forwards as the camera closed in on her. Lisa stood just behind her in the shot, dwarfing the presenter and smiling, holding up her medal in one hand and pointing to it with the other, mouthing the words “thank you” at the camera, before blowing it a kiss.

“Well, that’s another show over, and another debate you’ve helped us settle. We took two beautiful blondes, asked you to vote for the hottest, and you delivered, so thank you all, everyone voting gets a big pat on the back from me!” Steph then started counting things off on her fingers, “I also wanna thank our hottie, Lisa, our snottie, Grace, and our studio audience too, for all taking part in tonight’s show! That’s it for tonight, but we’ll be back again next week with another pair of girls as we once again ask who’s hot and who gets the snot? I’ll see you real soon!” Steph and Lisa both waved to the camera as it zoomed out, pulling back upwards and taking a final shot of the whole studio, audience included as the credits rolled by.

So that’s episode two done and dusted! There was a bit of a swing towards Grace in the second half, but it wasn’t nearly enough – to anyone that had been voting for Lisa and then swapped to Grace, I’d love to know why! Was it something she said/did that changed your mind? Please let me know, I’ve got several episodes planned, so it’ll help to know what makes the characters more/less appealing.

To those of you that questioned using the same slime/gunging mechanism each week, I hope this has given you a few answers on that front, and I hope this episode’s been sufficiently different to the last one. I took on board the desire to see more of the loser post-gunging, but as ever, all feedback is welcome and appreciated so please let me know your thoughts!

Matches 1-16 of Round 3 of the 2017 Gunge Grand Prix are now live! Head to the relevant pages to vote now!

Although this story mentions real persons, corporations, TV shows and places, it is purely a work of fiction for personal enjoyment. The story does NOT describe real events and should NOT be taken to accurately portray any real entity mentioned. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

The show opened with the camera on Graham Norton leaning against the outside of a perspex tank. Dressed in one of his trademark shiny suits, he was surrounded by a large crowd of people enthusiastically waving assorted paper flags. “The countdown to Eurovision has begun,” Graham announced to the excited crowd. “And that can only mean one thing … it’s time for the Slimevision Song Contest.”

The distinctive trumpet sounds of the Eurovision theme music signalled the start of the show as a map of Europe floated across the screen. As the music reached its crescendo it was drowned out by a loud splat noise as green computer-generated drips fell from the top of the screen, splattering the outlines of various European countries with goo.

When the opening titles concluded, Graham had moved up to a large stage where he overlooked the audience. Joining him to represent the host country was Mariya Yaremchuk, who had finished sixth for Ukraine in 2014 and was best remembered for performing with a man running inside a giant hamster wheel. Dressed in a black and white mini-dress and towering heels, she made her way across the stage, microphone in hand. “Hello Europe!” she announced. “Bonjour! Guten tag! Hola! Ciao! Hej! Welcome to Kiev!”

“We’ve got an important task ahead of us. There are forty-two entries in this year’s Eurovision, and ten of them are here with us tonight,” Graham explained. “Which means we’ve got the opportunity to subject the worst entries to a spot of messy punishment.” There was rapturous applause from the audience.

The origins of the Slimevision Song Contest were as mysterious as that of the Eurovision Song Contest itself. The rumour was that, after seeing the success of the 2011 Celebrity Supporter’s WAM League, British producers had approached their counterparts on the continent about the possibility of running a special edition for Euro 2012, but something had been lost in translation and the international networks had greenlit a messy Eurovision spin-off instead. By the time it became clear that producers on different sides of the pond were actually working on two entirely different shows, production had gone too far and it was too late to back out. While British producers had initially been unsure about how the format could be applied to a singing contest rather than sports, Slimevision had ultimately gone down surprisingly well with the viewing public. It turned out the Brits loved the opportunity to see annoying singers gunged and humiliated, perhaps seeing it as revenge for the UK’s continued poor reception at the contest. With Graham Norton on board to present, the show had now turned into an annual fixture, coupling the Irish comedian with a different co-presenter every year as he followed the song contest around Europe, dishing out punishments to those entrants brave or foolish enough to agree to participate.

“Here’s how Slimevision works,” Graham explained. “We’ve selected ten Eurovision acts who are going to be facing your judgement. After we’ve met them all tonight, you get your chance to vote on who you think is most worthy of receiving the gunging of their lifetime.”

Mariya walked away from Graham and over to the other side of the stage, where three waltzer cars were sat on a series of tracks which headed off through a tunnel which disappeared backstage. “The losers are going to end up taking a ride on our Trip Around Europe,” she explained, gesturing to the uncomfortable looking seats. Dangled above each car was a giant dustbin attached to a mechanism that looked ready to dump their contents on the hapless singers sat below. “Trust me, this is one ride you really don’t want to be on, and our participants could earn a place if they attract enough votes or don’t finish high enough at Eurovision.”

“But before that, there remains the small matter of qualifying for Eurovision,” Graham pointed out. “There are forty-two countries vying for a place in the grand final on Saturday, but only twenty-six places available. While some of our acts are fortunate enough to have automatically qualified, the rest are going to have to compete the semi-finals on Tuesday and Thursday first. And in Slimevision, if you don’t qualify you get an automatic gunging.”

Mariya precariously made her way down some stairs towards the audience, precariously . Dotted around below the stage were four perspex tanks like the one Graham had been standing next to at the start of the show. “Our participants will await the semi-final results from inside these tanks. Successfully make it through to the final and they’ll be released, but get knocked out and the vat will release its slime.”

The camera returned to Graham standing on the stage. “Those still in the competition will then be vying to avoid the Trip Around Europe. The three losers will determined by a points system based on a fifty-fifty split between the Slimevision vote and the contestant’s ranking in the Eurovision final. The song voted the worst in our poll will be awarded douze points, as will whoever ends up lowest on the leaderboard. The three participants with the highest points totals will be gunged. There will also be a special surprise for anyone who manages to score nul points.”

With the rules explanation dispensed with, Mariya returned to the stage. “I think it’s time to meet the ten people who are willing to put themselves on the line for their countries …”

F.Y.R. Macedonia (Jana Burceska)

“First up is this year’s representative of the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia,” Graham announced. “In a few weeks she’s going to ‘Dance Alone’ on the Eurovision stage, although I’m sure there will be five backing singers hidden somewhere in the background. Please welcome Jana Burceska!”

A grinning long-haired brunette appeared from backstage, waving to the cheering audience as she crossed the stage, blissfully unaware that they were cheering on her own messy humiliation. The pretty young singer was dressed in a short black dress which accentuated her graceful legs, and she flicked back her long locks as she approached Graham and Mariya.

“Welcome to Slimevision, Jana!” Mariya greeted Jana.

“Thank you for having me,” Jana politely replied into the microphone that was pointed in her direction. “It’s great to be here tonight!”

“Maybe you should wait and see how this turns out before you say that,” Graham wryly suggested.

“I think it’s going to be fine,” Jana insisted. “I’ve been touring Europe and so far all the fans I’ve met have just been lovely. I’m sure they wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Well if you want to escape the slime, you’re going to have to qualify first,” Graham pointed out. “And that might be an uphill battle, because you’re performing in the second semi-final, which looks very competitive, and your country doesn’t exactly have a particularly good Eurovision record. Macedonia has only qualified once of their previous nine attempts, and have never managed a result better than twelfth … kind of puts the UK’s woes into perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Well, we’re trying something different this year,” Jana suggested. “We’ve picked a track with a bit more of a modern feel.”

“With an eighties inspired song?” Graham questioned with a slight hint of surprise in his voice. “Although I suppose by Eurovision standards that does qualify as modern,” he added belatedly. There was a quiet titter from the audience.

“It’s a mix of eighties and contemporary,” she insisted, befuddled by Graham’s sarcastic comments. “I really love the song and I couldn’t ask for anything better. It’s had a really great reception from the fans and I hope it goes down well on the Eurovision stage.”

“Well I hope so for your sake,” Graham agreed. “You know what awaits you if it doesn’t!”

Greece (Demy)

“Our next contestant is a pop sensation from Greece,” Mariya explained. “She’s already achieved seven Greek number ones and is also studying to be a lawyer in her spare time.”

“Always helps to have a back-up plan in case Eurovision ends your career, I guess,” Graham observed.

“Please welcome Demy!” Maryia continued.

Demy strode onto camera confidently, adopting a position alongside Graham and Mariya in full view of the cameras and audience. She was a fair skinned girl with sun-kissed black hair and blue eyes which sparkled under the studio lights. Dressed in a loose white vest top and long red skirt, Demy embodied laidback Greek style and oozed stage presence. “Hi Mariya,” she said, smiling warmly and basking in the attention.

“Welcome to Slimevision, Demy.” Mariya tilted the microphone towards the Greek singer. “Why don’t you tell us a little bit about your song?”

“Well, I totally love it. It was picked by the public to be my song for Eurovision and I’m really pleased they chose it for the contest because it was my favourite of the songs they wrote for me,” Demy explained. “It’s called ‘This Is Love’.”

“Going with a classic Eurovision theme there, and I noticed plenty of hashtags in the video as well,” Graham observed. “But you have to qualify for the final and you’ve been drawn in the first semi-final, which means you have just a week to go to prepare. Are you worried?”

“It’s a little scary,” Demy admitted. “But I’m loving the experience. Performing on the big stage in front of millions is going to be a blast.”

“Normally I’d say you have nothing to worry about because Greece has a great track record at Eurovision with a string of top ten finishes over the last decade, but in recent years you’ve been slipping down the leaderboard and you even failed to qualify last year for your first time in Eurovision history. Do you think you can turn it around?”

“I hope so,” Demy offered. “Otherwise I’m going to be in big trouble, aren’t I?”

“Well, you have Cyprus in the same semi-final, so I’m sure the 12 points from them are going to help you qualify, but who knows how the Slimevision vote is going to turn out?”

France (Alma)

After Demy’s artsy black and white video concluded, the action switched back to the two presenters, who were already stood with the next participant, another dark haired beauty. “We’re here with Alma, who is going to be representing France at the contest with the song ‘Requiem’.”

The French enchantress exuded Parisian style, wearing a shiny black top which complemented her black hair. While the top had a demure neckline, a short blue leather skirt showcased legs like the Eiffel Tower, which were extended further by a pair of high heeled black boots.

“France is one of the Big Five financial contributers to the contest, which means that unlike most of our other contestants you have already automatically qualified for the final,” Mariya pointed out. “That’s got to be a relief, surely?”

“Well it has its benefits and its downsides,” Alma pointed out. “The Big Five hasn’t really fared all that well since the current system was introduced. People get less of an opportunity to hear the song before the final which can work against me, but at least automatic qualification means I’m guaranteed to remain completely clean.”

Graham did a quick double-take, confused by Alma’s last comment. “Going in the gunge tank for failing to qualify is only one of the forfeits,” he quickly clarified. “You could still end up taking the Trip Around Europe if the Slimevision voters vote for you, or you perform badly on the night.”

Concern starting spreading across Alma’s fair features at this unwelcome news. “Hang on, I can still get gunged?”

Mariya nodded, looking sympathetic for the French girl’s plight.

