Good TV

As I lay in bed last night (this morning actually), my somewhat diseased, and some might say unholy, mind suddenly came wheezing back to (un)life and left me with an idea that will bring me fame and fortune, and is no less than startling*.

* startling - as in the feeling one gets when one looks skyward on a bright Autumnal morning to see a flurry of naked, loose-bowelled pensioners, obeying all laws of gravity like the good citizens they are, hurtling ground ward at terminal velocity.

I shall be pitching this idea to any and all television stations I can find the email addresses for, knowing full well, that soon I shall be wallowing in the hedonistic lifestyle of all the big TV stars: Finding gay, heterosexual and asexual individuals, dead, in my luxury swimming closet. Shooting raw kerosene directly into my eyeballs through a titanium plated syringe, and finally, being found dead in a pool of my own cat-litter.

My idea is actually quite frankly pilfered, nay - stolen, from the hit TV game show 'Who wants to be a ****ing tit' or whatever it's called.

In my version of the game, contestants must work a little harder to get the whore-earnings they so desperately crave. Actually, that's a complete lie. If I was to tell the whole truth, it would read something like: The contestants stand very little chance of coming away with all the limbs they started with. Unless of course they were quad-amputees.

In the game itself, the lucky contestants have to perform increasingly dangerous / suicidal tasks in the vain hope of leaving with enough money that one could quite conceivably kill oneself in some massive, pseudo-patriotic whore binge within 10 minutes of leaving the studio.

Firstly, a show like this needs to find suitable candidates for the self-humiliation / termination for the entertainment of millions (and more importantly, for my above said ambitions). This process, I believe, should be conducted as follows:

A national TV commercial depicting the following (hilarious) incidents -

~ Christmas in a retirement home. The stinking filth are exchanging worthless trinkets, laughing in that hollow, near-death fashion and reminiscing of times when it was safe to leave their front doors unlocked. Cut to Mr. Arqhuart, a white haired, frail old dear, returning to his unit. He dutifully locks his door, bolts it, then secures the chain. We see him tearfully pick up a photo of his dead wife as the camera pans over his shoulder to see liquid pouring through his letter box. As he places the photo carefully back, a lit match follows the liquid. Cut to insane grinning fool thumbing through a wad of £20 notes, nodding to himself with the sound of sirens and flames and screaming pensioners in the background.

~ A cosy living room. A man sits on a leather sofa, the open fire gives the room a warm, welcoming ambience, yet the man looks troubled. The camera pans back to reveal my good self sitting in a chair opposite. I place a fat bundle of £20 notes on the table in front of him, then a Ginsu knife. The man's eyes flick back and forth from the knife to the money. His look of desperation turns to one of determination. He picks up the knife, lays his hand flat on the table and after a brief pause, closes his eyes and brings the blade down on his little finger. He screams and I smile, pushing the bundle of cash toward him. He cradles his ruined hand as I produce a large case. The case is opened revealing it to be brimming with £50 notes. The man suddenly forgets his agony and stares longingly at the treasure. While he is distracted by the filth, the camera cuts to me putting a cartridge into a sawed-off double barrel shotgun. He does not know which barrel is loaded. I hand him the weapon and say 'Pick a trigger, any trigger'. Cut to a close-up of the man's head, as with glazed eyes, he inserts the shotgun into his mouth. Cut to black screen with the legend 'Would you?' and the telephone number to call if anyone is so utterly ****-witted enough to indulge in such a programme. A loud bang is heard, followed by the sound of moist chunks hitting walls and hissing from the fire.

After running this commercial for a couple of weeks, I envisage having enough human waste to be able to run an entire 6 week series, 5 nights a week.

Successful applicants would be selected on the basis of performing the most horrific, unnatural or perverse act they can imagine. They must provide either photos, video or court-transcripts as proof. Preference will be given for the following acts:

GBH with an industrial bovine culling device

The absolute destruction of a mass populous by firestorm.

Wolf ****ing


Making a full body-suit of human leather and masturbating to photos of the Queen-mum (although I do not ever want to see evidence of this)

Successful applicants are then assembled in the studio ready to partake in the fun. (non-successful applicants are beaten severely, reported to the authorities then beaten again, more severely).

