Jackpot! ChaCHING! Who’s got two middle fingers aimed your direction and is gonna be the next MTV reality star? I’m gonna hit the open road in that Winnebago with the cow skull on the grill and 5 total strangers between the age of 18 and 24: A slut, a religious fanatic, a gay guy, a douchey homophobic jock-strap with gelled hair, and a minority.
My role in the gang will be the recovering drug addict ex-convict that struggles with his tempestuous past. See, my dad used to beat me. My girlfriend used to beat me. My aunt Tess used to burn me with cigarette butts. I was molested by my SCUBA instructor. I used to have a speech impediment. I had tuberculosis. So I started smoking grass. Monkey grass. I smoked so much monkey grass that my Gram-gram kicked me to the curb. I was living in the sewers, eating nothing but half eaten hotdogs and old shoelaces. I was blowing all the cash that I earned from drawing caricatures of tourists at the boardwalk on that stankity-ass sticky-icky monkey weed from Lowe’s Home Improvement. One time I smoked so much monkey grass that the whole left side on my body went paralyzed for like 3 months. I could only talk out of the side of my mouth like Greta Van Susteren and I just laid under a grate in the sewer hoping somebody would drop some hotdog or lose a flip flop. I once starred on the internet porn site “GooseneckCocks.cum” under the pseudonym Solomon Soysausage, in order to make enough money to feed my addiction. I also killed my whole family with gardening sheers I stole from Lowe’s while re-upping on that sweet ape cheeba. But then I sent in my audition tape, got selected, and now I’m ready to turn over a new leaf.
Obviously I’m going to cause lots of drama in the Winni, so that I’ll get lots of screen time and be famous as fuck. I’m going to double stuff cream pie the Slut with the Douchey Jock. She will get pregnant and we won’t know who be dat baby daddy, so we will go halfsies on an abortion, much to the dismay of the religious zealot. To make it up to him, I’m gonna ask if I can say Grace at supper, then use it as an excuse to thank God for allowing abortions. Then I’m going to tell the minority “I’m not racist, some of my best friends are black.” And I’m not going to talk to the gay guy whatsoever. Cuz I don’t want to get cooties. Midway through the season, I’m going to shatter my sobriety by going on a hardcore monkey grass binge until the left side of my body goes completely paralyzed. My castmates will have to push me around in a wheelchair and wipe the drool from my chin.
Once I’m in Road Rulez, I’m going to bungee jump my absolute tits off. I can see it now, there I am dangling by my ankles from an elastic rope, high off adrenaline and monkey junk, with my tits some 4o feet below at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. They’ll probably let me bungee jump off the Goodyear Blimp into a volcano. I’m going to be SO NERVOUS! Cuz I’m afraid of heights and lava. Those are probably like my two biggest fears. My third biggest fear is either Lowe’s running out of monkey dope, or my aunt Tess coming back to life, pulling the garden sheers from her forehead, and chasing me down and burning my butthole with the ashes from a tobacco pipe.
After the season is over and I’m a notorious Road Rules personality, I can just do Real World vs. Road Rule challenges until the end of my days. I’ll do physical challenges like hitting some Real World fuck-stick with a foam noodle and they’ll fall into a swimming pool full of eels. Since that is just a seasonal gig, I can invest my time and money into the technology to upload my consciousness onto the internet. Like TRON. I’m going to wear florescent spandex suits that make my gooseneck cock look stout as a Guinness Draft.