the time? well, that would be the penultimate day of perhaps the most horrifically insane amphetamines binge i've ever partaken of. about 6am. the place? the Crime Scene of course. the players? well. Tits Zawodny has left the building after Timemachine threw an enormous metal clothes rack at his face. make it home safely Matthew. you'll be in our prayers.
sun's coming up. not out of the ordinary.
hey. Real World's on. i've never really fucked with it, but Timemachine hearts it pretty severely, so teeth chattering, sweat glands working overtime, tremors making sitting still an impossibility, we set up on our respective couches and watch.
it doesn't take long for the magic to happen.
we'd discussed trying to finagle our way onto the show for quite some time. there's never really been an out-and-out criminal/scumbag/addict/tragic figure/pussy magnet beast amongst the casts of the past, sooo...
then the ideas start to flow, because god knows BEING on the show wouldn't be enough to satiate our need to feed. or is it our need for speed? both then.
anyway, somehow, in that early morning haze, we came up with what will be affectionately referred to as the Chainsaw Diaries. fucking MTV won't know what the fuck to do with it, but they'll love it nonetheless.
basically, things will go as follows:
Timemachine and i arrive at the house a day early to set up our equipment. accordingly, the entire upstairs of the house will be our playground. we shall fly in the Ministry of Sound PA system and install it in various rooms of the house. one song will play, at full volume, at all times, on a continuous loop: Nine Inch Nail's "Closer." 24/7. push the bassbins to 11 pleeze.
upon their arrival, our housemates are unsettled by the booming chorus: "i wanna fuck you like an ANIMAL!"
but we're not nearly done. oh no.
once the soundsystem's in place, we will take delivery (through an upstairs window) of our Stihl 025 chainsaws.
PARTY TIME!
during the obligatory co-mingling period of the first day in the house, the friendly schmoozing and boozing will be interrupted by more than the pulsating beat of Reznor's masterpiece.
maybe an astute cast member will notice that the ranks are two bodies short. just as they all agree that they are indeed undermanned, one of us will cut a hole in the floor/ceiling, Looney Tunes style, and drop the running chainsaw down to the floor below. someone may or may not break its fall. mtv hasn't gotten back to us on that.
the image of a falling, running chainsaw will set the tone for the season and let the entire cast, from the frat dawg meathead fuckface to the woefully insecure house cockpocket, know what time it is and who the fuck runs shit.
to keep up with the frenetic pace of the constant loop of NIN, we will of course procure a member of the Pagans motorcycle gang to supply us with more meth than you can shake a stick at. he will be one of the few allowed upstairs. more on that later.
at random moments during filming, we will terrorize our housemates with the whine of chainsaw motors, occasionally throwing them in unprovoked, meth-fueled tantrums.
of course there will be protest. these losers will complain that they feel "unsafe" sharing the house with such maniacs and that "the music is driving them nuts" and that they didn't "sign up for this." but MTV producers will be forced to keep us onboard as they log a 100 share Nielsen rating week after week. maybe they'll make things more lucrative for our fellow castmembers to keep them down for the cause. whatever cause that might be.
after a few weeks of chainsaw-driven tyranny, an entourage will form around us. in addition to our Pagan meth dealer (who, upon our insistence, will drive his bike inside the house on a nightly basis), Trent Reznor and Marilyn Manson will come along to join the party, every so often having chainsaw swordfights for money and meth. of course, best buds Pete Doherty and Mike Tyson will want in, and maybe Pete will seduce the "innocent girl next door" character and get her hopelessly addicted to heroin.
additionally, we will breed fighting pitbulls, placing no fewer than ten steroid patches on the muscular haunches of each dog, tazering, beating, and starving them before setting them loose downstairs.
as a show of diplomacy, we will hire an electrician to help splice into the house's breaker box electrical grid thinger, giving us full control of the joint's power. this way, we determine when the others get electricity. how does an hour a day sound? good. good.
as a friendly practical joke, we will, in anticipation of some adolescent, MFF jacuzzi romp, dose the water with no less than a liter of GHB, to be absorbed cutaneously by the frat dawg meathead closet gay and his two drunken bimbo marks in the wee hours of the morning. we will be as conspicuous as possible while poisoning the water, revving our chainsaws and such, so that when it comes time to finger the culprit, there is no doubt as to who did it. but what the fuck are they gonna do about it? we've got chainsaws, steroid-addicted pitbulls, mounds of methamphetamine, and mike tyson. sit down bitch. and somebody get rid of these bodies.
so yeah, things are in the pre-pre-pre-production phase as of right now, but i'd say it's a sure thing. i mean, who in TV doesn't love ratings? and controversy? oh my gosh! that's reality TV's middle name.
Real World: Chainsaw Diaries - ETA Q3 2008
