They're clamping my right wrist to the panel in front of me. I'm foggy with drugs or concussion, can't tell which. Around me I sense ultra-violet lights pulsing and the dull gold warmth of overhead spotlights at low ebb.

The floor is concealed by a sea of machine-made fog. Figures move through it preparing wheeled, tripod mounted cameras and crane-mounted swooping cameras. The faint vibration of huge engines lumbering through low cycles, the sound of a submarine ping echoing and the scattered false walls of hideous pastel panelling make it hard to tell how big this place is.

From somewhere in the darkness comes a recorded loop of cackling insane laughter. (Later on I find it is coming from a coloured box that a mannequin sits atop of. The mannequin is styled like a clown -- ridiculous smile, slits for eyes and dressed in red and yellow. In programmed order the clown makes jerking movements via levers attached to its limbs -- a hand springs up, a big booted foots kicks out. The idea is that you put 20 cents in and it starts laughing and it makes you laugh, and everyone is happy. But it'd been laughing since I came to, and nobody had gone near it).

They're clamping my wrist to the panel in front of me. One slaps me on the back. 'Good luck china', he says. I collapse onto the panel, my forehead hitting the push-button buzzer--Thunk!--pppt-wiing! Blacking out again.

I was sifting through the LPs, looking for something good and zany to help the creative process along. With winter's arrival and the chill in my fingers I was looking for any props at all that could help get the writing done.

I'd never made it over to this part of town before and this opshop was oddly quiet. There's usually Magic 693 playing on a little trannie or the oldies nattering in the back room, but not here.

I looked over to the counter. The old woman had been staring at me. 'After anything in particular?'

'Inspiration', I said being forthright.

She waved me over to the counter. As I approached she spat into her hand. It was a real lung-wrencher too. Charming, I thought, but then maybe I could write about this.

The old woman squinted for a long time at what was in her hand.

'A game show....you', she pointed her finger at me with relish.

'You will be a contestant'.

The mischievous tone in her voice brought to mind those Federal budget cut-backs that shut down institutions and cut loose all sorts of colourful personalities onto the community.

'Yeah, what one?', I said, 'Burgo's Catchphrase, Sale, Wheel, is it Wheel? I like game shows'.

'When Wangaratta arrives at Geelong station you will be selected'.

The tone of her voice switched to one of lament--just like that. I decided this wasn't fun anymore and left.

Wake up suddenly...heart drumming blood through legs and arms. Just as they pull it out I notice. The same studio crew guys that shackled me here are withdrawing a large needle from my arm.

I'm now vividly aware of my surroundings; the spotlights blaze over head and the studio seating grandstand to my left is now completely crowd-filled.

The urge to get up and run around is overwhelming. Not necessarily to escape this weirdness either, I just need to run around. A guy appears right in front of the little desk I'm nailed to. I notice the bushiness of his beard and silver-rimmed glasses half hidden by the peak of a cap. It says "Director" on the cap, complete with talking marks. Is he the director or just, "Director"?

The question triggers feelings of doubt about everything around me. The guy points his finger menacingly at me and says, 'You co-operate or we'll cut you right out of the picture, got it?'

I still don't understand how I got here or what I'm supposed to be doing.

Music starts blaring -- it sounds like KC and the Sunshine Band. The audience gurgles into a mad roar. The "Director" disappears and another guy comes bursting with athletic energy out from behind a screen over the other side of the floor. He's a very slick looking guy with big white teeth and a straight bright blue suit. He beckons to the audience, 'How ya all DOIN'?'

The flood lights swing around to the audience.

'Super-dooper, Gary!' They parrot with a terrible lack of unison. With the light on them I notice how some of them start fitting with the ecstasy of being given acknowledgment. Some are drooling.

With impeccable timing the host tuns to camera one.

'Welcome tooooo GameShow Earrrrth! The only game show on Earth! Let's meet our contestants.'

The horrible scene happening out in front of me has distracted me entirely. I look around and the two other chairs beside me have been filled. There is a monkey next to me. Crikey, this is odd. I like monkeys.

'Our carry over Champ... Water Jar Boy. How the hell ya doin'?'

The audience are given the applause cue and cheer madly. I lean forward to see to the right of the monkey. Sitting on the chair at the far end is a three foot high glazed brown ceramic pot. It has a face moulded onto its outside and it's speaking.

'Way cool super special, Gary. Thanks for asking.'

'Watchya get up to on the weekend?'

'Went for a holiday to the beautiful sea-comber beach island resort'.

'Spectacular. In the middle, we have baby gorilla, Peeken-oh, who's here representing infotainment aaaand The ZOO!'.

The audience exhales an 'Aaawww'.

'Good luck tonight Peeken-oh'.

'Eee-eee-eee-eee'.

I don't care that this isn't making sense, I'm starting to get into the swing of it. Expectantly, I fidget in my chair. I eagerly await my audience response. The host's smile slides as he looks at his cue card.

'And the last contestant joining us tonight is here as part of a Mutual Obligation activity. Representing the Department of Social Security...Malcolm.'

I become dazed. My name isn't Malcolm and the audience is dead silent (someone must've forgot to illuminate the 'applause' sign). I slouch forward with disappointment as the memory of how I got here returns.

With the opshop-witch-spit incident almost completely out of mind, a couple of weeks later I rocked up to the train station, about to head to class. I watched the loco power through to the platform and admiring its grunt and monster workings. I like trains.

As it rolled passed, small metal letters attached to its side near where the driver sat caught my attention. It read, 'CITY OF WANGARATTA'.

'Yield In the name of the social welfare system, yield!'.

I turned to see what all the commotion was about. The familiar shades of an orange and blue badge on someone was all I saw before being clonked with a truncheon.

'What is the catipal of Peruuuu?', the host reads. In frustration I yell out, 'It's capital'.

'Incorrect. The correct answer is Lima. And I'm deducting five points off you for not using your buzzer. Next question. What is the catipal of Peru?'.

'B-Diong!', sounds the buzzer at the far end.

'Leeemuuurrr!'

'Correct, Water Jar Boy. Well done.'

I decide to yell out again, figuring I can afford to lose another five points.

'Hey hang on, I never saw him press his buzzer'. I look over at Water Jar Boy.

'He hasn't even got any bloody arms!', I protest.

The host looks disappointed in me. I seem to be ruining his day.

'What sorta backward attitude is that? Look, you've really offended poor Water Jar Boy.' He motions to the pot, his clayish bottom lip quivering. The host turns to the audience.

'Just another case of some low-life trynna cut down one of our beloved tall poppies'.

The crowd shake their heads and 'tsk-tsk' at me. One of them yells out, 'Spin him, spin him!'. Others join in until the whole crowd is yelling.

In moments I have been strapped to an upright wheel. The host is cavorting around and juggling knives out in front of the audience. Someone puts a blindfold on him and stands him on a spot facing me. The wheel I'm tied to starts spinning. The drugs they pumped me with all ready had my heart rate going at double time, and now, with the centrifugal force of the wheel pushing blood to my head, I black out-- again.

I come to as they untie me. There are knives wedged into the chip-board of the wheel all around me. I am dragged back to the chair and clamped in.

'What is the most commonly used letter in the English laaaanguage?'

The monkey is rolling around on the top of the desk. It rolls onto the buzzer.

'Pt-oing! Eee-eee-eee'

'Correct'.

It starts to rain. I look up, wondering how it could be raining inside but all I can see is blackness. Water Jar Boy puts a hat (or a lid) on. Everyone else seems oblivious to it and the game show ploughs on.

The rain is coming down in torrents. Within minutes the water is up to my waist. I look to where some of the camera crew are.

'Hey. Hey, could someone unclamp me. Please.'

The host continues the game questions throughout and pays attention only to Water Jar Boy, who answers them all. The monkey casually backstrokes away toward the audience. I watch it, amazed -- I never thought of monkeys swimming before. I call out to be released but again am ignored. They're all watching the host and the pot; the questions and answers getting faster and faster. The host pulls a cord hanging off his suit. Floaties inflate around his arms. A large raft floats by with someone on it playing a pipe organ, another person blows a slide-whistle.

Even with my chin raised some water spills into my mouth. I let go panicky screams, 'Help, help!'.

The host is treading water in front of the crane mounted camera with Water Jar Boy floating beside him. The host congratulates him on another victory and they outro the show.

From under the water I hear the muffled base tone of a voice through loud speakers. 'GameShow Earth was filmed in front of a live studio audience'.

Team Sunny Breaks, 2000