(Male Version) Life's a B**ch: A What Would You Do Story (Part 2 of 3)

Read Part 1 here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/male-version-b-1-98009579 

(If you read Part 1, lucky you! You can skip down to the Round 5 section of the story below!)

Introduction

It was Day 1 of the inaugural Life’s a Beach Festival, a 4-day music festival being held for the first time on the beach in Daytona Beach, Florida.

Comedy Central was a presenting sponsor of the festival, and their smash hit show, the revival of the 90s variety show What Would You Do, was located in Daytona Beach and was taping a special episode where winners of games played on the show would take home 4-Day VIP passes to L-A-B Fest, giving them upgraded accommodations and access to the most exclusive areas at the festival.

The first game of the day was a simple one: two teams of four guys each went head-to-head, one person from each team was assigned to a day of the festival, and had to name more artists performing that day than their opponent. The loser had to pick one of eight squares from a “Mystery Board”, which contained numerous punishments and, ultimately, a GAME OVER square, which would award the VIP passes to the other team, and send every member of the team that drew the square to one of the show’s infamous pie devices, inspired by the messy contraptions of the original.

One set of guys were a nerdy set of rising seniors at the University of Arizona and who had just driven in from Tucson earlier that morning; the other group were rising seniors from rival Arizona State University, and they too had just driven in from Tempe earlier that day.

Halfway through the up-to-eight round game, the bros were clearly worse off. All four of them got a pie smashed in his face as a penalty for losing a round.

• Eric had oversized glasses on, a kind of shield for his blue eyes. He had close-cropped blonde hair and had a light-blue v-neck t-shirt and dark basketball shorts.
• Grayson was the tallest of the four, but extremely lanky, like he’d never even seen a gym before. He, too, has close-cropped blonde hair and a cute smile to go along with his black tank top and gray running shorts.
• Victor was a skinny Asian guy, and was the only one among his friends who took any punishment in the first segment. Unfortunately, it was all of the punishments. He had been stripped down to his lime green speedo, gotten pied in the face, pied mercilessly in the crotch, and, gotten caked in the face.
• Ray was Hispanic and a native of Arizona. He’d never been out of his home state and really wanted to make this trip worthwhile; it was his hand that had been raised when Marc singled out his group. He had the darkest skin of the four and dark brown hair to go along with his gray sleeveless t-shirt and jeans.

Meanwhile, the frat guys had taken a beating.

• Charlie had come in wearing a pink and black Inter Miami jersey with Lionel Messi’s name and #10 on the back, with light blue denim jeans and glasses. He looked every bit a soccer player, shorter and more slender with a well-built lower half. We got to see even more of that body when his clothes got cut off, and for his troubles, he got an entire sheet cake shoved into his ass, and another thrown right in his face, courtesy of festival performer Steve Aoki.
• Ricky is Mexican-American, 5’10” and toned with tan skin and close cropped dark brown hair. He sported a Toon Squad jersey (from Space Jam) and basketball shorts, but like Charlie, these were all cut off as a penalty for losing a round.
• Jason is jacked, Italian-American and had a strong Staten Island accent. He came in looking like he just finished a workout, wearing a skintight blue tank top with the Superman logo on it and slim-fit running shorts on his thick thighs. He had cemented his bro-y look by gelling his hair that day. He screwed his entire team when he drew the square that said pie in the face for everyone on his team.
• Ben was a striking 6’4” Swedish international student with a blonde ponytail and pecs for days beneath his unbuttoned baseball-style button-down shirt. Like Jason, Ben’s thighs were basically popping out of his jorts. Aside from the pieing that Jason earned him, Ben was otherwise clean, having drawn a Reverse card when he lost, sending his punishment over to a member of the other team: Victor.

The game was only half over, which was good, because the studio was only half destroyed.

Round 5

“Welcome back to What Would You Do, everybody!”, Marc Summers said. He was the longtime emcee of this show, dating back to its original run, and now that it aired later in the evening and catered to an exclusively adult audience, Marc and his writing team could finally lean into all the risque ideas they’d picked up after all these years.

“Well,  it was a wild and crazy first half of our game. But the GAME OVER square hasn’t come up yet, so we have to keep going!

