By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
I'm not going to lie to you: I love The Real World. Always have. I loved The Real World when it first blazed onto the airwaves as a semi-noble experiment in documentary television, with an eclectic, not necessarily beautiful cast of people in New York City, all as clueless as their 1992 fashions. I loved The Real Worldwhen that crazy, closet-fairy black guy slapped the stuffin' outta the egg McMuffin of the psycho Lyme-disease Jew-bitch in Seattle. And when The Real Worldshifted focus somewhere between Hawaii and Chicago, becoming little more than an Edenic dry-humping ground for the young and beautiful, the beer bong for television's spring break, funneling vapidity to the already vacant masses, I continued to love the show for its unfathomable fatuity. What's that? Trash-elle from Las Vegas got another STD? Go figure. That whore's legs are open wider than our gaping borders. Oh, really, the Masshole in Austin got his stupid face smashed in? Ha, ha! Not so pretty now, are you, Abercrombie? Knock, knock. Who's there? Crazy, anorexic blond bitch in Key West, drunk as a ferret again and telling people to kiss her ass. God, I can't wait until she snaps and becomes the first Real Worlder to commit suicide.
If the producers keep this up, I may never read a book again!
Keep ye to the shelf yet, James Joyce; the program shows no signs of slowing. And this time around, I will not just consume empty television, but gorge, since the brain trust behind The Real World has decreed that the eighteenth edition set up shop in Denver -- my little Denver! -- where it will begin filming this month. I am obviously not the first to report this phenomenon; it has been well-documented by the local media. But I am confident when I say this: I am the most handsome to report it. And that's the kind of logic Real Worldfans can get behind.
Controversy has swirled like a garbage bag in American Beautyover whether the show coming to our fair city is a good or a bad thing, but there's no question that it's a good thing. One, the seven strangers picked to live in a house and have their lives taped will be calling the 1900 block of Market Street home. Over the past few years, that part of LoDo has experienced some well-documented violence, which means we may be the very first city in MTV history to see a Real Worldcast member murdered -- and you can't buy that kind of street cred. Two, having the show here will forever change the image of Denver in the eyes of the sugary-soft-drink-swilling, Justin Timberlake-fellating youth of America.
Having spent a little time on the provincial East Coast, I can tell you this: The young moroncy out there has two conceptions of Denver. The first is that we are located in the dead center of the mountains and can ski to school. The second is that we are a Podunk cowtown and we ride horses to school. By having The Real Worldcast frolic about LoDo, we can correct these misconceptions and show America -- nay, the world -- that we, too, are home to the sort of overpriced-hair-gel, show-us-your-tits debauchery that the driveling, lemming-like youth of this country have been taught they should desire.
And the trampy halfwits of this city are lining up to make sure that it is so. By Tuesday, the show's myspace page (www.myspace.com/realworlddenv) already boasted 3,901 friends. "Hope you enjoy all the goodies Denver has to offer," comments one young woman. "I will be the crazy drunk girl from Colorado that you'll never forget." Translation: I will be the crazy drunk girl getting railed in the hot tub that you will immediately forget. "If there is any hot dudes on the cast get at me so I can get a few minutes of fame," says another strumpet. Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll be fingercuffed in due time. "Hey Real World, you guys should totally come to my kick-ass 26th birthday party next week. My mom says I can have ten people so you guys can all come and then we just need to find three more friends so we can get the group discount for putt-putt!" comments What's So Funny.
All of the pieces are lining right up for yet another rip-roaring season. And to the seven strangers coming to make that season so great: Welcome. I hope you're the most reckless, doltish cast in history. And if you're ever bored here in Denver -- especially you, female cast members -- give your old pal What's So Funny a call. If there's one thing your show has taught me, it's that you don't have to respect somebody to sleep with them.
God, I love The Real World.