Nervous Daters: A What Would You Do? Story (Coed Variant)

“This show is hilarious! I promise, you’ll laugh so hard you won’t even remember how nervous you are.”

So said Kerry, trying her best to soothe the anxious nerves of her best friend Sydney, who had a blind date set up with a mystery guy she’d met (but hadn’t seen photos of) on a dating app. Their chemistry was instant. Their backgrounds were similar, and so were their hobbies. It felt like a match, but the app was designed to withhold photos from potential daters, so today would be like a final test. Would the attraction still be there when she saw his face for the first time?

Sydney had had terrible luck with men. Despite being a solid 5-foot-8, with flowy, long brown hair, a strong upper body and legs from years of high school and college volleyball, she could never hang onto a guy for very long. For one, she was shy, which limited her opportunities. And when opportunities did arise, many of her suitors weren’t that interesting, weren’t that attractive, or if they were, they didn’t reciprocate her feelings. This ‘Jimmy’ guy held a ton of promise. She felt different about him. Optimistic. But it had been forever since she’d been on a date. So she went all out. She visited a hairdresser, who styled her brown locks to frame her face just perfectly. She wore a black cocktail dress, classy, but still a little revealing. And Kerry did her makeup, doing her best to embellish her green eyes.

At Kerry’s recommendation, Sydney found herself in the audience of the revival of the variety show ‘What Would You Do?’, which was popular in the early ‘90s and became a cult favorite ever since it returned on the Comedy Channel last year with a more edgy format, this time to Daytona Beach, Florida. Sydney steadfastly refused to have drinks before the date, passing up the benefits of liquid courage in favor of a clear mind. So Kerry decided to take her here.

Kerry had been in the audience for a taping in the new show’s early days and had a rollicking great time. At the very least, they would sit in the crowd and Sydney would be as entertained as she was. It would certainly take her mind off her frayed nerves for an hour. And if she was chosen to play a game, even better. She could go home with a prize and have an awesome story to tell this mystery man!

The studio implemented a nice new touch to keep the surprise going for first-time guests: separating the main stage from the audience with retractable curtains. Sydney was left in suspense, her anxiety level only rising. Not only did she have a date just after this, now she found herself at a taping of a mystery show that may or may not do much to soothe her racing thoughts.

With little warning, the studio lights turned bright, the curtains were drawn back, a stagehand ran out waving his arms to call for applause, and before Kerry and Sydney knew it, the show’s theme song was playing and its legendary host Marc Summers came bolting on stage. Sydney surveyed the scene: the crowd losing their minds, this host in gaudy clothing, and all around the edges of the stage, one contraption after another designed to make a person into a complete mess:

The Pie Coaster: A rollercoaster leading into a giant pie turned vertically

The Pie Slide: A chair atop a ramp that descended into another giant pie

The Cruci-Pied: Something resembling a giant X with locks where wrists and ankles might go.

The Human Fondue: A platform situated above a giant tank filled with a mystery substance, with a very large bucket suspended above the platform.

The Dunk Tank: Something resembling a diving board high above the stage floor, suspended atop a cylindrical tank filled with a green, goopy substance.

And the piece de resistance, The Torture Machine: a chair with locks for someone’s wrists and ankles, surrounded by four cakes arranged in a semicircle, all on mechanical arms that appeared ready to launch them at the person seated in the machine. Nozzles pointed directly at the seat, ready to blast a mystery substance directly at the victim. And like the Human Fondue, an oversized bucket with some unknown goop contained inside.

Sydney immediately turned to Kerry, a wry smile on her face, uncertain what to make of all of this. “What is this show?” she exclaimed.

“You’ll see!” Kerry replied giddily.

As the theme song ended, the applause reached a crescendo and all attention turned to Marc at the center of the stage.

“Howdy, everybody,” Marc exclaimed, “My name is Marc Summers, and welcome to What Would You Do! How’s everyone doing today?” Generous applause.

“This is the show where we put amazing prizes up for grabs, put contestants in unique situations, and find out what they’ll do in order to take them home!

“Today, we’ve got an interesting physical and mental challenge for our lucky contestants, and the winner could take home up to $600 cash! I think you’re really gonna love this one. For this game, I’m gonna need two people. I’d love for a man and a woman to join me on stage. Anyone want to play?”

Marc’s eyes immediately turn to the crowd behind him. His request is met with a multitude of hands, aching for the chance to buy $600 worth of stuff. Maybe somebody could even flip traditional gender roles and be the one to treat him to dinner and drinks tonight.

At that exact moment, Sydney feels a hand lock around her left wrist and her left arm yanked skyward.

“Oh my god, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” she yells at Kerry. She tried to yank her arm free, but Kerry’s grip is too tight.

Marc spots this struggle occurring in the third row, sees a lady with a beautiful black dress on, and knows exactly who he wants to play.

“You, madam, what’s your name?”

“Sydney, oh my gosh.”

“Please come down to the stage, Sydney Oh My Gosh!”

Sydney, never comfortable with being the center of attention, looks mortified. Her face is frozen, her mouth agape in some combination of fear, anxiety, and embarrassment. Kerry nudges her to her feet and gently shoves her into the aisle. Sydney shuffles her way down the steps and waits patiently on stage, while Marc shifts his attention to finding a suitable guy.

Marc jogs to the other side of the audience. He scans the crowd all the while, and lo and behold, he finds almost the exact same situation he just saw with Kerry and Sydney. A bashful looking guy with his left arm raised high in the air by a companion.

“You sir, what’s your name?”

“J-Jimmy.”

“We’ve got some nervous nellies in here today! There’s nothing to be afraid of! Jimmy, come with me please! Let’s play a game, shall we?”

The audience cheers as Jimmy and Marc jog down the steps to join the waiting Sydney on stage. Though not dressed anywhere near as resplendently as Sydney, Jimmy looks great himself, his short dark brown hair glistening and neatly parted to one side, wearing an athletic fit pink polo shirt, showing off his well-built arms, shoulders, and small waist, as well as dark slim fit jeans. Sydney sized him up and liked what she saw. The jeans were so slim that she could see his package poking through, which she thoroughly enjoyed as well.

Stagehands set up a podium slightly to stage left, and two booth-style gunge tanks slightly to stage right with stools set up inside. There is no front door to either tank, but attached to one side of each tank is a steel shelf with a button to press. It seems this game is going to require Sydney and Jimmy to buzz in, or something like that.

