THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, May 30, 1995 TAG: 9505270055
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: By DEBRA GORDON, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 152 lines
FOR EVERY 8-year-old boy who lives with refrains of ``Clean up your room,'' ``Use soap!'' and ``Time for a haircut,'' there is Gak.
For every 9-year-old girl who is constantly told to wash her hands, brush her hair and tuck in her blouse, there is Green Slime.
And for every TV-addicted kid who, at the prompting of certain cable programs, has ever longed to be covered in icky, gooey, gross stuff, to pick his nose in public, to yell her head off with no one signaling for quiet - there is Nickelodeon's Splat City at Paramount's Kings Dominion north of Richmond.
A place where getting soaking wet while fully dressed is acceptable.
A place where you can smash a whipped-cream pie into your father's face.
A place where the fantasy of having a bucket of lime green, viscous liquid poured over your head, slither down your face and drip off your chin becomes reality.
A place where kids are king and parents their humble servants.
Happy, happy, joy, joy, happy, happy, joy, joy! I'll teach you to be happy! I'll teach your grandmother to suck eggs!''
The audience at the ``Mega-Mess-a-Mania'' show, mostly preteen kids who have dragged their not-quite-sure-about-this parents with them, sings along lustily. The words to the TV theme song are as familiar as a childhood lullaby.
This is their world - the world of the kid - and they know it.
Here in Splat City, Kings Dominion's newest theme section, 3 acres are filled with attractions modeled after some of the messier shows on the cable TV channel Nickelodeon.
The main attraction, positioned amid exploding Gak vats, a Green Slime Transfer Truck and a Green Slime Zone, is the Green Slime Bowl, an 1,100-seat outdoor arena in which the ``Mega Mess-a-Mania'' game show occurs.
The show is hosted by Darla Boogaire, the infamous Gakmeister, an oversized grandmotherly type who loves nothing more than making a mess. The origin of her name quickly becomes apparent after she warns the audience that the show is being videotaped, live.
``Make sure you're presentable,'' she cackles. ``Hold out your index finger. Gooood. Now hold out your thumb. Gooood. Now,'' she puts her fingers in her nose and screeches, ``Booger check!''
The kids' goal in all this is to be lucky enough to be picked to go on stage and participate in the games.
Lucky like Jessica Cocca, 9, of Norfolk, who, along with her dad, Michael, was chosen for the first game after wildly waving her arms, jumping up and down in her seat, and screaming. Outfitted in fluorescent orange-and-red jumpsuits, goggles fixed firmly over their eyes, booties covering their shoes, Jessica and Michael, along with another father/daughter duo, moved onto the concrete stage. (The reason for the concrete will become clear in a moment.)
It was daughters vs. dads in a question game. Answer a question wrong, or with the words ``I don't know,'' and get a bucketful of slime dumped on your head.
First question to the girls:
``What's your name?''
``Jessica.''
The audience cheered.
First question to the dads:
``What is the name of your daughter's school principal?''
``Mrs. . . . ''
Sliiiimmmmmeeee.
You can guess who's going to win this game.
And then one of the dads has the audacity, the nerve, to try to wipe the gloopy goo from his eyes.
``Pie penalty!'' shrieks the crowd.
And his daughter smashes a whipped cream pie, aka Gak, into his face.
Sound a bit messy? Not to worry. There's a shower room backstage, and all contestants are provided with protective covering. And the Slime, Gak and other goopy glop is edible. Green Slime, for example, is watered-down applesauce tinted with green food-coloring.
And now the reason for the concrete: It makes for easy cleanup by the guys in white suits (``apprentice slimologists'') wielding pushbrooms.
Two more games follow, each messier than the one before. There's the banana boat, in which the kids compete to make a banana split. Three kids seated in a banana-shaped bowl are the ice cream. One wears a stainless-steel bowl on his head, into which a fourth kid tries to throw red water-balloon ``cherries.'' Another kid shovels multi-colored sprinkles (Fruit Loops) from a wheelbarrow over the ``ice cream.'' Then the whole kid concoction is drenched with chocolate syrup and a plop of the ubiquitous Gak.
And the final game - Pie Pod. Yup, you guessed it. How many pies can the contestants fling into the face of another kid.
As if these kids needed any more sugar.
If you think sitting in the bleachers puts a safe enough distance between you and the gunk flying around on stage, think again. Periodically throughout the half-hour show, whistles blow, a rumbling roar is heard, and Professor Greenstain, keeper of the slime, warns the crowd to be quiet or ``it's going to blow.''
The crowd, of course, yells even louder. Professor Greenstain then recruits audience members to furiously push and pedal the levers on the three ``Slime derricks'' set in the midst of the bleachers, hoping this will reduce the pressure. Alas, their frantic pumping doesn't help, and at intervals throughout the show, the derricks explode - drenching much of the audience with water.
But that's OK. Because if you aren't wet when you leave the Slime Bowl, you will be by the time you leave Splat City.
The Green Slime Zone (which, thankfully, emits only water from its various pipes and sprays) is a maze of pipes through the city's central slime re-finery. Water bursts out here, sprays out there and gushes out everywhere as kids run through it.
On a hot summer day, it feels pretty good.
Topping it all off is Splat City's big slime derrick, a 35-foot structure that explodes every 45 minutes with a water geyser guaranteed to soak anyone within a 20-foot radius.
For grownups, Splat City is a chaotic, wet, messy, noisy section of the park.
But for kids, it's heaven.
Says 7-year-old Jason Cocca of Norfolk, at the end of his visit: ``This is the best day of my whole life.'' MEMO: PARK FACTS
What: Paramount's Kings Dominion
Where: Located 20 miles north of Richmond on Interstate 95 at exit
98.
Hours: Park is open daily through Sept. 4 and weekends Sept. 9
through Oct. 8.
Cost: General admission is $27.95 for ages 7 and above; parking is
$4.
To learn more: For hours and other information, call (804) 876-5000.
COMPETITION FOR KIDS
NICKELODEON, the cable television network for kids, will host
``Global Guts,'' an all-kid, international sports-fantasy competition
this summer at its studios in Orlando, Fla. Twelve kids will be picked
to represent the United States in the televised competition.
Player tryouts will be held at Parmount's Kings Dominion June 3 and
4. Players selected from these tryouts will travel with an escort to
Orlando in July or August to compete in episodes of Nickelodeon's
``Global Guts.''
Kids must be 11-14 years of age (as of July 1) and weigh between 105
and 120 pounds. They must wear athletic shoes (no sandals or flip-flops)
and be accompanied by an adult. Tryouts are limimted to 400 kids a day.
Just show up - no registration necessary. ILLUSTRATION: Color photos by Tamara Voninski, Staff
Professor Greenstain, left, and Gakmeister Darla Boogaire...
Jessica Cocca, 9, of Norfolk and Kelly Hughes, 8, get slimes...
In Splat City, a series of water spigots and hoses...
Photo by TAMARA VONINSKI, Staff
Jessica Cocca, left, and Kelly Hughes get hugs from their fathers
after being slimed at Splat City. Michael Cocca and Dennis Hughes
were the targets of even more slime than their daughters.
by CNB