"Hi, I'm a long-retired children's gameshow presenter, and this is The Messy Show! The show with messy games and even messier punishments."
I gulped when I heard the host say that to the studio audience. I hate getting messy! Why did I sign up for this stupid show? There's no time to reconsider as I'm ushered onstage with the other four contestants.
I can't tell if it's the bright lights or the eyes of the audience that make me sweat through my black shorts and tight-fitting orange tee, emblazoned with the show's garish logo.
"As always we have five fabulous femme constants, let's meet them now!"
The host shoves his microphone into my face. I instinctually start twirling my brown hair in my fingers. I always do that when I'm nervous.
"I'm Hazel."
"Nice to meet you Hazel. And you are?"
Next to me is a woman with long, pitch-black hair. They had given her a purple shirt.
"Name's Jett."
Jett's demeanor was cold, her voice chilling.
"Welcome, Jett. Moving on, what's your name?"
The host is now standing in front of a ginger woman in a red shirt.
"Scarlett, and I'm here to win!"
Scarlett is bouncing back and forth, ready to go. I guess the mess isn't of much concern to her.
"Woah there Scarlett, we still have to meet our other contestants!"
The host moves on to a woman in a yellow shirt with curly blonde hair. She seems pretty nervous. I'm glad I'm not alone.
"Please introduce yourself."
"I'm Sandra."
"Good luck today, Sandra. And last but not least we have..."
The woman on the opposite end of the stage is wearing a blue shirt and has a pixie cut, dyed cyan.
"Skye."
"A round of applause for our brave contestants!"
Brave? Now I've crossed over into worried. Despite this being the most popular show on Earth, I never watched it or learned anything about it through cultural osmosis. Surely it can't be that bad.

"I think these ladies have been clean long enough! Who's ready for our first game?"
The crowd cheers as stagehands haul out five clear barrels filled with translucent green slime. Thick cords descend from the ceiling.
"This game is kind of like bobbing for apples. Instead of water, we've got gunge, and you'll be hanging by your ankles the entire time."
What? Hanging by our ankles? Upside-down? Why?
I am led to a mat behind my barrel and instructed to lie down. I look at the other women as a stagehand secures me to my ankle harness. Jett is laying stock still. Scarlett stretches her arms out above her. Sandra watches nervously as she's strapped into her ankle harness. Skye is lying with her eyes closed, her breathing steady.
"Okay ladies, when I say 'go' you'll have sixty seconds to get as many apples as you can out of your barrels. Each apple has a point value written on it. And only the apples you grab with your teeth will count, any apples you grab with your hands will be subtracted from your score."
Without warning, we're yanked into the air. I let out an involuntary yelp but it's drowned out by Sandra's shriek. I try to gather my bearings but that's hard to do in such an unfamiliar position. My shirt is tight around my bust but loose enough around my lower torso that it rolls down and bares my midriff.
I try not to think about how vulnerable and exposed I feel as I stare down into the vat of green slime below me. I grab the rim and try to steady myself. I can barely make out the shapes of the apples in the bottom of the vat.
"Remember, whoever gets the fewest points is out of the game and has to endure a messy punishment. On your mark, get set, go!"
I brace myself and pull on the rim of my barrel. The slime swallows me whole. The warm goo has a consistency that reminds me of mucus, but less sticky. I push against the rim carefully so as to not bash my head into the bottom. When I feel I can't lower myself any further, I blindly reach for an apple with my jaw. All I get is a mouthful of the slime. It's vaguely sour but otherwise tasteless. I pull myself out of the goo and spit out the slime in my mouth. As I take a breath I feel my shirt cling to my skin, saturated with slime. Goo runs down my body and drips off my hair in globs.
The thud of an apple hitting the stage lets me know I'm falling behind. I need to avoid the punishment. This amount of mess is hard to handle, I can't imagine what a punishment mess would be like. I dunk myself back into my vat, getting to the bottom faster this time. I decide to feel around with my head to locate an apple, then try to turn and grab it with my mouth. It's hard to get a firm grip on it but I feel my teeth sink into the apple's flesh. I burst out of my barrel and jerk my head as I let go of the apple, making sure it lands on the stage and not back in my vat.
But I have to put myself back in my vat and go for another apple. I immerse myself in the goo again, too stressed to focus on any physical sensation except the apple I that bumped into my forehead. I manage to bite into this one quicker than the last and don't hesitate to get out of the goo. Again I make sure the apple clears the lip of the vat before I submit myself to another dunking. Just as I locate another apple with my head, I feel a sharp tug on my ankles. I'm lifted out of the vat, the slime making it difficult to keep my grip on the lip, and am soon out of arm's reach of it, dangling in the air.
"That's time! Let's count your points."
The host is on my end of the stage and scooped up my two apples.
"Looks like Hazel got 20 and 30 for a total of 50 points!"
Is that good? I don't know the point values of the apples in our vats, or even how many there are. And couldn't they just have been 2 and 3 points?
"We have a 10, a 10, and a 20 for Jett. That's 40 points, lower than Hazel, so maybe Jett will be facing our first punishment."
A wave of relief washes over me. I'm safe, at least for now. The relief quickly subsides as a glob of slime falls down onto my nostrils. I smear as much slime off my face as I can while the weirdness of my situation finally has time to set in. My hair, that I had washed this morning in preparation for my TV appearance, is now thick with green slime, dangling below me. The slime occasionally drips off it and back into my vat. Globs of goo slither down my body. My shirt is uncomfortably stuck to me everywhere except my belly. I try to pull the hem up to cover my midriff but it's too heavy and just falls back down.
On top of the physical sensations, I feel embarrassed. Embarrassed that a live studio audience is seeing me hanging here, sloppy and exposed, in an outfit that's both childish and revealing. Embarrassed that this is being taped for the most popular show on Earth (which, again, I know nothing about but signed up for anyway). The host's voice snaps my attention back to the game.
"Great job Skye! But the judges have asked me to show you this replay."