Marc stands next to Sydney and Jimmy, both of whom are shuffling their feet, hugging their knees together, and keeping their arms close to their chests. Their nervous body language shows the jitters they feel. Neither wants to see the contents of those tanks released on them. They secretly hope for the other person to get tanked.

Marc begins. “So, Sydney and Jimmy. Let me tell you this. $600 cash is one of the biggest prizes we’ve ever given away on this show. And you can both go home with up to that amount if you can win our game today. But you’re gonna have to earn it.”

“This was before your time, but back in the ‘80s, there was a gameshow called Press Your Luck. We’re going to sit each of you in one of these tanks, and your job–”

A yelp is heard off-mic.

“What was that?” Marc points the microphone in Sydney’s direction.

“I said no, I don’t want that!”

“Oh, well I’m sorry Sydney, but it’s too late, you volunteered for the game!”

Sydney is heard whining off-mic, continuing her protests to no avail.

“So like I was saying, you’re each going to sit in a tank, and we’re going to run our game board, as you’ll see right here.”

A large monitor is set up behind the cameras; like in the original game show, the game board is overlaid over the edges of the screen, with random squares lighting up with various prizes and punishments listed on them. Scattered throughout the board are fuzzy characters with menacing looks on them: the Whammys.

“We’re gonna give you 7 spins each, and your job is to accumulate as much money as you can with those spins. Many of these squares are pretty straightforward. You’ll either win a prize, like $50, or a punishment, like, well… why don’t we show ‘em guys.”

Heads in the audience swing toward stage right, right behind Sydney and Jimmy. At the same time, hands from the audience start pointing at a burly, masked man wheeling out a large cart full of massive cream pies and water guns shoved in multicolored buckets of goo. Both Sydney and Jimmy bury their heads in their hands. They see the rows of pies and the numerous buckets. They see the gunge tanks. They see the contraptions ringing the stage. And they immediately get it. It’s probably no longer a matter of whether they’ll get messy. It’s a matter of how messy they’re going to get.

“That’s right, guys. With each of your spins, you’ll either land on a cash prize, a penalty like the ones you see here, or – Marc points at the monitor as a Whammy starts racing across the screen – these little rascals, the Whammys. Hit one of those, and you’ll lose all the money you’ve gained to that point.

“In each round, the squares will light up randomly. When you’re ready, all you have to do is slam the big red button in your tank, and wherever it lands, that’s what you get!

“Now, in a sense, you guys are working together. Because whatever square you land on, you can pass the contents of that square to the other person. So, for example, Sydney, if you’ve accumulated $300, and Jimmy only has $20, you might want to send your Whammy to him, because he doesn’t have much to lose.

“But be careful. Because I don’t know if you two have looked up yet, but we’ve suspended some absolutely massive buckets over these stools. And if either of you draws three Whammies, regardless of whether you passed them to the other person or not, the game is over and you both lose! And what do you think is going to happen to the contents of those buckets if that happens, Sydney?”

Marc points the mic toward her. She gulps loudly and says sheepishly, “You’re gonna dump them on us.”

“That’s exactly right,” Marc says, to a round of applause.

“But if you make it to the end of the game without that happening, we’re going to pool all the money you each have won, and then you’ll each have a very consequential decision to make.

“Understand the rules?”

Both tentatively nod yes. They’re more concerned with their hearts beating through their chests than the finer points of the strategy of this game.

“Great, then let me ask you to step inside these tanks, and we’ll get started!”

The crowd cheers as Sydney and Jimmy make their way into the gunge tanks and each take a seat. Sydney takes the one on the left, Jimmy the one on the right. The masked man stands off to the side, manning the dessert cart. Two cameramen situate themselves in front of each tank, the massive cameras looking deep into the contestants’ eyes.

“Alright, let’s spin the wheel and get this game started! Sydney, ladies first!” Marc says.

The monitor quickly turns to a straight-on shot of Sydney situated over her button. The game board is overlaid over her picture, and the brightly colored square jumps all around the board randomly.

Sydney plays along. “No whammies, no punishments, please, please, please… and… STOP!”

She slams the button and lands on…

“$50!” Marc says. The crowd applauds. “Nicely done, Sydney! That’s a great start!”

She smiles in relief, like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. But in reality, she has six more excruciating rounds of this game to go. Well, 13 more if she includes the things that Jimmy can send her way.

Sure enough, the board starts up again, and now Jimmy takes his first turn.

“No punishments, no whammies, and … STOP!”

A foghorn sound plays throughout the studio. A Whammy.

“Oh no!” Do you want to keep that Whammy, Jimmy, or pass it to Sydney and zero her out?”

Jimmy winks at her kindly. “I’ll be a nice guy and keep it for myself.”

“Good man!” Marc says. “Jimmy, you’re at zero, and you stay at zero!

“Sydney, time for your second spin! Let’s go!”

More beep-boop sound effects as the lighted square jumps around the screen. Sydney’s hand hovers over the button with a slight smile on her face, a little more confident and comfortable this time.

“And, STOP!”

A womp-womp-woooooomp sound effect plays. A pie in the face!

“Oh no, Sydney, it’s a pie! What do you think? Shall we smash it in your face, or are you gonna pass it to Jimmy?”

Sydney considers this for a moment. She did her makeup and her hair so nicely for this date, and realizes it would all be ruined in an instant if she got pied. Not to mention her gorgeous dress, her absolute favorite. She couldn’t possibly do this.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I spent all day on my hair and makeup! PASS!”

Jimmy’s eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open in shock. The burly masked man springs to action, grabbing a pie and marching directly toward Jimmy. He takes just two steps before landing his big right paw on Jimmy’s shoulder. Jimmy turns toward the man, sees the oncoming pie and barely has time to shut his eyes before–

GLOOMP! A humiliating sound effect plays as the contents of the blueberry cream pie explode all over Jimmy’s face. He gets hit HARD, making him lose his balance and fall back on his stool. He groans in distress at the force of the impact. His legs kick up to try and regain his balance, but the hand on his shoulder catches him before he tumbles to the floor.

OHHHHH!! The crowd groaned, before breaking out into raucous cheers.

The man grinds the pie up and down Jimmy’s face, sending cream and bits of graham cracker crust straight up his nose, before sliding the pie tin up into his hair. His hair had been neat and glistening, but now smothered in pie mess, it’s pointing in all directions, its beautiful shine completely gone. And his face? Forget it. With barely time to close his eyes, Jimmy couldn’t even close his mouth, so as the pie tin was removed, Jimmy’s upper body spasmed and whipped cream came flooding out of his mouth and onto his jeans. Whole blueberries and gooey midnight blue filling ooze off his face and slide down his pink polo shirt, staining it permanently.

