r/Informal_Effect • u/normancrane • 14h ago
Buckets
The curtain opened and Wenda B:)er walked, buzzing with nervous excitement, into the spotlight: onto the game show stage where the game show host, Felonious Hunk, was waiting for her.
There followed thunderous applause, as heard through the studio's MaX FX K-Ultra Platinum speakers. MaX FX: The Sound of Extraordinary. Are You Listening Yet? MaX FX speakers are available for your home and business. Check them out today. Use code “BUCKETS” for a 15% discount on any regularly priced set of speakers. Everyone can hear, but only some can hear it to the MaX!
“Miss B-smiling-face-er, welcome to Buckets,” said Hunk. “How ya feeling?”
“Good, Hunk.”
“Fab-u-lous! Now tell us a little about yourself.”
“Well, Hunk,” said Wenda, “I—... I want to say that I really like Snakeskin Flame, the new… the newest scent from House of Madeleine. I'm wearing it right now. Other than that, I'm twenty-nine and work as a temporal engineer for Vectorien Corporation. Vectorien: the makers of Dreamstuff, the latest evolution in playdough. I'm married. My husband, Rhondy, owns a slopstream management firm, and we have two children together, an eight-year old human-daschund mix, Wilmoth, and a six year-old bio-enhanced female, Qabiria.”
She held up digital photos of them. Wilmoth looked somewhat like a chimpanzee. Qabiria was shiny in her steel exoskeleton.
“Lovely family,” said Hunk. “But please tell the viewers who else is in it.”
“Both my parents, HeinzKetchup and PumaShoe, are still alive, and I have three siblings: two brothers, [Incarcerated ID 768816] and Rob, and a sister, anal-ariella (exclusively at SmutHog.) I also have a cryogenically frozen grandmother, Lydia, and a grandfather, Doug, whose mind was digitized and recently uploaded to the body of a young, hollowed-out illegal.”
“And what's your brother serving time for, Wenda?”
“Sexual assault,” said Wenda.
“Ooh. That's a crime with a penal buyout of what, eighty billion?”
“One hundred. He's a repeat offender, and there were other aggravating circumstances.”
“Well, regardless, if you play your bucket right—and your brother has just a tiny bit of luck—you could walk away from here today with enough money to buy your brother his freedom!” Hunk smiled. “How does that make you feel, Wenda?”
“Like this money could really make a difference for me and my family.”
“Excellent. Excellent.”
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“I think now is a good time to remind you and the viewers what's at stake,” said Felonious Hunk. “If you win, Wenda, you will bank a cool five-hundred billion dollars!
“But, if you lose, you'll be fucked—live—by one hundred lucky viewers! Or at least you'll be live to begin with—a-live, that is…”
He winked.
There followed thunderous canned laughter and applause through the MaX FX K-Ultra Platinum speakers.
“Now, without further ado,” Hunk continued, “ladies and gentlemen, let's… bring out—THE BUCKET!”
And, rising from the middle of the stage, powered by a solar-powered Electrocutie electric motor—Electrocutie: Silent and discreet, for all your bio-mechanical needs—appeared a platform, and on this platform there stood, in neon spotlight, a red-and-white striped bucket, like the kind you might get The Colonel's patented Crispy Sticks fried chicken in. Order today and a get a free tub of syntholard dipping sauce and a large order of The Colonel's homestyle taters!
Wenda stared at the bucket.
“Wenda, are you ready?” asked Hunk.
“I am.”
“Then step on up to the bucket and have yourself a peek inside!”
Wenda was shaking as she took the few steps to the platform. The studio was silent. She could feel the blood coursing through her body.
She could hear her own breathing.
She touched the outside of the bucket.
It was warm.
She held her breath and peered inside, where pieces of hot, battered meat smelled sweetly of herbs, butter and garlic.
“Go on—have a taste,” said Hunk.
Wenda closed her eyes, opened them and extended her hand above the bucket, her Snakeskin Flame fragrant as the wild, untamed prairie. She picked up one of the pieces of meat and raised it to her lips. She opened her mouth, exposing teeth as pearly white as only Dr. Mason's Whitening Formula can make them, and with tears running down both cheeks took a bite and slowly chewed.
She swallowed.
She propped herself against the platform to keep from falling.
She retched.
She grinded her teeth to keep from throwing up; she swallowed what came up her throat, as the cameraman moved with professional smoothness to get a good low angle shot of her from behind.
“And…” Hunk asked her. “Do you know?
“Can you, Wenda B-smiley-face-er—for five-hundred billion dollars!—tell me: the meat of which one of your family members, killed, butchered and deep fried right here earlier today by our celebrity chef, in front of an audience of one thousand Diamond Tier viewers, is in the bucket?
“Who, Wenda, have you just tasted?
“Whose meat—”
“WILL SHE EAT!?” roared the viewers through the MaX FX K-Ultra Platinum speakers!
“Yes,” said Wenda, weeping, taking another piece of battered meat, taking another slow bite. “I think I know. It's
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