Increasingly worried for her own fate, Alma looked directly at the camera and addressed the audience watching at home. “Please don’t vote for me,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to get gunged. Please give the song a chance!”

Romania (Ilinca)

“Next up is Ilinca from Romania,” Mariya announced. “She describes herself as Romania’s only yodeling artist and has teamed up with Romanian rapper Alex Florea for her Eurovision entry, the appropriately titled ‘Yodel It’.”

“It’s the yodeling-rap fusion track we’ve all been waiting for!” Graham snarked.

On cue, Ilinca entered the stage, dressed in a tight-fitting beige dress which showed off the curves of her body. The drum beat intro of the song pumped out the speakers on stage as the young blonde made her way over to Graham and Mariya.

“It’s great to have you on Slimevision, Ilinca,” Graham said by means of introduction. “We’ve been hoping you would agree to participate ever since we heard about your entry, which is definitely one of the most … distinctive songs in the contest this year.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Ilinca responded with a nod. “Although I’ve got to say I’m a little scared about being here.”

“I’ve got to ask,” Graham admitted. “Why yodeling?”

“I don’t know,” Ilinca admitted. “I saw a video of it from a talent contest on Youtube when I was younger, and I just became obsessed with it.”

“And you’ve been paired with a rapper for the song,” Graham observed. “An interesting choice because there are a lot of duets in the contest this year. A folk duo singing in Belarusian, a Norwegian DJ paired with Olly Murs’ doppleganger, an Estonian duo singing a Shakespearean love story … Croatia’s representative is even performing a duet with himself. Do you think Yodel It is going to stand up to the competition, or is it going to be written off as a novelty entry?”

“I hope people enjoy the song,” Ilinca answered. “It’s fun, it’s upbeat, it’s got a lot of energy, and it’s meant to put a smile on people’s faces.”

“Well we’ll just have to wait and see what the public makes of it. We look forward to seeing you perform in the second semi-final!”

Switzerland (Miruna Manescu)

“Our next participant is from Romania but is representing Switzerland in the contest,” Mariya explained. “It’s confusing I know, but please welcome Miruna Manescu, lead singer of Timebelle!”

Miruna was glamourously dressed in a sleek red dress with a long slit up the side and a plunging neckline that was sure to set hearts racing among the viewers at home. The same dress was suggested to have won Timebelle a lot of votes at the Swiss national final and obviously Miruna was perhaps mistakenly counting on it to help her escape a sliming as well.

“Is there some kind of exchange programme going on between Romania and Switzerland?” Graham joked. “Romania is sending a yodeler, so Switzerland is sending a Romanian band to represent them in the contest?”

Miruna laughed. “No no no, it’s just a coincidence. Timebelle is an international band, we’re two-thirds Romanian, one-third Swiss, but apart from me everyone else lives in Switzerland. It makes band practice interesting!”

“I’m sure,” Graham agreed. “What’s your entry called?”

“The song is called Apollo,” Miruna explained. “It’s all about following your dreams and making them happen no matter what they are.”

“Give us an honest answer now.” Graham looked deathly serious. “Was it written purely because you realised you could rhyme the word ‘follow’ with ‘Apollo’? Also, is whoever wrote the lyrics aware that being shot in the chest is nothing like having something etched forever in your mind?”

Miruna merely laughed off Graham’s comments. “They warned me about you! And they warned me about the gunge as well.”

“Maybe you should be a little more worried about your fate,” Graham suggested. “Switzerland has only managed to qualify twice out of the last ten attempts, which isn’t the best track record, and you’re going to have to qualify from the very competitive second semi-final. Another result like that and you’ll be getting very slimy indeed next week.”

“That’s true, we’ve not had much success lately in the contest. Switzerland has a long history with Eurovision spanning all the way back to winning the first ever contest, so we’re hoping we can restore the faith for the Swiss fans.”

United Kingdom (Lucie Jones)

“Now it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Graham announced. “It’s time to meet the United Kingdom’s entrant, Lucie Jones!”

The former X-Factor strode onto stage, calmly looking out over the huge audience. The petite brunette wore a simple but elegant turquoise dress which sported several cut-out sections.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here on Slimevision, Lucie!” Mariya told Lucie after she arrived at the front of the stage. “Are you excited to be taking part?”

“In Eurovision, sure,” Lucie answered quickly. “I’m not so sure about Slimevision given the UK’s recent performance in the contest, but I’m hoping this song will secure us a good result. Also Slimevision is a contractual obligation so apparently there’s no getting out of it!”

“You were, of course, famously booted off the X-Factor in favour of Jedward.” Lucie flinched, suggesting that indignity still hurt. “Jedward are two-time Eurovision competitors, and even managed to finish eighth in 2011. Do you think you can equal their success?”

“Well, Jedward are kind of tailor-made for the contest,” Lucie observed. “While they may not be the most vocally polished, they brought a lot of energy and colour to the Eurovision stage. Maybe in the UK we could learn something about how to effectively stage an entry from them.”

“You’re up against some tough competition this year,” Graham pointed out. “Everyone is pretty much agreed that Italy are the favourites to win with their dancing ape. Sweden can never be counted out, and Moldova is sending Epic Sax Guy again, who went viral after his 2010 performance proved popular with the internet.”

“Look, we’re taking it seriously again this year,” Lucie pointed out. “I think I’ve got a really good song and anything can happen on the night.”

“It is a real powerhouse of a ballad,” Graham agreed. “And Eurovision does like its ballads so this could be our comeback. I guess you just better hope the UK hasn’t done anything to upset Europe in the last year!”

Poland (Kasia Mos)

“Let’s meet another contestant,” Mariya suggested, as if that wasn’t all the presenters had been doing for the last twenty minutes. “She came third on the Polish talent contest Must Be The Music, and this year she’s singing ‘Flashlight’ for Poland, it’s Kasia Mos!”

The blonde bounced onto stage, grinning widely and waving enthusiastically at the audience. She was wearing a simple white tank top under a leather jacket. A long red and white skirt added a touch of colour to the ensemble.

“You seem very pleased to be here,” Graham observed after watching Kasia’s entrance. “But as I’m sure you’re aware, this could end very badly for you.”

“Yes,” Kasia agreed. “I understand you’ve got lots of this British … gunge … mixed up ready to throw at us. But I’m hoping it won’t come to that. You know, I’ve listened to all the acts tonight and I don’t really think any of them is deserving of one of your gungings.”

“I think we’ll let the public decide that!” Graham insisted. “And at least three of you are going to get gunged anyway regardless of how you perform, that’s just the way the show works.”

“Well I think it’s mean,” Kasia insisted, sulking a little bit.

“Why don’t you tell us about your song,” Graham suggested. “I see you’ve rhymed ‘fire’ with ‘burning desire’. Very creative. Let me guess: it’s about love?”

“No,” Kasia said with a shake of the head.

“Peace? Another classic Eurovision theme.”

Kasia waved her hand. “Maybe. Sort of.”

His patience beginning to wane, Graham skipped straight to the point. “So enlighten us. What’s it about?”

“The song is really about shining a light on animal cruelty,” Kasia explained. “I’m a big animal lover and I can’t believe people still wear fur and hunt animals for sport in this day and age.”

Graham looked puzzled. “I’m going to be honest, I really did not get that from the lyrics,” he admitted. “But it sounds like just the kind of upbeat topic that’ll brighten up Eurovision. I hope you’re going to blow the roof off the stadium on Tuesday night!”

Czech Republic (Martina Barta)

“Next up it’s time for Martina Barta from the Czech Republic,” Mariya explained. “She’s a jazz singer and French horn player who’s going to be singing ‘My Turn’, and now it’s her turn to take to the Slimevision stage.”

Martina emerged onto stage. The brunette had her long glossy hair pulled back in a ponytail and was wearing a tight purple top with ornate snitching and a low neckline.

“Welcome to Slimevision!” Mariya said, greeting the Czech contestant. Her enthusiastic demeanour was a distinct contrast to Martin’a serious expression. “How does it feel to be here?”

“Ummm, a little bit mixed,” Martina admitted. The classical musician seemed a little out of place on the big stage surrounded by the neon green Slimevision logo and back drop.

“Is that because you’re worried about getting gunged?” Mariya asked, desperate to press further for more information.

“A little,” Martina agreed. “I was assured this would be good exposure for the song but to be honest I’m of the opinion I’d rather not get covered with any of your ‘slime’.” Martina peered beyond Graham and Mariya and out at one of the perspex tanks in the audience. “Is that one of your gunge machines?”

“That’s where you’ll be standing while we await the results of your semi-final,” Graham explained. “If you don’t make it through we open up the vat of slime above and dump it over you.”

“That doesn’t sound entirely pleasant,” Martina commented.

“It’s not,” Mariya agreed.

“Czech Republic qualified for the first time ever last year,” Graham pointed out, trying to get the interview back on track. “The semi-finals are generally regarded as being very competitive this year, and you’re up in the first semi on Tuesday. Do you think you can get your country through to the final for the second year in a row?”

“I hope so,” Martina answered optimistically. “But the thing is my song, ummm, has a kind of deeper meaning and I think it’s quite difficult to present that on the Eurovision stage. But I hope it will connect with the audience and they’ll get it.”

“Sounds like you’re confident!” Graham observed.

The Netherlands

“Next up we’ve got not just one contestant, but three!” Mariya explained. “They’re the singing sisters from the Netherlands who are hoping to take Eurovision by storm. It’s time to meet O’G3NE!”

The three sisters emerged from the wings one by one. Out first was a girl with light blonde hair which was slightly curled, falling loosely on her shoulders. She wore a shiny black dress with a plunging neckline which displayed a hint of decolletage. The other two girls were also dressed in black, but with a different outfit which played to their individual style.

“Welcome girls,” Mariya said as all three siblings crowded around the microphone. “You’re looking gorgeous, as usual.”

“Now before we get started, let me make sure I’ve got this straight.” He pointed to the blonde girl. “Lisa?” he asked, double-checking that he had his names right. “And you two are twins, right? Amy and Shelley?” He pointed in turn at the girl with light brown hair and then at the girl with the darkest hair of the trio, who had her long locks pulled back into a ponytail.

The girls nodded in a way that suggested that few people got their names right. “That’s correct,” they stated in unison.

“Now the other participants tonight have to be worried because you’ve got Junior Eurovision experience,” Graham noted, obviously having read his notes. “When you competed as a group called Lisa, Amy and Shelley. You then went on to win The Voice of Holland, and now you’re back at Eurovision.”

“It feels good to be back,” Lisa said in response. “We’ve very much moved on musically since we competed at Junior Eurovision, and we’ve got a song that very much fits us musically.”

“Which are your vocals, right?” Graham observed. “There’s a lot of three-part harmonies in the song!”

“That is our thing,” Amy confirmed. “You can only be part of our group if you have the same genes!”

“You’re also in the tough second semi-final, which contains a lot of the favourites for this year’s contest,” Graham remarked. “But the Netherlands has been on a good run of form lately … do you think you can keep it up?”

“We hope so!” the girls declared.

