Real World
Riding Virgin Air

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Djb: C+ | Grade It Now!
Cheese Steak, Hold The Steak

There's no time for five-minute mood-establishing weather montages this week, as we join the inaction already in progress inside of the Center For Center Center (CCC), where The High-Drama Strings of Passing Out Dittos rages appropriately on the soundtrack. Poor, Poor Anthony (who the Squiggly Hip Font of Character Introduction feels it must identify -- again -- so put-upon and poor is his poor, put-upon character) is surrounded by a troupe of CCC-dwelling waifs, who he tells, "I'm taking surveys, and I want to know truthfully what you think about the volunteers." Cut to the first of many, many shots of the Somber Seven during their daily routine at the CCC, this one featuring Sean wearing that it-came-from-a-porno-set-in-the-American-old-west-called-Lay-It-Again-Sam-or-some-such-thing leather cowboy hat. Yuck. He is also wearing a shirt with his name on it, because he is exactly twelve years old. And also because his intelligence level leaves him inclined to forget said name, and what better way to remind himself than by running to a nearby mirror and using said shirt as secondary source material on this matter. Though, considering what we know of Sean's intellect, I wouldn't put it past him to take a look in that mirror, gaze curiously at the shirt for a moment, and intone aloud, "'Naes'? Who the hell is Naes, eh?"

Still in flashback, the kids hang all over Sean for a reason I remain unable to discern, and he attempts to foist them off on any of the other uninterested CCC volunteers. Cut back to Poor, Poor Anthony, continuing, "You've voiced concerns before; this is the appropriate place to do it," which is so dripping with the undeniable subtext, "Hey, kids? If any of you is actually able to stir up some compelling controversy on this show, MTV can probably arrange to have Scary Spice do a cameo at your first communion. Pleeeeease?" Poor, Poor Anthony implores them to "be honest," seeing as "no one will know your answers, as long as you don't write you name on it." Or even if they do, provided Sean is not afforded ample time to very slowly sound out said names. Or, if they really want to be helpful, have their names ironed onto their shirts, "redrum"-style, so they read forward when reflected in the mirror.

A montage of Anthony coaching the kids to write anything that will actually come across as satisfying television viewing -- you can practically smell B-M bribing Anthony to tell the kids that "helps me with my homework" is spelled "B-A-D T-O-U-C-H" -- cuts to The Somber Seven sitting around a conference table after hours, listening to the results: "We have seventy-five kids here. Thirty-eight were surveyed, which is, like, fifty-one percent. Five percent of the people, nine through eleven, say that you never listen to them." Five percent? Dude, isn't that, like the margin of error? I mean, I hate the seven of them also, man; there's no margin for error there. And I'm still waiting for a .pdf downloadable version of that survey so I can register some of my very strong opinions of the wrongs these people have perpetrated against me over the course of the last seventeen weeks. But five percent of thirty-eight is, by my calculations, a grand total of 1.9 kids complaining about being ignored. So, y'know, wah wah. I mean, no one knows better than we do that there always has to be a complainer or two in the world (follow me to my MBTV in-box the day this recap goes up and follow the IP addresses of the hate mail right back to Philadelphia), but this is a really paltry attempt to cook up some drama right here. When I first watched this segment in its entirety, I was all prepared to end this paragraph with the sentiment, "Them sucking is now more than just an's a statistic." But after crunching some numbers, I couldn't even rationalize it. Sweep up the hanging chads, baby. I demand a recount.

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Real World




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