All the while, Sydney sits in the other booth, her eyes wide open, her hands covering her shocked mouth. Thank god, she thinks. I didn’t know he’d get pied THAT hard!

“That’s Press Your Luck, ladies and gentlemen!” Marc exclaims. “We’re gonna take a quick break, maybe get Jimmy a napkin or two, and we’ll come back and see if these guys can still find a way to take home the grand prize, right after this!”

A funky guitar sound takes the show into break, but not before a slow-motion instant replay plays on the monitors in the studio. The big hand landing on Jimmy’s shoulder, wrinkling his polo shirt, his face of horror as he turned to see the oncoming pie, and at last, the juicy, violent impact of crust, cream, and blueberries demolishing the slim yet muscular young man’s face. Fade to black.

Indeed, an assistant approaches Jimmy with nothing but a hand towel. Not nearly enough to clean off his face. Jimmy dabs at the blueberry splotches all over his shirt, but it’s of no use – the thing is ruined.

Before long, a producer counts Marc back in, and the show resumes with another round of applause.

“We’re back on What Would You Do, and we’re playing Press Your Luck with Sydney and Jimmy. So far, Sydney has $50, and Jimmy has nothing but pie all over his face thanks to Sydney.

“Anything you’d like to say to her, Jimmy?” Marc points the microphone at him.

“Oh, she’ll get what’s coming to her!” he says.

The crowd groans in excitement.

“Well let’s see if you’ll follow through on that threat, Jimmy! It’s time for your second spin!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop. The squares jump around the screen.

“No Whammys, no Whammys, STOP!”

“A cool $100 to you, Jimmy! Congratulations!” Marc says. Cheers from the audience; maybe karma is a real thing!

“Alright Sydney, we’re back to you now, spin #3, let’s make it a good one!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop. Sydney lets them go a little longer this time, thinking about what she did last round to Jimmy and not wanting to do it again. She really hopes she draws money this time, even $1. Anything to not have to–

“STOP!”

CLANK-Oh no! CLANK-Oh no!

The infamous TikTok song snippet plays as Sydney draws “Strip Punishment!”

The crowd goes wild.

“Oh no, indeed!” Marc shouts over the audience. “This punishment means one of you is going to have to strip to your underwear! What do you think, Sydney? You already passed a punishment to Jimmy, you’re not going to make him take another one, will you?”

The cheers turn into a chant. “KEEP IT! KEEP IT! KEEP IT!” they jeer. They see the beautiful young woman in the sexy dress and naturally want to see it hit the floor.

But Sydney’s guilt over sending a second punishment Jimmy’s way doesn’t supersede the shame she knows she’d feel if she took her clothes off on national television. She sheepishly passes once again.

Jimmy throws his hands up in the air as the crowd cheers their approval. Jimmy slowly unbuttons the three buttons on his polo shirt before lifting it over his head, revealing his well-defined pecs, still untouched by pie slop. Sydney looks on, guilty but smitten, seeing his strong arms, shoulders, and chest. This is the kind of guy she could never attract, and in a sick, twisted way, she is flipping gender norms and exercising power over him, rendering the man powerless in this exchange.

Snapping out of her stare, Sydney then spots Jimmy on his feet, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down to his ankles. He steps out of them, tosses them onto the floor outside of the tank, and soon chucks his socks alongside them, leaving him in bare feet and in nothing but a tiny pair of thin gray boxer briefs with a crosshatch pattern on them.

The juxtaposition is staggering: in one tank, Sydney is completely clean and still looking posh. In the other, Jimmy, pie splattered all over his face and hair, sitting on a stool in nothing but some thin trunks, the outline of his manhood very much on show, while his clothes in a pile just feet away. With his legs spread wide, a camera pans down from his face to his groin, slowly zooms in the family jewels, then pans back up to his embarrassed, pie-splattered face.

“Well,” Marc says to Jimmy, “This is going extremely poorly for you, sir. Let’s see if you can turn it around here on your third spin!”

Jimmy locks back in, his hand hovering over the red button in his gunge booth. The beep-boops start up again, and pretty quickly, he yells…

“STOP!”

The dreaded foghorn sound. His second Whammy.

“Oh my goodness, Jimmy! That’s your second Whammy, you’re really in trouble now! One more and we release the slime all over both of you!

“But that’s for later. What are you gonna do now? You have $100. Are you gonna keep the Whammy or lob it over to Sydney?”

“It’s an easy decision,” Jimmy replies. “She’s tormented me all game, she can take the hit!”

Wow-wow-wow-wowwwwwwww goes the sound effect. Sydney’s account falls all the way back to zero.

“After three rounds,” Marc says, “Jimmy barely has any clothes on but has $100, Sydney still has her clothes on but no money to speak of. I don’t know who I’d rather be at this point!

“Sydney, back to you! Round 4, let’s see what you get!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop.

“No more bad stuff, please! Please! STOP!”

Womp-womp-woooooomp. Lo and behold, another messy punishment: Sydney lands on Cake in the Face!

“Oh dear,” Marc says. “That’s not good.

“Sydney, you sent that pie over to Jimmy earlier. Then you sent the strip punishment to him too. Are you finally going to take accountability, or what?”

“I feel terrible,” Sydney replies, “But I love this dress too much.”

She looks over at Jimmy with sad eyes. “I’m sorry. I have to do it. PASS!”

Jimmy shouts, “Oh my god,” and turns his head to face the punisher, just in time to see a massive sheet cake flying through the air and heading straight for his–

BLOOKIEEEEYUK – an even more humiliating sound effect plays as the cake demolishes Jimmy’s face and entire upper body, nearly blasting him off his stool for a second time. He had no time to brace himself, as he took a direct hit from the two-foot-long strawberry concoction, which wrecked his half naked body from his nipples all the way to his already smothered hair.

Pink filling, white buttercream, and splatters of blue, yellow, and green from the multicolored balloons and other decorations atop the cake cover his muscular body. The foam board covering the cake bounces off his crotch and falls to the floor of the tank, once again revealing Jimmy with a mouth full of dessert. With his nose jammed shut from the thick cream, chunks of cake come tumbling out of his mouth and into his lap. He has been so thoroughly demolished by the dense dessert that he is audibly gasping for air.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Marc says, “Now that was brutal. How are you feeling under there, Jimmy? Still wanna keep playing the game? You’ve still got your $100, you know!”