Germany (Levina)

“It’s time to meet our final contestant,” Mariya explained. “Levina is a German singer who is currently studying music in London. She decided to apply for Germany’s selection process on a whim and ended up storming her way to victory in the national final, where she competed against herself in order to represent Germany with the song ‘Perfect Life’.”

“Don’t think about it too much,” Graham interjected. “Their selection process is just really complicated.”

A nervous looking Levina emerged onto the stage. She was simply dressed, wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans in contrast to some of her more glamourously dressed fellow competitors. The outfit may have been deliberately chosen to withstand a gunging.

“Welcome to the show, Levina,” Mariya greeted Levina.

“It’s nice to be here,” Levina replied, awkwardly handling the microphone. “I think.”

“Yes, I would expect you to be the most nervous competitor of the night,” Graham observed. “Because while you’ve earned automatic qualification for the final alongisde the UK and France as part of the Big Five, Germany is on an appalling run of form. You’ve finished in dead last two years running and even scored the dreaded nul points two years ago. Are you worried Germany could finish bottom of the leaderboard three years in a row?”

“It doesn’t look good,” Levina admitted. “We don’t seem very popular with Europe at the moment. But I’m just going to go out there and have fun on the night. There’s no point worrying about what might happen.”

“Well, just to remind you, if you finish last there’s a good chance you might be taking our ride around Europe,” Graham reminded Levina. “And if you do, we’ve got plenty of treats in store for you. There’s plenty of currywurst sauce on hand to represent your home country. I think that might be a good look for you actually.”

Levina winced. “Let’s hope the audience votes to save me!”

“And that’s all the contestants for today,” Mariya announced with a deep intake of breath, exhausted by the succession of rapid fire interviews. “It’s over to you now to decide who you think should be on the receiving end of our messy tour of Europe, but remember the voting is going to be split fifty-fifty with the results on Saturday night.”

“We will, of course, be back with an update later this week for the semi-finals,” Graham announced as he signed off the show. “Tune in then to find out how the voting is going, and see if anyone gets eliminated!”

Author’s Note: Please at least try to listen to the songs before voting. You can vote for up to three acts you think deserve a gunging, and you permitted to vote once every 12 hours.

Voting will remain open until after the end of the contest on Saturday 13th May. I’ll try to get the story up as soon as possible after then, but can’t make any promises!

Please also speak up in the comments if you have any ideas for substances representing European countries which you would like to see featured on the grand tour.

While this is based on some real events, do not take this as reflective of reality. Pics don’t quite reflect outfits – see part 1. Vote numbers accurate at time of writing – divide Suzi’s estimate in the story by 1000 for the actual numbers!

The bombastic, vaguely symphonic Slop Drop theme tune blared through the studio. It was a far more dramatic-sounding than perhaps a silly show based around slime and celebrity drama called for, but it was what the network demanded. After all, it was no more or less ridiculous than Tipping Point getting such a theme tune!

The show cut to Suzi, sat on her chair with her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and an envelope on a small sidetable to her right. “Welcome back to Suzi’s Slop Drop,” she said. “We’re just about at the half-way point of the show, which means it’s time to show what our celebrity guests are letting themselves in for. As a reminder, we’ve got Alissa White-Gluz…”

The camera cut to Alissa, sitting on a chair to Suzi’s right and the audience’s left. She was smiling, despite her heart pounding out of her chest. Perhaps she was a bit scared of looking like an idiot later on. Maybe the overly dramatic theme music had stirred something in her. Either way, she was beginning to wonder if she might regret coming on the show.

“Alissa wants to get messy revenge on The Agonist frontwoman Vicky Psarakis. Alissa claims that she was unfairly dismissed from the band, and that Vicky just isn’t as good a singer as she is.” Alissa pouted and nodded as Suzi recapped the reason for the blue-haired singer’s presence. “As for Vicky Psarakis…”

Vicky was looking a bit more obviously nervous, her eyes wider. She was drumming her fingertips on her chair’s armrests and gritting her teeth slightly. She was more than aware that in the vast majority of bands, the first singer is the most popular. She was also quite aware that Arch Enemy was a bigger band than The Agonist. Both of these facts stacked the deck against her somewhat.

“Vicky claims that she did nothing wrong by replacing Alissa, and that if she didn’t then someone else would have. It’s not her fault, she and the rest of the band are proud of what they’ve put out, and Alissa’s recent work with Arch Enemy wasn’t up to par.” Compared to Alissa’s more faux-confident demeanour, Vicky just smiled and rapidly nodded in agreement with Suzi’s summation. “Now if you saw our last, somewhat controversial episode, you’d know that at this point we’ve got some neat little additions to the proceedings. First, there’s this,” said the presenter as a large LCD screen descended from the ceiling. “On here there’s going to be a pie chart showing the current results. Second, there’s also this,” she added, snapping her fingers. A tall, slightly curvaceous pale woman with long, blue hair walked on carrying a large custard pie, 37 centimetres wide. She passed it to Suzi. “Thank you, Natalie!” said Suzi.

Alissa screwed her nose up. “That had better not be real dairy!” she said, pointing to the massive mound of whipped cream on top.

“No, we’re very sensitive of the needs of our plucky victims!” Suzi giggled. “This is tonight’s special, vegan-friendly penalty pie, made with a soy-derived cream. The only cruelty involved will be when one of you gets to shove it in the face of the other! That of course depends on who’s behind at this point.”

Natalie added, “It was a real pain to whip up a vegan pie that lived up to our usual messy standards, it was! Took the Build Team hours to come up with a proper mixture that splatted properly! Look at that though – that’s tidy.”

“Yes well, it’s going to make either Alissa or Vicky look very untidy in a minute! Let’s see the results so far!” As Suzi spoke, the display showed the graphic of a big green pie chart, with the dark side showing Alissa’s current vote and the light side showing Vicky’s. It also showed Alissa and Vicky looking up at the screen, both of them nervous to see how they were doing.

“It’s quite a gap in terms of numbers too – Alissa’s on just over eighty-thousand compared to the 232,000 Vicky’s managed to pass!” said Suzi.

Alissa laughed. “Oh yeah! In your face, Vicky!”

“Literally,” muttered Natalie as she stepped over to Alissa with the pie. “Want to do the honours?” she asked, passing it to her.

Vicky cringed and covered her face, her hands hiding how embarrassed she already was. She peered through a gap in her fingers as she saw the two blue-haired women approaching, Alissa brandishing the pie like a buckler, grinning an almost psychotic grin as she approached. “Get your hands down and take your punishment, usurperrrrr!” the Arch Enemy singer growled.

Taking a deep breath, Vicky lowered her hands and clenched them into tight fists, shutting her eyes and trying to maintain a neutral expression. Alissa smashed the pie into her rival’s face with some force. It made a rather satisfying squishing sound as the cream and custard covered her features. Vicky let out a loud, if muffled scream as Alissa really laid into her face with the thick, sludgy dessert. Alissa moved her hand back and let the foil dish drop down onto Vicky’s lap. The crust shattered and pieces of pie slipped down, leaving big yellow, white and brown splotches on her black jeans. The blonde woman wiped her eyes and licked her lips. “Eww…” she shuddered as the soy cream slipped down her body.

“Ooh, Vicky looks pretty mad!” Suzi smirked, before turning to Natalie. “Better get her a towel!” As Natalie went off-stage, the presenter looked to Alissa, who was looking pretty pleased with life. “Alissa, you must be feeling pretty pleased to be so far ahead at this stage! Anything you’d like to say at this stage?”

Alissa grinned and nodded. “I thought I’d be winning. Arch Enemy’s so bigger and better than The Agonist, so I knew my loyal fans would turn out to help me put Vicky in her place! Thanks for the opportunity; it felt great!”

“Still, there’s still another part of the voting to go, and something much more spectacular waiting for one of you later!” said Suzi, turning to Vicky. Natalie was back with a large black towel. Vicky was wiping her face and hands, as well as getting the worst of the pie off her clothes, but all it seemed to do to those was leave big creamy streaks. “Vicky, you’re doing pretty badly, in all fairness. If I were you, I’d make one hell of a case for yourself if you don’t want to get gunged!”

Vicky sighed and nodded. “I’m not the one responsible for how Alissa was dismissed from The Agonist, so I shouldn’t even be here! The only bit of Alissa’s beef with me personally that might make any sense is that she thinks I don’t sound good in The Agonist. That’s her opinion, but clearly our fans disagree since we’re still going well, and the band are proud of the last two records we put out. Arch Enemy’s last album is pretty universally disliked by comparison, so surely if this is about replacing someone and not living up to expectations, the results should be reversed and Alissa should be the one covered in pie!”

Alissa scoffed. “So you’re not even going to argue that you didn’t steal my band?”

The blonde singer raised an eyebrow and looked at Alissa, her top lip raised up incredulously. “It was never just your band. You may have been the face of them, but the other members were just as important for making the music sound the way it was, and contributed just as much to the songs,” said Vicky. “But if you want to talk about your role in The Agonist, let’s talk. Like, how you joined Arch Enemy in secret and just expected The Agonist to turn into a little side project for you to come back to whenever.”

“It could have worked if they hadn’t betrayed me!” Alissa snapped.

“But again, if they hadn’t ‘betrayed’ you, not me. I could also go into a lot of details about how you treat people in general – and you know Danny has evidence to back me up on it!” Vicky crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat as she continued. “Things like trying to claim to your new managers that the rest of the band were cool with you joining Arch Enemy when you hadn’t even talked about it with them, your repeated threats to quit the band, your constant claiming to have had more input than you really did in things like artwork and management, and just generally how you treat people like fans and crew members. It’s generally awful!”

This time it was Alissa who was clenching her fists and grimacing. Vicky may not have been holding a vegan custard pie to her face, but she had just thrown some accusations that felt a lot worse. “The fuck did you just say?” she growled, putting her fists to the armrests on her chair, almost ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Suzi gave a nod to Natalie, who ran off backstage with Vicky’s towel. The brunette presenter then stood up and put her hands out as if to block any route between the two singers. “That’s enough! I don’t mind conflict on this show; after all, I wouldn’t have one without it! This looks like it’s about to go too far, though. Sit down, chill and let me remind you what show you’re on,” Suzi said as she sat down and picked up the envelope from her side table. She slid her index finger under the top and opened it. “This isn’t the transition to the letter segment I would have liked, but it’ll do,” she sighed as she read the letter.

“Dear Suzi,

My co-worker Ami Scott is my best friend.”

The camera cut to a woman in the audience with long, dark hair and her hands covering her face. Her skin tone was very slightly dark, and her fingernails were rather glossy but uncoloured. She shook her head with embarrassment. Next to her was a woman in her mid-to-late 20s with shoulder-length curly red hair, though quite clearly dyed. It reached her shoulders and had a fringe to it.

“However, she has another best friend whom I really don’t get on with – man’s best friend, in fact! I am talking about her Chocolate Labrador, Winston,” continued Suzi.

The redhead smiled and put her right arm around the other woman, who raised her head out of her hands and looked to the redhead with her jaw agape. She had rather narrow brown eyes and quite a young look to her.

