I've written numerous What Would You Do tribute stories, envisioning a spinoff where a wilder version of the show somehow finds its way to late night TV. This is the latest installment, the full version of which you can find on my Patreon (patreon.com/hooliham). I hope you'll consider becoming a patron today -- it's only $3/month!

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"Do you have any recommendations for fun things we can do tonight?"

Damien and his wife Alessandra Allie, for short had already been in Daytona Beach, Florida for the last several nights. The two 25-year-olds were on a 10-day honeymoon, fresh off tying the knot last week in their small town in Nebraska. When they wanted to pick a destination for their trip, they got a map, closed their eyes, and pointed to a spot, and lo and behold, they landed on this party town nestled on the Atlantic. They'd never seen the ocean before, so they were thrilled with their choice.

They had a simple life back home: he worked for an architecture firm, she in a high-powered, intense role as an analyst for an investment bank. They relished the chance to get away from all of that, to let loose for a while, and just spend quality time with each other.

But planning their wedding had taken so much out of them, Damien and Allie had no energy left to plan their honeymoon. So after a few days on the beach, hitting the city's best restaurants, tiki bars, and happy hours, and having as much sex as they could handle, they were out of ideas, which led them to approach a kind middle-aged man named Rory, who was holding court at the front desk of The Sandcastle, the luxury hotel they'd booked for this trip.

"What kinds of things are you guys into?" Rory asked.

"I dunnoooo," Damien said tentatively. He kissed Allie on the cheek sweetly. "We're newlyweds, so it definitely needs to be fun. Bonus points if it's something we can't do back home!"

"How about being in the audience for a TV show?" he replied.

Allie slapped the front desk with her palm. "Wait, seriously? We can do that here?"

"Absolutely," the gentleman said. "There's a studio just off the boardwalk, and I think they've got a taping tonight. I've heard lots of great things. Really fun, lots of surprises. I've been meaning to go myself, just haven't had the chance yet."

"Done!" Damien said. "How do we get in?"

"They do a lineup around 6," Rory said. "Just be at the Ocean Center around that time and they get you right in!"

Rory didn't even get a chance to tell them the name of the show; Allie and Damien were already halfway out the hotel's double doors. They were beaming. No TV shows worth a damn were shot in Nebraska. This was going to be awesome.

They killed time at the pool, hit a happy hour, came back to dress presentably in case they were on camera, and before they knew it, they were taking their seats for the taping.

The couple was thrown off by the gaudy colors, in awe at all of the studio equipment, and gobsmacked by all of the zany set pieces. A frickin' dunk tank set up on the stage? A set of roller coaster tracks leading straight into what looked like a giant fake pie turned on its side?

"Is this what all TV show tapings are like?" Allie asked Damien incredulously.

Before he could even try to answer, the show's theme song hit.

Wha-w-w-w-w-w-w-what would you? Wha-wha-what would you do?

A stagehand called for applause, and seemingly out of nowhere popped Marc Summers, skipping on stage like he hadn't lost a beat in 30 years.

"Welcome everyone, to another episode of What Would You Do, how are you today?"

Applause rings out from the mostly young adults comprising the audience, a little punchier today due to the lateness of the hour. Many of them seemed to have done exactly what Allie and Damien did: imbibed a few before checking out the show. It seemed like everyone in the audience was young, fit, and attractive. Damien looked around and felt a little intimidated, but also superior, as he knew he'd married the most beautiful woman in the room.

"We're the show that plays all kinds of wacky games, puts contestants in wild situations, just so we can ask them, 'What Would You Do?'"

"And today, we really are gonna challenge our contestants to figure out what they'll do, or how far they'll go, to win a magnificent prize. I'm looking for two volunteers; anyone want to help us out?"

Did someone say magnificent prize? So many hands shoot up. These people came to have fun at the beach, why not do that in front of viewers across the country? Stick a middle finger at 'em and say, "haha, this could've been you!"