With his mouth still full of cake, Jimmy can barely speak. He says something inaudible but clearly pained. He is totally overwhelmed by these sensations and the pure humiliation he feels. Pied, caked, and now sitting there in his underwear. Meanwhile, not even a speck of dust has fallen on Sydney in the other tank.

But the game rolls on.

“Alright Jimmy, Round 4! Let’s see it!”

Beep-boop-beep- “STOP!” Now irritated by the unfairness of this game, Jimmy wastes no time.

CLANK-Oh no! CLANK-Oh no!

The audience cheers loudly. “Oh YES!” Marc squeals. “It’s the Strip Punishment!”

“Jimmy, I think I know what–”

“PASS!”

The crowd rises to their feet as Sydney buries her head in her hands. They’ve seen how brutally Jimmy had been treated through four rounds of the game, mostly at Sydney’s direction, and now they’re finally seeing him get some modicum of revenge.

The audience claps along as they start a chant. “TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!”

Sydney’s heart rate quickens as she feels all eyes on her, ready to see what she’s got underneath that pretty black cocktail dress. She’s reluctant to move at first, but the crowd only gets louder. Marc gently urges her on until finally, her right hand reaches over to her left shoulder. She pulls the sleeve off her shoulder, then takes her left hand and pulls the sleeve off her right shoulder. She stands up, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and pulls the dress down, revealing a lace red bra covering her luscious D-cup breasts, and, two seconds later, a matching lace red thong. Secretly, she hoped to get lucky by the end of the night and show these to the mystery man after their date. She had no idea she’d be showing it to literally hundreds of other people as well.

The camera cuts to Kerry in the crowd. She, too, has her head buried in her hands. When she jokingly raised Sydney’s hand to volunteer her for the game, she had no idea this would be the outcome. At the last taping she attended, all that happened was a guy fail a few yoga poses and get a few pies thrown in his face. “This show has gotten way worse,” she thought to herself, oblivious to everyone around her, on their feet, jeering her best friend.

With the dress in a pile outside the booth, Sydney morosely retakes her seat. The camera zooms in on her sumptuous body. She crosses her legs in a futile attempt to try and retain even just a little modesty.

With just three turns each to go, the game has turned petty, but there’s still money at stake. Sydney and Jimmy still need to at least try to work together as a team.

“Sydney,” Marc says, “I hate to say it but, you kind of had that coming.

“Just three rounds to go for each of you. By my count, Jimmy, you’ve got $100. Sydney, you’ve got nothing. Let’s see if we can get you back on the board!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop-beep-boop.

“Stop.” Now down to just her skimpy underwear, Sydney has lost all her enthusiasm for the game.

But her stone face does lighten up a bit when she sees the result.

“$100, that’s more like it!” Marc says.

“So that means each of you has $100 in your pockets. Let’s try to build on that! Jimmy, you’re up, and don’t forget, you’ve got two Whammys. One more and this game is over for both of you, and you both walk away with nothing! No pressure!”

With that reminder, just the smallest bit of perspiration mixed with the cake and cream covering Jimmy’s face. He stares at the board, the lighted square bouncing around from prize to prize. He closes his eyes tightly and yells, “STOP!”

“You can relax, Jimmy!” Marc says with a chuckle. “You did good – that’s another $50 for ya! So you’re up to $150 now!”

The crowd cheers rather tepidly. They kinda wanted to see the slime get dumped all over these two half naked twentysomethings.

“The audience might not be on your side, guys, but I am!” Marc says, blatantly lying to Sydney and Jimmy’s faces. He’s never wanted anything more than to see contestant after contestant buried under mountains of whipped cream, slime, and any other gooey concoctions the props department could dream up.

“Round 6, your turn, Sydney!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop.

“No Whammys, no pies, no cakes, nothing bad, please, STOP!”

The foghorn again. Sydney’s first Whammy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sydney,” Marc says, “But that IS another Whammy.

“Now you’ve got $100, and Jimmy’s got $150. Do you keep the Whammy or pass it?”

Still disoriented by the bright lights shining on her lace undies, Sydney can’t think rationally. In her mind, she merely wants to avoid all punishments, no matter the cost. So she makes the economically unwise decision and yells,

“PASS!”

“You want to pass?” Marc asks skeptically. “Uh, okay then. I’m sorry Jimmy, but that takes you all the way back down to zero.”

“Sydney, what are you doing?!” shouts an exasperated Jimmy.

The crowd doesn’t know whether to root for these two now, or to root against them. It was funny to see them lob punishments back and forth at each other, but now the game is devolving in a different way.

“Round 6, Jimmy!” Marc exclaims. “Let’s get that money back!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop.

“Let’s go, cash money! I see you! Come on, aaaaand STOP!”

Whoops emanate from the crowd as the prize is revealed. The largest one yet!

“Oh, just a nice little $200 bucks for ya, Jimmy!” Marc says. “Well done!”

A broad smile sweeps across Jimmy’s face. He’s back in front. Hopefully he can stay there.

“Well guys,” Marc says, “Of all the games we’ve played, this has certainly been one of them. Between the two of you, you’ve got $300 on hand. There’s still some money to be won out there, let’s see if you can grab it! Sydney, you’re up first, last chance!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop-beep-boop.

“Come on, give me something good! Something reaaaal good! And… STOP!”

PLEEEOUGOONKKKK. Another zany sound effect plays as a new punishment is revealed.

“It’s a slime gun!” Marc says.

On the cart of mess, the grim reaper grabs the handle of a brightly-colored double-barrel shotgun, the nozzle extending a full 36 inches, undoubtedly holding a massive amount of green slime, ready to be shot into the face of one of these two.

Yet again, Sydney does not think twice. She may be half naked, but her hair and makeup are still intact, and she will not be taking one for the team, no matter how unfair she’s been to Jimmy throughout this game.

“Oh HELL NO. PASS, PASS, A MILLION TIMES PASS!” she screeches.

Meanwhile, in the other booth, Jimmy’s shoulders slump. He kind of already knew this was coming, but hoped against hope that Sydney would have a heart for once.

But she doesn’t, and Jimmy can barely look up before he’s closing his eyes and –

PLEEEOUGOONKKKK. The reaper takes aim right between Jimmy’s eyes and unleashes two twin torrents of slime that don’t hit him between the eyes, but hit him right in his closed eyes. Jimmy scrunches up his face as the slime blasts him for what feels like forever. The reaper intentionally moves his target around, pointing the gun up to blow his hair away, down to smother him with slime in the chest, and side to side to get his shoulders, arms, and everything in between.

