The segment opens with a birds-eye view of the bright yellow smiley that is the Mucky Dip. Sian stands with her henchmen by the wall of the vat.
Sian: [facing up to the camera] I’m Sian Welby and this is Comeuppance, the show that’s no adversary to controversy! Voting has been vigorous as always, but all good things must come to an end and the poll is now closed. So don’t call – it won’t count and you may still get charged.
Sian and the guards approach the cages.
Sian: We’re just doing the final verification as we can’t afford any errors in this crucial matter. But Priscilla, it’s looking rather grim for you after those half-time scores, isn’t it?
Priscilla: [cringing] It’ll swing away from me like it did last week! It just has to!
Sian: [smirking] We shall see. Cara, Priscilla’s midway lead wasn’t as big as some we’ve seen in recent episodes; do you think the vote might swing against you as Priscilla so desperately hopes?
Cara: [looking anxious] Maybe there’ll be a bit of a swing, but I think I’ll be safe.
Sian: Your face says you fear otherwise! Monique, your students really want to see you go in; are you worried of a last minute surge in calls from the Larchester area?
Monique: Nah, students can’t afford that many premium-rate calls!
Sian: Time to see if you’re right. Here come those all-important final scores.
The lights go down except for three lonely spotlights glaring on the contestants.
Sian: The people’s verdict is as follows:
Priscilla’s dress crumples ungracefully as her knees go weak. Monique gives a double thumbs up. Cara smiles with relief.
Sian: YES!! Good choice folks! Gents, please place the Princess on her throne!
Priscilla cowers in the corner of her cage as the guards unlock the door.
Priscilla: I’m sorry I’ve been vain! I can change!
Sian: [dismissively] S’too late!
Merciless, the guards pull out Priscilla and bustle her over to the chair.
Priscilla: I’ll forego make-up, I’ll wear a sack for the rest of the season! Pleeeasse!!
Sian: Monique, your fellow students hoped to depose you into our gruesome gloop, but the coup has failed and you can return to campus clean and dry. Is a purge of the plotters on the cards?
Monique: Heh, I can’t purge the whole uni! I’ll settle for flaunting my Jammy Dodger trophy at the next general meeting.
Sian: And here is said trophy for you to rightfully flaunt. I know that the banter I had with you upset some viewers, but it has to be said you gave as good as you got and you’ve shown you’re not as humourless as the stereotype suggests. Thanks for coming on and being a sport.
Monique: Thanks Sian, I enjoyed it.
Sian: I do have one piece of bad news though: you have to exit via the right wing of the stage!
Monique: [smiling] Oh, in that case, I’ll have to propose a motion condemning you!
Sian: Quaking in my boots. Ladies and gents, please put your left hands together for Monique!
Grinning and brandishing her trophy, Monique departs to the standard slow hand-clap. Sian saunters over to the one cage that remains occupied.
Cara: [calm] So see you next week then?
Sian: Yep, same time, same place. And who knows, you may get your comeuppance yet!
Cara nods in acceptance. Sian heads towards the infamous plinth.
Sian: And for those of you that were offended by my exchange with Monique, please don’t all write to OfCom at once. We’d like to stay on the air to bring you a few more fabulous comeuppances before the series is out. [Arrives at the plinth] Speaking of which! [Grins and rubs her hands together] Princess Priscilla has been hauled into position above our baneful boutique, and she’s all set for her makeover! [Looks up] Priz, describe the fragrance to us!
The doom-laden dirge commences. The camera hovers just over the edge of the Mucky Dip, lined up with the dimpled smiley face, the screen filled with dazzling yellow. Then the shot pans upwards, meeting the hem of Priscilla’s fishtail dress, which drapes downwards. Priscilla’s feet are hidden from view, but she has in fact had her shoes removed by the guards, as is standard protocol. The camera continues up the opulent rogue garment, passing Priscilla’s seated hips. It sweeps over the snug bodice and the delicate lacework veiling her cleavage, before coming to rest at the eighteen-year-old’s face. The vlogger’s gloved arms clutch at her temples, her green eyes wide and her mouth gaping in horror as the full gravity of the situation sinks in.
Sian: Ah, look at that! The muck may be smiling, but she isn’t! [Turns to the camera] Now folks, I want it on record that I present this show purely as a service to society, [flexes knuckles] and I don’t take any personal pleasure in doing this. [Breaks into a big grin] No pleasure as at all! [Places both hands on the big red button. Mutters to self] A faux pas – the girl called my shoes a faux pas!
Priscilla: [wailing] Oh no! Oh no!!
Sian: Priscilla, on behalf of everyone who’s tired of vain vloggers and their fashion prattle…
Sian and audience: HERE IS YOUR COMEUPPANCE!!!