The show would begin with 8 of the audience selected randomly to 'star' in the evening's show. These eight are then asked to do something particularly unwholesome in the shortest time possible to secure their place in the running for the money. Such tasks could include piercing one's genitals using the teeth of a live Sturgeon, eating sick, finding the cause of death of a loved one using only basic pathology tools etc.

The speediest contestant would then proceed to the 'meat' of the game (and more than likely become the 'meat' of the game) in which he / she performs increasingly damaging / suicidal tasks to win filthy cash.

Here's what I plan to call 'games' for the contestants to play, but in actual fact, are thinly disguised, well, blatantly obvious actually, schemes for brutal and perhaps, sadistic murder, maiming and FUN FUN FUN!!!

I feel that I should point out that each increasingly difficult challenge is rewarded more highly than the last. The cash prize for each challenge, I feel, is irrelevant as I'm only really interested in seeing an exclamation-marked end to the human-disease anyway. Also, upon completion of any 'challenge', the contestant may decide that he / she wishes to take the money and run. This is actually an ironically accurate cliché, as their cowardice shall be rewarded by me unleashing a heady cocktail of specially trained dogs, badgers, piranha, hornets and 9mm hollow-points after them.



Game 1: The Strings of Fate.



In this game, a .50 cal Desert Eagle is secured to a stand in front of the contestant. Using a laser targeting system, the pistol is aimed at the bridge of the contestant's nose. 20 strings are presented to the player. One of which is attached to the trigger. The contestant must choose one string.



Game 2: Deadly? Or not?



Here, the contestant is presented with 15 boxes. Each one houses a small animal. These could be venomous spiders, Sparrows, Scorpions, Daschunds etc. 7 of these animals are inert. It could be that the Funnel web spider has had it's venom sacks removed or that the Platypus has been surgically augmented so as to secrete cyanide - who knows? I DO!!! That's the fun of it, the contestant doesn't have a ****!!!



Game 3: Wake the Ape.



The key to this game is in it's preparation. For some weeks beforehand, the apes are systematically abused, tortured, electrocuted and beaten each by a different person wearing a latex reconstruction of one of the contestant's heads. The primate-priming continues until the ape's sole reason to continue living is to inflict massive bodily harm unto the contestant who's face is indelibly scarred into it's (already) unstable brain.

The apes are subdued and put in an enclosure. The contestant must enter the enclosure and 'Wake the Ape' of their choosing, hoping that their primate of choice is not the one with the life-mission of turning their face into some kind of meat-pate to be enjoyed spread in a lung-sandwich.



Game 4: Ricochet Discotheque.



In this one, the contestant is placed into a armour-plating clad room. The ceiling is decorated with sheets of plate glass, hornet nests and plastic bags filled with petrol. He / she is given a Ruger Redhawk .44 cal revolver containing six (6) bullets. The aim is to empty the pistol whilst both avoiding the lethal ricochet and trying not to hit any of the 'obstacles'. This game should be accompanied to the soundtrack of 'Yes Sir, I can boogie'.



Game 5: Flash! Aaaaaaarrgh!



This is one that could be played at home too. The contestant is given 20 seconds to memorise the resistor colour code. Then made to sit in a scalding tank of water. They then have a further 30 seconds in which to incorporate a series of resistors into an electrical circuit in the hopes of reducing the voltage (applied after the 30 seconds is up) to a survivable level. To further 'up the ante', up to five (5) Portuguese man-o-war jellyfish are released into the water after 15 seconds.



Game 6: The Icy Fingers of Death.



Having lived through the previous ordeal, the contestant will, understandably, be a little hot under the collar. In this game, we give them the opportunity to cool down a little. Actually, cool down a lot. It's like a particularly perverse game of Twister, this one. The hapless player must spin the wheel of (mis)fortune in order to find out which limb they must plunge into the thoughtfully provided vat of liquid Nitrogen. The limb must be fully submerged for no less than ten (10) seconds, after which time they can withdraw, or remain submerged for bonus cash.

Upon withdrawal, the frozen appendage is then beaten with metal poles until something interesting happens.



Game 7: Guess the Calibre.