Whatever hadn’t been caked before was doused in green, and as the flow slowed to a dribble, it all started to ooze down his hairless, sculpted body and land in a pool in his lap. His gray underwear was only the latest thing to be stained permanently.

Jimmy had to hope that they had spare underwear in the back for him to change into, otherwise how would he walk around for the rest of the night? But he knew that all he’d probably get would be a scratchy, oversized t-shirt, if anything at all.

Mercifully, there was only one spin left in this game, and it belonged to Jimmy.

“Alright,” Marc said, “This game probably couldn’t have gone any worse for you, Jimmy. But let’s not make it even worse and get that third Whammy. Let’s get you some more cash that we can hopefully send you home with. Last spin!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop.

“STOP!”

Womp-womp-woooooomp.

“It’s another pie!” Marc shouts.

“Jimmy, you’ve been through a lot. Meanwhile, Sydney is over there looking squeaky clean. Are you gonna take one last one for the team, or do you maybe want to get even?”

Jimmy doesn’t miss a beat. He points decisively at her booth. “PIE HER ASS!!” he yells.

As quickly as the reaper took Jimmy out with a pie earlier in the game, he got on Sydney just as fast.

In her booth, Sydney can be heard shrieking, “OH GOD PLEA–” but before she could even finish begging, the reaper had already gripped her right shoulder, and absolutely clobbered her with the blueberry cream pie.

She lets out a muffled agonizing scream as her makeup and beautiful hair – which she committed hours to earlier in the afternoon – were destroyed in an instant. Her hair acted as a curtain that picked up cream, blueberries, and sloppy blue filling, the curls matted to her shoulders under the weight of the pie filling. Meanwhile, her face got buried under a thick layer of sugary sweet cream, and her breasts wobbled from the shockwave of the impact.

As if to pay her back for all the damage she’d inflicted on Jimmy, the reaper grinded the pie around her face multiple times, until Sydney tried to grab his right hand and shove it away. But he was too strong, shoving the pie up into her hair like he did with Jimmy, leaving it atop her head like a mangled hat.

All the while, cream began to slide down her body, mixing with blueberries and filling, oozing down her chest, sliding between and around her massive boobs, smothering her red bra and coming to rest in her lap, but not before leaving an unholy trail of blue and white all the way down her immaculate body.

The image was absolutely hilarious: Sydney sadly looking down, globs of pie falling off her face, the crumpled tin resting on top of her head.

She almost made it out without getting messy. But now she looked just as disgusting as Jimmy in the other booth. Well, almost.

“Well, well, well,” Marc said. “The bad news is, neither of you got away from our game unscathed. But the good news is, you do have some money banked up. Jimmy, you’ve got $200, and Sydney, you’ve got $100. So between the two of you, that’s a total of $300, congratulations!”

The audience applauds them for their hard work and their sacrifice (of messy clothes, messy faces, and messy bodies). Both contestants look solemn, as though the payoff hasn’t been worth the embarrassment.

“At the beginning of the game, I mentioned you would have a decision to make. And that decision is this. You have $300 between the two of you. Now it’s time to figure out how much each of you are going to get.

“We’re gonna give you each a whiteboard and a marker. On that board, you need to write the word ‘keep’, or the word ‘share’. You can’t show your answers to each other.

“If you both write ‘share’, then we’ll take the $300 and split it evenly. Both of you go home with $150 each.

“If one of you writes ‘keep’, and one writes ‘share’, then one of you is a fool, and the person who writes ‘keep’ gets the entire $300.

“But if both of you write ‘keep’, then you’re both greedy jerks, no one gets any money, and instead, my friend dressed in black here is gonna smash a pie in each of your selfish faces, and then we’ll finish you off by releasing the contents of those giant slime buckets all over you, okay?”

The audience loses their minds at the possibility. It’s a classic Prisoner’s Dilemma. Do Sydney and Jimmy compromise and cooperate for their mutual benefit? Or have they antagonized each other so much that they cave to their greed?

Marc gives them 15 seconds to decide.

Suspenseful music like that of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” plays in the studio as both Sydney and Jimmy are told to make their decision.

Sydney knows she’s been cornered. She knows that she sent Jimmy one punishment after another, that he’s earned more money, and that by giving her the final pie, he sent a message that he didn’t appreciate any of it. He’d been forced to strip, got pied and caked, and got shot in the face with a slime bazooka. She knew Jimmy was motivated to vote to ‘keep,’ so the only way to get any money and to avoid getting slimed was to vote ‘keep’ as well, then pray that Jimmy voted to share.

She writes ‘keep’ just as the clock runs out.

“Time’s up!” Marc says. “So, what I’d like to do is ask our masked friend here to grab a couple of pies and stand between your tanks.

The grim reaper arms himself with two of the largest pies ever created for the show and stands in the space between Sydney and Jimmy’s booths. He sizes the two of them up and stares menacingly into their extremely nervous, messy faces. Jimmy looks so much worse after getting pounded with mess over and over, but he has a look that screams confidence. Sydney, on the other hand, has the opposite expression.

“And on the count of three,” Marc continues, “Sydney, I want you to show us what you wrote.

“Alright, audience!”

Finally given the chance to participate, they shout loudly and proudly.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

Sydney turns over her board reading ‘KEEP’. Mild applause and murmurs as the audience debates among themselves what this all might mean.

“Sydney,” Marc says. “Anything you want to say before we have Jimmy reveal his answer?”

“I’m really nervous right now, I don’t know! I went and got my hair done earlier today…”

“Did you?” Marc said, baffled. “That was stupid, huh? Did you happen to bring a hair dryer?”

“No…”

“Too bad. You’re gonna need it.” Marc motions to Jimmy.

Jimmy turns over his board. It, too, reads ‘KEEP.’

Sydney doesn’t even get a chance to look at Jimmy’s answer before the pie comes charging at her face at high speed.

Despite having to hit two targets at once, the reaper does not miss.

Sydney lets out a scream that is quickly silenced as the reaper clobbers her with a cherry-filled cream pie. Red pie filling and white cream blast her face and shove their way deep into her hair. For a second time, her hair blows backwards, and this time, with no hand on her shoulder to prevent her from falling backwards, she nearly falls off the stool, kicking her legs and waving her arms in a desperate attempt to stay upright. All the while, her breasts shake uncontrollably, making their best attempt to escape her skimpy bra, before settling into place and getting covered with a fresh layer of berries and Cool Whip, which ooze down them on the way down to her lap.