With a beatific air, Sian pumps down the button with both arms. A series of bangs causes Priscilla to jump and flinch as sparks light up the studio. Priscilla adopts the foetal position as she hurtles into the vat. The audience’s cheers crescendo in time with the dramatic up-splash of yellow. An effusive wave of slop overspills the rim, oozing down the sides like a great urn of school custard. The cables jiggle and jerk as a bubbling sound effect plays, then they snap tight. Priscilla re-emerges from the gloop, transformed from sassy scarlet to vulgar lemon, greeted by the spectators’ braying and the mocking trombone.
The Princess is complete encased in the thick yellow gunk, though one arm and hip is a golden orange and she is streaked with bits of black, including one comical blob stuck to her mouth and chin like a Homer Simpson five o’clock shadow. Although the unshapely coating makes it hard to be certain, her dress appears rather more bulging than before she went in, indicating that it has filled up with muck. For sure, a lot is pouring out the hem of the bedraggled garment, splatting nastily back into the Mucky Dip below. Priscilla’s cleavage is heaped with goo, the lacework saturated. Her bare armpits and shoulders squirm and shudder under a cold slick of sludge.
Priscilla’s meticulously coiffured upstyle is now a saturated dome of shiny yellow. Her eyes struggle to blink open between her heavily layered forehead and cheeks, her mouth bizarrely askew as she tries to spit away the muck. The smelly stuff has gone up her nose and her ears are full of it.
Priscilla: Yeuurghh! Yeeeuurrghhh! YEEEEURRRRRGGGHHHH!!
Sian dances around the plinth as she points and laughs.
Sian: Yes oh yes!! Brilliant! Magnifique! [kisses her fingers] Now that was a haul and a half! What do you think of your new look Priz?
Priscilla: Yeuuuchh!! It’s all ruined! Everything’s ruined!
Priscilla peels off one of her slimy opera gloves and slings it into the Mucky Dip. The audience are in tears of laughter.
Sian: Yes, I suppose it is rather. And if I must be blunt, Priz, that shade of yellow really doesn’t suit your hair! [Looks off-camera] Anything we can do to fix that, guys?
Jets of green and blue gunge spray upwards from the rim of the Dip on either side of the Princess, while a jet of brown fires at a lower angle from behind. Priscilla squeals as it blasts her bum through the wire-mesh chair. The coup de grace is an eruption of white from the front, which splurges over her chest and face.
Sian: Ahh, much better! That’ll teach you to diss my wardrobe, you little twerp! Ha ha ha! That was a glorious comeuppance if I do say so myself, and I’m confident no-one will object if we re-watch Priz’s makeover in super slow-mo!
The replay shows Priscilla petrified as the explosions go off around her. Cowering, her head turns one way then the other. Then, as she senses the cables going slack, she bends forward with her arms bunched in front of her, her legs folding up as she plunges into the dip.
Sian: And from above!
The bird’s-eye camera replays the red-clad figure getting smaller as she falls towards the sea of yellow. The smiley face shatters rudely as she splashes down, fragments of black carried away by the expanding wavefront. Priscilla’s brunette hair is the last part of her visible, before the churning muck slides over it.
Sian: And with the foundation layer complete it’s time for the finishing frills!
The third scene relives the moment when the slime sprays up from the edge of the Mucky Dip. First Priscilla raises her arms, trying to shield herself from the green and blue on either side of her. Then her mouth opens in a wide O as an explosion of brown sprays out from her rear. Finally, the cannon at the front lets rip, coating the spluttering Princess in white.
The scene reverts to a live shot of Priscilla. She has wiped the worst of the yellow, black and white from her face, and presently winces and bleats as she squeezes muck out of her dress.
Sian: Priz, you can take your new designer apparel back with you to Derry. I look forward to you exhibiting it in your next vlog post; it might be worth watching for once!
Priscilla: [in a wobbling voice] Sian, if you thought I was scathing of your style last time, wait til you see my next review!
Sian: [snorting] Are you for real? Take a look in the mirror sunshine! But seriously Priz, despite our disagreements, I can’t deny you’ve been a very good sport. So thanks for coming on, and I hope the old adage “all publicity is good publicity” rings true for you.
Priscilla musters a weak smile in return to Sian’s words. She puts a hand on her hip and tries to look as sauve as a girl covered in stinking, multi-coloured muck can look, but her pose is disrupted as the gunge jets squirt her once again, causing her to scream and cower.
Sian: More mascara! Yay! [turns to the audience] And that brings us to the end of a tumultuous episode of Comeuppance. Turns out even a Princess isn’t too precious for our Mucky Dip! Enjoy the rest of the evening and see you all next time!
Sian goes to the edge of the stage and waves as the camera zooms away from her. Out in the reception area, the protester (now reunited with her t-shirt) rants at the camera but is fortunately muted under the outro music. Back inside the studio, a caged Cara wraps her arms around herself and shudders as she looks up at the trashed comeuppancee. The crew torment poor Priscilla by intermittently blasting her bottom, causing her to yelp each time. The final scene is a slow-mo replay of la femme jaune rising from the Mucky Dip.