Nervous Dater: A What Would You Do? Story (Male Only Version)

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

So said the random girl in the audience, trying her best to soothe the anxious nerves of her seatmate Jimmy, who confided in her that he had a blind date set up with a mystery girl he’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 he saw her face for the first time?

Jimmy had had terrible luck with women. Despite being the very definition of a “cute nerd”, with full, long brown hair, and surprisingly strong legs thanks to his brief foray into high school track, he could never hang onto a lady for very long. For one, he was shy, which limited his opportunities. And when opportunities did arise, many of his suitors weren’t that interesting, weren’t that attractive, or if they were, they didn’t reciprocate his feelings. This ‘Jimmy’ girl held a ton of promise. He felt different about her. Optimistic. But it had been forever since he’d been on a date. So he went all out, dressing in a nice button down shirt and pressed pants, even going so far as to visit a hair stylist to shape his brown locks to frame his face just perfectly.

Jimmy found himself 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. He and his friends were out on the boardwalk, offering to buy him drinks to loosen him up, but he steadfastly refused, passing up the benefits of liquid courage in favor of a clear mind. So he ended up here, alone, next to this friendly young woman.

She had been in the audience for a taping in the new show’s early days and had a rollicking great time. She told him that at the very least, he’d sit in the crowd and be as entertained as she was on her first visit. It would certainly take his mind off his frayed nerves for an hour. And if he was chosen to play a game, even better. He could go home with a prize and have an awesome story to tell this mystery girl!

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. Jimmy was left in suspense, his anxiety level only rising. Not only did he have a date just after this, now he found himself at a taping of a mystery show that may or may not do much to soothe his 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 Jimmy knew it, the show’s theme song was playing and its legendary host Marc Summers came bolting on stage. Jimmy 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.

He immediately turned to his seatmate, a confused look on his face, uncertain what to make of all of this. “What is this show?” he exclaimed.

“You’ll see!” she 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 two lucky guys 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.

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

“Oh my god, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he snaps at the lady next to him. He tried to yank his arm free, but her grip is too tight. He notices a butterfly tattoo on her right wrist.

Marc spots this struggle occurring in the third row, sees a guy dressed abnormally nice for a summer night at the beach, and knows exactly who he wants to play.

“You, sir, what’s your name?”

“Jimmy, oh my gosh.”

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

Jimmy, never comfortable with being the center of attention, looks mortified. His face is frozen, his mouth agape in some combination of fear, anxiety, and embarrassment. His neighbor nudges him to his feet and playfully shoves him into the aisle. Jimmy shuffles his 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 Jimmy. He spots Jimmy’s natural opposite – a muscular guy in a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off to show off his impressive muscles. He, too, is getting his hand raised by a companion, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Will.”

“Alright, Will, come with me please! Let’s play a game, shall we?”

The audience cheers as Will and Marc jog down the steps to join the waiting Jimmy on stage. Though not dressed anywhere near as resplendently as Jimmy, Will looks great himself, flowing dirty blonde hair and incredibly muscular build making him look like the second coming of Fabio, embellished by the glow of a day spent sitting on the beach. Down beneath, Will sported some short shorts to show off his unbelievably thick thighs. Jimmy sized him up and was immediately nervous. Whatever game this is, he thought, I hope it doesn’t involve anything physical.

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 Jimmy and Will to buzz in, or something like that.

Marc stands next to them, both of whom are shuffling their feet nervously. Their jittery body language shows the anxiety 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, Jimmy and Will, welcome! 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 Jimmy’s direction.

“I said no, I don’t want that!”

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

Jimmy is heard sighing off-mic, continuing his 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 Jimmy and Will. 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 Jimmy and Will 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, Jimmy, if you’ve accumulated $300, and Will 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, Jimmy?”

Marc points the mic toward him. He 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’s get you inside these tanks, and we’ll get started!”

The crowd cheers as Jimmy and Will both take a seat in their respective tanks. Will 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! Will, you go first!” Marc says.

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

Will 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, Will! That’s a great start!”

He smiles in relief, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. But in reality, he has six more rounds of this game to go. Well, 13 more if he includes the things that Will can send his way.