Jimmy gets hit at the same time, but simply accepts his punishment, knowing that Sydney knew he’d write ‘keep’ and figuring she’d probably end up doing the same. He lets out a moan in reaction to the hard hit, which was harder than the first pie and, surprisingly, harder than the cake too. Cherries somehow find a way up his nose, while cream jams his mouth full. A fresh necklace of white cream makes a ring around his neck in a perfect arc.

Both contestants get the pies rubbed up and down their faces, their arms flailing wildly in discomfort, until both pies are shoved up over their heads and onto the ground behind them. Their faces are revealed, each of them in shock from the sheer force of the pieings. More slop gushes out of Jimmy’s open mouth, as he clearly struggles to breathe.

The respite doesn’t last long, though. The reaper has just enough time to evacuate before the plugs keeping the slime in place above their heads are yanked free, unleashing deluges of slime all over Sydney and Jimmy’s half naked bodies, gushing like rivers like the blood in The Shining.

Both victims scrunch their shoulders as the initial deluge hits their heads, Sydney with her hands in her lap, Jimmy with his hands at his sides. Both of their mouths drop open in complete shock as the slime overtakes them. Sydney lets out the loudest gasp anyone on the show has ever emitted, as she disappears under an avalanche of yellow. Meanwhile, Jimmy groans in pain as he gets engulfed in green.

The pie glued to both of their faces is no match for the ferocity of the slime. It all washes straight down onto their laps, then onto the floor, as the thick slime quickly engulfs both of them. Very quickly, Sydney’s red bra turns a bright yellow. And Jimmy’s gray underwear totally disappears under piles of pie and cake, and a lake of green slime.

Their tankings seem to last forever. Jimmy throws up his hands in dejection, while Sydney desperately paws at her face to clear it, only for her semi-clean face to be covered by another layer of yellow muck. Eventually, the brutality comes to an end, leaving yellow and green ghosts in their respective tanks. If they could see behind them, they’d see the audience universally pointing at them, either mockingly or out of pity. Both try to wipe their eyes clear of the mess piled up on their faces, but the combination of pie and slime is like glue. It’s not going anywhere.

Sydney wonders to herself how she’ll ever get to this date after this. It’s not as though she brought another set of underwear to wear underneath her dress. Jimmy just wonders how he’ll get home after literally every item of his clothing got covered in mess.

“Sydney and Jimmy, ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for them!” Marc says.

As the tanks above them slowed to a dribble, the audience rose up in appreciation, giving them another shower, this time of applause. They’re going home empty-handed, but at least their ordeal is over.

Or is it?

“But wait, you two!” Marc interrupts. “We’re not done yet!”

A groan goes through the crowd. This is typical What Would You Do, pounding victims into submission until they can’t take anymore, and then pounding them some more. But the only person who knows this is the only person still in her seat, completely alone with her head hung in shame: Kerry.

“These guys were such poor sports to each other, lobbing all the bad stuff back and forth so they could avoid it themselves. I think we ought to finish them both off with one thing they can’t avoid, yeah?”

The audience goes nuts. They can’t wait to see these two young, fit people destroyed all over again. Both Sydney and Jimmy look on, totally distraught.

“So Jimmy, you’re going to the Cruci-Pied, and Sydney, you’re going to the Torture Machine! Let’s get you out of those tanks!”

They’re met with another standing ovation as two assistants help them out of the tanks, to get penalized one last time.

First, Jimmy is led to the Cruci-Pied, the St. Andrew’s Cross-looking device that locked victims in at the wrists and ankles and left their entire body exposed to whatever punishment came their way. It proves difficult, but the stagehand is able to get Jimmy’s slimy body up on the cross with his arms and legs restrained, leaving his body in the shape of an X. Little droplets of slime continue sliding down his body, falling off his legs, ankles, feet, and his crotch onto the stage floor. Yet again, Jimmy shows pure fear in his eyes as he awaits whatever terrible end he’s about to meet.

It didn’t take long for him to find out. Within moments, the masked reaper re-emerged from the side of the stage, wheeling another cart reloaded with what looked like a dozen hefty cream pies. Jimmy’s body slumps as much as it can from within the restraints.

“Jimmy,” Marc says, “Each and every one of these pies is about to be thrown in your face. Any last words before this happens?” He points the microphone in Jimmy’s direction.

“Sydney, you’re such a BITCH!”

OHHHH! The crowd murmurs.

Marc considers this. “You know what? Sydney, come here.” She joins him, albeit at a distance, given her slimy body.

“I think you ought to give Jimmy a couple of these pies, what do you think?”

The crowd noise surges again. They roar in approval.

“I would love to, YES!”

She gingerly walks over to the cart, picks up a couple of pies, then stands just in front of the handcuffed and helpless Jimmy, menace written all over her slime-soaked face. She believes it’s because of him that she’s going home empty handed, in just her bra and panties, her hair and makeup ruined.

“Nice tits,” Jimmy barks at her, just loud enough for only her to hear. She scrunches up her face even more. She’s really gonna let this misogynist have it.

“Hope you’re hungry, Jimmy! On the count of three, audience, let’s nail this guy with a dozen pies!”

ONE! TWO! THREE!

Immediately, the reaper winds up and launches a pie directly into Jimmy’s face. It clangs against his head with a sound so loud that it echoes off the studio walls. The tin flies off into the distance, revealing a face totally destroyed by whipped cream and butterscotch pudding but with a mouth gaping wide open. Sydney almost immediately follows with a second pie that she rams straight into his face. Jimmy’s body shudders from the surprise hit, his wrists and ankles struggling against the restraints. Long strands of saliva mixed with melting whipped cream dribble out of his mouth and onto his chest. He whimpers in desperation.

One pie after another follows. He gets hit in the chest, then gets pie sandwiched. The wind gets knocked out of him with a pie to his stomach. His face gets rocked over and over and over again, his hair flying backwards, pie falling out of every orifice, from his nose, to his mouth, to his ears.

Jimmy even begs for mercy at one point. “I can’t brea–” but can’t get his plea out before his face gets demolished with another pie.

And then there were only two left, both of them in Sydney’s hands. She knew exactly what to do.

She remembered when he first took his jeans off, just how big Jimmy’s sack looked inside his gray underwear. It might all be under a layer of green, but during this entire session on the Cruci-pied, she felt like his crotch was calling out to her, to let me have it.

So she did. With as much force as she could muster, she wound up and delivered a hard direct hit to Jimmy’s balls, slamming the pie into his nut sack and sending bits of green slime flying in all directions.

