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Tiffany ran her fingers through her hair and pulled out thick handfuls of gunk. She smiled at the texture of the muck running between her fingers. It was unlike anything on Earth, a very unique combination of textures, colours and fragrances. She couldn’t resist giving her fingers a lick. Sure enough, the unique combination included flavours too.
While weathergirl Helen Willets went off to stand in an artificially induced localised downpour, the next gungee stepped forwards. “Ms I” had been watching all the messings so far and enjoyed them all. It was quite amusing to see all these prettied-up celebrities (even the ones she’d never heard of before) brought beneath an unstoppable deluge of horrible slop. Naturally, she was no exception and had dressed to impress in a smart-casual jacket, top and pair of grey trousers. Like the previous gungees before her, she took a brave, barefoot step into the celebrity pool and sat on the chair while the barrels marked with an “I” were loaded into the dropping mechanism.
“Ms I” was comedienne Ingrid Oliver, one half of Watson and Oliver. She crossed her legs and waited impatiently for her messing. First though, Amanda and Tiffany had to do their obligatory back-and-forth with the latest celebrity. “So Ingrid, I must ask the one thing everyone’s wondering: Where’s Lorna Watson?”
Ingrid laughed a little. “Just because we’re a double act doesn’t mean we do everything together! Lorna was going to do it, but someone else wanted to do it more than she did.”
“Ah yeah, Ms L did seem very enthusiastic when she approached us. Still, it’s not her turn just yet,” Amanda smirked. “It’s not quite yours either. Ready, Tiff?”
Tiffany nodded and looked up slightly. Amanda yanked down the first lever and the barrel above Tiffany’s head tipped up and started to let its contents seep out of it. A thick, white goo fell out in a huge blob and splattered on Tiffany’s forehead, coating her upper body. “How suggestive,” Tiffany muttered as the sweet, sugary glop slowly creeped over her face.
“I don’t know what you mean! This is just Icing, nothing more!” protested Amanda.
Tiffany licked her lips. “Mmm, that’s better than… Well, yeah. Didn’t cover me that well though.”
“Maybe it’ll cover me better?” said Ingrid. “Come on, let me have it then!”
Amanda chuckled. “Very well then!” she said as she yanked the second lever down. Ingrid tilted up and closed her eyes. Icing rained down from the upturned barrel in drips and drabs, splattering the comedienne’s face and staining her jacket. Very slowly, it followed the contours of her body and left a sludgy trail down onto her trousers, falling with heavy-sounding thumps. Since it mostly came out in one go, the actual gunking process was over quickly, and the celebrity pool was left with one very sticky comedienne. “That was almost over too quick for my liking,” Amanda sighed.
Ingrid Oliver stood up and ran her hands through the sticky mess that was her hair. “Well, that was certainly an experience!” she said as she left her seat. She stepped out of the pool and began to walk towards the stage exit. “This way for the photoshoot?”
“That’s right!” Troy called out as Ingrid approached the mess table. She picked up a mixing bowl and stood with it held above her chest, tipped away from her to reveal its gooey Icing contents to the camera. With the camera snapped, Ingrid headed for the showers, while the studio was prepped for the next volunteer.
Of course, cleaning the sticky Icing from the seat was the most tricky job so far for the stage hands. Poor Natalie (or “r1vetgrrl” to everyone but her grandmother), head of the Panicked Productions Build Team and Stage Crew, didn’t particularly appreciate having to break out the pressure washer this early in the proceedings. “Whose bloody idea was it to use Icing?” she grumbled as she blasted the white gunk away.
I wasn’t planning on doing this one, but someone had to. Thankfully I had an idea for who to use. I’ll be back on L, in theory anyway.