Sure enough, the board starts up again, and now Will 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 Will and zero his out?”

Jimmy winks at him 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!

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

More beep-boop sound effects as the lighted square jumps around the screen. Will’s hand hovers over the button with a slight smile on his 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, Will, it’s a pie! What do you think? Shall we smash it in your face, or are you gonna pass it to Jimmy?”

Will considers this for a moment. He’s too consumed by his self-image to be bothered with the idea of taking a pie to the face. Anyway, even if they’re technically supposed to be on the same team, he doesn’t even really know the guy in the other tank. The decision is easy.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I’m not taking that pie! PASS!”

Jimmy’s eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open in shock. The burly masked man springs to action, grabs a pie and marches 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 freshly ironed pants. Whole blueberries and gooey midnight blue filling ooze off his face and slide down his sky blue dress shirt, staining it permanently.

All the while, Will sits in the other booth, his eyes wide open, cackling silently to himself. Thank god that’s not me!, he thinks.

“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 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 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 Jimmy and Will. So far, Will has $50, and Jimmy has nothing but pie all over his face thanks to his counterpart.

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

“Oh, he’ll get what’s coming to him!” 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 Will, we’re back to you now, spin #3, let’s make it a good one!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop. Will lets them go a little longer this time, thinking about what he did last round to Jimmy and maybe feeling like it was a bit harsh. He really hopes he 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 Will 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, Will? 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 hunky young man in a cut off t-shirt and short shorts and naturally want to see what he’s packing underneath.

But Will’s indifference over sending a second punishment Jimmy’s way wins out. He doesn’t want the shame he knows he’d feel if he took his clothes off on national television. He passes once again.

Jimmy throws his hands up in the air as the crowd cheers its approval. Jimmy slowly unbuttons his stained dress shirt before slowly taking it off, revealing his skinny, hairless chest, still untouched by pie slop. Will looks on with glee. This is the kind of guy he towered over his entire adolescence, both physically and psychologically, and drinks up all of the power he has over him in this moment.

Soon after, Jimmy is on his feet, unbuttoning his pants 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, Will 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 Jimmy?”

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

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

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

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

Beep-boop-beep-boop.

“No more bad stuff, please! STOP!”

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

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

“Will, 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 wish I could say I felt terrible,” Will replies, “BUT I FEEL NOTHING WHATSOEVER! 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 lanky 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, all thanks to the cowardice of the bro in the other tank. Meanwhile, not even a speck of dust has fallen on Will.

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 Will buries his head in his hands. They’ve seen how brutally Jimmy had been treated through four rounds of the game, mostly at Will’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!”

Will’s heart rate quickens as he feels all eyes on him, ready to see what he’s got underneath that his tank top and short shorts. He’s reluctant to move at first, but the crowd only gets louder. Marc gently urges him on until finally, he takes the bottom of the shirt with both hands and lifts until it’s clear of his body. Then, Will stands up, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and pulls his shorts down, revealing a violet thong struggling to cover up his enormous package. Secretly, he hoped to get lucky by the end of the night with someone at one of the countless bars and clubs on the boardwalk, but unfortunately for him, the secret was out.

The camera cuts to the girl in the crowd from earlier. Seeing how this game has devolved into chaos, she, too, has her head buried in his hands. When she jokingly raised Jimmy’s hand to volunteer him for the game, she had no idea this would be the outcome. At the last taping she attended, all that happened was a guy failed a few yoga poses and got 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 new friend.

With his clothes in a pile outside the booth, a newly-humbled Will retakes his seat. The camera zooms in on his sumptuous body. He crosses his 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. Jimmy and Will still need to at least try to work together as a team.

“Will,” 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. Will, 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 his skimpy underwear, Will has lost all his enthusiasm for the game.

But his stone face does lighten up a bit when he 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 but slime all over your bodies! 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 Jimmy and Will’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, Will!”

Beep-boop-beep-boop.

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

The foghorn again. Will’s first Whammy.

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

“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 his skimpy purple undies, Will can’t think rationally. In his mind, he reverts back to his desire to avoid all punishments, no matter the cost. So he 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.”

