Welcome back folks to the writing challenge we all love to be a part of… FURIOUS FICTION! (Applause.) During the break, we invited hundreds of contestants – furious ones at that (Laughter) – to take part in a special themed round. Here were this month’s story prompts:

• Each story had to take place on a GAME SHOW.
• Each story had to include a metaphor that describes the host.
• One contestant had to be eliminated in some way during the story.
• Each story had to include the words BUNDLE, NEVER, VIOLENT. 

And a gasp goes up from the crowd at four – that’s right, FOUR – prompts this month. We really wanted to test the limits of your creativity with a format that we’re all familiar with. And speaking of formats, we allowed everything from quiz shows to ‘buzzer’ game shows to wheel-spinning ones and even the survival/strategy ones too.

Writers also had the choice to latch onto an existing game show or create their own one. And in the latter camp, we had some fantastic names, including: ‘Spin That Spinster’ (Bryce Stansfield, QLD), ‘Whisk Me, Ishmael’ (Lily Finch, Canada), ‘Citizen Pain’ (Barry Charman, UK), ‘Enemy of the State’ (Matt Cabre, NSW), ‘Beat the Chatbot’ (Katarina Petrou, Canada), ‘Name That Jam!’ (yes actual fruit preserves, from Amy B Logan, USA), ‘Sing or Sink’ (Chimjim, India) and ‘Clueless or Kamikaze’ (Craig Waldron, VIC) to name JUST A FEW. Seriously, some very cool ideas!

We also requested metaphors for your game show host, and let’s just say that sharks featured heavily! Other stand-outs included:

• “His teeth are piano keys” (Peter Kurt, WA)
• “He was a peacock in human form, all shimmer and noise” (Maddy, Canada)
• “A Lady Gaga meat-dress at a vegetarian convention” (Mary Sheehan, Ireland)
• “Your childhood favourite home-cooked meal” (JK Reason, VIC)
• “A freshly sharpened pencil” (Lucien R Starchild, USA)
• “A brainstorm in a pineapple shirt” (Isidora Luna, Spain)
• “A large octopus with tentacles reaching into the hearts of the unwilling contestants” (Sarah Hunter, NSW)
• “That shapely rock with a molten gold core, that port in every storm” (Susmita Ramani, USA)
• “A giant disco ball of a man” (Fiona Murray, NSW)
• “The lizard man in the shiny suit” (Michelle Cook, UK)
• “The RIngmaster in the centre of a circus of smoke and mirrors” (Nico Mara, Ireland)

But among all the stories, there can only be one carry-over champion. So without further ado, COME ON DOOOOWN Michael Yates. Congratulations! You can read his story, ‘The Bitter Taste’, immediately below, followed by some other showcased stories and our longlist at the end. As always, thanks and well done to all those who took part in this month’s game show challenge!

NOVEMBER TOP PICK:

THE BITTER TASTE by Michael Yates, WA

The workbench gleamed under the studio lights, with beams bouncing off the stainless steel. Cameras hummed quietly, ready to immortalise another moment of culinary triumph or humiliation in the MasterChef kitchen.

Erika adjusted her apron. Her hands were steady, but her eyes carried the weight of someone burdened.

“Erika,” announced Monty Hall, sweeping toward her station. His voice, smooth as Tuscan olive oil. His suit, silver silk imported from Milan. “First cook of the season. How are we feeling?”

The other contestants watched in awe. Monty, the host, the celebrity chef with a night sky full of Michelin stars, the peacock in love with his own reflection.

“I’m fine,” she said, her tone calm.

Monty tilted his head. Something about her felt familiar, like the riff to a forgotten song.

“Tell us a little about yourself,” he said.

“I’m from a small coastal town,” she replied. “Same town you grew up in.”

Monty’s smirk faltered, then returned just as quickly. “Small world,” he said, though the words caught in his throat, like reflux, unable to swallow a reminder of his humble beginnings.

Monty moved on.