On the big screen we see a clip of Skye, out of her barrel and dripping with slime. She reaches for the apple in her mouth and grabs it to throw it onto the ground. They show two more clips of this, each time Skye is slimier and slimier. I look across the stage to Skye, a confused expression on her face.
"I clearly said that any apples you grab with your hands would be subtracted from your score."
"WHAT? That counts? I pulled it out of the gunk with just my teeth like everyone else!"
"Sorry, the judges' word is final."
Skye stares daggers at the host while the rest of us are lowered onto our mats and released from our harnesses. I nearly slip on the gooey mat as I stand up. The slime starts to drip down onto my bare legs for the first time.

"Skye, do you like ice cream?"
She remains silent. The host continues anyway.
"Because your punishment is to be turned into a human ice cream cone!"
The audience is intrigued. A stagehand appears with a leather pencil skirt and a matching belt. He tries to put it on Skye, still hanging from her ankle harness, but does not have the easiest time getting it past her slimy bust. She breaks her stillness to help get the skirt past her chest and up to her legs. The stagehand cinches the belt tight around her waist. The stiff leather manages to stay upright, covering Skye's legs past her knees.
"You're far too clean from the waist down, so we need to balance things out. This skirt will serve as the cone, ready to be filled with ice cream and toppings."
Skye's eyes widen. Maybe it finally sunk in that she had lost, even if it was an unfair call, and she'd be getting even messier. A stagehand moves Skye's slime vat out of the way and she is lowered so the bottom of her skirt is easily accessible.
Three stagehands emerge, each hugging a huge tub of ice cream. They start scooping chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream into Skye's skirt. Her eyes bug out when the first scoop of ice cream lands on her underside. The gym shorts they gave us are flimsy, I can't imagine they're offering much protection. The stagehands do not stop scooping until the mass of ice cream in their tubs comes loose, at which point they dump it all into her skirt. Each time this happens, Skye gasps. I don't know if it's the cold or the weight or the mess or the embarrassment.
After the ice cream, each stagehand returns with a large bottle of sauce: one chocolate syrup, one caramel, one strawberry syrup. They are unceremoniously squirted onto Skye's lower half. She has her arms crossed against her chest, seemingly for warmth. The stagehands return with even more toppings, this time chocolate sprinkles, rainbow sprinkles, and chopped nuts. These are dumped into Skye's skirt with as little fanfare as the syrups.
I mean, the audience is hooping and hollering the entire time, but the stagehands are treating it like just another task, with no regard for the poor girl they're humiliating. They return, with a can of whipped cream in each hand, and begin spraying them onto Skye's legs.
I catch a view of the screen, showing a camera angle of the mess from above. I can't imagine how I'd feel with an upskirt shot of me on national television, let alone all the mess!
One stagehand returns, gingerly holding a maraschino cherry by the stem. He releases it, falling on top of the gargantuan sundae that's barely contained within her leather skirt. It was retaining its shape, unluckily for Skye, keeping all the sweet stuff around her lower half.
"Can I come down now?"
"Well if we left you here you'd be in the way for the next game."
"Gre--AGH!"
Rather than let Skye down, she's hoisted even higher above the stage. Gently swaying high above the stage, Skye shivers helplessly, dislodging some green slime that was still stuck in her hair.
"We'll be right back with our second game on The Messy Show!"

I secretly hoped that there was only the one game and I could finally go home. I guess that was wishful thinking. Stagehands are busy setting up the next game. I try and fail to get their attention before blurting out,
"Excuse me, where do we get cleaned up before the next game?"
Scarlett chuckles at me as she wrings slime out of her tee.
"Girl, we don't get to clean up between games."
"What? Really?"
"How do you not know this? It's obvious when you watch the show," Jett adds, squeezing slime out of her hair.
"They were very clear about this during the interviews too," Sandra chimes in.
I don't have time to answer for myself since the host is being counted in.

"Welcome back to The Messy Show! Before the break, Skye lost our first game and became a human ice cream cone. How's the weather up there, Skye?"
"Cold."
I don't know how we can hear her, so far above us without a mic. The sundae is melting around her and has started to drip out of her skirt onto her bare belly, pooling against her bunched-up shirt.
"Well it's time for our second game! This game is just like musical chairs, but with pies. While the music plays, you'll be walking around these four chairs. When the music stops, you'll each take a seat in one of our pies!"
Eww! I think I jumped at the thought of sitting in a pie. The shorts they gave us feel flimsy and I'm wearing thong underwear to avoid visible panty lines.
"Each pie tin has a number on the bottom: 30, 20, 10, or a big fat goose egg. And to make things worse, whoever gets the zero also gets a pie to the face!"
Sandra rakes her fingers through her curls, then shakes the slime off her fingers. I realize I'm twirling my hair again. I get even more nervous when the stagehands emerge with the pies. These pies are massive. Comically large piles of bleach white cream that wobble as they're placed on the seats.
We're each led to stand in front of one of the chairs, each of which is facing a different direction.
"The music will start when I say 'go.' Whoever has the fewest points after four rounds has to face our messy punishment. On your mark, get set, go!"
I walk around the chairs, eyes affixed on the gigantic pies. Jett and Scarlett are hustling, basically jogging, and they each pass me. After what feels like minutes, the music finally stops. I turn to sit down, beginning to squat, but the fear of sitting in a the pie wins out. I stand straight up and feel my knees lock.
"Ladies, if you don't sit in a pie you can't score any points."
I am grateful that the host didn't call me out by name, but then I realize that Sandra also hasn't sat down. My fear of the punishment mess overtakes my fear of a pie to the bum, and I manage to lower myself onto it.
I feel my most sensitive area make contact with the peak of the pie. Instinctively, I pull away, but immediately force myself down, taking all my weight off my legs and onto my butt. The cream conforms to my body, perfectly wrapping my bottom. My weight presses some of the cream up, totally wrapping my cheeks and shooting up between my thighs. The gym shorts provide little protection and I feel cream everywhere. I squirm and feel the cream move with me, disgusting me further. I look up to try to find anything to focus on other than my messy bottom, and see the eyes of the crowd staring at me, laughing at my expense. I feel my face turn red, and the host mercifully approaches.