“What are you doing?!” shouts an exasperated Jimmy.

“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! Will, 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, Will does not think twice. He may be half naked, but his hair, square jaw and ripped body are still immaculate, and he will not be taking one for the team, no matter how unfair she’s been to Jimmy today.

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

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

But he 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 him.

“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, Will 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 his booth. “PIE HIS ASS!!” he yells.

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

In his booth, Will can be heard shrieking, “OH FUCK DON’T–” but before he could even finish begging, the reaper had already gripped his right shoulder, and absolutely clobbered his sorry ass with the blueberry cream pie.

He lets out a muffled agonizing scream as his gorgeous smile and incredible hair were destroyed in an instant, with cream, blueberries, and sloppy blue filling cramming their way into every one of his pores.

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

All the while, cream began to slide down his body, mixing with blueberries and filling, oozing down his pecs, sliding between and around his well-defined abs, and coming to rest in his lap on the purple speedo, but not before leaving an unholy trail of blue and white all the way down his immaculate body.

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

He almost made it out without getting messy. But now he 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 Will, 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 Jimmy and Will 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 Jimmy and Will are told to make their decision.

Will knows he’s been cornered. He knows that he sent Jimmy one punishment after another, that he’s earned more money, and that by giving him the final pie, Jimmy sent a message that he didn’t appreciate any of it. After all, Jimmy had been forced to strip, got pied and caked, and got shot in the face with a slime bazooka. Will 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 was as stupid as he looked and voted to share.

Will 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 Jimmy and Will’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. Will, on the other hand, has the opposite expression.

“And on the count of three,” Marc continues, “Will, 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!

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

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

“All I can say is: Jimmy? I hope you did the right thing.”

Marc motions to Jimmy. “Let’s see it, Jimmy!”

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

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

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

Will lets out a scream that is quickly silenced as the reaper plows his sanctimonious face with a cherry-filled cream pie. Red pie filling and white cream blast his features and shove their way deep into his hair. For a second time, his hair blows backwards, and this time, with no hand on his shoulder to prevent his from falling backwards, he nearly falls off the stool, kicking his legs and waving his arms in a desperate attempt to stay upright. All the while, his balls shake uncontrollably from inside the thong, making their best attempt to escape their skimpy pouch, before settling into place and getting covered with a fresh layer of berries and Cool Whip, which ooze down them after taking a long melty trip down Will’s rockin’ body.

Jimmy gets hit at the same time, but simply accepts his punishment, knowing that Will knew he’d write ‘keep’ and figuring he’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 the 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 Jimmy and Will’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, Will with his hands in his lap, Jimmy with his hands at his sides. Both of their mouths drop open in complete shock as the cold slime drenches them. Will lets out the loudest gasp anyone on the show has ever emitted, as he 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, Will’s purple thong 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 Will desperately paws at his face to clear it, only for his 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.

Jimmy wonders to himself how she’ll ever get to this date after this. It’s not as though he brought another set of underwear to wear underneath his pants. Plus, the entire outfit has pie mess all over it.

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

As the tanks above them slowed to a dribble, the audience rises 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.

“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 Jimmy and Will look on, totally distraught.

“So Jimmy, you’re going to the Cruci-Pied, and Will, 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 punished 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.

“YOU’RE A FUCKIN’ BITCH!”

OHHHH! The crowd murmurs.

Marc considers this. “You know what? Will, come here.” he joins him, albeit at a distance, given his 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.

“Oh I’m gonna FUCK HIM UP!”

He purposefully walks over to the cart, grabs a couple of pies, then stands just in front of the handcuffed and helpless Jimmy, menace written all over his slime-soaked face. Will believes it’s because of Jimmy that he’s going home empty handed, pie all over his face, in just a thong, his big bare ass on camera for the world to see.

“Nice thong,” Jimmy barks at Will, just loud enough for only the two of them to hear. “Your momma buy it for you?” Will is starting to go nuclear. He’s really gonna let this ballerina 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!

