Real World: Purgatory Ep. 1

12 Nov
"This is the true story...

"This is the true story...

cleopatra

"...of seven strangers..."

carl

"...picked to live in a house..."

teresa

"...work together and have their lives taped..."

"...to find out what happens..."

"...to find out what happens..."

katharine

"...when people stop being polite..."

kyle

"...and start getting real."

realworldlogo

Mark Confessional:

“Hello there, I’m Mark Twain. I was born in 1871. I was a writer. I was a better writer than just about anybody in this house. (Looks over to Kyle, who is playing pool with his back turned to the camera. Mark raises his hand and produces a gesture that must be blurred out.) Yea. Anybody. I’m also going to bang every girl in this house–including Carrot Top.”

Cleopatra Confessional:

“Hey ya’ll! I’m Cleopatra! I am a former empress slash pharaoh-es slash PARTY GIRL! I love gettin’ loud and crazy and havin’ fun! I have  a bad habit for falling hard for Eurasian dictators. I don’t see any of those around here, so I guess I’ll have to open my mind to some new experiences. (Winks at the camera. Carrot Top walks by, points at Cleopatra, and emits a *click from his mouth. Cleopatra shudders and smiles at the camera uncomfortably.)

Karl Confessional:

“I am Karl Marx. I was a philosopher, writer, economist, and activist. In life I was known as a great catalyst for social change in Russia and around the world, but I’m just here hoping to have a good time and meet some cool people. Even though I was known for my economical and philosophical stances, my real passion is my singing. My music is my life, (Cut to black and white shots of Karl in front of a microphone. Karl is picking a hair off his tongue.) and I hope to use this opportunity to help me achieve my dream.”

Mother Teresa Confessional:

“Teresa’s the name, holdin’ babies and bein’ revered is my game. Been doin’ this charity biz for a long time now. I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to win. (Voice from off camera informs Teresa that The Real World is not a contest.) What?! Well f****!”

Carrot Top Confessional:

“Yea, I know. ‘Carrot Top, you’re not dead, I saw you on some commercial just the other day.’ I’ve been dead for about five years now. After years of plastic surgery on my eyes and cheeks and nose and eyebrows and neck and enough steroids to make Barry Bonds blush, I went into cardiac arrest on stage while doing a joke about toilet seats. Classic. (Attempts to smile. The result is horrific.) Anyway, so much of my body was collagen, plastic, anabolic steroid, and denial that it just kind of kept ticking. Yea, I’m totally dead. Totally.”

Katharine Hepburn Confessional:

“I’m Katharine. I was an actress. I defied conventions, was once called “box office poison,” and despised the media, but look at me now! I’m considered a film icon, and now I’m living in a house full of history’s greatest legends. (A sound is heard behind Katharine. She turns around. Mark Twain is throwing up in the kitchen sink. Mother Teresa is holding his mustache back while he vomits. Carl Marx is taking pictures with his brand new Nokia Sidekick™.)”

“Iron” Kyle Irion Confessional:

“I’m ‘Iron’ Kyle Irion. I guess you could say I was a writer before I drove my car into that lake. You could say that. You could also say that, since I made people happy, I was a joy factory. I made joy for a living. Can any of these ass holes say that? (Ducks down for a second.) Did Mother Teresa hear me say that? She didn’t? Okay, good. Wait, why is Mother Teresa in purgatory? I thought she was God’s Hispanic-looking sister or something. And when did Carrot Top die? I don’t buy it. I bet he just got lost on his way to the Surreal Life.

On the next Real World Purgatory:

Karl Marx and Mark Twain both sit at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Yes, writing is perhaps our purest art. It draws almost exclusively on the observer’s imagination,” Mark Twain says, puffing gently on his pipe. Karl Marx sits across from him, quietly nodding in approval.

“I believe this is why great works of literature like your fiction or my essays can move a far greater number of people than a painting or a sculpture,” Karl Marx responds.

Kyle now appears at the head of the counter. Both men seem startled by Kyle’s sudden arrival. “Yea. Writing is life, and life is writing, you know?” Kyle presses both hands together to symbolize this. He then pokes both middle fingers through, turns his hands and wiggles his middle fingers around.

Karl and Mark get up and leave the room without saying a word.

THE REAL WORLD! PURGATORY!

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