“Whenever I visit Ami’s house, Winston always jumps up and gives my face a thorough licking. He seems especially pleased to see me on rainy days, not long after he and Ami have come in from a walk! I keep telling Ami that it’s really gross, but she doesn’t see it.”

The two women started laughing – the brunette especially. She shook her head in disbelief and blushed. She seemed to mouth something to the redhead, though quite what was said was open to lip-reading, due to them not being near any microphones.

“Since gunging the dog isn’t really an option, please give her a taste of something gross to make her see how it feels for me!

Yours,

Steph Whitaker.”

Suzi put the letter down and chuckled. “So Steph has a problem with Ami’s pooch. I think we should get them both down to settle this!”

The two women were dressed very similarly, much to Suzi’s surprise. Both were wearing hip-hugging blue jeans and short-sleeved white tops. Both were avid viewers of the Slop Drop and as such knew that either one of them (or even both) could be in the gunge in the space of a couple of minutes. As such they both kicked their shoes off and walked down to the stage barefoot. Suzi stepped out of her chair and met them at the front of the stage. “Hello Steph and Ami, and welcome to the Slop Drop. Which of you is Ami?” asked Suzi.

The brunette raised her hand. “That’s me!”

The presenter furrowed her brow and seemed to almost stare into Ami’s soul. “So Ami, you’ve got this dog, and you love this dog. Is it true that you let it jump up on Steph when she comes to visit?”

Ami blushed. “Well, I do tell him to get down! He’s a nice and friendly dog though. He doesn’t mean any harm!”

“And I take it you disagree that he smells bad?”

“I give him plenty of baths and take good care of him. He’s a beautiful, clean dog!” said Ami.

Suzi shrugged her shoulders. “Even so, getting slobbered on by a big doggo can be pretty intimidating, and the smell of wet dog is just rank! Natalie’s been working on replicating it for a while now!”

“I guess, but Steph’s known Winston long enough now that she knows he’d never hurt her. I think she’s just being mean!” Ami pouted. “She basically said she’d gunge Winston if she could!”

Steph’s jaw dropped. “I said no such thing!” she laughed.

“Just a moment…” Vicky reached for the letter on the table and skimmed through it. “Quote: Since gunging the dog isn’t really an option, please give her a taste of something gross to make her see how it feels for me!” She placed the letter back on the table. “So, lowly criminal, please tell me how do you plea?” she growled.

“That’s my line!” snapped Alissa.

Vicky scoffed. “Not these days, honey!”

“Shh! I’m dealing with a different dispute right now!” Suzi yelled, turning around to face her two celebrity guests. The audience howled with laughter for some reason. The two singers stayed quiet for a moment as Suzi kept the show going. “Still, I think… err… The Agonist’s lyric is as good a way as putting it – how do you plea to Ami’s charge of unnecessary meanness?”

Steph chuckled nervously and scratched the back of her neck. “Not guilty! I did bring her along to watch our favourite TV show live!” she said, batting her eyelashes at the host. “We’re big fans, after all!”

“Yes, after you wrote in trying to get her gunged!” Suzi pointed out.

“I didn’t know we’d actually get picked!” the redheaded woman said, her face turning pink momentarily. “Come on, Ami’s the one with the dog that won’t leave me alone!”

Suzi nodded. “You made that clear in the letter, but here’s the thing – it’s not up to me! I’m no longer judge, jury and executioner of this section. Instead, I’m just the judge, and I sentence one of you to… this!” she said as the great doors at the back of the studio stage opened up. Amidst a swamp of dry ice lay a huge circular vat, filled with thick, lime green gunge. Bubbles formed on the surface, before growing and bursting, the resulting droplets falling back and leaving minuscule ripples in the surface of the slime. At one end there were steps leading up to what appeared to be a short diving board, which led back out over the gunge pit. There were also numerous tiny nozzles pointed into the tank, placed evenly around the rim of the vat, as well as large gunge droppers above. “We’re going a bit nautical on you this week and having our lovely losers walk the plank! Just don’t stand too long, because we have ways of making you walk!”

Both Ami and Steph looked rather shocked to see such a simple design, especially compared to some of the wilder contraptions of the early days such as the Rotor Room and the Wall Crawler. Still, at least one of them would be going for a tumble off the end of the plank. The hope that the other was going in kept them going as Suzi announced how the gungee would be decided.

“Our audience all installed the SSD app on their phones when they arrived, and in a moment I will ask them to use it to vote for who they want to see walk the plank,” Suzi explained. “In the event of a tie, I’ll just send both of you!” Alissa and Vicky each held up a phone. “And of course, our celebs have a vote too! So, everyone, all vote now!”

The screen showed another pie chart, which flashed up a few seconds after Suzi gave the word. It showed 51% for Ami, compared to just 49% for Steph.

Steph breathed a deep sigh of relief, before looking to her friend. “Bad luck!” she smiled warmly, “but I’m going to love seeing you go for a dip!”

“I think we all are! This way!” Suzi said, leading the two women to the top of the steps. As well as the plank, there were two silver levers with red spheres on the handles. “Steph, you hold onto the levers for a moment, but don’t pull them yet. Ami, step up to the plank!”

Ami did so, making the mistake of looking down at the sludge. While of course health and safety would never allow too a huge drop, it felt like she was peering down into a vast canyon. However, there was no river at the bottom, only a lake of icky slime. Her legs shivered as she stepped forwards, her naked soles scarcely making imprints on the padded blue plank. She trembled a bit as she walked towards the end, looking straight down, then back to Suzi and Steph. “I’m not sure I can do this!” she called out.

“Then let’s give you a bit of a push in the right direction! Pull the first lever, Steph,” Suzi instructed.

Steph yanked the lever in her left hand. It was labelled M.O.M., which she didn’t quite understand. “What does that stand for?” she asked.

“The Mallet of Motivation!” grinned Suzi as a huge foam mallet slowly swung from the ceiling. It had a very cartoonish appearance and was clearly made from foam, meaning there was very little chance of it actually causing Ami any harm. However, it did strike her in the chest and knock her backwards, straight into the slop. She screamed and her arms flailed as she fell, before making a big splash as she sank under the surface, emerging moments later totally covered and gagging a little bit, having gotten quite a mouthful as she fell in! Above her head, a tank of violet gunge opened up and cascaded down all over her once-brown hair. She wiped her eyes and blinked, trying to see through the gunge. “That’s just a taste of what’s awaiting whoever gets the most votes by the end of the show. We didn’t even get to use the retraction lever,” sighed Suzi. She then turned to Steph. “So Steph, you got even with Ami. How do you feel?”

Steph grinned. “Great! I hope Ami gets what it’s like to get slobbered by her dog now! Plus we got to meet you!” She then blushed a little.

“And how are you doing in there, Ami?” Suzi called the the hapless gungee.

“This is awful! I only lost by a few votes too!” she yelled, looking to Suzi as more of the violet slime dripped down onto her head. “Can’t we call it a draw?”

Suzi shook her head. “Not this week! You’ll have to find some other place and time to gunge Steph!” she giggled, before looking into a camera. “Remember that if you want to see someone go for a drop in my slop, you can always email us here at slopdrop@panickedprods.net and make your case – just remember that it could just as easily be you in there! For now, let’s go back to the celebrities. Thank you Steph and Ami!” She walked back to the seats and sat down. “So what do you think, Vicky? Scared yet?”

Vicky bit her bottom lip. “A little! Hopefully I’ll make a comeback now though. I don’t wanna get shoved by that big hammer thing!”

“And Alissa, what’s your take?”

“I’m just glad I’m leading by a comfortable margin!” Alissa chuckled. “And that I’m not Ami, let alone Vicky!”

“So there we have it as we go into our second and final break! As a reminder, to vote Alissa call 08756 737 671 or text SLOP ALISSA to 87894, and to vote Vicky call 08756 737 672 or text SLOP VICKY to 87894. Join us after when one of our two metal madams will be taking a dive into the gunge!” said Suzi as the show cut to adverts.

Results show will be on Sunday.

Evening,

Here are the results from matches 1-16 in round 4 of the 2017 Gunge Grand Prix are now complete. Please see the results below. Matches 17-32 are now live so head to the relevant pages to vote now!

The spotlights glare, the cameras get into position, and the audience, warmed up by a series of pie-in-the-face skits, cheers loudly. All eyes are on a giant green droplet shape at the back of the stage. Curtains part at the centre of said drop and a redhead struts out, attired sexily yet businesslike in a white shirt and black skirt.

The woman is Bambi Bamboo, adult model and ‘actress’. With her chirpy northern accent and flirtatious yet humorous manner, she was the producers’ ideal choice to host this low-budget show.

“Hello, and thank you for that warm reception!” shouts Bambi. “I’m Bambi Bamboo and this is Triple Wammy, the exclusive online show made by the WAM community for the WAM community!”

The audience applauds some more.

“But while I may be the host, I’m not the star of the show,” says Bambi, her hand sassily on her hip. “No, that honour belongs to someone else here, but they don’t yet know it!”

The camera pans the audience, who are in staggered rows of seating. “As always, everyone in our audience is either a wammer or the significant other of a wammer.” Bambi explains. “But only one person here has been nominated for punishment, and will receive not just one, not just two, but three rounds of mess for their misdeeds!”

There are cheers from the audience, and also nervous laughter. Some are evidently more up for receiving such a messing than others. They look around at each other wondering who has been set up, wondering if it might be them.

“Oooh look, they’re nervous!” taunts Bambi. “Let’s find out who it is, shall we?” She struts off the stage and up a staircase that cleaves the two sides of the audience, saying a few hellos as she goes. Then she turns off at a row of seating.

“Ah, hello, you’re Rachel, aren’t you?”

A tanned girl with straight, black hair jolts in surprise, then puts her face in her hands.

“I only said hello!” huffs Bambi. “So typical – I try to be friendly with the audience and they all shy away from me – can’t think why! I’ll try again: Rachel, are you enjoying the show?”

Rachel uncovers her face and musters a faint “yes”.

“Glad to hear it,” says Bambi, resuming her walk along the row. “Breathe easy, Rachel, you’re not the star of tonight’s show” – she pauses and winks to the camera – “though I’ll bear it in mind for future. No, the star of the show is actually Hannah Smith.”

Bambi puts her hands on the shoulders of a woman in the row in front. The woman, who has medium-length blonde hair and big blue eyes gapes in shock.

“No!!”

“Yes!” rejoins Bambi. “Hannah you have been nominated by your husband, Richard, for a trashing!”

Hannah flashes a look of disbelief at the man seated beside her. “I’ll kill you for this!” she mutters.

“Save the domestic for later,” says Bambi. “Come down to the sofa, both of you, and have a chat with Auntie Bambi. Come on, up you get!”

Hannah gets awkwardly to her feet, blushing as heads turn to watch her. The blonde has a pleasing figure, curvy in all the right places, and is dressed in a low-cut pink jumper and jeans. She follows Bambi down the steps somewhat apprehensively. Richard walks behind her, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“That’s it, you two, make yourself comfy on the sofa.” Bambi herself sits in a armchair opposite.

“You’re looking very nice, Hannah,” Bambi remarks.

“Not for much longer, it would seem,” says Hannah sourly.