Facing imminent annihilation, Jimmy suddenly changes his tone. He resorts to begging, looking at the reaper and at Will individually saying, “Wait, guys, please! I’m sorry! I–”

Immediately, the reaper launches a pie directly into Jimmy’s face to shut him up. 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. Will almost immediately follows with a second pie that he rams straight into Jimmy’s stunned face. His body shudders from the surprise hit, his wrists and ankles struggling against the restraints. Long strands of saliva mix with melting whipped cream, dribble out of his mouth and drop onto his chest. Jimmy 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 Will demolishes him with another hard pieing.

"Shut the hell up, twink," Will growls.

He rubs it around his face four times before letting the pie tin go, revealing Jimmy with his head hanging in shame, sloppy butterscotch pudding and whipped cream pouring out of his mouth, making sad sputtering sounds as he tries to regain his bearings.

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

He remembered when Jimmy first took his jeans off, just how pathetic Jimmy looked as he was forced to reveal himself to the world in his tiny gray undies. It might all be under a layer of green now, but during this entire session on the Cruci-pied, he felt like his crotch was calling out to him, to let me have it.

So he did. With as much force as he could muster, he winds up and delivers a devastating hit to Jimmy’s balls, slamming the pie so hard into Jimmy’s nut sack that even in his restraints, his body can’t help but reflexively keel over at the hip.

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.

Will 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 Will. But he was undeterred. With his final pie, Will wound up once again and slammed it right between Jimmy’s eyes, much to the audience’s chagrin. Jimmy’s knees buckled from the overwhelming sensation in his loins and his face, and as Jimmy rubbed the pie all over his face, he could see out of the corner of his eye that something was growing down there. He felt satisfied that he got this doofus 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 Will to forget that he was due to be punished one final time as well.

Before long, an assistant was gently guiding him 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, he’d forgotten all about his own trip to a pie contraption, and after protesting to Marc, to the assistant, to the reaper, to anyone who would listen, he finally relented and trudged his way to his final resting place, but not before he heard Jimmy yell, “Bye bye, bitch!” in his general direction. Will 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, he could see his right hand waving goodbye and good riddance.

Like they did with Jimmy, the assistant strapped Will into the seat in the Torture Machine, his wrists and ankles bound to the arms and legs of the chair. As he surveyed his surroundings, Will realized he 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 his on mechanized arms.

Will then looked up and saw several nozzles pointed directly at his body. Then, directly above his head, a bucket the size of the one that unloaded gallons upon gallons of yellow slime all over his body just a few moments ago. His purple thong barely covered any of his body. The rest of his body was about to be smothered with all of this slop. Will knew he was fucked.

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

ONE! TWO! THREE!

PFFFFFFFFFFTTTT!!!

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

But just as quickly as he got shot from behind, another nozzle positioned high above his took its shot straight down onto his lap. Another jet of whipped cream blasted downward into his crotch, penetrating the thin fabric of his thong and giving Will a feeling unlike any other he’d felt in his entire life. He screamed in agony for a second time, his big muscles yielding to the humiliation one at a time.

Both nozzles worked his privates for at least 5 seconds each, an eternity to this man who was seemingly always the alpha, who quickly learned what it’s like to be on the beta.

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

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

His heart rate spiked as he realized there was no way to know when the next cake was coming, from where, or how hard it would hit him.

Of course, cake #2 got him good. Launched from just to the left of center, the red velvet bashed his face and upper chest, the foam board underneath it shattering in a dozen pieces from the impact with Will’s head and hard body. Cake flew everywhere, coating both shoulders, adding a layer of thick yellow frosting to the blue already smothering him. He yelped in pain as the cake hit him so hard and so unexpectedly. He felt as though it had broken his 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 Will could have ever imagined. Everything from his stomach to his chest took a hard shot from the vanilla concoction, taking his breath away and plastering whatever was left of his purple thong with a heavy layer of white. The bottom of the cake smashed into his crotch so hard that not only did it make his balls jiggle on impact, the force of the hit broke a clasp on the underwear on his right hip. After holding up under the weight of multiple pie and cake hits and a brutal deluge of yellow slime, the cup covering the 24-karat family jewels simply couldn’t take anymore and just quit on the job, revealing Will’s enormous member and more. He reflexively moves his legs to try and cover up, but with his ankles restrained and his legs spread wide, his mobility remains extremely limited. He can’t help but scream in agony, embarrassment, or both as his balls hang loose for everyone to see. That’s all he can do.

