(( This Real World report comes to you in Real Time, as it’s happening ))
Philadelphia, PA — 3:17am, May 07 2004
Jesus H. William Randolph…what the fuck is going on out here?
I’m laying half-awake-half-asleep, tossing and turning in bed for what felt like 3 or 4 hours. There’s all kinds of yelling and banging and shit going on outside. I can’t see the clock from my current location (sir!) but even in my bedazzled awake-slumber I know the clubs are probably letting out, and foreigners to my neighborhood retreat to their cars, drunk as can be.
More time passes.
Armageddon sounds as if it has emerged on Planet Earth. What’s this? Sirens? Oh, for crying out loud — it’s not like I have to wake up for work in 3 hours…I look at the clock. 3:17am…well, that’s just fucking great. The whirl of the siren’s lights are all up in this muhfucka, my bedroom. Guess it’s time for me to investigate Armageddon first hand. You know: what the fuck?
So I roll out of bed, and slither up the window. My God! It fucking snowed! There’s fluffy white everywhere! I must still be dreaming. Armageddon’s feeling a little fucked up right now. Oh wait — I get it. It’s recycle day, and some drunk moron from Jersey felt inclined to stomp on one of those plastic bags of shredded paper that were laying out all week. Damn that’s a lot of paper, I thought.
Oh. And there’s apparently fire engines too? This shit is weird, yo. The firemen are wadding through what, from my vantage, looks amazingly like snow. They’re trying to pry open an access panel on the street level at the building next door.
The only other dude on the street is some Latino smoking a cigarette, leaning on a pole. He keeps…looking…right at me….Fuck you looking at, beeitch?
Then what’s this? Across the street? Amongst a prop set of debris and whirling red lights from the fire engines, 3 fucking nymphs! Oh wait — those aren’t nymphs, it’s Real World cast members.
…Let’s see: there’s Black Dude, Hillary Duff Look-a-like…and what’s this? Laced around Hillary’s arm is Metrosexual-Leaning-More-to-the-Blazingly-Gay-Side Sleeveless Tight-Shirt Club Resident Boyfriend? Interesting, I thought, for if but a mere second.
They look so concerned…silly fucks. I send a Jedi mind blast: “See me.” As if on cue, they peer up as I hang out my 3rd story window like a doggy trapped by the blaze these poor firemen have yet to discover.
Booya, mutherfucker! I be getting in shots just by THINKING of the shit. Wait a second…am I still sleeping? What the fuck is up with this pimp dressed all in white on the corner, taking an interest in these Real Worlders…is he even real? Are you sure the camera really got you that time? God I’m lonely.