“Probably not, but I have to say, you deserve what’s going to happen.” Bambi takes an envelope from inside her blouse and unfolds the contents. “Here’s the letter your husband wrote to me: Dear Bambi, I would like to nominate my wife for the ultimate messing on Triple Wammy for being too snobbish. Whenever we go out she insists on going to the most expensive bars as she doesn’t want to be seen in a common pub. But of course, she leaves paying the bill to me.”

Hannah snorts and slaps Richard on the leg. “This is so not true!”

“That’s if we ever get out the door in the first place,” Bambi continues to read. “Hannah is incredibly vain and takes ages to do her make-up. When not preening in front of a mirror she is posing for endless selfies which she’s forever posting online.

“So please, Bambi, help me bring her down to earth and give her a makeover she won’t want to brag about. Yours, Richard Smith.”

Hannah slowly shakes her head as Bambi folds up the letter.

“Well Hannah, some very serious accusations there,” says Bambi with mock sternness. “How do you answer them?”

“None of it’s true,” insists Hannah. “Richard’s making it up because he wants to see me get messy!”

“Richard?”

“I wish it weren’t true but it is,” Richard replies. “We were nearly late getting here tonight because Hannah spent so long getting ready.”

“Hmm, there’s only one way to resolve this,” says Bambi, looking out to the audience. “Who thinks that Hannah should be punished?”

Virtually every hand goes up. Hannah shakes her head with a wry smile, knowing she has been stitched up.

“Well, I won’t bother asking for the should-nots,” laughs Bambi. “Hannah, you’ve been caught bang to rights, and now it’s time to face your fate: three messy punishments in three different outfits!”

Hannah looks gobsmacked.

“You will face the first of your punishments in the clothes you are currently wearing, and the punishment iiisss…”

Bambi makes a flourishing gesture to a big screen. The word “STOCKS” flashes up.

“Oh yes, the stocks!” enthuses Bambi. “Come this way!”

Bambi leads the couple over to a traditional wooden pillory. Next to it is a table piled with creamy pies.

“It’s a pillory!” shouts someone from the audience.

“Oh give over! Every week there’s some WAM anorak in the audience who says that. Who cares what it’s called, as long as it does the job?!” Bambi opens the hinge. “Hannah, if you would kindly get into the stocks for me, that’s a good girl.”

“Hannah places her neck and wrists in the appropriate holes and Bambi recloses and locks the hinge, trapping her in place. She is forced into a stooped position with her arse sticking out. Below the level of the pillory, her jumper hangs down, revealing some cleavage to the audience.

“Hannah, the way this’ll work is I’ll ask some questions, and for each one you get wrong you will receive a pie in the face,” Bambi explains, indicating the table. “Richard, it’s only fair you get to deliver the maiden pie to your wife’s face, so get yourself ready. And to deliver the rest, can I have some volunteers please?”

There’s no shortage of audience members willing to undertake this task. Soon a long line has formed in front of the pillory, each person with a heaving cream pie in their palm. With her head in its trapped position, Hannah eyes the line nervously.

“Okay, Hannah, here’s your first question,” reads Bambi. “Which sportswoman’s autobiography is called Unbelievable?”

“Erm, Rebecca Addlington?” Hannah guesses.

“No, it’s Jessica Ennis-Hill!” reveals Bambi. “Richard, give her that pie!”

Grinning, Richard steps up to the stocks. Hannah screws up her face, bracing for the pie, but Richard decides to toy with her by drawing out the process. He dabs a little blob of cream onto the end of Hannah’s nose with his finger. He then smears a line, Adam Ant style, across each cheek, while Hannah’s big blue eyes look up at him with light-hearted resentment. Then, without warning, he smashes the pie into Hannah’s face. The audience cheers as cream splatters outwards in all directions. Richard pulls away the pie tin, revealing Hannah’s face coated not only in white cream, but also in an under-layer of green frosting, both of which have also splattered into the front of her hair. Hannah’s eyes boggle and her mouth drops open in shock.

“Nicely done, Richard!” enthuses Bambi. “Hannah are you ready for your next question?”

“Pffft!” Hannah rasps.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Which Republican candidate did John F. Kennedy beat to win the presidency in the 1960 US election?”

Even when not bent double in a pillory and pied in the face, Hannah would struggle to answer this question, American politics not being her strong suit. “I… don’t know.”

“Too bad, it was Richard Nixon. Let’s give her another pie!”

Up walks Rachel, the woman Bambi initially spoke to when she made her tour of the audience, now looking rather more self-assured than when she thought she might be for it. She delivers her pie higher up, smacking it onto the crown of Hannah’s head. Hannah screams as cream and pink goo ploughs into her hair, ruining those carefully styled locks. Rachel leaves the pie tin in place like a hat.

“Oooh dear, Hannah’s not doing too well at this, is she?” Bambi sucks through her teeth as she selects another card. “Next question: sodium hypochlorite is more commonly known as what household product?”

“Oh, er, I know this one – salt!” answers Hannah eagerly.

“Nope. I think you’re thinking of something that sounds similar,” Bambi informs a dismayed Hannah. “The answer is in fact bleach. Next audience member please!”

Next in line is an older and sleazy looking bloke who has been in the WAM community for some time and is delighted to get a ticket for this show and finally deliver some mess to a pretty girl. He smothers his pie into Hannah’s face, screwing it round for an extended period and finally pushing it up onto the top of her head. In contrast to the frosting of the previous pies, this one includes a layer of chocolate, which now coats Hannah’s features in a mask of brown. She snorts; some of it has gone up her nose.

“Glad to see no-one’s getting carried away or anything,” Bambi comments with an air of disapproving sarcasm towards the bloke. “Hannah, are you ready?”

“Just about!” spits Hannah.

“Here we go: what charity was founded in 1953 by Chad Varah?”

Hannah sighs. “Can we make these questions a bit easier? Ummm… the RSPCA?”

“No, it’s the Samaritans!” Bambi informs Hannah, signalling for the next participant to step up. This time it’s a petite and slightly shy young woman, who places her pie rather more lightly in Hannah’s face. Nonetheless, a sticky layer of syrup is left coating Hannah’s face, along with yet more cream.

“That’s four down, four all wrong,” says Bambi derisively. She pulls another card from the inexhaustible supply in her cleavage. “Here’s goes with the next one… actually, screw it, she’s doing too badly. Just give her all the pies!”

Hannah’s eyes widen. She has just time to scream before two hefty mounds of cream sandwich her head, plastering the few remaining clean parts of her hair, while a further pie is swiftly smashed onto the top of her head. The ‘volunteers’ scuffle at the table for ammunition, sometimes pieing each other in the ensuing chaos. Hannah’s head gets increasing buried, and a couple of the missiles find their way – by accident or design – into her cleavage, causing her to screech and squirm. She screams even louder as a pie is slapped hard against her arse.

“Only me!” exclaims Richard behind her, and while she openly curses her husband, Hannah is relieved that it was him and not the perv from earlier. Indeed, the heavy wetness of the pie soaking into her jeans, and the sticky cream sliding in her cleavage, begin to awaken something in her. She’s beginning to understand the appeal of WAM, which previously she viewed as a rather bizarre, if harmless, kink of her husband.

The rest of the people follow Richard’s lead (there’s little point in going for her head at this point) and Hannah feels the pies being flung against her torso and legs. During what seems like the entire audience having its turn, her figure becomes caked from head to toe. The ordeal finally ends when Bambi shepherds the excitable wammers back to their seats and unlocks the pillory.

Hannah’s head is so ensconced with cream she can’t see as she straightens herself up. She raises both hands to her face and scoops out the area around her eyes.

“So how did you find that?” Bambi enquires.

“Umm, creamy!” replies Hannah, laughing despite herself. She picks a cherry out of her cleavage.

“I’d second that!” says Bambi, looking Hannah up and down. “We’re going to go to a break so that you can get cleaned up and changed for the next stage of your punishment, but first let’s find out what it is.”

Hannah blinks. She forgot that this is a three-parter. Already Bambi is gesturing to the big screen.

“HOMAGE TO GYOB: FAIRGROUND SERIES” flashes up on the screen. Hannah only has a dim idea what this means, but from the keen cheering of the audience, she gathers it’s going to be really messy.

“And let’s find out what you’re going to be wearing…”

The letters on the screen dissolve and are replaced with “COCKTAIL DRESS”.

Hannah shrugs; she can do that. “So where are the showers?” she asks.

Bambi raises an eyebrow. “Showers?”

“Yeah, so I can get cleaned up.”

“Oh, you don’t get a shower,” Bambi laughs. She steps away, before shouting “LADS!!”

Two crew members step forward with hoses. Hannah screams as frigid water blasts her, washing away cream in rivers.

Bambi stands at the front of the stage while behind her Hannah continues to writhe in the cold jets, her clothes and hair sodden and splotched. “So join us again soon, when it’s TIME FOR THE GUNK DUNK!!”

The show resumes with a sweeping shot across a pool of gunge – a garish mixture of purple and orange, with the odd splotch of blue and “Triple Wammy” scrawled across it in green. Hannah’s bare feet come into view, suspended just above the surface. The camera pans up her bare legs, bent inwards to keep her feet out of the slop, then to her thighs and the hem of an archetypal little black dress.

The shot continues to rise up Hannah’s body. The cocktail dress hugs her figure tightly and reveals even more of her cleavage than her previous outfit. Her hair is slightly damp and darkened, with the odd speck of white still in it, but largely she is clean again. She flashes a coy smile to the camera, having grown more at ease at being in the limelight. Indeed, the prospect of getting gunged now intrigues rather than horrifies her. There was something about being pummelled with those pies from all directions, while helpless in the stocks, that aroused excitement in her. Peering down at the colourful slop below her, she can’t help but tingle anew. She runs her hands down the soft fabric of her dress and thinks of what it will feel like to be gunged in this exquisite garment.

That said, she hasn’t yet had the courage to put her feet in the gunge. Cautiously, she extends one foot into the mire below her. The gunge feels cool against her sole – not freezing, but not the temperature she would choose for a bath either. She watches as the thick gunk squishes up between her toes, gets overwhelmed with squeamishness, and yanks her foot out with a little scream. She looks around bashfully, then resolves to go for it and plunges both her feet in the goo, gasping as she does so.

Leaving Hannah to her explorations, the camera sweeps across to meet Bambi and Richard standing beside the gunk tank. Richard has a bank of levers at his command – three smaller ones coloured green, yellow and blue, and a large gold one.

“And here we have our Han, for whom the proverbial has hit the fan, as she’s about to slam, into our deep-pan, and I’m sure everyone here is a fan!” intones Bambi.

“Is that the best rhyme you can up with?” says Hannah incredulously. “That’s shocking.”

“Oh, look at that – she’s answering back!” Bambi notes. “Well, it’s not as shocking as what’s about to happen to you, darling. Richard, your wife is dressed up in her finery as she would for a night out. She demands that you take her to the most exclusive venues; do you think our vat of slop will be select enough for her?”

“It’ll be perfect for her,” chuckles Richard. “And for once I won’t have to pay the bill!”