Marc meandered around the stands, trying to find two gems among a sea of outstretched arms. "I'm looking for a couple of friends, maybeeeee a couple, like ahhhhh husband and wife"

He spots one man in particular with his hand not raised, but instead, pointing his index fingers straight down at himself and the woman seated next to him. It's Damien.

"You, sir, what's your name?"

"Damien."

Allie is seated immediately to his left, her hands covering her mouth, her head shaking incredulously. Is this really happening?!

"And who are you with?" Marc asks.

"This is my wife, Allie. We just got married last week and we're on our honeymoon!"

Jackpot, Marc thinks to himself. "Oh, that's fantastic. Would you two join me on stage, please?"

The audience applauds heartily as Damien pops to his feet. Allie is still seated, her hands still over her mouth, until finally she caves to the crowd's adoration and offers her right hand to Damien's outstretched arm. He takes it in his, and gently pulls her to her feet. Marc ushers them both down to center stage, where a large easel with squares marked 1 through 16 has been set up, alongside two whiteboards, each with one of their names on it, and what appears to be a very tall box with a sheet draped over it.

Damien and Allie are dressed like a power couple on vacation. Damien is a striking 5'11" with a square jaw and a build that is muscular yet somehow approachable. He's in pristine white Converse sneakers with black ankle socks, casual canary yellow shorts and a light blue seersucker button-down shirt. His medium-length dark brown hair looks bleached by the sun and sits like a nest atop his head. It's luscious and impeccably styled.

Allie is effortlessly radiant. She's 5'6" and her body, to put it frankly, is bangin'. She's in incredible shape from her rigorous five-times-per-week workout regimen, and works as a brand ambassador for a high-end athleisure brand in addition to her full-time job. She's in her off-duty outfit today: sand-colored Tory Burch platform sandals, cutoff jean shorts that flatter her long, powerful legs, and a sporty-looking light green halter top that shows off her toned arms and her luscious D-cup breasts, which are trying their hardest to burst out from the top, the cleft between them both in-your-face and oh-so-inviting. It's a sexy look, but she's the type that would look just as gorgeous in a t-shirt and sweatpants, beer in hand.

Tragically, today was the day when she decided to doll herself up, guessing correctly that she might be on camera. She ran her long, flowing brown hair through a curling iron to make it ever so slightly wavy, used her best mascara and eye shadow, and even curled her eyelashes for the occasion. As the cameras focused in on her, other audience members who just a second ago were hoping to get picked themselves conceded that she was the perfect contestant.

"So you're Damien and Allie," Marc says. "First of all, congratulations on your wedding, and thank you for spending part of your honeymoon with us! Where are you visiting from?"

"Right outside Omaha, Nebraska," Damien says. He's taking the lead since Allie is still speechless. Her right hand may be holding Damien's left, but she's still covering her mouth with her other hand. She's giggling in disbelief.

"Oh wow, so you've come a long way," Marc says. "Well, we want to make this a trip you'll remember forever, so we're gonna have you play a game today. And the good news is, you two have already won, so congratulations on that as well!"

Damien and Allie look at each other and smile. For doing absolutely nothing, they get to go home with a prize!

"Now Damien, do you have any hobbies? What do you like to do in your spare time?"

"Yeah, absolutely! I love to restore old cars and collect baseball memorabilia."

"And you, Allie? We haven't heard much from you yet. What kinds of things do you like to do?"

Allie finally removes her hand from her mouth. "I really love sketching and painting with some of my Kappa Delta sorority sisters from college!" She makes the Kappa Delta sign, raising her middle finger, index finger and thumb, on her right hand, and meeting the latter two with upward-facing index and middle fingers on her left, forming a delta symbol as they touch.

"Let me ask you another question," Marc says. "Which of you is the funnier person in this marriage?"

They look at each other, and point directly at themselves. As if proving their point, the audience laughs.

"Well," Marc says, "In that case, we're gonna settle this once and for all with a little game I'd like to play! Do you remember the game Hangman? You might've played it in class when you were younger."

