Real World

This is one of those exercises lazy writers do when they hit writer's block. They just start typing. Well, this is one of those times.





I’m a pretty laid back person. I don’t really cause too much trouble. It’s hard to get me angry. So when I was chosen to be on Mtv’s Real World I was, well, pretty confused for two reasons. A. I never signed up. And B. usually the people on there are psychotic, drunken whores. But then I realized. . .maybe they saw that time at church that I snuck an extra sip of el vino Christo?

A week later I find myself outside a large townhouse in the middle of Brooklyn, with five other strangers. As the girls are all hugging each other and squealing and the guys are fist bumping, I stand there awkwardly. One of the guys- Pat- comes and picks me up. I think he expected me to flirt back or something. Instead I asked him a question. “How long do you think it would take me to take out my phone and call a lawyer?” The question left little Pat stumped, and so I progressed. To the three girls I went down the line and decided to use my Irish accent. I’m not really sure why. “Top of the morning to you, lassies!” I exclaim whilst I click my heels in the air. I don’t think they appreciated a little European in the morning. Then there was the last guy- Chaz. He looked like a real winner. He sat there with a vacant expression: mouth open, eyes glazed over, wearing his pants backwards. Wait, what? How did he even manage that? The caveman walks over to me and asks if I’m excited to go in the house. I reply, “Is the pope Catholic?” He squints his eyes hard, looking like he’s trying to have a thought pass through his head. “I think he’s Christian.”