"Alright Hazel, let's see how many points you've won."
I stand, and the pie tin sticks to me. I twist to look at the bottom and see "10" written on it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see myself on the big screen, camera zoomed in on my butt. I pull the tin off and hold it up, next to my face, hoping the camera follows.
"Ten points, not looking good for Hazel, but at least she dodges a pie to the face! Jett, let's see how you did."
I gulp. Ten is pretty bad, I hope I get more next round. As I stand I feel the cream shift down my thighs. A glob of it breaks free and falls to the ground, but most of it is sticking to me.
"Scarlett has the twenty point pie, which means..."
Sandra is the only person left sitting. Her face is buried in her hands. The crowd's laughter is impossible to ignore.
"Come on, show us that zero!"
She shakes her head, sending bits of slime flying off to either side of her. The host gently reaches out and touches her arm. She pulls her hands away from her face and stands up to face the music. A camera zooms in on her creamy butt, pie tin still intact, with a big red 0 on the bottom.
"Zero points and a pie in the face, coming right up!"
A stagehand hands one of the gigantic pies to the host.
"Take it like a woman, Sandra."
Sandra stands still, stiff as a board, eyes still shut. She seems to be using every muscle in her face to close her eyes as tight as possible. The host shoves his pie into her face in one swift motion. The cream presses out of the tin, causing some to fall onto her chest and some to sploosh up into her hair. On impact, Sandra bends her arms and clenches her fists, pressing them into her shoulders. She looks ridiculous in a slimy, ill-fitting tee with a cream pie on either end of her. She pulls her face pie away with both hands, throwing it to the floor. Her mouth opens wide for air, but most of the cream is stuck to her face, now just a glob of white. She pulls a fistful of it off her nose, freeing her nostrils, before digging her eyes out of the mess. She tries to shake the cream off her hands but is only partially successful.
"Now it's time for round two! On your mark, get set, go!"
Sandra and I are stunned. I didn't even notice the stagehands resetting the chairs with new pies. Jett and Scarlett pass me again. I start to walk and feel the cream rubbing between my thighs. It's less irritating than I had anticipated, almost smooth.
The music stops abruptly and I make myself sit, no need to get goaded on by the host this round. Again the pie presses back up into me. The feeling of the cream cradling me is still just so weird, there's no other word for it. The cream is hugging my thighs, almost reaching the small of my back. I'm definitely messier but the sensation is more odd than messy.
"This round we're starting with Sandra. Show us that tin!"
She rises and anxiously pulls the tin off her butt. A massive sigh escapes her body when she sees the number.
"Thirty, right back in there! Scarlett, let's see what you got."
Scarlett sprung up from her seat and pulls her pie tin to where she could see it in a fluid motion.
"Ten points! Better than a pie to the face, huh."
"Absolutely!"
Oh no. Either Jett got the zero, or I did. I really don't want a pie to the face. I want to score points so I can avoid the punishment! I look up to see that Jett had already stood up and removed her tin.
"Sorry Jett, looks like you got unlucky this round. Before your pie, let's just check Hazel's score."
I stood and got the tin off me as fast as I could. I didn't want the camera to be focused on my butt.
"Twenty! But before the next round, I have something here for Jett. Ready?"
Jett nods. She stands with her hands behind her back, like she needs them to be far away from her face to not swat the pie away. The host pushes the pie into her face, giving it a twist before letting go. The white cream is a stark contrast to her hair. Jett's hands jerk upward when the pie first hit her, but she lets the tin stay for a moment before removing it. She puts a hand above each of her eyes and tries to wipe the cream off in one big swoop before opening her mouth. Her head is still very creamy and she pushed a mound of cream onto her chest. At least she can open her eyes and mouth now. I catch a glimpse of the stagehands leaving as the host speaks again.
"Round three. On your mark, get set, go!"
Jett took a second before breaking into her usual jog. I decide to try and keep up with her and Scarlett this round. I don't know if it's the jogging stride or just the second pie, but I definitely feel more cream between my thighs. I manage to pass Sandra before the music stops and I slam myself onto one of the pies before I can hesitate.
I was perhaps too zealous, sending specks of cream up my torso and even a few onto my head. I squirm and the remnants of the pie below me remind me of its presence.
"Jett, show us your score."
Her hands were already on the tin, pulling it away from her as she rose to her feet.
"Thirty points, skyrocketing into the lead! Hazel, you're up."
I try to follow her lead and get the tin off me as I stand, but I end up dragging it across my side and smearing cream on my flank. I don't have time to look at the score before the host reads it out.
"Zero! Hazel, brace yourself for a pie in the face while we check the rest of the scores."
No, he must be joking. I look down at the tin and see a big red zero. This can't be happening. I look out at the audience, most of them are watching Scarlett remove a pie tin from her ass but plenty of eyes linger on me, watching my nerves overwhelm me. I see the stagehand walk in, holding a pie, its cream wobbling with every step. He hands it to the host. I feel my fingers twirling my hair.
"Ready, Hazel?"
I'm shaking my head nervously.
"We can't wait all day."
Some audience members chuckle. I think some of them could watch me squirm forever. The host gently touches the arm I'm twirling my hair with. I slow my breathing to a reasonable pace and lower my hands.
"Pie incoming in three, two, one."
I close my eyes as he counts down. Why am I standing here? I take a deep breath and hold it as my world goes dark. The cream engulfs my senses, muffling the otherwise deafening jeers of the audience. The sensation of the cream on my skin and hair feels so different from the cream on my legs, still weird but almost tingly. The scent isn't sweet, almost sterile. As quickly as I can, I remove the tin from my face. I claw the cream away from my nose and mouth, trying to keep my breathing slow and steady. I dig my eyes free from the cream and the audience's focus slams into me all at once. Unlike the last game, I know they're all looking at me. I know they're all laughing at me. I hang my head as my knees buckle. I feel the cream hanging off my chin press into my neck. A glob of it falls onto my chest, over my heart. I go to twirl my hair but just get cream. I'm hoping my face is obscured enough to hide my embarrassment.