“What we’re gonna do now is go back to the beginning. I’m gonna call up the same groups who played earlier, and once again, you’re going to have to give me the names of artists playing on your assigned day of the festival, rapid fire.

“You cannot use any artists in the first round. And once again, the loser is the person who can’t come up with a correct response, or who gives me someone performing on a different day of the festival. Got it?”

Having barely navigated the first half of this game, all eight contestants visibly dreaded continuing to play this war of attrition. But with passes valued at over $1,000 at stake, they nodded their assent, and Round 5 commenced.

“Alright,” Marc said, “Let’s go back to the beginning with Charlie and Eric!”

Both contestants stepped forward. Back in Round 1, Eric won, and Charlie drew a cake in the face as punishment. He ended up taking two cakes, including one from festival performer Steve Aoki, thanks to some complaining on his part, and his messed up face and hair showed the effects of that penalty. After having his clothes cut off in a later round, he felt more exposed than he’d ever been in his entire life.

“Once again, no duplicates. New artists only! I want artists performing on Thursday, okay?

Charlie and Eric both nod.

“Charlie, you’re up first. On your mark! Get set! Go!”

Charlie: “Sofi Tukker.”

Eric: “Timmy Trumpet.”
Charlie: “Uhh… I don’t know any more!”

Eric: “Are you sure? 3 seconds!”

Charlie: “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

BUZZ.

“The Beaches!”

“Oh no, Charlie!” Marc said, this time with fake sorrow in his voice. “The Beaches is right, but you didn’t get it in time!

“So I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need a number!”

The cameras cut to a seriously frowning Charlie, whose hand is covering his forehead as he examines the board. The odds of drawing the GAME OVER square have increased dramatically, now just 1 in 4. I would do anything to not lose this game, he bargains.

“7.”

It’s a claim that immediately gets tested, as Robin walks slowly and dramatically over to the board to peel away square number 7 to reveal…

PIE SPANKING! With four skulls!

“Oh my gosh,” Marc exclaims. “Robin, I’m gonna need more pies! Every one of these guys is getting a pie right to his butt!

The guys groan practically in unison. They vividly remember how viciously they got pied in the face in the last round. Now these dorks get a free shot at a more intimate part of their bodies?

Robin gives each man another cream pie. Somehow, these are piled even higher with pie filling and whipped cream than any of the others.

“Gentlemen,” Marc says, “If you would please turn around and receive your punishment.”

In his jorts, Ben is the most covered up person left on his team. Jason also had a pair of running shorts. Meanwhile, Charlie and Eric were standing there in just some boxer briefs; Charlie’s looked worse for wear, having already had a cake smashed into his ass. This is starting to get ridiculous, he thought.

“Okay guys, on the count of three, do your worst!”

The audience gives the signal.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

The boys attack all at once, smashing their cream pies hard into their asses. Agony-filled screams ensue as the boys universally feel the strangest, gooeyest, most invasive experience of their entire lives. Clothes, bodies, and egos are all instantly destroyed on impact, with hits so hard that side splatter from some guys end up splattering the guys to their left and right.

The cameras slow down in real time to capture cream flying in all directions, the dudes’ butt cheeks rippling out from the sheer force of the hits. Eric, in only his underwear, takes it especially hard, stumbling forward a few steps before regaining his balance.

Eric took the liberty of rubbing his pie up Charlie’s ass and onto his lower back, before taking a couple of fingers to the back of his thin, cake and pie covered boxer briefs, pulling them open, and letting pie slop slide right in between his cheeks. Upon feeling this, Charlie yelps, whips around, and shoves Eric backwards aggressively. He smirks at him and holds up both hands as a halfhearted peace offering.

It’s a scene of utter devastation to the four guys’ dump trucks. But with no GAME OVER card picked yet, the game must go on.

“Round 6, I’m gonna need Grayson, and I’m gonna need Ricky!

Ricky steps forward uncomfortably, visibly put off by the pie still covering his bottom, the whipped cream melting and leaving trails of white down his legs.

Marc instructs them to name artists performing Friday,

Ricky was so overwhelmed from the totality of this: his clothes being cut off, all the cameras surrounding him, all these people looking at him half naked, that he lost track of time. He snaps back to attention to hear Marc saying…

“Three seconds, Ricky!”

“Kendrick Lamar!” he shouts, the first thing that came to mind.

BUZZ.

“I’m sorry!” Marc says. “But one of the rules was, you couldn’t repeat someone you said in the last round, and you did! So once again, you lose another round, and you win another box from the Mystery Board!”

Ricky covers his face with his hands. His heart races, knowing that the chances of pulling the GAME OVER card and taking the automatic loss at this point was 1 in 3. But would that be better than pulling whatever punishment awaited under the other two cards? Was any of this still worth it?

“Three.”

“Okay, then,” Marc says. “Box number 3. Robin, would you please?”

A drumroll kicks in over the studio speakers as Robin dramatically walks toward the board. She takes hold of the panel and peels it away to reveal…

HUMAN ICE CREAM SUNDAE! With two skulls!

“LET’S GOOOOOO!” Grayson yells, knowing he’ll get to ruin the already half-naked Ricky and another guy of his choice.

Marc barely gets the question out before Grayson yells, “HIM!”, pointing right at innocent-looking (and mostly clean) Ben.

The audience whoops once again, as Ben tentatively steps forward, an extremely pained look on his pie-smothered face. Robin wheels out an old-timey sundae cart, which contains two large tubs of melted vanilla ice cream, two bananas, two huge containers of Hershey’s chocolate syrup, and two extra large cans of whipped cream.

Two stools are also brought out for the two victims, but as they are being set down, Grayson whispers something to Marc. Marc’s face immediately lights up, and he nods vigorously before speaking into the microphone.

“So Ricky,” Marc says, “You’re going to have a seat for us here. But Ben, Grayson has asked to make the ice cream sundae in your underwear, and who are we to say no?”

More hoots and hollers from the crowd. Ben yells something about unfairness, but Robin is already guiding him by the shoulders to the spot where the chair was supposed to be. Grayson approaches Ricky first, meaning Ben gets to watch one of his best friends get smothered first, knowing that he’s about to receive the exact same treatment.

“Alright, Grayson,” Marc says. “Whenever you’re ready, let’s turn these two into some sweet ice cream sundaes!”

Ricky draws his arms into his chest, clenches his fists, and closes his eyes. Barely three seconds pass before he feels it: ice cold, melting ice cream hitting his head, oozing down his face, his shoulders, and his back. He recoils further into himself, stomps his feet on the floor, and yelps, all as his ample chest becomes enveloped in the gooey white of heavy cream and the scent of vanilla.

It isn’t long before his world turns black, as an ungodly amount of chocolate syrup is turned upside down on his head. It, too, oozes all over his body, this time white-smothered chest a deep brown, mixing with the ice cream pooled into his lap to make an oddly beautiful swirl of color.

Finally, he opens his eyes, only to find a spray can of whipped cream shooting out at his face and chest. The whipped cream starts melting immediately, mixing with the melted ice cream and chocolate syrup to create a beautiful black and white effect in his lap.

But that wasn’t all. Ricky then felt chunks of something soft hitting his body: chunks of banana pelting him, then also settling into his lap.

What feels like a few seconds pass, so, thinking the ordeal is finally over, Ricky opens his eyes, only to see all the colors of the rainbow flying right at his face. Rainbow sprinkles! An entire container was thrown directly in his face, sticking immediately to the chocolate and cream smothering his entire front half. He yelps again, but that reaction is abruptly cut short by something unexpected: a whipped cream pie slammed right in his face to top him off!

Grayson slides the pie tin over his head, revealing a featureless Ricky, covered in chocolate, cream, and sprinkles, gobs of whipped cream flooding out of his mouth and onto his chest. He had long ago cut out sweets from his diet, in an effort to tone his body into the muscle machine it is today, but he never thought he’d be made into a sweet himself. Grayson takes a finger, glides it across Ricky’s shoulder, and eats the mixture of cream and chocolate he picks up. He’s absolutely delicious.

Meanwhile, Ben is standing next to Ricky in horror, knowing he’s about to receive the same treatment, except he’ll also have to strip first.

The audience applauds the wreckage that Ricky has become, but when that dies down, all the attention shifts over to Ben.

“Ben,” Marc says kindly, “I’m gonna need you to get down to your underwear for us.”

Ben sighs dejectedly. He takes a couple of seconds to steel himself, then slowly removes his button-down shirt, then his shorts, revealing a pair of tighty whities. Grayson is going to have a field day ruining these. Ben hooks his thumbs around the waistband of his underwear on each hip, and slowly pulls them open.

Almost immediately, he screams.

The thin fabric is barely a match for the freezing cold melting ice cream, which hits his private areas with a coldness he’d never experienced before. His hips jerk violently as they react to the coldness of the ice cream, which fill his underpants and begin flooding down his legs. It takes a while for the ice cream to be emptied – after all, it’s not so easy emptying a giant container of the stuff directly into tight clothing – but with the deed finally done, Grayson moves on to the chocolate syrup.

He holds the container high right in front of his face, torturing him with the visual of the stuff that’s going to permanently ruin his underwear, then turns the container upside down. Chocolate comes gushing out of the container, right into his briefs, instantly penetrating the fabric and turning them an ugly shade of brown.

The sliced up bananas get tossed in for good measure, then a long, agonizing spray of whipped cream, and the rainbow sprinkles. Ben is in a daze; it feels like an entire meal has been dumped into his pants, which are now destined for the garbage. But that stupor is again replaced by a whimper, as Charlie winds up and pounds Ben right between the eyes with another whipped cream pie.

At this, he reflexively lets go of the hold he had on his briefs, causing them to snap back against his waist, forcing another deluge of chocolate, sprinkles, and melted cream down his legs.

And yet! The game is still not over!

“Round 7!” Marc exclaims. “Victor and Jason, would you please step forward?”

After getting manhandled by the bros in the last round,Victor is extra motivated to win this round. He tries to remember every Saturday artist he can, but also all the ones already mentioned. At most, he has two or three in his head. If Jason isn’t a total meathead, he might be in trouble.

Before he knows it, Marc yelled “GO!”, and the game is again underway.

Jason: “Morgan Wade.”

Victor: “The Linda Lindas.”

Jason: “AC Slater.”

Victor: “Tomorrow X Together.”

Jason: “Goddamn it!”

He got him! Marc gives the three-second warning, but it’s of no use. Jason has nothing!

BUZZ.

The bros are extremely overmatched. Is it fatigue from the drive? Did they come here just for the vibes? Either way, there’s now a 50/50 shot of picking the GAME OVER box. Jason asks for Box #2, and it is revealed to be…

Not the GAME OVER box! Jason was only looking out for those letters, so he erupted in cheers when he didn’t see them, not recognizing that what he actually picked was: BAZOOKA.

“Oh my god,” Marc says, “Jason, I’m not sure if you are going to enjoy this more, or if Victor will.”

Robin wheeled out a Plexiglas backdrop and put it in place immediately behind Jason, much to the relief of audience members directly behind him, who could probably see where this was going.

“Jason,” Marc says, “Robin is going to blindfold you” – Robin does this – “and you’re going to stand directly in front of this backdrop.

“We have a bucket of green slime here, and it’s hooked up to this Bazooka-style cannon.” Marc gestures to a cannon on a stand about two feet tall, which is hooked up to a large bucket of slime. Jason sees it and makes a frown just before his eyes are covered up by Robin’s blindfold.

Marc continues. “Whenever Victor is ready, he’s going to pull a little cord attached to the cannon, and all the slime in the cannon is going to fire directly at your face and body.”

The crowd goes absolutely nuts. No wonder Plexiglas was needed for this stunt, it’s going to be both messy AND violent!

Meanwhile, Jason’s friends are off to the side and are absolutely beside themselves. Every punishment is somehow worse than the one before it!

Jason’s hands immediately cover up his blindfolded face; he seemingly wants to his giant body to disappear at this point. But Marc simply will not allow this.

“Nuh-uh-uh, Jason. Put your hands behind your back, please.”

Here is strong and mighty Jason, standing here in tiny running shorts and a tight lycra Superman compression shirt, staring down the barrel of a slime cannon and looking anything but superheroic. All he can do is just stand there and take it. He can’t save himself, and no one is coming to save him.

“Okay, Victor,” Marc says, “Whenever you’re ready, let Jason have it!”

Another drumroll plays. To Jason, who’s just standing there as if waiting to be executed by firing squad, it feels like forever. He yells, “Just do it already!” but even then, Victor is resolute. He wants to raise the tension as high as it can go.

The crowd starts a slow clap. Jason’s body starts physically shaking from the tension. The clapping gets faster, and faster, and faster, and—

BOOM!

An explosion of green slime gushes forward, colliding with Jason’s body at high speed and splattering in all directions. Unable to see the slime coming, Jason screams in agony when he feels it hit his body hard.

It hits the Plexiglas; it sprays the other guys on both teams standing off to the side. But Jason gets the worst of it. The cannon was oriented such that it emitted a tall but not-wide stream of slime, engineered to hit a person’s silhouette dead-on.

And it did. It scored a direct hit on Jason’s face, blasting his hair straight back, taking his breath away and forcing some slime up his nose and into his mouth. It immediately wrecked his Superman t-shirt,  smothered his bulky biceps, soaked his thin running shorts and the legs beneath them. It was as though he had been hit by the longest paintball in human history.

The blast lasted maybe two seconds maximum, but it left Jason a mangled mess. Torrents of green slime gave way to gravity, sliding down his face, chest, abs, shorts and legs, all the way to the floor.

He removed the blindfold and felt the top of his head. He felt his hair in the worst tangle imaginable, with globs of green all over it. He pawed at his face to try and get as much slime as he could off, before sliding his hands down his pecs, arms, and torso to do more of the same.

Robin wheeled the slime-splattered Plexiglas away, allowing Marc to return to the game’s final round. Ben and Ray nervously step forward.

“So this is it! We’ve gone the distance, and it’s now up to Ray and Ben!

“We know that the only square left on the board is the GAME OVER square. There are no more reverse squares left, so all we have is sudden death!

“Whoever wins this round wins the game and the VIP passes! Now remember, last round, you guys named like half the artists playing on Sunday. I’m gonna need artists you didn’t name. If you give me someone that’s already been used, you lose. So this one’s gonna be the toughest round yet! You guys ready?”

“Yes!” Ben says.

“Fuck yeah!” Ray says.

“Alright! Well, Ben, you’re up first! On your mark! Get set! GO!”

Ben: “Afrojack!”

BUZZ.

“Ben! You don’t remember? Ray said that one last time!

The crowd whoops and hollers.

Marc has a hard time talking over the noise. “So I’m sorry! But behind Panel #6” – Robin peels back the panel – “is the GAME OVER square, meaning the boys from Arizona State lose, and the team from Arizona are the winners of the Life’s a Beach Festival VIP Passes! Congratulations, gentlemen!”

The boys are seen jumping up and down, high-fiving and hugging each other. They can’t contain their excitement.

Meanwhile, the bros, already covered in mess, their clothes ruined or in tatters, are going home with nothing. They can’t believe they lost to a bunch of nerds. Even worse, they have to go back to spending the next several nights camping out on the sand, looking, smelling like this.

Or worse.

“Now, remember, at the beginning of the game, I said that whichever team picks the GAME OVER square not only loses the game, but it also means … well, do you remember what it means, Ben?”

“No, but I’m guessing it’s not good…”

Ray interrupts his celebration with his boys and sprints over to the microphone. He grabs it from Marc and shouts, “It means every one of these meatheads is going to a pie device, LET’S GOOOOOO, SEE YA FELLAS!!!” He waves at them mockingly.

“That’s right, you guys! Each and every one of you gets to take a ride on one of our lovely pie machines here! And we’ll tell you exactly which one when we come back on What Would You Do, so stay right where you are!”

The show’s theme music plays once more, and as is now customary, a montage of the previous segment’s messes plays in slow motion. This time, though, it’s only one shot: all four of the guys’ asses getting a pie slammed into it. For this shot, the camera is zoomed extra tight, almost to the point that each guy is basically indistinguishable but for the amount of clothing he’s wearing.

The What Would You Do logo bounces around and settles right underneath the space between Ricky’s cheeks, cream and crust still falling off it. Fade to black. Commercial.

To be continued…