I just couldn’t resist. A tipster sent along this image of the long lines outside the Town Tavern on 18th Street in Adams Morgan, where apparently a casting call for The Real World had those who fancy themselves crazy enough to be on said program hawking their unique idiosyncrasies for producers this morning. Are these people that impressed with the dulcet tones of Wicked Liquid? Is there really that large of a population in this town looking for the most public venue possible to exhibit their incredibly repressed sexuality? Or maybe it’s the prospect of living in a filthy group house with an emotionally unstable dude who will probably push you off the porch? (Of course, this being D.C., most of us have already done this.) Perhaps all these folks just really like the prospect of arguing about the Christian church’s acceptance of homosexuals over family-style Italian dinners.

Really, though: what kind of yarn do you need to spin in order to conceal the fact that you’re auditioning for this show to your friends? It has to be a real whopper, right?

Ah, who am I kidding, I just wanted an excuse to link one more time to Martin’s experiment in stream of consciousness blogging about a program without a conscience. Somebody give that man a Pulitzer, or at least some kind of hazard pay.