"Okay, it's time for our final round, so let's up the stakes a bit. It's still anybody's game, since the pies are valued at 10, 25, 50, and the dreaded double zero!"
I cannot bring myself to even think about what the double zero means. The music starts and I start walking. The steady rhythm jostles some cream off my face, falling onto my chest. I know the cream is mostly just on my face and ass but I'm surprised it can find new places on my body. The music stops and I flop down onto the nearest seat. Turns out I can, somehow, be creamier. I try to recall our scores to get my mind off the mess. I think I'm in last and I need a lot of points to avoid losing. I'm really not sure though, my mind has been all over the place. The mess is a hell of a distraction.
"Sandra, we're starting with you this time, show us that pie!"
She stands up and removes the tin from her butt. When she sees her score she jumps in excitement, shaking loose some of the cream stuck to her.
"The big five-oh! Sandra, you will be moving on to the next game, congrats! Hazel, let's see your score."
I manage to remove the tin as I stand without smearing cream across my side. As much as I don't want the camera on my cream covered face, I don't want any gratuitous shots of my ass either. I realize the number is upside-down and spin it for the camera.
"Twenty-five! Not bad, Hazel. Scarlett, you're up."
I think I'm safe from the punishment. At the very least, I'm done with these pies. I take a moment while the attention's off me to compose myself. I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and feel where I want to clean myself off. I claw some more cream away from my mouth and nose before I bring my attention back to the game.
"Scarlett, how's it feel to stay clean this game?"
She looks down at the cream coating her butt and thighs.
"You think this is clean?"
The audience chuckles, with us instead of at us for once.
"Jett, you know what that means, show us the double zero!"
Jett lets out a sigh before standing, holding up her tin next to her face. It shows a big, red '00'. She drops it to the ground as a stagehand comes out with a pie in each hand. He hands one to the host, takes the microphone, then hands over the other pie. The stagehand holds the mic in the host's face.
"Ready, Jett?"
She spreads her arms wide and makes a beckoning gesture with her hands. The host steps towards her and she closes her eyes after drawing a deep breath. The host claps his hands together on either side of Jett's face, sandwiching her between the massive pies. It's like a cartoon character attacking someone with cymbals.
On impact, she closes her arms, resting her fists atop her shoulders. Cream sloughs out where her face should be, a huge amount falling onto her top but the vast majority of the cream buries her entire head. Jett reaches up to remove the tins, knocking them off of her. The clang of the tins hitting the stage are drowned out by the raucous crowd. I think I make out her jaw opening but it doesn't clear any room for her mouth. She puts her hands below her nose, cutting through the wall of cream, and pushes down so she can breathe. The cream has nowhere to go but down to her chest, where globs manage to fall off the fullest part of her bust. She does another push to free her eyes, grimacing as she shunts even more cream down onto her body. Her hair is totally ruined from the massive amounts of cream applied to this sides of her head.
"Let's see our final scores. In first place is Sandra with 100 points! In second with 60 points is Jett!"
Wait, Jett got second? With two zeroes? Maybe I had lost.
"And, in last place, with 50 points, out of the game, and facing our next punishment, is... Scarlett!"
I throw my head back and smile for the first time since the show started. I hear Scarlett stomp her foot against the stage.
"You don't seem happy, Scarlett."
"I really thought I'd win if I got past the pure luck game."
"Well, since you've studied the show, I'm sure you'll be thrilled to find out that your punishment is at the hands of The Messycutioner!"
That sounds bad but Scarlett doesn't seem too bothered by it.
"Let me guess, I'm going to The Pie Guillotine? I can handle that!"
"Let's see. Release The Messycutioner!"

A section of the floor opens up, smoke flooding out, as the stage goes dark. Flashing lights reveal a hooded figure, rising up on a platform, filling the opening. A spotlight shines directly down on a large wooden chair adorned with leather straps.
"Scarlett, you are the first person to be sentenced to The Chair!"
Scarlett looks nervous for the first time today. The hooded figure approaches and picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder. He carries her across the stage, puts her down in The Chair, and starts securing a leather strap across her waist. The residual slime from Scarlett's shirt is barely visible on his dark robes. He straps down her arms at the wrists and just below the elbows before moving onto her legs. Scarlett doesn't put up any resistance. She watches The Messycutioner intently as he continues to restrain her, tightening the leather across her solar plexus. He moves onto this final strap, making sure her hair remains accessible as he secures her neck to the chair.
"Comfy, Scarlett?"
"This is so much better than the economy seat I flew here in."
Once again, Scarlett has turned the audience to her side.
"We'll see how you're feeling after The Messycutioner's done his job. He told me he watched musical pies, and it made him want some dessert. But he's more of a cake person."
The hooded figure springs into view, wielding a massive sheet cake in both arms. I don't think Scarlett sees him before he slams the cake into her face and chest. He removes the cardboard tray, revealing the chunks of yellow cake and green icing stuck all over her face and upper body. Scarlett opens her mouth wide in shock.
"The Messycutioner told me he made that cake himself! In fact, he has some batter and icing left over."
He reappears behind The Chair, holding a metal bowl sized for an industrial kitchen. The Messycutioner hoists it over Scarlett's head and pours its contents onto her. A stream of cake batter hits the crown of her head and pools as much as it can before spilling down her hair and onto her cakey face. Scarlett closes her mouth to keep the liquid out. The stream is slow but steady, and the batter makes it past her head, cascading down onto her chest and shoulders, dislodging bits of cake. The stream slows to a trickle as the batter begins to pool in her lap, still creamy from the pies.
The Messycutioner quickly swaps to another bowl and reaches in with his gloved hand. He pulls out a fistful of icing and rubs it onto her left arm, which was still clean. He smears it up and down, leaving no skin exposed, before moving on to her right arm. Once he's done there, The Messycutioner scoops icing onto Scarlett's legs, above the knees. She gasps as the icing contacts the top of her thighs and is smeared down her shins, leaving no patch of skin clean.