“Yep, tonight everything is on us,” says Bambi. “Or should I say, on Hannah here. And it’s not only the gunge below she has to worry about. Hannah, if you look above your head you’ll see three bonus tanks that could be raining their wares on you very shortly!”

Hannah cranes her neck to discover three cylindrical tanks poised above her.

“In the first tank we have gross green snot, hand-picked by the audience on their way in. EEUUGHHH!!” The audience joins with Bambi in this exclamation of disgust. Hannah purses her lips as she looks up.

“In the second tank, it’s an old favourite: the extra-lumpy school custard! EEUURRRGHHH!!”

Hannah flashes a grudging smirk at Richard, who is loving this.

“And those may sound bad, Hannah,” Bambi continues, “but they’re nowhere near as bad as what lurks in the third tank. It’s known only as R.A.W. – any idea what it stands for?”

“Afraid not,” says Hannah.

“It stands for…”

“REALLY AWFUL WASTE!! EUUURRRGGGHHHH!!!!” shouts the audience. Hannah laughs, partly in good humour at the fate that awaits her, partly in amusement that the crowd of supposed adults are such aficionados of this childish entertainment.

“Yes, and believe me, it is really awful,” Bambi nods solemnly. “But it’s not all doom and goo, Hannah. You can avoid each and every one of these tanks by correctly answering the questions I read to you. But get a question wrong, and Richard here will pull the lever and let you have it. So, it’s like this, Hannah: you’re going to get gunged, but hey, just how badly?”

Bambi performs the porn-star equivalent of the tooth-glint, namely tweaking her bust, accompanied by a squeaky horn sound effect.

“Now Hannah, I know you thought the questions were a bit on the tricky side last time…”

“They were,” agrees Hannah darkly.

“…and I’m afraid these ones are even harder! Question one, to avoid the snot: which country has the 100th largest population in the world, at 7,143,000?”

By now Hannah knows that the entire thing is a fix. The best she can do is give a plausible guess. “Umm, Switzerland?”

“Mmmm, not far off,” says Bambi, “but the answer is Togo! Richard, let her have the snot!”

Richard keenly pulls the green lever. Hannah instinctively hunches as a column of green descends. Slightly angled from her right, it slews into her shoulder and hair on that side. She squeaks and thrusts herself forward, directing the brunt down her back.

“Well that’s a piece of trivia she’ll know from now on,” chuckles Bambi. Hannah pulls as a face as she wrings a hand through the slimed side of her hair. The bright green slime heavily coats her back and has pooled in the seat around her bum. It also covers her shoulder and is trickling down her front on the same side, collecting around her boob.

“Next question, to avoid the custard,” Bambi reads from her question card. “Where can you find Miranda, Ariel and Titania?”

“In one of your porno films!” Hannah answers cheekily.

“Nope, you can find them orbiting Uranus” – Bambi pronounces the planet with a long vowel – “which actually does sound like one of my films. That’s another wrong answer. Richard, custard please!”

Richard smugly rips back the lever. The thick custard descends dead-centre, striking the crown of Hannah’s head and bouncing to form an umbrella around her. Hannah shrieks and jolts as it splashes all over her legs, coating her sensitive thighs. The custard runs down her front, turning her sophisticated black dress a dazzling canary yellow. Her hair too becomes fully saturated with the shiny yellow, draping like a mop over her head.

“Well Hannah, I trust from now on you’ll pay close attention to what goes on around Uranus!” Bambi mocks. Hannah giggles as the custard continues to drip down on her. She wipes her thighs to remove the excess, and finds she enjoys the sensation on her tingling fresh. Pretending to wring out her dress, she gives her boobs a discreet squeeze, praying no-one will notice the pleasure she is getting.

“Pay attention Hannah, because this question’s to avoid the R.A.W.” says Bambi. “And believe me, you really don’t want to get that. When is my birthday?”

“That’s the question?” blinks Hannah. “How the hell would I know that? First of June?”

“I’m very hurt you don’t know,” frowns Bambi. “It’s the 30th March. Yet another wrong answer; Richard, give her the R.A.W!”

Richard pulls the lever, causing a deluge of blue gunge to flood in from Hannah’s left. Emboldened and feeling playful, she turns towards the torrent so that it flows onto her face and into her cleavage. The audience loves it; shouting boisterously from their seats. Richard too, gives a wink to Bambi, pleased that his plan to get his wife into WAM seems to be succeeding. By the time the R.A.W. is exhausted, Hannah’s front, face and much of her hair is doused in blue. She sighs at the feeling of the goo running down her body, over and into her expensive dress.

“Ooh, she got three out of three and it’s about to get even worse!” Bambi puts a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Richard, this is your wife who’s really snobby. She insists on going to expensive bars and makes you pay. She takes ages to get ready and she’s really vain taking all those selfies. Now pull that golden lever, and GET YOUR OWN BACK!!”

Hannah tenses all over as Richard grins at her and yanks the lever, producing a shower of sparks. Red gunge falls in front of her, further splashing her legs. Then the seat springs forward, propelling her through the red torrent and down into the Gunk Dunk. She smashes through the surface, destroying the lettering as she vanishes into the depths. Waves lap outwards, overspilling the sides, and the gunge churns and bubbles. The audience are on their feet, jostling to get a look.

Then, some distance from where Hannah landed, a bump, coloured purple, emerges from the depths. The bump grows into a lump, but it is only when a mouth gasps for air that it becomes clear the lump is Hannah’s head. Next rise her shoulders and the beginnings of her torso. She is absolutely caked in the medley of purple and orange, her plastered dress somewhere underneath but visible to no-one. Hannah’s bust breaks the surface and then two hands rise to wipe her eyes. At this moment, a batch of pink gunge falls from the rafters, garnishing a fresh layer on her head and shoulders and sending her ducking until she is back up to her neck.

“Ooooh, wamderful stuff!!” exclaims Bambi. “Richard, you’ve got your own back on your wife; how do you feel?”

“I’m feeling pretty good,” Richard nods. “But I’m more interested in how Hannah feels!”

“Well, maybe she can tell us,” smirks Bambi going over to the gunk tank. “How is it, Han?”

“Very slimy!” says Hannah guardedly, bobbing around in the gunge. In truth she is experiencing an intense mix of emotions. On one level, the gunge has an unpleasant feel, cool and bracing, slimy and humiliating. On another, she can’t deny that its sticky touch turns her on. It gloops inside her dress against her skin. Glad that her hands are hidden under the surface, she stealthily pulls open her panties, letting the gunk flow inside. A muted moan escapes her lips.

“Don’t get too carried away, Hannah,” smirks Bambi, sussing her game. “We’ve still got the final round to go! Let’s find out what you will face next.”

All eyes turn to the big screen, on which flashes up: “HOMAGE TO NHP: CLASSIC GUNGE TANK WITH FOAM.”

“It’s another favourite,” says Bambi, the audience confirming her assertion. “Now let’s find out what you’ll be wearing.”

It is to massive cheering that the single word “LINGERIE” appears on the screen. Hannah’s eyes widen as she bobs in the gunk, her heart thumping. The thought of wearing sexy smalls to get gunged in front of all these strangers fills her with apprehension, but also a thrill.

“And this is definitely one not to miss,” smiles Bambi. “Join us after the break!”

“Hello there, and welcome back to Triple Wammy!” Bambi is sitting in her armchair, while Richard relaxes on the sofa. “Tonight’s star of the show is Hannah Smith, who has been set up by her husband Richard for being too snobbish and too vain. So far Hannah has faced a thorough pieing in the stocks, followed by a trip to the Gunk Dunk. Presently she’s backstage getting dressed – or should that be undressed – for her final gunging in the NHP classic tank! Richard, is this revenge everything you hoped for?”

“Oh yes, and a lot more besides,” Richard replies, wearing a big grin.

“And may it continue that way! Let’s bring your wife out for the final, shall we?” Bambi turns her head backstage. “Hannah, love, out you come!”

Hannah bashfully emerges from the giant green droplet, once again cleaned up from the preceding round. Her attire is lacy black lingerie, comprising string-up hip panties, suspenders and sheer stockings, and a bra made of more hole than lace. She blushes in the response to the audience’s cheers and wolf-whistles, shy of exposing so much of herself to these lustful strangers, but at the same time gratified at their appreciation of her body. As for Richard, he is blown away. He gets to his feet as Hannah walks towards him.

“Hmm, she’s certainly made Richard erect,” Bambi remarks, eliciting “OOO”s from the audience. “What’s the matter? She made him stand up – that’s all I meant!”

Richard goes over to Hannah and they embrace, his hands squeezing at her hips and arse. Hannah whispers into his ear, threatening all the things – good and bad – she will do to him when the show is over.

“Okay, break it up, you two,” says Bambi sternly. “Hannah, you’ve a reputation for being vain and showing off your looks, and you’re showing it all off now, aren’t you?”

Hannah just smiles sweetly.

“Well, maybe you’re baring a bit too much and need to get covered up,” continues Bambi. “So let’s unveil the third and final part of your Triple Wammy!”

As triumphant music plays, a section of wall revolves. Revealed on the other side is a large cubicle, framed by decorative brasswork and with a glass door coming up to chest height. Inside is a wooden stool and above looms a sizeable compartment, glistening a vibrant green. Either side is a chair backed by a screen, though these won’t be in use today.

“Here it is: the classic gunge tank!” announces Bambi. “The very original used on the House Party all those years ago. Indeed, if you look carefully at the glass you can see N. Edmonds, 1992, etched into it. Hannah, if you please would sit inside…”

Hannah complies, placing her lace-clad bum onto the seat. She looks out at Bambi, at Richard, and at the eager audience. She looks up at the outlet in the ceiling, from where the green gunge will come surging down. Then she looks down at her thighs, her suspenders and garters, the beckoning string-tie on her panties, her heaving bosom in the revealing bra. The erotic garments feel so sensuous against her skin, and now she begins to quiver at the prospect of that gunge running all over her. Her nipples awaken, poking into the delicate lace; her pussy begins to get moist.

“Richard,” says Bambi, “you’ve already put your wife through a thorough regime of punishment tonight. Do you think she deserves a reprieve, or should she be punished some more?”

Richard rubs his chin, pretending to contemplate the matter with all the rigour of a Greek philosopher, but of course there is only one answer. “Bambi, I need to be sure that Hannah will mend her ways, so I’m afraid I have no option but to punish her some more!”

The audience whoops as Bambi shows Richard the lever and he pulls it down. The siren wails, and so does Hannah, her entire body tingling. She braces for the gunge but it doesn’t come. Then she feels a cool whoosh around her feet; blue and yellow soap suds are gushing from the base of the tank. Hannah had forgotten this was the classic tank with foam. Rapidly the foam rises, consuming her stocking-clad legs. It reaches her lap and bubbles up between her thighs, making her scream again. The frothing yellow and blue ascends her torso, soft and soapy against her skin. For a second she thinks it will engulf her head, but it stops at her neck, the excess spilling over the door onto the studio floor. Hannah is so preoccupied with the colourful bubbles, gently bursting all over her skin, that she almost forgets about the gunge above…

SPLOSH!! A wide, vertical torrent, in the iconic Nickelodeon shade of green, surges down and explodes on Hannah’s head. For a split second, her face can be seen to contort, taken aback by the sheer forcefulness, then the green gunge obscures all, flowing down her blonde hair and face. The gunge washes its way through the suds to cover her body. It coats her boobs and she feels it running down her belly and pool around her crotch and bum, which she wiggles, enjoying the squishing sensation. It floods over her thighs and saturates her stockings.