The air filled with the violent hiss of pans. Monty strolled between benches, throwing taunts, as little reminders of power. One poor contestant broke down, a bundle of nerves, unable to plate anything at all. Monty mumbled the word, “eliminated.”

When the bell rang, Erika’s station was immaculate. Her dish gleamed. A thick-cut piece of meat seared to perfection, a caramel-brown crust giving way to a tender blush inside. It sat atop a smooth, earthy purée, surrounded by a fine, amber sauce that caught the light like liquid gold.

Monty called her forward. “All right, Erika,” he said. “Tell us the story behind this.”

Their gaze locked. “It’s about memory,” she said. “The sauce is the part that lingers, sharp, impossible to forget. The crust is what happens when something burns, but doesn’t quite destroy you. And the purée is what’s left when you’ve rebuilt yourself, smoother but never the same.”

A hush fell.

Monty cut into the meat, and tasted it. The flavour bloomed on his tongue, deep, layered, breathtakingly beautiful.

He looked at her again, a tremor passing through the arrogance. “This is…” He faltered. “This is remarkable.”

Erika nodded. “It took me twenty years to get the balance right.”

Something inside him stirred, a flicker of memory, the shadow of a young apprentice’s face in a dark kitchen long ago. Her eyes. Her silence. His abuse.

Monty swallowed hard, but the taste remained. It was exquisite, and unbearable at the same time as his throat began to burn.

Erika gave a small, almost kind smile. “Some flavours,” she said, “never fade.”

The cameras zoomed in as she turned away, her expression calm, her eyes glinting like the stainless steel beneath the studio lights.

And Monty, for the first time in his gilded career, found that he could not speak, as his head crashed to the table, his cheek resting on the plate.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served after twenty years perfecting the recipe and on national television. And here, Monty seems to have bitten off more than he can chew. We appreciated the build up and Monty’s POV until the rug-pull moment. It could have been tempting to give Erika the narrative, but this keeps you guessing and the tension matches the classic kitchen game show cook-offs. Could the sentence after “Her silence” be left unsaid? Possibly. But the pacing and descriptive touch add plenty of flavour nonetheless.

HAPPILY DIVORCED: THE SHOW by Bruno Lowagie, Belgium

“This question will decide everything, Nathalie. If you answer correctly, you and your new boyfriend Ryan get a chance to win a trip to Paris with your children.”

Nathalie’s palms glisten under the studio lights. A bundle of nerves, she clutches the armrest of her chair. The crowd falls silent as the host leans forward.

“We asked your boys a simple question,” he says, pausing for effect. “Who makes the best waffles for breakfast: you, or your ex-husband’s lovely wife, Tiffany?”

Nathalie’s tension melts away instantly. “That’s easy,” she smirks. “They like mine more.”

“Is that your final answer?” The host tilts his head like a bloodhound catching the scent of scandal. The camera pans to the children, two cherubs in matching denim jackets. They try to keep a poker face but can’t help giggling.

“Of course, I’m sure.” Nathalie throws a dirty look at Tiffany. “Her poorly toasted frozen waffles are no match for my homemade ones. I’ve been using my grandmother’s recipe longer than she’s been alive.”

The audience gasps, delighted by her cruelty.

The host beams like the Eiffel Tower on Bastille Day. “Let’s see if that confidence pays off. Kids, is your mother’s answer correct?”

Nathalie’s sons bounce in their seats. “No! Tiffany makes the best waffles in the world!”

The applause sign flashes. The crowd howls.

“Sorry, Nathalie,” the host says, feigning sympathy like a lawyer apologizing for his bill. “You’re out. Bill and Tiffany move on to the finale!”

Nathalie is baffled. “I never thought I’d be humiliated by my own kids,” she murmurs.

Ryan pats her back and subtly shifts toward the nearest camera, fixing the smile he trained for a toothpaste-ad audition.

The kids leap into Bill’s arms. Tiffany glows beside them as if she’s just won The Bachelor.