The crowd is besides themselves, seeing Scarlett covered in cake and icing. I'm in shock, I've never seen someone so messy. The lights come up throughout the studio as the host addresses the cakey contestant.
"How're you feeling now, Scarlett?"
"Sticky."
"Enjoy your time in The Chair?"
"I'm just glad it's over."
"Over? The Messycutioner has some leftover ingredients too!"
"REALLY?"
The crowd roars as the lights dim again, save a spotlight focused on The Chair. The hooded man appears in front of Scarlett, holding open a huge bag of sugar. He hurls its contents towards the restrained woman, sending a wave of white crashing onto her front and lap. She seems to have been caught off guard, spitting out the sugar to clear her mouth.
Before Scarlett catches her breath, The Messycutioner pops up behind The Chair, holding a gallon of milk in each hand. He dumps them over her, swishing them back and forth between her head and shoulders, ensuring dairy gets everywhere.
After a brief reprieve, The Messycutioner hoists another industrial bowl over the poor girl. He tips it, slowly, and several egg yolks spill out, crashing onto Scarlett. He keeps the flow of eggs steady but the yolks fall irregularly. Some manage to cascade all the way down her without breaking, while others get caught in her hair or a chunk of cake and break apart. Once the last of the egg whites have dripped out, Scarlett looks messier than ever, a glossy sheen of eggstuff coating the substantial mess below.
After giving the audience a moment to appreciate his work, The Messycutioner holds a half stick of soft butter in front of Scarlett's face. She can't see anything, obviously, so she's surprised when he pulls the neckline of her shirt away from her body, revealing a sliver of clean skin. He drops the butter onto her chest and the sodden shirt snaps back into place.
"What're you doing? HEY!"
The big screens show the rear waistband of her shorts, being pulled away by a gloved hand, before another half stick is dropped inside.
Scarlett is squirming against her restraints, clearly feeling violated. The Messycutioner does not care, and presses two sticks of butter into her hair, massaging it in with the rest of the mess. I hear her whimpering as her auburn locks are transformed into a matted, tangled wreck.
The Messycutioner disappears before returning with a gigantic bag of flour. He shakes it vigorously, raining glutenous powder over every inch of his helpless target. Scarlett coughs as the dust settles, unrecognizable beneath a bakery's worth of cake components.
The audience is in stitches. I can't imagine they've ever seen anything like this before. I sure haven't. I feel bad for Scarlett, but part of me is glad it's not me in The Chair.
"We need to clear the stage, let's send The Chair back into the oven!"
The now sloppy platform descends into the floor. It stops, and the stage slides closed over it, enclosing Scarlett and The Chair. The big screens give us a view inside. Neon lights resembling the heating element of an oven turn on above Scarlett, bathing the blob of a woman in red light.
"Stay tuned for more of The Messy Show after this word from our sponsors."

"Enjoy the show?" Jett quipped, snapping my attention to her. She's managed to scrape most of the cream off of her, leaving a pile on the floor. Sandra has done the same. Their hair is still soaked with cream, and there's remnants of the pie speckled all over them, but they've gotten the worst of it off.
I have not. I guess I had been enjoying the show, so rapt by Scarlett's spectacle that I neglected to prepare myself for whatever's next.
"So you really don't watch this show?" Sandra asked me as I start to scrape cream off my head.
"Uh, no."
"Really? Why'd you sign up then?"
"To be completely honest, I'm not really sure. You seem to hate the mess though, why did you sign up if you knew it'd be like this?"
"I wanted to prove to myself that I'm over my mysophobia. To prove to everyone that I'm brave and I'm tough and I can do anything." Sandra recited this as if it were a mantra.
I pulled as much cream as I could out of my hair before I heard the host again. I guess my bottom is staying creamy.

"We're back with The Messy Show! Scarlett lost our last game, and had a run-in with The Messycutioner. How are you doing in there, Scarlett?"
The screens show us a chair with a humanoid pile of cake strapped to it, all under a red neon glow.
"BAD!" Scarlet yells between shuddered breaths. Is she crying? The host pays no mind to her sorry state.
"And Skye, still hanging in there?"
Our focus is drawn above this stage, where Skye still hangs. The sundae in her skirt has only melted further, causing more leaks at her waistband. The ice cream and syrups have dribbled down her belly, dripping off her bust and running out of her neckline onto her face.
"I guess."
"We have an even messier punishment in store for the loser of our next game. Time to find out who that will be!"
I can't imagine anything messier than what those two went through, but at this point I'm sure the freaks behind this show have something awful in store.
"We have everything at The Messy Show, from soup to nuts! Unfortunately we also have a plumbing problem, and, ladies, and you're gonna help us fix it. Each of you has a toilet down here, and we need you to fetch some nuts so the plumbers can tighten up whatever's leaking once they get here," the host explains. "You'll climb up to one of those platforms and grab as many nuts as you can, then slide down into whatever's waiting for you at the bottom and deposit them into your toilet."
I look up at the three slides. They're full tubes, not open-air slides like the one in my backyard as a kid, and they're see-through. The platforms at the top are all the same height, about one story up. The bottoms of the slides, however, are all different.
"Each platform has a different way of climbing up to it, and a different substance to splash down in. The hardest climb is a rock wall, and that lands you in clean water."
The 'water' looks clean enough but it's dyed blue, kinda like the liquid in tampon commercials.
"The medium climb is a cargo net, and that will land you in our patented super slime! Soup-er, super, get it? You know it, you love it, it's slippery and sticky, runny and thick, all at the same time! And our contestants have told us it's a nightmare to clean off."
The slime is neon green, more opaque than the slime from the first game, and has an almost radioactive glow.
"The easiest climb is just some stairs, with handrails no less! But you'll have to splash down into this revolting mix of leftover soups, slated to be thrown out, collected from every restaurant in the city throughout the week."
The spoiled soup reeks. No way am I going anywhere near that stuff. It's a clear brownish color with all manner of vegetable and meat chunks floating throughout it.
"Whoever has the fewest nuts in their toilet at the end of two minutes will have to face our worst punishment yet. And no stealing from your competitors' toilets. On your mark, get set, go!"
I run around the stage to back of the platforms, where the climbing paths are. Jett just barely beat me there and started on the rock wall. No way am I going anywhere near that soup, and I can't exactly wait for Jett, so I start on the cargo net. I hear Sandra make her way up the stairs as I climb up to the platform. At the top, I reach into the bowl of metal nuts but have to stop and think about how I can take as many as possible down the slide with me. I yank on the bowl but it's affixed to the platform. The shorts they gave us don't have pockets. Is two fistfuls gonna be enough?
My thoughts are broken by the sound of a splash, followed by a huge reaction from the crowd. I guess Sandra's in the soup.
I force myself to focus on the task at hand. I pull the hem of my shirt away from my belly with one hand and start scooping nuts into it with the other. Once they start spilling out I carefully walk over to the slide and lower myself to the ground. I do drop a few nuts but that's bound to happen. The tube is too narrow for me to sit up, so I have to lay down. I scoot myself forward until I start sliding down towards the pond. The cream still on my butt from last game makes me slippery and I pick up speed, nuts flying out of my grasp. I press my heels into the slide but don't manage to slow down all that much before being launched into the basin.
The slide ends above the surface of the slime, so at my speed I sail more than halfway across. I plow across the surface, slime clinging to my bare legs while splashing some up into the air, raining down all over me. My butt makes first contact with the bottom, quickly followed by my legs and back. It's less than a foot deep, so I can keep my head above the surface, but the rest of my body is totally submerged. The sensation is unreal. It's like a hug but all over, if hugs were wet and gloopy.
I look down at my nuts. A lot were lost on the ride down. I stand up, careful not to drop any more as strings of slime form between my body and the surface of the basin. I exit and walk across the stage, careful not to slip on the goop I'm coated in. I lift the lid and the seat, boy style, and dump the nuts from my makeshift shirt pouch. I turn around and run back toward the platforms. Jett is ruining towards me, dripping wet, a huge jagged lump in the front of her shorts. After I pass the basins, I hear another splash. That must be Sandra again. I wonder which basin she's scrambling out of as I reach this climbing paths again. All of them are available to me, I might as well go for the cleanest route. I don't get bonus points for getting messy.
The rock climb is definitely harder than the cargo net, especially now that I'm all slimy. It really is both sticky and slippery, clinging to me everywhere but making it hard to find steady footing. While I'm climbing I hear someone run up the stairs. I can't turn to look, the slime climb demands my full attention. I make it to the top and rush to the nuts. This bowl is less filled than the last one, I guess Jett took a lot. I hold out my shirt and start scooping out metal nuts until I can't hold anymore. I am more careful when I lower myself into the slide, dropping fewer nuts, and push myself until I start sliding. The slime is not as good a lubricant as the cream, even though it was so slippery on the climb up.
I don't have as much hang time when I'm dumped into the water. My entry creates quite a splash, even getting my hair wet and dislodging a bit of the super slime. It doesn't dissolve in the water though, and almost all of it is still hanging on to me.
I stand up and get to my toilet, careful not to lose any more nuts. After I dump them into the toilet, I run back towards the platforms. I see Sandra land in the soup as I pass by, and I get a whiff of aerated discarded soup stink. I can't believe she's opted to get covered in that stuff. Once I'm back behind the platforms, I go for the cargo net. I'd prefer to take a dip in the water but I don't think there's enough time for me to scramble up the rock wall. The slime isn't as big a problem on the ropes as it was on the faux rock. While scooping nuts into my shirt, I hear the crowd start to count down.
"Five! Four!"
I don't think I can make it in time but I have to try. I dart into the tube and hope the slime on my body mixes with the cream I streaked down the slide and launches me all the way across the set.
Of course that doesn't happen. I shoot into the slime, spraying it all over and end up with just my head above the surface like last time. Before I manage to stand up, I hear the host's voice boom from the speaker system.
"That's time! Ladies, join me at the front of the stage while our scorekeepers do their jobs."
Ugh. I got in the stupid slime for nothing. As I rise to my feet I feel it try to pull me back, thick strings of ooze connecting me to the surface. I feel the tug on my skin, on my clothes, even the tips of my hair.
Stagehands emerge and start taking nuts out of our toilets, one by one.
"Jett, you had a real interesting strategy, let's look at a replay."
On the big screens we see Jett at one of the bowls, holding her waistband open and dropping nuts inside. It cuts to two side-by-side shots of her emerging from one of the tubes and landing in the water, creating a huge wave and totally soaking her to the bone. It cuts to a view of her toilet, her hand reaching down into her panties and pulling out a handful of nuts.
"Jett you look so comfortable having nuts down there."
"I wasn't. It seemed like the only way to get a lot of them down the slide without losing any."
"We'll see if it paid off! Sandra, let's see your highlights."
The video shows Sandra landing in the soup basin, then cuts to the same shot of her the second time she took a dip in this soup, and the third time, and the fourth time. Now she has bits of vegetables stuck in her hair and stock dripping from her clothes.
"You were afraid of the pies in our last game, I don't think any of us expected you to go for the worst mess here!"
"I wasn't afraid, I was just anxious. The soup does stink, but I'm brave and I'm tough and I can do anything. I want to win and figured I could make more trips if I took the easy route, even if it meant getting messy."
"Getting messy is never a bad strategy on The Messy Show! Now for Hazel's replay."
The big screens show me leaving behind a creamy streak on the slide as I splash down into the super slime. It cuts to a shot of me on the rock wall, slimy butt sticking out, as I slip and lose some progress. Finally we see me slamming down into the slime after time ran out.
"What was your strategy, Hazel?"
"Oh, umm, I didn't really have one. I just wanted to avoid the soup."
"How's the super slime feel?"
"It's not gross but the texture is so alien that it's unpleasant. I can't wait to get it off me."
"Good luck with that!"
