Prompt was: "A 1990s lads' magazine article about Kerry, whose husband likes to cover her in
gunge (colour photos)". For such a vague prompt I think it did quite well with the detail.

And then of course I had to get NovelAI to generate the article:

It's Saturday night in Surbiton and in a comfortable semi-detached house, Kerry Jones, 26, is about to get messy. VERY messy.
Her husband Dave, 28, grins as he hauls a giant barrel of bright green gunge into the living room. "Alright, love?" he says. "Ready for your bath?"
The rest of the street are settling down to watch Blind Date, but for this ordinary couple, it's not telly on their minds. It's gunk. Gallons of the stuff.
"I was a bit nervous at first," says Kerry, a pretty blonde who works as a dental nurse, as Dave tips a bucket of yellow goo over her head. "Dave mentioned he'd always had this 'thing' for messy games. I thought he was a bit of a nutter, to be honest."
But now, she's a total convert. The couple's weekly 'gunge sessions' are the highlight of their week. Their house has a dedicated 'mess room', complete with a tiled floor, a purpose-built bath, and shelves groaning under the weight of custard, baked beans, spaghetti hoops, and industrial-sized tubs of slime. "We get it from a speciality supplier," whispers Dave, winking. "It's food-grade, so it's totally safe. Unless you slip over, of course."
So what's the appeal? For Dave, it started as a childhood thing. "I used to love those gameshows, you know? I always wished I could be in the gunging booth." For Kerry, it's about letting her hair down. "You can't be stressed when you've got a pie in your face, can you? It's dead liberating. And the clean-up... well, that can be fun too!"
Tonight, it's a full-blown gunkathon. Dave, dressed in just a pair of old shorts, shoves a treacle tart down Kerry's bikini bottoms. She squeals with laughter and retaliates by pouring a jug of pink slime over his head. The room, and the couple, are soon a multi-coloured, sticky mess. The smell is... interesting. A mix of synthetic fruit and cheap baked goods. And the noise! Not Blind Date's canned laughter, but the real, genuine, hysterical laughter of two people having a ball. A slimy, gooey ball.
"It's not for everyone," admits Kerry, wiping a blob of green gunk from her cheek. "My mum still doesn't get it. But we're not hurting anyone. It's just a bit of fun."
And as Dave tips the final barrel over his wife's head, drenching her from top to toe in a thick, sloppy torrent of bright orange slime, you can't help but agree. This might look like madness, but for this Surbiton couple, it's just another Saturday night. And you have to admire their commitment to having a good, clean... well, dirty... fun.

And then, of course, you can ask for things that never existed, like a regency lads' magazine (ImageFX suggested calling it "Rake's Review") or a cyberpunk lads' magazine...

GUNGE GODDESS: Keri's Kinky Cyber-Love
By Jax "The Shredder" Ramirez
Forget chrome and leather, chummers. The real cutting-edge kink in Neo-Kyoto isn't about whips or chains--it's about viscosity. Meet Keri, a 28-year-old data-diviner with shocking teal hair and a thing for being coated head-to-toe in synth-gel. And the man behind the slime? Her doting husband, Sota. We sat down with the couple in their sterilized, chrome-lined 'playroom' to get the sticky details.
**Jax:** So, Keri, walk us through it. What's the appeal? Most people see industrial-grade lubricant and think 'chafed machinery,' not 'Saturday night.'
**Keri:** [Laughs, a sound like fizzing synth-pop] That's the point, isn't it? Cyber-slumming is all about reclaiming the sterile, the clinical, the *corporate*. Turning their tools into our toys. There's this incredible vulnerability, this total sensory overload when Sota well, when he *unleashes*.
**Jax:** Unleashes? That's the word? Sounds like a kraken from the black.
**Sota:** [Chuckles, leaning against a massive, pressurized vat of glowing green gel] It can be. We have different 'viscosities.' For moods, you understand. The basic stuff is like a warm, heavy oil. Then there's the fizzers, the ones that tingle. The ones that warm, the ones that cool. The real art is the layering.
**Jax:** Layering. Like a cocktail.
**Keri:** Exactly. But for your entire body. It's a release, you know? All day, I'm juggling encrypted data packets, dodging tracer malware, my brain fried with corporate secrets. Coming home, having Sota just cover me in slime. It's like being rebooted. All that external static, all the expectations of the world, it just slides right off. You're just a shape, a sensation. You can't worry about your next data-heist when you're a shimmering, gooey statue.
**Jax:** And the appeal for you, Sota? You're the artist?
**Sota:** I'm the artist, the technician, and the appreciative audience. There's a trust there that's deeper than any data handshake. She gives me complete control, and my job is to create the perfect experience. Temperature, consistency, color, additives last week I did a bioluminescent batch with micro-poppers. She looked like a fallen nebula. It's the ultimate act of connection, y'know? Skin-to-skin is one thing, but sharing something this this primal and synthetic? It's better than any hardline handshake.
**Jax:** Any advice for the curious readers out there looking to lubricate their love life?
**Keri:** [Grinning] Start small. Don't go straight for the industrial-grade nano-slimes, unless you enjoy scraping your partner off the ceiling. And for god's sake, check the pH balance. Some of the cheaper synth-gels can well. Let's just say it's a mood-killer. Find your viscosity. Then get messy.