The crowd yelled OHHHHH out of pity, but even louder than them was Jimmy, who cried out in agony at the pain and humiliation behind the pie hit to his body’s most sensitive region.

Sydney refused to let up, grinding the pie into his nuts, then shoving the tin up into his stomach before grabbing the waistband of his trunks, pulling them open, and letting the rest of whatever was in the tin fall right in to join his member.

Jimmy gasped at this unfamiliar feeling, his eyes wide open and staring daggers straight down at Sydney. But she was undeterred. With her final pie, she wound up once again and slammed it right between Jimmy’s eyes, much to the chagrin of the audience. Jimmy’s knees buckled from the overwhelming sensation in his loins and his face, and as Sydney rubbed the pie all over his face, she could see out of the corner of her eye that something was growing down there. She felt satisfied that she got this disgusting man going, and that he’d have to sit there with his hands tied up for the rest of the show, unable to do anything about it.

It was almost enough for her to forget that she was due to be punished one final time as well.

Before long, an assistant was gently guiding her to the Torture Machine, situated where the Pie Pod and Pie Wash used to be, on far stage left. After the exhilarating feeling of taking Jimmy down a notch or ten, she’d forgotten all about her own trip to a pie contraption, and after protesting to Marc, to the assistant, to the reaper, to anyone who would listen, she finally relented and trudged her way to her final resting place, but not before she heard Jimmy yell, “Bye bye, bitch!” in her general direction. She looked back at him to see him still restrained in the X, pie all over his body and newly splattered all over his crotch. Though he was tied up at the wrists, she could see his right hand waving goodbye and good riddance to her.

Like they did with Jimmy, the assistant strapped her into the seat in the Torture Machine, her wrists and ankles bound to the arms and legs of the chair. As she surveyed her surroundings, Sydney realized she was about to get it far worse than Jimmy. Arranged in a semicircle were four sheet cakes the size of the one the reaper launched into Jimmy’s face, each situated about five feet away from her on mechanized arms.

Sydney then looked up and saw several nozzles pointed directly at her body. Then, directly above her head, a bucket the size of the one that unloaded gallons upon gallons of yellow slime all over her body just a few moments ago. The sexy bra and panties she wore barely covered any of her body. The rest of her was about to be smothered with all of this slop. Sydney knew she was fucked.

She quickly snapped out of her daze when she heard the audience counting. The assistant was suddenly nowhere to be found. All she could see was Marc with his index finger in the sky, counting one, and multiple cameramen with their lenses pointed at various parts of her body. Her face, her massive breasts, her legs spread wide.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

PFFFFFFFFFFTTTT!!!

Sydney screamed bloody murder as she felt something shoot thick liquid straight up her ass. It was an unseen nozzle underneath her seat. The seat itself had a holey, mesh like material that left plenty of open space for a jet of cream to blast her from underneath. With the ass floss providing barely any protection, she felt the full brunt of the liquid cream blasted into her backside, causing her butt to lift, her back to arch, and her body to struggle against the restraints.

But just as quickly as she got shot from behind, another nozzle positioned high above her took its shot straight down onto her lap. Another jet of whipped cream blasted downward into her crotch, penetrating the thin fabric of her panties and giving Sydney a feeling unlike any other she’d felt in her entire life.

Both nozzles worked her for at least 5 seconds each, an eternity to this shy, demure ingenue, who quickly learned what it’s like to be on the receiving end of some good old fashioned S&M.

Her eyes were facing skyward, her mouth was wide open, and her neck was craned when the jets finally ceased and the cakes began to launch.

The first cake came from her far left, slamming hard into her slimy left shoulder, banging against her face and depositing its payload of strawberry filling and blue buttercream all over the left side of her body. Her hair blew to the right, leaving her face totally exposed to take the hit. With no hands to block the projectile or wipe her face, Sydney immediately went blind, the cake too thick to fall gently into her lap.

Her heart rate spiked as she realized there was no way for her to know when the next cake was coming, from where, or how hard it would hit her.

Of course, cake #2 got her good. Launched from just to the left of center, the red velvet bashed her face and upper chest, the foam board underneath it splitting in half from the impact with Sydney’s head. Cake flew everywhere, coating both shoulders, adding a layer of thick yellow frosting to the blue already smothering her. She yelped in pain as the cake hit her so hard and so unexpectedly. She felt as though it had broken her nose.

And still, the barrage continued. Cake #3 came from just to the right of center, and though it fell short, it did more damage than Sydney could have ever imagined. Everything from her stomach to her chest took a hard shot from the vanilla concoction, taking her breath away and plastering whatever was left of her red bra with a heavy layer of white. The cake smashed into her chest so hard that not only did it make her breasts jiggle on impact, the force of the hit broke a clasp on her bra just below her right shoulder. After holding up under the weight of multiple pie and cake hits and a brutal deluge of yellow slime, the cup covering her breast simply couldn’t take anymore and just quit on the job, revealing Sydney’s huge right tit and the large areola surrounding her nipple. Sydney reflexively moves her hands to try and cover up, but they remain firmly in place, locked by the restraints. She can’t help but scream in agony, embarrassment, or both. That’s all she can do.

The crowd WHOAAAAs before breaking out into the loudest cheers of the day. Sydney is being totally massacred, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

With a bare breast now providing a tantalizing target, Cake #4 proved to be the most devastating one yet. Fired from the far right, it scored a direct hit on Sydney’s right cheek, delivering its payload perfectly from the crown of her head to her clean, exposed right boob. The chocolate concoction absolutely demolishes her, leaving a trail of black and mint green frosting in its wake and giving her right tit some precious, albeit sticky, coverage. As for her face, Sydney got hit so hard that her head whipped backwards, banging into the padded headrest behind her. Yet again, she struggled in her restraints, wishing she could be literally anywhere else but here.

Sydney was simply stunned. Her face had never taken so many blows before. In fact, she’d been caked and pied more times today than she’d been kissed in her entire life.

All the while, Jimmy looked on with glee, knowing she got it so much worse than him and was getting what she deserved after sentencing him to one punishment after another earlier.

Not a moment later, Jimmy broke out cackling at the exact same time Sydney broke out screaming. All of a sudden, her chair began to spin, and four nozzles situated at different angles above her head began shooting torrents of cream directly at her face and all over her body. It was the Pie Wash in action! Around and around she went, all the while getting buried under layer after layer of heavy whipping cream. Suddenly, the cavalcade of blue, green, yellow, and white frosting that plastered her just moments ago became a monochrome of drippy white. The coldness of the cream feels even more apparent on her exposed right breast, the nipple perking up involuntarily for all to see.