A stagehand walks up to the host and hands him a note card.
"Our scores are in! Hazel, you managed to get 41 nuts!"
Wow, that feels like a lot. The other girls had plans but I'm sure I did well enough to make it to the next round.
"Sandra, you dropped off 52 nuts! The soup strategy worked!"
She beams a big smile for the first time today, covered in spoiled soup, messy from head to toe.
"Jett, if you managed to stuff at 42 nuts into your improvised sack, you'll be moving on to the final with Sandra. Otherwise, you're in for our messiest punishment yet."
The host is really fishing for a dramatic TV moment but Jett remains stone faced.
"Your score... is 54! You're moving on to the final round!"
Fuck. No. No no no no nonononono. This CAN'T be happening. The only outcome worse than this would be playing all the messy games and losing the finals, getting as messy as possible for nothing.
"Which means Hazel has to endure our worst punishment so far!"
The other punishments were brutal but at least they weren't disgusting. Cake and ice cream? I could handle that. What could they have in store for me? Shower me in honey and roll me around in chopped nuts? Put me in a huge glass and build a human-sized parfait? My mind races with possibilities as I'm led to the back of the stage.

A stagehand hands me a pair of orange swimming goggles, like the color my shirt was at the start of the show.
"Put these on and stand on the grate. And I didn't tell ya this, but it's just the slime."
I don't have time to respond as a clear pipe, like the slides we just raced down, is lowered around me.
"Hazel, the plumbers have arrived and are using your nuts get everything fixed up. But we've been backed up for a while, and you're in the drainage chute."
What the fuck? They're gonna cover me in sewage? Is that safe? Is that even legal?
"We couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. Ready in there, Hazel?"
"What? No! You have to be joking, this can't be-- BLEGH!"
I'm cut off by a flushing sound and the start of my punishment. I gag as I feel a wet thud on the top of my head and a putrid odor flood my nostrils. Crud crashes down onto my hair, shoulders, chest, and ass. I cover my face with my hands to shield it from the sewage and to hide how sick and embarrassed I feel, unfortunately catching some mess in the process. Sludge seeps into my hair and streams down me, flowing onto my shoulders, running down my back, dripping off my boobs and ass, sticking to my sides. I don't think I've ever smelled anything worse in my entire life. Sewage pools at my feet, climbing up past my ankles.
It feels like minutes have passed when the flow finally stops. I uncover my face and feel bits of more solid mush stuck in my hair. I open my eyes and see rivulets of sickly green and putrid brown crawling down my body. I'm still gathering my senses when I hear the flushing sound again.
Another squishy mass smashes down onto me. My gut reaction to being showered in sewage is still to vomit, but I fight that back. The deluge manages to drip down onto my face before my hands shield it from further mess. I truly smell like a latrine. The stench and the sensations of slop running all down me combine for an overwhelming physical experience that I can't handle. I feel my shoulders tense and my knees lock as the assault on my senses continues. What feels like a tube of mush lands on the back of my neck and slowly slides down my back. I'm shaking uncontrollably. At the bottom of the tube the crap climbs my calves. Why am I standing in a sewer drain?
The deluge mercifully stops after who knows how long. I wait before un-shielding my face, not wanting to get another surprise shower. I feel the sewage all over my body. It's weirdly slippery yet sticky, somehow runny yet thick... Wait, what did that stagehand say? Is this just the super slime? The super slime didn't smell like shit and didn't have chunks in it but they both feel like nothing else I've ever touched before.
I finally build up this confidence to show my face to the world, newly baptized by sewage slime. I hear the audience laughing and I want to melt into the ground. So many people are laughing at me getting covered in shit. Some people in the crowd look horrified, repulsed just by watching what I went through. Cameras capture my humiliation from every angle. Are my coworkers gonna see this? Is my family gonna see this? When I'm at job interviews, are people gonna recognize me? When I go on dates, will I be seen all polished and put-together or will they think back to me in this shitty state? The host's voice breaks me out of my spiraling thoughts.
"Hazel, how do you feel?"
"Awful! Just awful!"
There's no other word for it. Disgusting, humiliated, overwhelmed, all true but none of them come close.
"Think the soup would have been worse?"
"No, what kind of ques--aaah!"
I shriek as I hear the flushing noise again, but instead of more slime coming down on me, the pool I'm standing in empties down through the grate, leaving behind the brown solid bits.
"Seems the drainage chute is still getting backed up sometimes, sorry about that. The plumbers said they won't have everything fixed until the end of the show."
The end of the show? There's more?! It's not enough for them to cover me in shit slime TWICE? I don't think I can stomach the foul smell for that long.
"We'll be back with the final game of The Messy Show, don't go anywhere!"
As they go to commercial, I see myself on the big screen, brown and green slime all over me, lumps of crap stuck to my hair. I go to pick one out but it tugs uncomfortably on my hair. It's squishy and I have to shake it off my fingers. I wipe my face clean of the slime that found its way there. It takes a bit of force to get off. It drips off my fingertips in slow-moving drops and creates stringy webs between my fingers. While I'm not happy that my punishment is so revolting, at least I'm not restrained like the other girls. Just trapped in a narrow tube. That fills with fake sewage that smells like real sewage. What the fuck am I doing? How did I end up here?
"We're back with the final game of The Messy Show. Before the break, Hazel found herself in a plumbing pickle. How's the sewage?"
"Revolting. Did you really need to make it sm--AGH!"
I didn't hear the flushing noise this time until it was too late. The sewer slime rains down all over me, including my face this time. The physical sensation of being sticky all over is so unpleasant, but the odor is what makes this so hard to manage. I cough continually until the slime stops. I try to scrape as much as I can off my face but it clings to my hair and eyebrows. Ugh.

I notice the final game started during my sliming. Jett and Sandra are sitting at a poker table, each with a pile of chips in front of them. In front of the dealer are two of the pies from earlier. He stands, picks them up, and smashes them onto either side of Sandra's head, like he had done to Jett earlier. While she tries to dig her face out of the cream, Jett slides some of her chips across the table to Sandra's sizable stack.