The contestant is blindfolded, and strapped to a post. A gun is placed at the side of his / her head and they are shot in the teeth. Next, the contestant must correctly gauge the calibre of the round fired by judging the extremity of the orthodontic devastation. Calibres could include - 9mm, 7.62mm, .44, 5.56mm, .357 Magnum, .50AE, .45ACP etc. As an aid to fairness, prior to the dental disaster, the contestant chooses a calibre with which a loved one is shot, so that they may judge the soft-tissue damage, bone-splintering, entry / exit wound inflicted and therefore make a more educated choice on inspection of their own oral atrocity. A wrong answer results in the contestant being shown an alternative use of the offending firearm: That of a bludgeon.



Game 8: Diffuse or lose.



Half a pound of C4 is glued to the base of the contestant's spine. It has a detonator, timer and a whole bunch of dummy wires attached, it's armed, then it's GO! GO! GO! The player has 30 (count 'em!) seconds in which to successfully defuse the bomb (this task is made much harder, of course, if the contestant lost an arm in the earlier 'Icy Fingers' round). All the while he / she is repeatedly insulted by an army drill sergeant and is covered with Bees.



Game 9: Family fortunes.



The contestant's remaining family members are rounded up, beaten, blindfolded, beaten, placed in a pitch black room, beaten, armed with scalpels and finally, beaten. The contestant is then drugged with PCP and armed with an audience selected (possibly by viewer phone-in) household item. This could include anything from a shovel, hair-dryer, de-humidifier, wood-plane, electric drill etc. He / she is then introduced into the darkened room and must murder his entire family within the 3 minute time limit. The action is viewed using advanced 'night-vision' cameras placed in the room. After the contestant enters an ungodly blood-rage of wanton carnage, I'll say something like 'What he / she doesn't know is that it's his entire family he's / she's murdering' and the audience will laugh lots. When all traces of life have been brutally extinguished from all family members (and the contestant sobers up), the lights come on, their blindfold is removed and they're left to comprehend the atrocity they've just committed. This is probably made worse for them by the accusing, lifeless stare of their butchered relatives. If any family are left alive after the time limit, then a brace of murderous Baboons are unleashed into the room. As this occurs, strobe lights are activated and 'comedy' music such as the theme from the Benny Hill show starts up to make light of events.



Game 10: Choose your Fate.



This game takes inspiration from the riddle 'What is heavier? a ton of lead or a ton of feathers?' in that the contestant must decide under what conditions they are able to survive for 1 minute. Such environments might include: A room filled with industrial waste so radioactive as to be officially classified as 'Unlikely'. At the 'cone' of an oxyacetylene torch. The anus of a Cow, which is actually a cunningly disguised Howitzer.



Just like in the game show 'Who wants to be a diseased twat', the contestants get 3 'lifelines' if they can't face a particular challenge. Working thusly:



1. Ask the Audience - instead of taking the challenge, the contestant may 'ask the audience', to give them the drubbing of their lives with sticks.


2. 50-50 - Here, in order to 'skip' a certain challenge, just like in the TV commercial, I hand them a sawed-off double barrelled shotgun with only one of the barrels containing a cartridge. Or maybe both barrels do. This depends on how offensive I find the bastard's face.


3. Phone a friend - Here, they must watch a friend endure the challenge instead of themselves. This will seem like an easy cop-out for the contestant, but what they don't know is that our team of expert necromancers will resurrect their fallen comrade into an indestructible super-zombie that will pursue the player until it gets to feast on his / her intestines (if they survive the show). If they don't survive the show, and they use this lifeline, we'll resurrect the contestant as well, but as an indestructible super-zombie that doesn't know they're an indestructible super-zombie and can feel pain. So there.

I feel that I'm on to a winner with this one. I can't see any right-minded TV executive turning down a money-spinner like this one...

Fatal Error #449: Unable to process the "Go to Hell" command specified.

This is what happens when I get bored.

Fatal Error #449: Unable to process the "Go to Hell" command specified.

Possibly.

Fatal Error #449: Unable to process the "Go to Hell" command specified.

I think I lost brain cells by reading that whole post all at one time!!! Ouch! I do like your style though, son!

I've got a <font color=red>fever</font color=red>,
and the only <i>perscription</i>
is more <b>cowbell</b>

Words of Advice:
If the first post is too overly long,
check the second post if it's related to the first post.

If not, no one is interested.

You can flame me for this.


<i><font color=purple>
"I'll Take A Quiet Life
A Handshake to Carbon Monoxide" -Th.Y.
</i><font color=purple>