Her hair: tangled with mess and now matted to her head and back with cream. Her face: completely wiped out. Her bra: half torn off and in tatters. Her ego: absolutely destroyed.

As the chair slowed to a stop, the audience continued cheering, but even over those cheers, we can hear Sydney begin to moan sadly and pathetically, begging for this ordeal to end. If she knew this was the alternative to just going to a bar and getting a shot to calm her nerves, she would have just opted for the drinks.

Well, in the end, she got her drink. With the chair now stationary, the crowd rose to a crescendo, and all of a sudden, the contents of the massive bucket above Sydney’s head were unleashed all over her. With no warning whatsoever, a deluge of chocolate syrup splashed right onto Sydney’s head, the thick black dousing her hair, and overcoming the white cream to smother her one last time.

Sydney screamed so loudly that she finally lost her voice, reducing her protests to a whimper as the chocolate continued to turn her fair skin an ugly shade of brown.

All she could do was bang her body against the back of the chair in protest, which did nothing to keep the chocolate from coming; it only made her boobs shake and further titillate the horny young men that made up half of the audience. It was a memory they’d never forget: a shy young woman in her best dress, made to strip out of it and pied, caked, creamed, and chocolated into oblivion until she was reduced to a blubbering mess.

Sydney’s body began shaking out of embarrassment as the enormity of her humiliation finally began to overcome her. And yet the chocolate still kept coming. She shook her head back and forth to try and get some of it off, but anytime she tried, more fell down her face and covered her once more.

A mix of everything launched, shot, blasted, and dropped on her began piling up in her lap, some of it even penetrating her underwear and touching her privates, giving her the strangest erotic sensation she’d ever felt.

Finally, the chocolate dump slowed to a trickle, and the audience gave her one final ovation out of appreciation for her “sacrifice.” It was a hilarious visual: chunks of cake haphazardly scattered all over Sydney’s body, bleached white from the heavy cream from the nozzles; heavy whipping cream still dripping from out of her butt, the remnants of the long ago blast to her backside; her face, basically rearranged after taking four hard cakes in quick succession, and her beautiful, perky breasts, one still safely inside her lace bra, under multiple layers of muck, the other totally exposed, chocolate syrup dripping from the nipple as though she was lactating right then and there. Sydney is visibly shaken. For a moment, she’s no longer thinking about the date she may no longer have the courage to go on. Now, she’s thinking about how much extra therapy she’ll need to go to recover from this. If she ever does.

Marc completed the sign-off for the show. “Well, these two unfortunately didn’t win a dime from us, but at least they’re not going home empty-handed. They’ve got all the dessert they can handle for the rest of the day! I can tell they’re enjoying it. And I hope you’ve enjoyed it today, too. Join us next time, when we’ll play some more games and see how far our contestants will go to win some fabulous prizes.

“Until then, I’m Marc Summers, this has been What Would You Do, bye bye!”

There’s one final round of applause from the audience, before the director cuts to a wide shot of the crowd, happy, enthusiastic, much the way Kerry was when she attended her first taping.

By contrast, a cameraman does find her, head in her hands, elbows on her knees. She’s distraught, beside herself for having accidentally made her friend into the biggest laughingstock in all of Daytona Beach, and perhaps all of America. The juxtaposition of her shattered face, surrounded by a raucous crowd that was so thoroughly entertained during today’s taping, is absolutely poetic.

As is the split screen of the two victims just before the show fades to black. Simultaneously, we are treated to side-by-side shots of Jimmy getting caked and slime blasted, while Sydney strips to her lace underwear and gets a pie slammed in her face; then the simultaneous pieings and slime dumps at the end of the game, both contestants’ bodies contorting in all kinds of ways to deal with the overwhelming feeling of mess overcoming their half naked bodies.

Then, their respective turns in their torture devices. Jimmy taking pie after pie after pie to the face and body, finally ending in Sydney getting brutally nailing him in the crotch; and Sydney getting blasted in the privates with jets of cream, then getting destroyed with one cake after another, going for a ride as she got smothered with cream, and finally, the merciless chocolate dump that turned her into a sickly sweet black ghost.

It was one of the messiest shows ever, and it cost the company absolutely nothing in prize money. Marc walked backstage and high-fived everyone in sight. The show was really hitting its stride.

Eventually, both Sydney and Jimmy were freed, but were given some truly horrifying news. The showers that had been so finicky throughout the run of this show were once again not working today, so they would have to make do with just some towels that they had backstage.

Sydney was beside herself. “I HAVE A DATE AFTER THIS!” she yelled at a producer. “You made me strip naked and get covered in this shit for nothing! YOU USED ME!” All she received was a limp apology. She walked off in disgust.

Kerry was let backstage and quickly found Sydney, fruitlessly trying to wipe herself clean from all the cake and chocolate that covered her entire body. She was at least given a small changing room, but the only replacement clothing she was offered was an oversized white What Would You Do-branded t-shirt, which would almost certainly be stained black with chocolate syrup the moment it touched her body. Same with her dress.

Kerry had expected to take Sydney to the taping, then take her straight to her date. The date was in 30 minutes, and because Kerry got carried away and volunteered her friend to be led to the lion’s den, now she had no time to go home to shower or change, no time to go to a salon to get her hair redone, or even go to a store to get a new outfit. Sydney would either have to ghost the coolest guy she’d ever had a chance with, or go looking like this, with ruined makeup, tangled hair, with chocolate and cake remnants all over her body, smelling like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, and wearing no bra or panties, just a minidress covering up next to nothing.

Still, Sydney decides ditching would be worse than showing up looking this way. At least she would have a story to tell. She would take her chances at the restaurant.

Half an hour later, she walks into the restaurant alone, looking as disheveled as anyone could possibly look on a first date. The hostess takes a look at her, smells her, and makes a face, but still takes her in the direction of her table. In the far off distance, she sees the back of someone’s head, a guy whose hair looks oily, scruffy, and somewhat unkempt. It helps her relax a little – maybe this means he’s a real down-to-earth guy! As she gets closer, she sees that he’s pretty muscular, wearing a pink shirt with a stain on the shoulder, which maybe means he’s not really down-to-earth but just doesn’t care about his appearance. She frowns.

As Sydney and the hostess reach the table, the hostess introduces them to each other. The man looks up, and they lock eyes.

Sydney freezes. Her phone falls out of her hands, landing with a thud on the hard wooden floor.

“OH FUCK!” they both shout.