There's a certain program on MTV that claims to recreate the real
world—and as we all know, the real world consists of not going to
work, sleeping with strangers and contractually participating in beach
challenges for the rest of your life.

I figure I'll never make it onto this program because I'm not a
homosexual minority or a naked girl. At least not yet. I'm also not a
buff blond guy and I don't really drink unless there's kiwi involved.
But regardless of (or perhaps because of) all this, damn would I have
the time of my life.

"But Tim, why do you want to get onto this show, which shall remain
nameless so you don't get sued?"

I'm glad you asked, uncredited, highly appropriate quoted sentence.

Assuming I somehow could fake my way through the interview process (I
guess I'd lie and tell them I tend to get impatient around minorities,
alcoholics and people who breathe), I would be willing to sacrifice
myself and become a martyr for television audiences by putting an end
to this program once and for all.

How would I do this? You guessed it: make it into a bad sitcom.

From day one, I would embody every single bad sitcom stereotype and
gag in the business. While my housemates have sex with each other,
drink wine, then have sex with the wine, I'd consult my list of bad
sitcom staples. The next few paragraphs will document just how this
would go down (much like my housemates would in the diary room).

Week One: Early on, I'd establish myself as "annoying-ass roommate."
I'd introduce myself as "Timmy" and hold out my hand for Judd, my big
bald ex-bouncer housemate to shake. I'd say "too slow, chief!" as I
retracted my tiny pale hand.

"Grrr!" he'd no doubt say, solidifying a comedic anti-relationship.

"Whoopsie! Blame it on mah NUTZ!" I'd say while staring wide-eyed into
the camera. The reason I'd say this is because this would be my
annoying new catch phrase. And it would be pronounced more like
"nyUGHts." If we were actually on a real sitcom, I'd have the benefit
of a studio audience cheering and laughing, but in this case, there'd
be an awkward silence.

Week Two: Generic annoying-ass roommate hijinks. I think I'd start the
week by eating all the ramen and using the silverware completely for
stupid reasons. I'd scratch my back with forks and use spoons to kill
all those roaches that would show up because I'd leave the bread out
all the time.

"Who ate all dees bread?" my Rastafarian roommate Saul would ask.

"I left you the ends!" I'd say while winking to the camera or
something. Then I'd do that "magic" trick where you convince kids
you're removing your thumb.

He'd say, "Timmy, you are reely annoyin' mon."

Then I'd look at the camera, salute and say "Whoopsie! Blame it on mah NUTZ!"

Mental torture also would start around this time. I'd take
drug-addicted housemate Brandi's shoes and move them three or four
additional feet away from their designated spot each night. I'd also
subtly steal individual socks from her unkempt sock drawer. Then I'd
actually go out and buy more identical socks and place them in her
drawer. I'm primarily focusing on footwear here, but you get the idea.
Mental torture.

Week Three: The sitcom staples would all attack at once. First I'd
start an argument with Todd, the religious nut, and paint a big white
line down the middle of the room. I'd say, "Todd, that's your side,
and this is my side! I never want you to come on my side and I'm never
going on your side. Unless I have to use the bathroom LOL!"

Then I'd plan two dates in one night and convince all the housemates
(who, by the way, hate me) to help me juggle entertaining them
simultaneously.

"Nyahhhhhh! How could I plan two dates in one night!? Help me, Saul!"
I'd beg while tugging at his canvas pants.

"OK, mon. I help ya. Just please stop hittin' de snooze button in da
mornin' fer Gawd sake!"

Week Four: I imagine I'd be kicked off for "accidentally" leaving the
back door open to raccoons who shit all over the pool table.

That's pretty much my plan. Thanks for listening. And as for this
column, what can I say other than "Whoopsie! Blame it on mah...lack of
a decent sense of humor, I guess. Sorry."

©2004 Tim Landry