Bald man in a leopard print jacket and black skinnies stands in front of a disheveled looking bunch of addicts. They are all dressed in immaculate grey overalls and have knee and elbow pads on.
Host: ok my intrepid gang. There are only four rocks remaining – who’s going to carpe the diem for the team.
Dingo Lady: you’re always talkin y’self up Martin so why don’t you put ya money where ya mouth is for once.
Host: Martin my boy, the team has selected you its saviour. On team, on!
The host grabs Martin by the hand and races off down a dark corridor. It looks like the bowels of a ship.
Martin shakes off the host’s hand as they continue to rush to the first room.
Martin: ‘Fuck off me you poof. I should fucking stab you.
Host: Suit yourself my love!
They arrive outside a steel door. There is a countdown timer on the wall. The rest of the team catch up. They are a rag tag bunch and some are barely able to keep up.
Host: Martin, you have three minutes to retrieve the rock from the moment I open the door.
Martin: let’s do this shit.
The host opens the big steel door and the red digital timer starts its countdown. Some of the team lift up viewing hatches while others stand bickering. One of the team sniffs at a can of lighter fluid hidden down his sleeve.
Martin rushes into the room and is confronted by a sweet, little old lady standing still as a statue in the middle of the room. There is a door at the back. Martin paces the room looking confused.
Martin: what the fuck do I do?
Team calls suggestions from the viewing hatches: maybe its under the old biddy’s hat. Knock on the door. Etc
Dingo lady: has that old bitch got a bag?
Martin: yeah
Dingo lady: well fuckin mug er then.
Martin delivers a powerful blow to the old lady’s stomach and she slumps to the floor.
Martin: give me that bag bitch.
He rifles through the bag throwing personal items on the floor. He locates the purse and takes out a clutch of notes. The rear door clicks open revealing a shady character standing against a brick wall under a red light.
The team screams out: pay the dealer, pay the dealer!
Martin holds out the cash. The dealer looks left then right before taking the money in exchange for a rock of crack.
Host: ten seconds remaining.
Team: get out, get out!
Martin races to the door, skipping over the quivering body of the old lady. He bangs on the door
Martin: let me out, let me out!
Martin bursts out of the room just as the countdown timer hits zero. The team celebrate his victory and hungrily eye up the rock of crack through his enclosed fist. Martin doesn’t look like he will give up his prize easily.
Host: Martin the valiant has slain the savage beast and crossed the boatman’s palm with his bounty. Now noble sir, pass over your prize.
Martin: what prize? I ain’t got ’nuffin. Why you disrespectin me like that?
Host: if we are to maximise our time in the Crystal Meth Dome you must hand over the rock.
Martin shoves the crack into his mouth and swallows.
Martin: I ain’t got nuffin. You calling me a liar? I should stab you up. Why you disrespectin me?
Brewedboy's Blog 
You need more comments on your blog. So I am leaving one. I like this stuff. Very entertaining. You need to start including photos of these yokels you write about. See you about a flat white tomorrow as usual…