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

With a bare crotch 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 Will’s right cheek, delivering its payload perfectly from the crown of his head to his massive pecs. The chocolate concoction absolutely demolishes him, leaving a trail of black and mint green frosting in its wake and giving his private areas some precious, albeit sticky, coverage. As for his face, Will got hit so hard that his head whipped backwards, banging into the padded headrest behind him. Yet again, he struggled in his restraints, wishing he could be literally anywhere else but here.

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

Not a moment later, Jimmy broke out cackling at the exact same time Will broke out screaming. All of a sudden, Will’s chair began to spin, and four nozzles situated at different angles above his head began shooting torrents of cream directly at his face and all over his body. It was the Pie Wash in action! Around and around he 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 his just moments ago became a monochrome of drippy white. The coldness of the cream feels even more apparent on his exposed nuts, as the stiffy he was starting to develop rapidly shrunk back to size.

As the chair slowed to a stop, the audience continued cheering, but even over those cheers, we can hear Jimmy still on the cross, begging sadly and pathetically, begging for this ordeal to end. If he knew this was the alternative to just going to a bar and getting a shot to calm his nerves, he would have just opted for the drinks.

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

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

All he could do was bang his body against the back of the chair in protest, which did nothing to keep the chocolate from coming; it only made his balls wobble and further titillate the horny young women that made up half of the audience. It was a memory they’d never forget: a cocky young man in his best dress, made to strip out of it and pied, caked, creamed, and chocolated into oblivion until he was reduced to a blubbering mess. A cocky young man turning him into a victim and being rewarded with some vigilante justice.

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

A mix of everything launched, shot, blasted, and dropped on his began piling up in his lap, some of it melting all over his most sensitive area, giving him the strangest erotic sensation she’d ever felt.

Finally, the chocolate dump slowed to a trickle, and the audience gave his one final ovation out of appreciation for his “sacrifice.” It was a hilarious visual: chunks of cake haphazardly scattered all over Will’s body, bleached white from the heavy cream from the nozzles; heavy whipping cream still dripping from out of his butt, the remnants of the long ago blast to his backside; his face, basically rearranged after taking four hard cakes in quick succession, and his banana, regrowing into the most embarrassing erection one could ever have, in full view of an audience and TV cameras.

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 the lady was when she attended her first taping.

By contrast, a cameraman does find her, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. She’s distraught, beside herself for having accidentally made a buddy into the biggest laughingstock in all of Daytona Beach, and perhaps all of America. The juxtaposition of his 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 Will strips to his lace underwear and gets a pie slammed in his 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 Will brutally nailing him in the crotch; and Will getting blasted in the privates with jets of cream, then getting destroyed with one cake after another, going for a ride as he got smothered with cream, and finally, the merciless chocolate dump that turned his 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 Jimmy and Will 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.

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

With the date starting in 30 minutes, Jimmy felt so alone. He was literally strong-armed into participating by some random girl, who couldn’t even have the decency to find him after the show and offer praise or an apology. And now there was far too little time to even try to find a new outfit. Jimmy would either have to ghost the coolest girl he’d ever had a chance with, or go looking like this, with ruined clothes, tangled hair, and smelling like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Oh, and wearing no underwear, either.

Still, Jimmy decides ditching would be worse than showing up looking this way. At least he would have a story to tell. he would take his chances at the restaurant.

Half an hour later, he 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 him, and makes a face, but still takes him in the direction of his table. In the far off distance, he sees the back of someone’s head, a girl whose hair looks vaguely familiar. Disheveled, as though hands ran through it over and over. It helps his relax a little – maybe this means he’s a real down-to-earth guy! As he gets closer, he sees that she’s looking down, maybe a little out of it. He frowns. Maybe she didn’t want to see him tonight after all.

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

Jimmy freezes. his phone falls out of his hands, landing with a thud on the hard wooden floor.

He once again spots the butterfly tattoo.

“OH FUCK!” they both shout.