She jerks back and forth, her face momentarily breaking forward of the torrent, to be revealed a resplendent shade of green, before her head goes back under the deluge and disappears amid the umbrella of gunge. The downpour keeps coming; there are many gallons to get through. Hannah’s lingerie has become sodden, the gunge feeling wet, heavy and sloppy though the fabric. The siren screams like an orgasm in her ears, and arousal is likewise building inside her. Hoping that no-one can see through the masses of foam, she starts to touch her boobs and pussy, revelling in the sensation of the ruined lace.

Eventually, the flow abates until only lumpy dregs splatter down, providing the audience with their long-awaited aftershot. Hannah’s hair is plastered under a mat of gunge, and her face is coated. As the bubbles burst, her shoulders and upper chest are revealed, equally green.

“My. Oh. My!” Bambi grins as she gingerly steps through the puddle of foam and gunge to stand in front of the tank. “That was a spectacular finale! Hannah, you—aiiighh!!

This scream is caused by Hannah unexpectedly opening the gunge tank door, causing foam and gunge to spill all over Bambi’s legs. Hannah stands up and exits the tank. Plenty of gunk spills off her body but plenty more sticks to it. The shiny slime emphasises her curves and she takes a bow to the ecstatic audience, further showing off her figure. She blinks gunge away from her eyes but doesn’t wipe her face.

Hannah then gives Bambi a bear-hug, transferring more mess to the protesting presenter. Fighting to get away, Bambi slides to her knees in the pool of goo, ending up with her face in Hannah’s crotch, much to Hannah’s pleasure. Increasingly frantic, Bambi slips over backwards, landing with her hair in the sea of the slop.

Leaving Bambi to flounder comically, Hannah now approaches Richard. “How do you like me now?” she purrs.

“Sublime,” replies Richard, before the couple kiss passionately. Hannah grinds her boobs and crotch against him. She is raring to come but wants his touch to bring her to climax.

“That’s enough, you two; get a room!” Bambi says crossly as she staggers to her feet, her white shirt and red hair now green. “No seriously, we do have a room for this kind of thing!” She faces the camera, trying to look authoritative, but it’s impossible given the state she’s in. “And that’s all we’ve got time for – thank goodness – in this episode of Triple Wammy. Join us again next week, when we’ll be serving up another three-course surprise to an unsuspecting audience member. Bye for now!”

The audience claps as the camera zooms out. Continuing to skid on the gunge, Bambi directs Hannah and Richard to the ‘Wammers’ Suite’ – a luxurious, sound-proofed bedroom located backstage – where Hannah will demonstrate to her husband just how much her messy treatment has turned her on.

Although this story mentions real persons, corporations, TV shows and places, it is purely a work of fiction for personal enjoyment. The story does NOT describe real events and should NOT be taken to accurately portray any real entity mentioned. In keeping with its fictional nature, the events and activities described in the story may not be legal, ethical or safe. This site does NOT endorse or recommend their enactment.

“Welcome back Europe!” Graham Norton declared, once again standing astride the Slimevision stage alongside his co-presenter, Mariya Yaremchuk. Despite Graham having caused some offense with his sarcastic put-downs in the introductory show, the pair’s presenting skills had been generally well-received, especially when compared to the dull banter of the three presenters chosen for Eurovision itself.

“Eurovision is well under way, and it’s been an exciting week here in Kiev,” Mariya explained. “We’ve made it through two semi-finals and we’ve seen thirty-six countries perform so far.”

“Yes, we’ve had it all!” Graham claimed. “A man wearing a horse’s head, guys in suits on treadmills, a hot air balloon and a split personality pop-opera singer!”

“And we’re going to be doing it all again on Saturday night!” Mariya announced, bursting with excitement.

“Well not all of it,” Graham pointed out. “Not everyone managed to make it through to the finals. Which unfortunately means we need to say goodbye to some of our competitors. But don’t worry, we’re not letting them go without a special Slimevision send-off!”

“Yes, the semi-finals haven’t been without a surprise or two.”

“Who would have thought Finland would have failed to make it?” Graham asked.

“We’ll find out in a minute which of our Slimevision participants are through to the grand final on Saturday night,” Mariya explained. “But there are three ladies who are already safely through. They are representatives of the Big Five countries, the biggest financial contributors to the contest, and are therefore automatically guaranteed a spot in the final.”

The camera swung over to the other side of the stage, where the United Kingdom’s Lucie Jones, France’s Alma and Levina of Germany were seated on a comfortable sofa.

“But not everyone is so fortunate. Our seven other competitors have had to compete to earn their spots in the grand final. Let’s bring them in!”

“First up it’s Demy from Greece,” Mariya announced. “She sang ‘This Is Love’ on Tuesday, but did the audience love her performance?”

A pair of stagehands wheeled in a giant perspex tank which contained the Greek pop princess. The chamber was surprisingly roomy – it had to be large enough to host group acts – and the dark-haired Mediterranean beauty was leaning against the front of the tank, well away from the centre, where most of the slime was sure to fall.

“Flying the flag for Poland was Kasia Mos,” Graham reminded viewers. The blonde Pole smiled slyly and waved gracefully to the audience as she was wheeled in, her tank being slid into place alongside Demy.

“Our final participant from semi-final one was Martina Barta from the Czech Republic. Could it be her turn for a sliming?” Another tank appeared on stage, this time housing the slim frame of the Czech jazz singer. Martina seemed well aware of the fate that was about to befall her, and was hunched nervously in the centre of the tank, seemingly braced for the device to fire into action at any time.

“Nervous?” Graham asked the three women. Demy and Kasia nodded on cue. Martina managed only the slightest grimace as she remained rigidly stuck in place.

“Now I’ve got some good and some bad news for you,” Mariya explained, holding a results card in her hand. “Demy and Kasia, you’re through to the final. You may step out of the tank now. Martina, I’m afraid you’ve been eliminated from the competition,” she explained guiltily.

Demy and Kasia needed no further encouragement, each grabbing the handle at the back of the tank and exiting through the rear. Kasia shot Martina a sympathetic look as she beat a hasty retreat to the opposite side of the stage, joining the other qualifiers who were already through to the comfort of safety.

“As we explained at the start of the week, these tanks are normally primed full of green slime ready to drop on you,” Graham recapped. “But in honour of the ahem, distinctive lame … sorry, lamé gold jumpsuit you wore during the semi-finals, we’ve got a special surprise for you.”

Before Martina could utter another word the tank sprang into life. A fountain of thick gold gunge sprayed upwards from the bottom of the tank, blasting the front of Martina’s purple top. Caught by surprise, the brunette staggered backwards as a streak of gold was painted down her outfit. The pressure of the jet increased, propelling the gunk directly into Martina’s face. She raised her hands to shield herself but the spray quickly subsided. While the stream ebbed away to nothing, it left another gold sripe down her clothes as it headed downwards. A brief moment of respite gave Martina the opportunity to wipe away some of the gunk covering her face before she was hit by another onslaught of gunge, this time a concentrated downpour from the roof of the chamber. The gunge was once again gold coloured with a paint-like consistency and a metallic texture which shimmered under the lights of the studio. The deluge struck Martina squarely on the head, flowing over her carefully arranged brunette locks and splattering down her purple top. Frozen in place by the surprise of the ferocity of the gunge, Martina remained calmly stood under the deluge as it lapped over her. By the time the flow petered out, she was well and truly covered with a layer of the molten gold goo.

“I think it’s your colour,” Graham observed as he watched the gold-covered figure attempt to wipe away the thick metallic goo which clung to her body. The show cut to a slow-motion replay which showed Martina get covered once again.

When the view returned to the stage, the next round of competitors were already housed in their respective tanks. At the far left of the stage was Jana Burceska of the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, still clad in her form-fitting black dress.

Next up was Romania’s Ilinca, the blonde looking around at her competitors curiously. She had been tipped to sail straight through to the final and had delivered an energetic, brightly-coloured performance during the semi, but her safety was not guaranteed as the novelty song was unlikely to prove popular with the juries.

Positioned next to Ilinca were the three singers of the Netherlands’ O’G3NE, who had all managed to squeeze into the round tank in their colour-coordinated but different black outfits.

Rightmost was Miruna Manescu, lead singer of Timebelle, who was looking particularly nervous. Like Martina, Miruna had attracted much attention following the semi-final for her choice of dress – it was said nobody had ever won Eurovision wearing yellow, and Miruna’s fluffy Disney-inspired dress didn’t seem destined to change that – but was now back in the classic red number she had worn during the national final and Slimevision introductions show.

“Ilinca, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that you’re through,” Mariya announced. A pleased Ilinca quickly exited the tank, scuttling away to the other side of the stage where she was safe from any unexpected slime deluge.

“O’G3NE, well done girls, you’ve also made it through to Saturday’s grand final,” Graham told them. “But unfortunately, Jana and Miruna, you failed to win a place. You’ve been eliminated from the competition and you know what that means!”

“Oh no,” Jana exclaimed as she ducked her head downwards, expecting a deluge of gunge from above. She had clearly not been watching when Martina received her gold spraying, and appeared surprised by a spray of goo being shot upwards from the bottom of the tank. This time the gunge was the more traditional green slime usually employed by Slimevision. Timed with Jana’s stare downwards, the slime jet delivered a complete facial, the force blasting her brown hair backwards and giving it a green coating in the process.

On the other side of the stage Miruna was also caught by the spray of gunge from her own tank, contrasting her red dress with a neon green streak which covered her chest and left arm. She stepped back a little to avoid the spray, but jets erupted from all around the tank, joining up in the centre where Miruna found herself buffeted by gunge from every angle. The red of her dress quickly disappeared beneath a layer of green slime which clung to the curves of her body as it dripped downwards to the floor.

As the fountain of gunge from the floor ceased, both tanks started emitting gunge from the ceiling, this time in the form of two jets which sprayed from the side, aimed straight at the faces of both girls. Globules of green slime covered Jana’s long hair with a mist-like layer, while the spray sprinkled Miruna’s face with the covering she had avoided from the gunge fountain. The twin jets were soon joined by a downpour from the ceiling. A funnel of gunge plummeted downwards, striking the heads of both Jana and Miruna. The front of the tanks were heavily splattered with drops as gunge ricocheted off their bodies, slightly obscuring the view of the two gungees, but it was clear from the sheer amount of gunge that each was receiving a total covering. When the flow of gunge ended the front of the tanks opened up to reveal the drenched pair inside, their outfits completely lost below the onslaught of green slime.

“I’m afraid that means you’re out of the competition,” Graham told the slime-soaked duo. “But don’t hop on your plane back home yet, because if any of you scored nil points in your semi-final then you’ll be back on Saturday for a very special treat. We’ll have to wait until the full results are published to find out how you fared!”