“Congratulations, Bill and Tiffany!” the host applauds. “You’re three questions away from a three-week all-inclusive vacation in Paris—with the kids!”

Nathalie finally comes to her senses. “He cheated!” she cries. “He cheated before, and he’s cheating now!”

Ryan tries to restrain her, whispering through clenched teeth, “Don’t ruin this for me.”

But Nathalie jerks free violently, nearly knocking her toyboy out.

The audience erupts, and the host smiles. “Time for some commercials.”

When the show returns, Nathalie’s seat is empty. Ryan remains, knowing every minute on air boosts his shot at a role lasting longer than his relationship.

“Welcome back for the finale of Happily Divorced! But first… a twist,” the host announces. “Tiffany, you can choose who to play the final with: your husband, Bill, or his ex-wife’s younger beau, Ryan.”

Tiffany looks at Bill, then straight into the camera. “Nathalie was right. Bill is a cheater. Yesterday, he cheated on me with a bimbo named Destiny. I choose Ryan and a chance to win the trip to Paris—without the kids.”

“What an unexpected turn of events!” the host grins. “You’re out, Bill. And remember: love may be fleeting…”

“…but alimony is forever,” the audience chants.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Many stories this month began with a ‘welcome back' moment but this one cleverly drops us mid-question into the action and we can’t help but be engaged in this battle of wills and waffles. Well, this has all the elements we were looking for in a made-up game show. The ever-eager crowd, the desperate contestants and of course the gleaming host. With a trio of similes (yes, they also count as metaphors!) and a big smile, this host commands the stage as things go from divorced to absurd. Perhaps the only thing that could improve this is to have called the show ‘Ex Factor'!

THE WEAKEST INK by Claudia Nicholson, Greece

The host rode onto the stage like a scarecrow built entirely from ego and hairspray.

‘Welcome,’ he boomed, ‘to The Weakest Ink, where only the strongest characters survive revision!’ Lights flashed. Pages rustled. A chorus of disembodied editors coughed disapprovingly.

I, Chapter Twelve’s unnamed background character (profession: walking exposition), adjusted my collar. This was my last chance. Make it through today’s show, and the Author might promote me. Lose, and I would be…deleted, vanished—a violent strike through the narrative.

‘Contestants,’ the host squawked. ‘You’ve each been given a bundle of plot threads. Drop one, and you risk ELIMINATION.’

Beside me stood a dramatic detective with cheekbones sharp enough to violate several safety protocols, a Regency heroine with excellent posture, and a wizard who smelled faintly of singed parchment.

Round one.

‘Contestant Four,’ the host barked at the wizard, ‘your question: identify the metaphor in this sentence.’

‘Easy!’ the wizard cried, raising his wand. ‘A metaphor is a—’

There was a tremendous bang. A startled dove shot out of his sleeve, hit the ceiling, and rained feathers across the audience.

‘Incorrect,’ said the host. ‘Also unhinged. You are the Weakest Ink.’

The floor opened. The wizard vanished with a despairing poof of lemon-scented smoke.

Round Two.

‘Contestant Two,’ he said to the Regency heroine, ‘your turn. Who committed the murder in Chapter Five?’

She fluttered a fan. ‘I cannot possibly say. A lady never speculates on such vulgar—’

‘Wrong,’ the detective cut in triumphantly. ‘It was clearly me. I’m the red herring. My entire alibi is designed to look flimsy.’

‘That is your lie,’ she retorted. ‘I read ahead.’

‘No one reads ahead,’ the detective snarled. ‘That’s illegal.’

‘Never,’ she said primly, ‘judge a book by its cover. Especially mine — it opens into three timelines and a family tree.’

‘Both of you,’ sighed the host, ‘are exhausting. Contestant Two, you’re eliminated for excessive dignity.’

Trapdoor. Scream. Gone.

Final round. Just the detective and me.

‘Contestant Three,’ the host purred, ‘your question: if the Author suddenly spilt tea over the manuscript, who survives?’

‘Me,’ said the detective. ‘I’m indispensable.’

‘Never assume,’ I replied.

Because at that exact moment, beneath our feet, the script sizzled—tea spreading across the page like destiny.

Ink blurred. Words dissolved. And where the detective once stood, there was only a damp smudge shaped like a hubris.

The host blinked. ‘Well…it appears contestant three wins by accidental erasure.’

I stood taller. For the first time in my existence, I had a name.

The Author wrote in the margin:

“Promote this one.”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

With an opening line that absolutely ticks the host metaphor box, we’re off and rolling in this hilariously literary take on writers and the hills they choose to die on. The detective’s description is a lot of fun, as is this absurdly meta premise that sees characters trying to survive the red pen of elimination. ‘Kill Your Darlings’ could have just as easily been the title of this show, but who can begrudge a play on an existing show title! Add in the fact that we actually have a semblance of a plot and it made sense for our judges to note ‘promote this one’.

FAMILY FEUDAL by Sebby T, NSW

“Welcome back to Family Feudal. I'm your host, Edward Plantagenet. Before the break, the most esteemed House of Capet won the last round to bring them level on points with the most noble House of Bourbon.”

Edward the Meek of House Capet was starting to sweat. He had never been confident in front of a crowd, at least not without his helmet and chain armour on.

“Let us see what the winners shall receive for vanquishing their foes. Tonight's grand prize is a wonder of modern siege warfare: the trebuchet! This machine in particular can launch a 90kg projectile over 300 metres. There is nought a castle in Christendom that can withstand a barrage from this particular model! But fear not, for the vanquished family shall also receive a prize: a set of steak knives – perfect for banquets with the King and his Court. House Bourbon, what wouldst thou slay with a new Trebuchet, were you to win?

Edward the Cruel of House Bourbon flashed a violent grin as he rattled off the long list of enemies of his liege lord.

“Alright, let us begin the final round. We have the top five answers on the board. The family that picks the most popular answer shall take home a brand new siege weapon, and the other family shall be eliminated. We asked fivescore serfs, ‘What should King Edward VII of House Orleans, King of the Franks, Guardian of the Realm and Defender of the Faith name his soon to be born bundle of joy?'”

The host turned to House Bourbon, who were conferring in a huddle. Eventually, Edward the Cruel turned to the host and confidently declared “Louis”.

“Do we have Louis?” The host turned to the board, “Yes, the third highest answer; ten serfs suggested ‘Louis'. Capets, you must find a more popular answer than ‘Louis'”.

Edward the Meek began sweating, but fortunately, he had showered recently, just last fortnight in fact. The Capets had also thought of Louis, so Edward was lost. He turned to his cousin, Edward the Bold desperately seeking some guidance, but none of the Capets could think of a better name. In the middle of the stage, the host stood expectantly. Edward scanned his face for any clues, but the man was a stone keep. A long, charged silence hung in the air.

Edward the Bold was panicking. “Say something, Edward” he hissed, “say anything! We cannot go down without a fight!”

Edward the Meek waved his cousin down, “hush Edward, let me think!”

“Did I hear Edward?” asked the host.

“…Yes?”

“Amazing! That is the most popular answer with threescore and eight serfs! I am sorry House Bourbon, but that is the end of your reign here on Family Feudal. Capets, you have won this glorious trebuchet, and the chance to return next week to face your challengers, the House of Bonaparte!”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Is this silly and based on taking an existing game show name and adding two letters to allow it to be set in the Middle Ages? Well of course it is, and it’s just the kind of commitment to an original idea that can sometimes cut through. In particular the question of “what wouldst thou slay with a new Trebuchet, were you to win?” was a lot of fun and to be fair, there WERE a lot of Edwards during this time. (Is the metric system still a few centuries away from being invented? Well, yes, okay, but we’ll let it slide just this once.)

NEVER by Raymond Brunell, USA

The host drifts between them like smoke, asking his first question. “Jennifer, what is your daughter's favorite color?”

Her mother doesn't look at Alex. “Pink,” she says. “She has always loved pink.”

Alex has worn green every day for three years. The studio audience is silent. The host seems to waver, his edges softening.

“Alex, what is your mother's favorite flower?”

“Gardenias,” Alex says. “She keeps them on the kitchen table in a blue vase.”

The host's voice comes from somewhere distant. “Jennifer, what does your daughter want to be when she grows up?”

“A teacher,” her mother says. She's smiling at the camera. “She's wonderful with children.”

Alex wants to rebuild engines. She told her mother this. She's told her mother everything—about Emma, about the garage internship, about how she can't sleep because her mother passes her in hallways like she's already gone. The host is almost gone now as he turns to her.

“Alex, where did your mother grow up?”

“Tallahassee,” Alex says. “In a yellow house on Magnolia Street. She had a dog named Bundle.”

Her mother's smile falters. The host is nothing but a suggestion now, smoke between them.

“Jennifer, has your daughter ever been in love?”

“Never,” her mother says.

Alex feels the word like a fist. The host vanishes from sight. His voice comes from nowhere and everywhere: “I'm sorry, you've been eliminated.”

In the parking lot, her mother sits in the driver's seat but doesn't start the car. The dashboard clock blinks 3:47. Ten minutes pass. The key is in the ignition. Her mother's hand rests near it but doesn't turn.

“When did I stop knowing you?” her mother finally asks.

“When I stopped pretending,” Alex says.

Her mother is quiet. Traffic moves past them. Inside the studio, another family is answering questions.

“Tell me one true thing,” her mother says.

“I miss you.”

“I'm right here.”

“No,” Alex says. “You're not.”

Her mother stares at the steering wheel. Her hand hasn't moved toward the key. The silence between them is violent—eight months of it, bundled into this moment. The weight of it fills the car. But then her mother turns off the engine she never started. She turns in her seat toward Alex and authentically looks at her for the first time in months.

Alex doesn't know if her mother sees her. She doesn't know if this is another performance or the beginning of something real. But her mother is looking. She's here. She's trying.

That's not forgiveness. That's not a resolution. But it's not nothing.

Alex looks back.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

While the majority of stories gave us a light-hearted or twisted story, this one stood out for its game show format revealing the distance between a mother and daughter. The mother’s answers juxtaposed with Alex’s actual thoughts are quite powerful, as is the moment in the car afterwards. Surprisingly heartfelt in a sea of more playful stories.

THROUPLES RETREAT by Athena Law, QLD

Welcome back, I’m your host Blake Blakely, and it’s Day Six here on Never-Never Island, where our three loved up trios are competing for a palatial mansion and three personalised Porsche Macans. Stay tuned as we find out where Bazza’s been since storming out on Day Four, the real reason Isabela tied Taj to a tree, and who’ll be leaving us in the Canoe of Shame!

First, let’s check out what’s been happening on East Beach with Luke, Duke and Cecil. Things have been frosty since Duke drew the short straw and had to fix the toilet pit. Here we can see they’re still trying to crack open the fresh coconuts they’ve had since Day One. We’ve got a drone dropping in a surprise parcel, they’re ripping it open, yes it’s a 24-karat gold single-use face mask. Oh dear, things are getting violent, let’s cross to our next throuple.

Over in West Cove are Isabela, Todd and Taj. Our freshest throuple, they'd only been together a month before arriving, definitely still in the honeymoon phase, which led to some boisterous lovemaking in the sand dunes. But then, we saw Isabela strap Taj to a palm tree, leaving him there for the night. Why? Taj lost his contact lenses snorkelling and mistook Isabela’s estrogen gel for after-sun lotion. Don’t worry, our production team released him and fortunately they’re back in those dunes.

On Northern Beach, we have Shazza, Kazza and Bazza. So far these three have been the most relaxed of our contestants. Even through the offal challenge and the artificial monsoon night, they’ve said “She’ll be right mate”. Astonishing! However, on Day Four an argument over the memory foam pillow led to Bazza being barred from the king-sized sleeping bag. He took the last cask of wine and left. Where’s he been? Find out after the break.