They both nod yes.

"Our version of Hangman is pretty similar. In this game, you'll take turns. In each round, you'll have 15 seconds to make your soulmate laugh. You can say something, do something, sing, dance, whatever. But you only have 15 seconds to do it. And then we'll switch roles, and the other person will go.

"Your goal is to avoid your Hangman head, body, two arms, two legs from being completed. If you make your spouse laugh, you win that round, and we'll add a body part to their Hangman. And as a penalty for laughing, they have to pick a number off our penalty board over here." Marc gestures at the grid with the 16 envelopes.

"Whatever is inside the envelope you pick, they then have to do it. But if you truly, genuinely do not want to do what's in the envelope, then all you have to do is say so. But if you do that, the game is over, you lose, and your partner is going to have a decision to make."

"So like I said, if you can make your partner laugh, they have to pick an envelope. But if you can't, guess what happens then, Allie?" He holds the microphone up to her.

"I guess I have to pick an envelope?"

"That's exactly right!" Marc exclaims.

"So the game ends when the first Hangman is completed, or when one of you no longer wishes to continue, okay?"

After some serious hesitation, they nod to confirm their understanding of the rules.

"I mentioned you've already won. You probably want to know what the prizes are. Well, thanks to our wonderful sponsors, we're able to hook whoever wins up with a gift card for the hobby of their choice!

"Damien, if you win, we've got a $250 gift card for you courtesy of eBay Motors, so you can pursue more of the car restoration that you like!" The audience applauds heartily.

"And Allie, if you win, you get a $250 gift card, this one from Blick Art Materials!" Allie is thrilled. This wedding has taken a huge chunk out of her savings, and this could help with some new canvases she's had her eye on.

"This is all very exciting and probably overwhelming," Marc says. "Any questions?"

"What's in the envelopes?" Damien asks.

Marc guffaws. "Huh, well! I'm glad you asked, Damien! Take a look at our video monitors here to see what prizes we've got in store for you.

The screens in the studio all display a facsimile of the 4x4 grid. The audience groans, then starts to applaud, as they see that six of the squares have "Strip!" written inside them, and two have "Strip your opponent!" written inside them. Damien and Allie go bug-eyed.

Marc approaches Allie. "Allie, tell me, did you ever play any stripping games back in your sorority days?"

"Oh my god, n-n-no!" she stammers in fear.

Both newlyweds wonder just how far they're willing to go to claim bragging rights over their partner and a much-needed cash infusion for their hobby.

"But you'll notice that these are only half of the penalties on the board," Marc says. "Robin, could you show them what the rest of them are?"

In one dramatic swoop, Robin Marrella, Marc's longtime, trusted sidekick, flings the sheet off the very tall box to reveal that it's actually a baker's cart, and it's filled with multiple trays of large whipped cream pies. There's even one enormous, rectangular sheet cake on one of the trays, a severe penalty for one especially unlucky contestant. Allie and Damien know exactly what this means: the cost of losing even a single round is going to be very, very high, and most likely, they're both going home very messy, without their clothes, or both. They are no longer best friends, but sworn enemies.

The audience is going crazy. This show never disappoints with the losers' punishments.

Marc shouts over the audience's noise. "Any other questions?"

They tentatively nod no. Their hearts are beating through their chests. This was originally going to be a fun, carefree night out. Suddenly, there's so much more at stake.

"Alright, Allie, ladies first! Your 15 seconds starts now."

Allie's Turn #1
Marc puts the microphone to Allie's mouth. She doesn't need much to get him to crack.

"Dodgeball!" she yells. Damien busts out laughing.

A buzzer sounds to signal the end of the round. Robin draws a head on Damien's Hangman, while Marc steps over and puts his arms around Damien's shoulder.

"Damien, you're in trouble if you're gonna break that quickly! What's the story behind 'dodgeball?'"