Stagehands bring out a sheet cake and two bowls, like The Messycutioner had used in Scarlett's punishment. After some back and forth between the finalists, the cloaked man reappears behind Jett and smashes the sheet cake into her face and chest. Knowing what's coming next, she stays put as the Messycutioner pours cake batter on her head, slowly creeping its way down her torso and pooling in her lap. She holds her arms out so he can cover them with his icing, before standing so he can ice her thighs, calves and shins. She sits, seemingly unbothered by being covered in cake, as Sandra pushes a huge amount of her chips across the table.
FLUSH
I think I've accepted my fate at this point. I pinch my nose to suppress the smell and let the sewage slime slam onto me. The sludge slithers down me, somehow finding still clean spots of skin to sully. This one goes on for a long time, the pipe filling up to my knees before relenting. I try to clean my face but the super sewage slime does not want to come off. After doing my best and trying to flick the slime off my fingers, I see Sandra entering a clawfoot bathtub on the stage. The host turns the faucet and neon green super slime comes gurgling out, splashing onto Sandra. She squirms slightly as the slime slowly fills the tub, enveloping her until only her head and arms remain above the surface. She grasps the rim of the tub to get up, losing her footing for a second. The slime sticks all over her, strands of it tugging on her clothes. Once she steps out of the tub she tries to smear some of it off herself, to no avail.
Sandra returns to the poker table where a tub of ice cream, a bottle of caramel sauce, a shaker of sprinkles, and a can of whipped cream sit in front of the host. Jett and Sandra haggle until Jett stands up and pulls at the waistband of her shorts. The host begins scooping ice cream into the opening. Jett reacts to a mess for the first time all day, pulling her hips back as the first scoop of ice cream disappears into her clothes. The host keeps going, emptying half the tub before stopping. She pulls at the back and he scoops the rest onto her butt. At this point Jett's eyes are bugging out of her head. I think the cold was more than she expected. The host moves on to the caramel sauce which does not get a reaction from Jett. He empties this second bottle in the front and then shakes out half the sprinkles before moving back to her rear. The sprinkles fall into her shorts and the host has some whipped cream join them. He finishes the cream in the front of her shorts and returns to the table. Jett is still holding the waistband of her shorts, now obviously full of sticky sweetness that's begun to dribble down her legs. She sits and a grimace flashes across her face as more of the mess squishes out.
In front of the host is a builder's bucket full of the horrid stuff I'm covered in.
FLUSH
I let out a sigh as another wave of sewage slime hits my head. This time is the shortest yet, barely raising the level at the bottom of the tube. I felt a lot of solids this time. I go through the motions of trying to clear my face and look back at the game. Sandra is vigorously shaking her head, clearly grossed out by the sewage slime. Jett, her eyes shut, lips rolled into her mouth, nods weakly. She's led back towards my pipe and given a purple pair of goggles. The host tips the bucket over her. The moment the sludge contacts her hair, she folds over coughing. He stops, leaving a streak of brown and green reaching from the top of her head down to the small of her back. He points back to the table where Sandra's sitting. She's smiling anxiously, leaning towards Jett. Jett forces herself to stand, locking her knees. The host starts pouring again, moving the stream from her head to her shoulders, getting the sewage slime all over her. A tube of solid brown falls onto her head, sticking to her hair. When the pour slows to a trickle, Jett is covered in the horrid slop. It saturates her hair, globs down her face, drips off her chest and bottom, and runs down her legs. When it the host lowers his bucket, Jett immediately begins coughing again. Confetti bursts from the rafters, sticking to the sewage slime all over her. A stagehand runs out with an oversized cheque, and she takes a hold of it after regaining her composure. Jett seems to enjoy her moment of glory, despite the messes completely coating her.
The host goes back to the poker table to address Sandra. A stagehand appears behind her with a green hazmat suit, holding it open for her to step into. He helps her zip it tight, leaving only her face exposed to the outside world, most of the mess from the show trapped within. The suit sports the show's logo and, in big, bold letters, the word "LOSER". On the screens we see a stagehand entering Sandra's dressing room, putting her change of clothes into a shipping box, and locking the door shut on his way out. The host hands Sandra her purse and waves to the cameras. Sandra gives a half-hearted wave while Jett holds her prize over her head, showing the world just how messy she had to get to win it.
The host disappears backstage as the studio audience files out. Jett heads back to her dressing room, cheque in tow, while a stagehand leads Sandra to an exit. I guess she's going back to her hotel covered in mess.
FLUSH
I recoil but fortunately there's no more slime for me, this flush lets the tube empty out below me. Stagehands are placing a mat under Skye as she's lowered to the ground again, sticky sweetness pouring onto the stage. The Chair has risen all the way back to stage level and Scarlett is being let free of her cakey restraints. Once all the sewage slime has drained through the grate, my pipe is lifted and I'm led backstage to my dressing room.
The clothes I wore this morning are neatly folded on the table, along with a note from the show. It gives me instructions for removing the sewage slime: rinse in tepid water, scraping/combing off as much as I can, then clean thoroughly with the baking soda bodywash and shampoo before taking another hot shower. Stapled to it is a coupon for a spa across town. I deposit my clothes into a trash bag they provided (the note says I can take them home but who would do that?) The shower in the changing room is nice, the water pressure is higher than I'm used to. I take my time, struggling to remove the slime during my initial rinse, working progressively finer combs through my hair to make sure there's nothing left. Once I feel I've gotten it all off, I turn up the heat and try to remove the lingering smell. I decide I will be content with lemon and tea tree oil masking what stench remains. I dry off as best I can (there's no blow dryer for my hair) and change back into my street clothes. I didn't bring a change of undergarments so I guess I'm going commando.
I open the ridesharing app on my phone as I find my way out of the studio. As I wait to get picked up under the setting sun, I try to put my messy experiences behind me. I don't know how I will fare once I return home and the episode airs, and everyone sees me covered in sewage. I hope it won't be too bad. There's not much else I can do but hope.