Introducing Messy Commissions

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

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

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

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

Posted in Stories | 1 Comment

Gunge Grand Prix 2016: The next stage

Evening All,

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks, and start nominating!

Posted in Stories | 12 Comments

The Crow’s Nest – part 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

“TURN AROUND!!” ordered Lucinda.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End



Posted in feathers, Gunge, Stories, Tickling, Water | 5 Comments

Gunge Grand Prix 2016: Winner Revealed!

Evening All,

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


Jenna Louise Coleman

Jenna Louise Coleman

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

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

Posted in Stories | 5 Comments

Commission: Saturday Splatdown

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

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


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

“Conceding defeat already?” smirked Bethany.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah-ha! You know each other already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think ladies?” smirked Shawna.

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

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

Round 1: Brainbox Bake Shop

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

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

Each contestant saw she had a buzzer before her.

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

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

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

“Ooo, that’s mean,” remarked Hannah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hannah buzzed in. “The Winter Olympics!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The segment played out with replays of the cakings.

Round 2: Dunkin’ Donuts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am…,” Lindsey frowned.

“Donut around your waist then.”

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

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

“Demonstrate, Lindsey!” grinned Shawna.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One minute!” shouted Shawna.

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

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

“Thirty seconds!” shouted Shawna.

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

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

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

“Ten! Nine!…,” Shawna counted.

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

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

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


Eve lunged for the slot.


Screaming, Jenny made splashdown at the klaxon.

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

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

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

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

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

Round 3: Card Shucks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” cringed the brunette.

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

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

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

King of hearts.

“Yes! Lower!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What joke?” gulped Lindsey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lindsey dealt two of hearts.

“This is so fixed,” muttered Eve.

“Higher!” grinned Hannah and Bethany.

Nine of diamonds.

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

Ace of diamonds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Higher then,” nodded Eve.

Lindsey dealt. Three of hearts.

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

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

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

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

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

Round 4: Slops ‘n’ Robbers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“TWO! ONE!!” A Klaxon sounded.

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

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

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

Bethany nodded as she wiped herself down.

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

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

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

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

Round 5: Sliming Bee

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll go second,” answered Hannah.

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

“Just you wait,” growled Eve.

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

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

“Are you ready, Jenny?”

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

“Your 90 seconds start now: Obese.”

“O…B….,” Jenny began.

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

“Correct! Cellist,” read Shawna.

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

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

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


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


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



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

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


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

The buzzer damned Jenny’s efforts. She cursed.


“God,” gasped Jenny. “T…R…A…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your 90 seconds start now: mauve.”

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


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

Again the buzzer.


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


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

“Logarithmic,” read Shawna.

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

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


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

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


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

“Conspiratorial,” Shawna read.

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

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

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

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

“YESSS!!!!” shouted Hannah.

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

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

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

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

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

Jenny was too horrified and Eve too anguished to speak.

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

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

The Train of Terror

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

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

“It’s been great fun,” beamed Hannah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jenny replied with only a petrified giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Up here Eve!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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