*

Welcome back, you’re with Blake Blakely – I’ve been described as an engineer of chaos, but this series I’m bringing you triple the shenanigans! Duke enjoyed the face mask and all is well with the boys, tomorrow we’re gifting them a machete for those coconuts. Our loved-up trio in West Cove have been supporting Taj through his emotional outbursts, tender nipples and chocolate cravings.

Since Bazza’s disappearance, Shazza and Kazza have been happily braiding each others hair and singing Sabrina Carpenter songs. It turns out that Bazza had been sleeping rough near the South Cliffs but he’s being warmly welcomed back into the king-sized sleeping bag. That’s a relief.

However, join me now as I enter their camp to tell Bazza that his prolonged absence has deemed him ineligible to continue the challenge. He appears strangely happy in spite of his eviction.

“Expect two little bundles of joy in about nine months”, Bazza tells us, as he’s towed out to sea in the Canoe of Shame.

Join me, Blake Blakely, this Sunday night to see how Cecil copes with a machete, and how Isabele is getting on without her HRT.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS

Aaaaand we’re back to light-hearted again! After all, what better month than to bring out a parade of parodies and this story did it better than most. “Show, don’t tell”, they sometimes say – but here, host Blake Blakely is doing all the telling and we’re happy to enjoy the recap ride – such is the efficiency and sharp-witted observations that skewers shows like Love Island and Survivor. With a gaggle of fun throuples dotted on various beaches, we were genuinely invested in their fates. Can’t wait to see what happens on Sunday night!

6 O’CLOCK TV by Ponnu Ajith, QLD

“Name something you might find in a wooden cottage.”

BUZZ

“Goldilocks?”

“A bowl of porridge that’s just right?”

Magic Mirror, ever all-knowing, shimmers as a scoreboard appears in place of his face. “Show meeeeee a bowl of porridge that’s just right!”

An angry, red ‘X’ flashes across the screen. The crowd groans.

“Sorry, Goldilocks, looks like it’s over to Snow now!”

Snow White wrings her hands together nervously. “Ooh, I don’t know, Mirror. Maybe… umm… woodland creatures?”

“WOODLAND CREATURES!” Mirror echoes.

A triumphant TING rings out as “animals” appears on the survey board.

“There you have it folks – looks like Team Snow will be playing this round!”

Jolly music blasts as the camera pans to where Snow White is rejoining her team. Doc, Dopey and Grumpy wave at the audience enthusiastically. Well… two of the three do, anyway. I’ll let you guess which ones.

The face in the mirror turns to address the first of the three dwarves.

“Alllllrighty Doc, it’s your time to shine – Name something you might find in a wooden cottage.”

“Mirror, I think I’m gonna go with…. Beds.”

“BEDS! Show me BEDS!” Mirror booms.

TING The answer appears at the very top of the board and Doc hi-fives Snow with glee.

“Dopey!” Mirror flashes a smile at the next team member. “Gimme something you might find in a wooden cottage!”

With much confidence, Dopey shouts his answer. “Lost boys!”

Mirror pauses. “Lost boys?”

“Yes!” Dopey continues. “In Neverland, they live in their wooden treehouse, you see.”

Mirror looks into the camera, his face a blank canvas. He paints on a smile after a few beats. “Survey… Show me …Lost boys?”

A violent X fills the screen for a second time.

Grumpy has things to say about this one that I shall not, in good nature, repeat verbatim.

“LOST BOYS? YOU SERIOUSLY PICKED LOST BOYS OUT OF EVERYTHING?! YOU COULD’VE SAID CHAIRS OR LANTERNS OR PICKAXES OR CANDY – May the Gingerbread Witch rest in peace – OR BUNDLES OF SWEETS LIKE THE ONE RED TAKES TO HER GRANDMA EVERY SUNDAY!” He pauses to take a breath.

Dopey’s bottom lip is trembling.

Mirror turns to the audience. “You know what, I think it’s time for a quick ad break. For those of you watching at home, don’t go anywhere – We’ll be back with more Fairytale Feud!” He winks charismatically as the camera pans out, inadvertently capturing a glimpse of Grumpy being escorted from the stage by security.

When the show resumes a few minutes later, Sneezy can be seen standing at the third podium next to Dopey.

I pick up the remote and start flicking through channels, sighing. The rest of the episode will be boring for sure.

I settle on House Rules, where one of the three little pigs is renovating away. Now that’s a good show.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

This final story probably best sums up the chaotic energy of the creative showcase this month – once again we’re enjoying a different take on the ‘Family Feud’ format (one of the more popular existing shows that were written about). But here, we’ve added a fairytale layer to the mix and it works very well – after all so many of the story beats (think woods, cottages etc.) are common to so many of the stories. Here it is exploited to fun effect, the Mirror as host being a very nice touch. We kind of wish there had been more time for even more channel hopping at the end – curious to know what other shows are playing!

THIS MONTH’S ‘LONGLIST’

Each month, we include an extra LONGLIST (approx. top 10%) of stories that stood out from the submitted hundreds, were considered for the showcase and deserve an ‘honourable mention’. Remember, all creativity is subjective – but if your story made the list this month, take a moment to celebrate! 

THIS MONTH’S LONGLIST (in no particular order):

• BIG RED BUTTON by Beatrice Marshall, QLD
• ELEVATOR MATCH! by S.L. Jones, NSW
• DON’T DATE ME by Rachel Jennings, VIC
• SHINOBI by Red, Philippines
• THE PRICE OF TRUTH by Lucien R. Starchild, USA
• OFFICE SURVIVORS: CREATIVES IN DANGER by Isidora Luna, Spain
• SPIN THAT SPINSTER by Bryce Stansfield, QLD
• YOUR NUMBER’S UP by Brandon Khenkitisak, VIC
• THE SECRET INGREDIENT IS FEAR by Lily Finch, Canada
• WHO’S AFRAID? By Keba Ghardt, USA
• AS EASY AS A,B,C… by Simon Shergold, USA
• FRIDGE CLEANOUT GAMESHOW by Chad Thistle, USA
• FINAL JEOPARDY by Rob Tuckerman, ACT
• HEAVENLY MATCH by Anna Bober, QLD
• THE MURKY VALE CHRISTMAS TRIVIA NIGHT by Carol Waterman, VIC
• GAME ON by Kathleen Kassulke, QLD
• UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT by Alison Knight, VIC
• THE FINAL BET by Rajendra Prasad Gupta, India
• IL PORCO ESPLODE by Andrew Harrison, NSW
• SAME TIME NEXT WEEK by Dean Gaudoin, VIC
• HIT SHOW HITMAN by Eduard Volobuev, VIC
• CERTAIN EXPECTATIONS by Lou Harper, VIC
• WHO’S NAUGHTY, WHO’S NICE? by Anthea Jones, QLD
• THE FAMILY FEUDS by Sarah Burt Howell, USA
• THE GENIUSES by Karynne Wighton, QLD
• VAMPIRE WANTS A HUSBAND by Suzanne Wacker, QLD
• LET’S GET RICH! by Cheryl Lockwood, QLD
• MEASURED by T.A. Dylan, NSW
• THE SWAP by Suraj Gupta, India
• FIFTY SHADES OF YAY by Susan McLaughlin, VIC
• RONALD’S GAME by Johanna Lindberg, Sweden
• THE FINAL QUESTION by Divy, India
• THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE by Matthew Mudie, VIC
• ANSWER SWIFTLY by Rhiannon Dooley, QLD
• WHEN THE WINNERS LOSE by S.G. Roberts, USA
• AT THE GATES by William Pickering, WA
• THE UNKINDEST CUT by Rain Wicks, VIC
• SWAP OR STICK by Tyn Shenton, UK