What would you do if you were told you had a 50/50 chance of living? Would you receive treatment, or do a shit load of drugs that you promised your vapid friends you’d only do on your deathbed? Well, our good friends at USA (Characters Welcome) have taken the banal theory and put it to the test on the controversial game show that everyone is talking about. The network greenlit Chemo or Kilo in September 2015, so viewers can finally join in on the heartbreaking fun. The show, hosted by Home Improvement alumnus and one-time drug trafficker Tim Allen, gathers two willing contestants for each episode, both with severe but treatable cancer diagnoses, and puts them to the test. On the very first show, Gregaldo Lopez (stage three Hodgkin’s lymphoma) and Freida Jonstron (extraskeletal osteosarcoma) flip the electronic CoK coin and are assigned to either three months of chemotherapy or ingesting, insufflating, inhaling, and injecting a kilogram of drugs that the producers promise includes: cocaine, heroin, DMT, “pizzurp”, jenkem, gaffers, chokers, poppers, hoppers, and hashish.

The crowd roars as Lopez reclines in a comfortable leather chair. An IV is stuck into his arm, all while Jonstron takes her first tab, second tab, tenth tab of LSD (the producers later admitted the tabs were 2CB instead). After the “treatment hour” is the beginning round: an entire plate full of worms! The “Malignant Megascreen” shows the timer as both the inevitably doomed contestants get to the task. Jonstron, hyped up on the notorious hallucinogen, pours her entire saucer of crawlers onto the floor, rolls around on their squishy bodies, and anxiously yells “Here Comes the Boom!” over and over until the worm goo is completely absorbed into her hospital gown. The crowd gives a boisterous collection of laughter. “Ah, looks like the worm has turned for dinner tonight!” Tim Allen jests. Lopez, due to a loss of appetite, just sits at his chair staring blankly at the crowd.

The next rounds includes a velcro obstacle course, slime slingshots, confronting parents over the hidden diagnoses, and finally a good ol’ fashioned round of “Pin the Funyun on the Magpie.” Neither contestant wins, and both are sent to the “Waiting Room of Shame” to receive their uncensored, full-frontal checkups with none other than Dr. Mehmet Oz. With the contestants finally out of sight, the show ends with Allen telling the audience and the viewers at home that their laughter was for “a good cause, a just cause” because all ticket proceeds go to the Muscular Dystrophy Association. The crowd claps, many stand, the camera zooms in and cuts to several people wiping away tears. Allen himself covers his mouth as his eyes well with the altruism of it all. The proud example of the American ethos reaches full catharsism and the screen goes black.