"Well," Damien says, "We met playing in an adult dodgeball league. She was on another team and she actually hit me right in the nuts, so hard they had to stop the game. I was rolling around in pain, she came over and gave me the saddest puppy eyes I'd ever seen, apologized, and then pointed at me and said, 'You're out!' And it immediately broke the ice. Now we're married!"

The cameras cut back to Allie, and she's giving the very same puppy eyes right back at him. The audience cheers their painful meet-cute.

"Alright," Marc says. "Pick an envelope, 1 through 16!"

Damien winces as he makes his choice. "Four."

"Robin picks the envelope off the board, opens it, and reveals its contents to the camera.

STRIP!

Damien sighs. He takes a couple of seconds to compose himself, giving the audience ample time to reach a crescendo. He grabs the neckline of his seersucker shirt and raises it up over his head to raucous cheers, as he reveals his impeccably hairless body, his sculpted pecs, his muscular torso. The ladies in the crowd are fawning, jealous of Allie.

Damien's Turn #1
"Alright," Marc says. "You're up, Damien! Your 15 seconds start now!"

An introvert by nature, Damien is so stunned from having to strip on camera that he doesn't even hear Marc's cue. He wastes precious seconds before snapping back to reality, but without a strategy in place, he squanders the rest of his time. He makes a halfhearted attempt to make faces at her, but she is unmoved. The buzzer sounds to end Damien's time. Robin draws a body on Damien's Hangman.

"What was THAT?!" Marc exclaims. "Damien, that was just sad!"

"I guess I just blanked."

"Alright, well I'm gonna need a number, what's it gonna be?"

"Let's try lucky number seven."

Robin grabs the envelope and dramatically reveals its message.

PIE YOUR OPPONENT!

OHHHHH, the crowd jeers. A reversal of fortune! Allie's mouth drops wide open. She fully expected to see her husband lose some more clothes, or maybe get to throw a pie in his face, not to get one herself!

But alas, Robin selects a massive cream pie from the cart and delicately hands it to Damien's waiting hands. The pie looks super sloppy, piled high with extra whipped cream. Damien even has to dodge some of the excess cream that drops to the floor at his feet. He sticks his index finger in it and sneaks a taste.

"So Allie," Marc says sardonically, "Has Damien ever given you a cream pie before?"

"OH MY GOD, EWWW!"

"Something tells me I'm about to hear you say the exact same thing in about 5 seconds!"

Damien sizes up his wife with a devilish look on his face. He takes a couple of steps in her direction.

"Alright then! On the count of three, Damien, take away her pie virginity!"

The audience makes their presence heard.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

Allie takes a few tentative steps backward, her hands out in front of her to communicate how badly she doesn't want to get pied. She spent 20 minutes doing her makeup, and all that work is about to be erased in violent fashion.

"Sweetheart, no, ple"

PLOONK!

OHHHHH! The crowd yells in unison.

Allie's plea is replaced with a muffled scream as Damien nails her right between the eyes. Allie's body shudders, her shoulders scrunch, and her hands fly up toward her face. Her beautifully wavy hair flings backwards, acting as a curtain for the mess that misses her face. She's been baptized with a necklace of white whipped cream and red cherry filling across her collarbone.

Damien rubs the pie tin up and down Allie's face before sliding it into her hair, where it finally comes to rest. Allie's face is demolished, her makeup buried under mounds of pie crust, cherries, and cream, the last of which is already melting all over her body. Her vibrant green halter top is pristine no longer, stained white and red as pie remnants slide inside it. It feels so uncomfortable that she takes a second to scoop some out from between her breasts. She removes the mangled pie tin from atop her head and drops it to the floor, where it clatters loudly. Globs of mess splatter at her feet, some even landing on her toes, her pink toenails disappearing under the cream, the leather straps of her designer sandals smothered beyond repair.

Just one pie, and she's been absolutely wrecked.

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Read the rest, and see how messy both man and wife get, when you subscribe at patreon.com/hooliham Plus, get access to all of my other WWYD-themed stories!