With the eliminations dispensed with, Mariya began to walk over to the sofa on the green room section of the stage, where the automatic qualifiers were seated alongside the others who had successfully made their way through the semi-finals. Mariya squeezed her way in between the UK entrant, Lucie Jones, and Alma from France. The Parisian beauty shifted slightly out of the way to make room for the Slimevision presenter, criss-crossing her long legs once she was comfortably back in position. Lucie had clearly been enjoying the punishment dished out to the other contestants, and wore a broad grin on her face.

“What do you think of the show so far?” Mariya asked the two singers sitting either side of her.

“It’s been great,” Lucie answered, her spirits obviously buoyed by the reception her entry was getting in Kiev. The UK had shot up the table in the betting odds after the staging had been revealed, with many commentators predicting a top ten finish that could see Lucie successfully escape the gunge. “I can’t wait to perform on the big stage!”

“I’m glad I didn’t have to participate in the semi-finals,” Alma admitted. She shuddered at the thought of the unlucky participants getting covered in slime.

Mariya leaned across Alma to hold the microphone in front of Levina. “What about you, Levina? Now you’ve seen the competition, are you any more confident about managing to avoid a last place finish?”

“It’s a tough field this year,” Levina admitted. “But I think the strength of the song is going to see me to safety, and at least I avoided a sliming in the semi-finals!”

“Remember you’re not out of the water yet,” Mariya reminded the qualifiers. “A much worse fate awaits three of you on Saturday night, and this time a strong Eurovision performance won’t necessarily save you, because voting is in the hands of Slimevision viewers. Which entries do they like, and who do they want to see taking a very messy trip around Europe?”

“Let’s see the results of the voting so far!” Graham announced.

“Well, that’s an interesting turn of events!” Graham exclaimed as the results flashed up on screen. “We have two clear front-runners there, but the race is looking pretty tight, and there isn’t much separating the rest of the pack either. Looks like anything could happen on Saturday night!”

“It doesn’t look like the Big Five is particularly popular,” Mariya observed. “The UK, France and Germany are topping our Slimevision poll, and are going to have to pull out all of the stops at the grand final if they’re going to escape taking our trip around Europe.”

To Mariya’s side, Lucie and Alma were looking particularly uncomfortable about the voting reveal. It was now going to be very difficult for them to avoid the gunge, even if they won the contest. “Please keep voting!” Lucie urged the audience as the results show came to an end.

Voting is now closed. Please do not call as your vote will not be counted and you may still be charged.

Real people, mostly real beef, fictional story. You get the idea by now!

For the final time that evening, the Suzi’s Slop Drop theme song kicked off the proceedings as the sight of Suzi sat on her faux-leather throne came into view. She was no longer wearing her glasses. “Welcome back, Slop Droplets. The lines are closed, the results are in and our feuding females, our iron maidens, our whatever-else-you-want-to-call-’ems, they’re about to find out which of them will be taking the plunge into my gunge!” She turned to her left. “Let’s start with Vicky Psarakis.”

Vicky had been for a very quick face and hair wash during the adverts, and her blonde locks were still very dishevelled. Her make-up was looking fine, however. Clearly the make-up team were very good at their job!

“Vicky, you were losing at a margin of about three to one before. Do you think you’ll have made the difference up?” asked Suzi.

Vicky sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I hope so, but I kinda doubt it. I had a huge amount of ground to make up. Hopefully Alissa showing her true colours earlier will have helped!”

“Well, security’s on standby for this, but I still have to give her a chance to retort!” Suzi chuckled and turned to Alissa.

Alissa was breathing deeply, trying to keep her composure after her previous outburst. After all, Suzi had said it herself – she had almost triple the votes Vicky had. Surely that would have given her enough of a safety net to land in – a much more appealing place to land than that more literal slime pit! Nevertheless, something about the “true colours” comment stung a bit.

“So Alissa, you were in one of the strongest positions I’ve ever seen going into the break. Think you’re still sitting pretty?”

Alissa nodded, but she didn’t seem too happy considering her confidence. “Yeah, I mean it’s all gone well for me so far. I just hope people don’t think I’m some kind of psycho after earlier,” she said, taking a deep breath.

“Well, we’ll soon find out,” said Suzi as the blank results screen came up. “I’ll do things a little bit differently this week though. Before the break, Alissa was on 80,000 and Vicky was on 232,000 votes. I’ve just been told by the director that Alissa, your grand total is two…”

Alissa bit her bottom lip. This was clearly quite the surge in Vicky’s favour already.

“Hundred…” continued Suzi.

Vicky let out a little bit of an optimistic smile. In her head, Suzi was drawing out the result as it signified a huge turnaround for her – just what she needed!

“And thirteen thousand. Yep, you didn’t even catch up to Vicky’s half-time score!”

Well so much for that hypothesis! Vicky buried her head in her face and turned bright red. Alissa let out a sigh of relief before a wide grin.

“Just for the data analysts out there, here’s how the final pie chart looked,” said Suzi as the graphic came up. For some reason it looked a bit more simplistic than the previous part’s one, but it was clear enough that while there was quite a swing towards Alissa, she still dominated the vote.

“Yep, in the end Vicky racked up a whopping 410,000 votes! The nation must really want to see you take the plunge!” Suzi grinned, turning to Vicky. “Stand up, ladies, and follow me!”

The two vocalists stood up and followed Suzi up the steps to the two levers next to the plank. Alissa was far more enthusiastic about the walk up than Vicky, and she couldn’t help smirking the whole time. Vicky had more of a poker face, as if to say to Alissa that she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of losing her dignity entirely.

“Well, you’ve seen this already, so you know how this is going to play out. All I need to say at this point is Alissa, you stand by the levers and Vicky, you take your shoes and socks off and walk the plank!”

Vicky looked at the plank. Unlike before, had been given a coating of green sludge. Whether that was meant to make her slide along it or get stuck to it wasn’t clear yet. Still, the idea of treading it in bare feet didn’t particularly appeal. It didn’t seem so bad for Ami when the plank was clean, though it soon dawned on her that in the end, more than just her feet were going to be getting slimed – not that some trainers and thin white socks were going to offer much protection anyway. “Fine, no sense fighting it at this point,” she said, grinning bravely as she sat down to untie her laces. As strange as it felt to take her shoes off on live television, it also felt oddly liberating in a way. She peeled her socks off and stood up, her soles digging into the soft surface a little bit. As she stepped towards the plank, she felt a sense of calm, as if she was somewhat at ease with a spotlight falling upon her and–

Squelch!

Vicky’s right foot was the first one onto the plank, and the purpose of the gunge coating was quickly apparent. It was a little bit thin and quite runny underneath her soft sole. She put her arms out to balance as she moved the left, but the slippery slime made it hard to stay upright, especially since the very moment she was on the plank, Alissa yanked down the first lever. Vicky didn’t notice this, and she certainly didn’t notice the Mallet of Motivation slowly swinging at her! “Eurgh!” she moaned as it knocked into her back, with the speed and ferocity of a frenzied slug. Despite its lack of speed, it was more than capable of making her lose her balance and slip forwards. She closed her eyes and braced for a plunge into the vat below, but she didn’t quite skid that far forwards. She face-planted into the plank, unhurt thanks to its soft padding and slime coating. As she picked herself up, the gunge made a gross slurping noise and left a big green stripe down her front.

Alissa was laughing quite a bit at Vicky’s misfortune, but this wasn’t quite enough. She needed to see Vicky go under. She needed to see the alleged band-stealer punished! “Hey Suzi,” she called to the host. “What does the other lever do?” She pointed to it. Above it was a sign with a bold arrow pointing down.

“It’s for dropping a load of gunge down on you,” Suzi said, sticking her tongue out playfully. “Not really! It’s for situations like this were the mallet isn’t enough to get your gungee to take her punishment.” Alissa said nothing to Suzi’s claims and hesitated to reach for the lever. “Oh here, let me!” said Suzi, pulling the lever.

The plank jolted as a loud clunking noise reverberated around the studio. Vicky hung on for her life, but this looked like it might have been a mistake. The plank began to tilt, with the end closest to her head descending rapidly. The slime coursed down, some of it going between her toes and tickling at them, but she kept her mouth shut and let out a moan as she slid down, head first into the vat. She seemed to vanish entirely – first her head of long blonde hair, then her body, her legs and finally her feet. Gunge seemed to fly at all angles from the vat for a moment before she emerged, right in the centre and right in the path of a deluge of red gunk. She gasped as her body tried to adapt to her new, slimy environment, cold and sticky as it was. As the colourful gunk washed over her, she raised her hands and wiped her eyes with her thumbs. Her hair was left as a sticky mess of gunked-up tangles, and for all her mental preparation, she felt ridiculous. Still, she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t about to scream and curse Alissa’s name for doing this to her, or Suzi’s for giving Alissa the opportunity. She just smiled and chuckled a little to herself.

As some blue gunge washed over Vicky from above, Suzi spoke once again. “Woah, what a mess Vicky’s got herself into, with some help from Alissa and myself of course! Let’s review some of the highlights!” she said. The mallet’s initial swing was hardly comparable to Usain Bolt winning yet another medal, but it was almost glacial in its approach to Vicky’s back in the replay – not that it seemed any less effective, of course. In the replay, it was apparent that the singer’s arms had flailed about a bit in ensuing flop. It then cut to the moment Vicky slid down the plank into the green slop and momentarily. Finally a camera above the gunge captured the gunge flying everywhere, as well as what had caused it – Vicky had been rolling around and trying to swim up to the surface, though her actions were more like that of a particularly frenzied mosher at one of her or Alissa’s shows.

The show cut back to Suzi, stood with Alissa at the levers. “So, that about wraps up another episode of the Slop Drop. How do you feel, Alissa?”

“I feel great! I was vindicated, I got to put Vicky in her place and I didn’t have to go anywhere near that horrible slime!” she smiled.

“And Vicky, how are you doing in there?” Suzi called out.

Vicky shook her head and drops of gunge flew from her slimy hair. She waded through the gunge towards Alissa and Suzi. “I feel gross, I look ridiculous and I did a terrible job at representing my band mates. Still, this was a unique experience, and definitely something I think Alissa should do some time!”

“Are you saying you’re enjoying it in there?” winced Alissa. Vicky didn’t say anything, but just shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “Weirdo. No wonder you fit in so well with The Agonist,” Alissa scoffed.

Suzi sighed. “Well, I guess I can’t solve all celebrity dramas, but I can certainly get them to take a drop into my slop! Join us again next time!” she said as the credits began to roll.

So I’m trying to put out something every week for the next few months. SSD will be back on 5th June with a couple of people from a very different sort of metal scene. Next week, nothing on TellyGunge but over on my own blog I’m putting up the first part of a story series that will feature The Kayotics, but not a lot of mess.

Hi All,

The results for the final round of matches in round 3 of the gunge grand prix are now in and can be viewed below, along with an updated spreadsheet showing the draw for Round 4, which will get underway next Wednesday.

However, we do have a slight issue in regards to Lara Pulver, as I’m sure will become clear in the screenshot below: