THE REAL BLOGGER SHORE'S AMAZING UNDERCOVER IDOL! (EPISODE ONE: "HOW IT ALL STARTED")

          (What follows is a fictional account of a reality show based upon the lives and interactions of a group of bloggers from around the country who are brought together to share a luxury log home in the mountains of Helena, Montana.  Each of these very talented writers has agreed to share part of their time and creativity by advancing the story-line of this fictional reality show in turns, following one another’s lead and taking the story wherever their twisted little minds want it to go.  Readers who want to follow along are encouraged to visit each of these blogs frequently to keep up with the tale as it progresses, and comments, suggestions, and snarky remarks are welcome!  The following “cast” of misfits will share a beautiful mansion, where they will live together, interact, and try to write while putting up with the annoying people who suddenly clutter up their lives: Sonia from LOGALLOT, Quincy from THANK Q FOR COMMON SENSE, Michelle W. from MOMMY CONFESSIONS, Michelle R. from RANTINGS OF THE RECKMONSTER, Lynn from THOUGHTS OF A RANDOMISTA, Falen from COLORFUL RANTS OF A FED UP SISTA, Brandon from MY OWN PRIVATE IDAHO, and Alexandra from THE TSARITSA SEZ.  The show’s very reluctant host is Bob from SQUATLO RANT.)

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                                                               EPISODE ONE:  "HOW IT ALL STARTED"

              I knew this shit was a mistake when I agreed to it in the first place.  Well, not immediately, obviously, or I never would have made the mistake and agreed to host a reality show in my own home.  It just seemed like a fun thing to do when the CBS executive pitched the idea to me.  He had seen my wife and I on Letterman's show the night I accidentally called Dave "Jay" and liked the way it had annoyed the shit out of Letterman.  Apparently, the two of them don't get along all that well.  Go figure.  We were there to discuss our having just won the single largest lottery prize in history, and for some reason I just forgot Letterman's first name and confused him with Leno.  Mistakes happen, especially when you've been drinking margaritas in a green room for an hour waiting to go on television.
           This TV executive called me up the next afternoon at our new mansion in Helena, Montana, and asked if I'd be willing to meet for a project idea he had come up with.  I should have hung up on the guy, but again, I was in a good mood and agreed to hear him out.
           "You used to blog, right?  You had a blog on the internet, and you wrote about all kinds of things, right?"
           I looked at the guy with suspicion... was he about to blackmail me for something I'd written back before we were filthy rich?
           "Yeah, I wrote a blog.  Why?"
           He smiled and said, "Because you must know some other bloggers, then, right?  Some edgy, tightly-wrapped individuals who shared your... how do I say this... twisted view on things?"
            I listened as he proceeded to tell me his concept for a new reality show.  He wanted me to invite eight of those "edgy" bloggers to my home in Helena, give them four bedrooms to share, and let his network film the fireworks as they tried to peacefully coexist away from their husbands, wives, children, significant others, and professional responsibilities.  The pressure would guarantee good television, he assured me.  It was a "can't miss" concept.
             I thought of the people I'd invite if I had the opportunity to bring eight bloggers together.  Immediately I thought of my new friend Mooner down in Texas, then realized that he'd never abandon his tomato crop in the early spring for something as silly as a reality show based in Mon-fucking-tana.  Besides, without him there to keep his gay pig and ostrich from killing one another, his whole world would disintegrate in his absence.  I mentally marked Mooner Johnson off my list.
             Then I remembered the other lunatics I'd encountered while blogging, and suddenly this guy's crazy reality show idea started to click for me.  Yeah!  This might work!  I could finally meet all of these people, have them share our home for a while, and it would be memorable and fun!

              My lovely (and oh so dangerous) wife wasn't as enthusiastic as I was about the whole deal.  She reminded me we had only moved in two months earlier from middle Tennessee, and hadn't even gotten curtains hung in some of the mansion's thirty seven rooms.  Besides, she said, we came up here to get the hell away from everyone.  Why would we want to invite a group of virtual strangers into our homes to live with us now that we were financially better off than most industrialized nations?  Shit, we had half a billion dollars in the bank, almost enough to qualify as a Republican in Congress!
               But I foolishly convinced her it would be fun.  She reluctantly agreed to play along, but I could tell she was skeptical.  I thought it would be a lot more fun than it turned out to be, actually.
               The first hint that things weren't going to go well came as soon as the network techs started drilling holes in our log walls for their hidden cameras and listening devices.  There were twenty five assholes in the house dragging cables, stringing wires, rigging lights, and most of them spent way too much time standing around admiring our view of Mt. Helena and not enough time doing what they were there to do.

 
                Before the first day of prep was through our home had gone from Heaven in Helena to Helana Handbasket... and my wife was pissed.  I noticed the frosty temps when we passed in the house, and the withering glares from across the room whenever a technician started in with a cordless drill made me realize I had to do something fast to save my marriage, my neck, and half of my lottery winnings.
                 I went on-line and bought a villa in Barbados, purchased her a ticket to paradise, and as I put her on the charter jet at the airport promised her that I'd be down just as soon as I had everyone settled into the house and could get away.  A villa in the islands was just the ticket she needed to smile again.  I had saved my ass with one tropical island purchase.  Whew...

                 The first guest blogger to show up was Sonia from LOGALLOT.  She arrived in a network limo from the airport and immediately began to make suggestions for rearranging the furniture and fixing some of the obvious decorating flaws.  She was nice enough with her advice, but damn! woman, we just met!

                 Quincy from THANK Q FOR COMMON SENSE found his way into the great room while I was still rubbing my neck from Sonia's stream of consciousness conversation.  One look at Quincy told me all I needed to know about his part in this show... he had a smirk on his face, and I could tell he was anxious to get the fireworks started.  Then he asked where the kitchen was located, because apparently his flight to Helena hadn't offered an in-flight meal.  I pointed toward the west and he strolled away, walking with a slightly exaggerated bounce to his step that let me know he was happily iPod-ing his way toward food.

                 Michelle W. from MOMMY CONFESSIONS came through the door with her cell phone to her ear, saying, "I'll call  you just as soon as I can, honey.  Mommy has to go now!"  Her smile was contagious, but I could sense that she was already regretting this adventure.  She nervously paced around the room before beginning the first of a dozen text messages home.

                 Michelle R. from RANTINGS OF THE RECKMONSTER was next to arrive.  She came in with a calm and quiet demeanor that hid a simmering intensity that sent a chill up my spine.  I sensed danger... This little woman with the dark eyes was trouble, times ten, and before I could even speak she told me to stop looking at her breasts.  I almost pissed myself, because I hadn't even glanced below her neckline since her arrival, I swear!  Talk about pre-emptive strikes!  I was suddenly eager for my own flight to Barbados...

                 I was quickly walking toward the front door when Lynn from THOUGHTS OF A RANDOMISTA breezed in, smiling as if we'd known each other for years.  I wasn't expecting a warm hug, especially after feeling menaced only moments before by The Reckmonster, but before I could avoid it Lynn had me in an embrace.  Her perfume was deep, and I'm pretty sure my dogs were wondering why I didn't carry the scent of Mrs. Squatlo later that afternoon when I went out to feed them.  It all happened so fast, guys!  Don't rat me out, it was only an innocent hug!  Jeez...

                 When I first saw Falen from  COLORFUL RANTS OF A FED UP SISTA I knew she would be the party animal of the bunch.  She came in with a drink from the limo in one hand, and a burning cigarette in the other.  I quickly reminded her that we didn't allow smoking in our home, and her exact words in reply were, "Ima smoke, Squat!  Get used to it!" as she strolled past on her way to check out the rest of the house.

                 Everything changed immediately when Brandon from MY OWN PRIVATE IDAHO arrived.  His smile grew as he looked around from face to face, watching as each of the other bloggers stepped forward to introduce themselves.  Quincy came back into the great room carrying a tray of shrimp and crackers, and Falen had to put down her drink to snatch one from the tray as he walked past her to meet Brandon.  I could tell that the party was about to begin...

                That's when the last of my blogger buddies came through the door.  Alexandra didn't exactly walk into the room... it was more of a floating motion.  She smiled serenely and looked at the loft ceiling's exposed beams and said, "The energy flow is good in this house.  I like it here."  She seemed to glide over to the nearest couch before gently settling in and pulling up a fleece blanket over her feet.  She was home.

                 I could sense that the hidden cameras were rolling.  The gang was all here, and it was time to get down to brass tacks.
                 The first thing on the agenda was to assign rooms and roommates.  I had already decided to avoid any OBVIOUS trouble with their spouses and significant others back home by making the assignments gender-oriented.  Since Brandon and Quincy were the only men in the group, they would have to share a room.  I thought it would be a good idea to put Falen, the party animal, in the room with the person least likely to help her start a meth lab or do tequila shooters in our bathroom, and that person was the very homesick Michelle W.  I thought giving Sonia someone like Alexandra to talk to might work out well, since Alexandra seemed to be the kind of person who would love to hear the innermost thoughts of whomever would talk to her... and Sonia had seemed like a talker when we met.  That left, by process of elimination, Lynn the hugger to share a room with Michelle R., the anything BUT a hugger who had warned me about staring at her tits.  (Which I swear I didn't do, honey.  I'm falsely accused.  My bet is that she says something like that to EVERY man she meets, just to get the ground rules established.)

                    I gathered up the herd and gave them the show's rules:

1) You are each encouraged to post "Blogger Shore Updates" on the activities within the house, and to read the "updates" of your housemates.   Feel free to comment "in character" on the Blogger Shore Updates of your roomies.

2) You will take it in turns to provide the show's narrative and story line with a new "Episode".  When writing your own "Episode" always link back to the previous Episode within your story, and feel free to take the story wherever you want to go.  At the end of your narrative, link to the next blogger in the chain of command before handing over the reins to that blogger.

3) You can give up and go home whenever you like.  This is psychological contest and will be decided by outlasting the others in the house.  To capitulate, simply announce that you'd like to quit, page the limo driver to take you to the airport, and say your goodbyes.  The last blogger to post an update or narrative Episode from the house wins the show's contest, with the grand prize to be announced during the competition.


                    We were seated around the dining room table when I made the rooming announcements.  I had halfway expected some complaints or helpful suggestions, but most everyone seemed cool with the way I had them splitting up the sleeping quarters.  It made no sense to me having them pair in king size beds when we have at least six more bedrooms available, but the guys who came up with the show format insisted it would add some drama sooner or later.  My prediction is that Quincy and Brandon will provide the first 'drama' of that sort, 'cause they look big enough to crowd one another.  But that's their problem, and they volunteered for this shit.

                
                 I told them they'd have to take turns cooking for one another, showed them where the keys to the cars were hanging, and also gave them quick lessons on setting and disarming the intricate burglar alarm system on the house.  No point in having Helena's finest called out every other minute because someone trips the alarm system.  I'd like to remain in good standing with the local law enforcement authorities when this is over.
                Something tells me that might not be possible.  Before I finished the first run-through on the alarm system, Falen had set off the sprinkler system in the bathroom.  I heard the fire alarm go off and had to look around and wonder what the hell it was, since it was new to me, too.  Then we all saw Falen come tearing out of the bathroom with water dripping from her hair, mad as hell.
                "What the fuck, Squatlo!  I was in there trying to take a shit when your ceiling sprung a leak!"
                I had to ask... "You weren't smoking in there, were you, T-Cat?"
                "I told you, Ima smoke!  This shit gonna happen every time I fire one up?  You better FIX this shit!"  she was shaking the water from her hair and trying to light a wet cigarette at the same time.  Brandon seemed to be focused on her wet blouse, and Quincy couldn't stop laughing.
I think the Reckmonster was sizing Brandon up for a haymaker, so I quickly changed the subject.
                 "I'll have them turn the sprinklers off in the bathrooms.   Try not to start a real fire, though, or you're toast." 
                 Then I turned to the group and made my final announcement to them all.
                 "I'm outta here.  If any of you need me, I'll be in Barbados trying to calm down my lovely and dangerous wife, who is threatening to cut off my cahones if you guys don't behave yourselves while we're gone.  Try to play nice with one another, remember to keep up your blogs on the laptops we've provided, and above all else, don't lock yourselves out of the house.  I'm not coming back from Barbados with the spare keys."
                 Michelle the Reckmonster turned to me and said, "Wait a fucking minute... you don't have to stay and WE DO?  What the hell!"
                 Then  Brandon had to chime in in agreement, which only convinced me he was trying to smooth things over with obviously dangerous Michelle R. before she could develop a serious dislike for his ass.  It didn't work, she glared at him again, and he merely smiled and went back to work on the tray of shrimp cocktails Quincy had brought from the kitchen.
                 By now, Alexandra was out from under the fleece and admiring the view from the back deck overlooking the pool, and called out to us with, "I hope no one else brought a bathing suit, either.  That heated pool looks so inviting!"
                 The thought of this group swimming naked in our pool was all the encouragement I needed to immediately page Warren to bring around the limo to take me to the airport.  I wanted to vacate the premises before the first drunken orgy or fistfight broke out, especially if television cameras were going to be recording everything for the next broadcast.  The last thing I needed my angry little wife to see from her villa in Barbados was my ass on television with a group of naked drunks...
                I quickly reminded the group that they had responsibilities to continue writing, as the script required, and that they weren't allowed to wander into town unless accompanied by at least two other members of the cast, and that they'd have to be followed by a discrete film crew at all times when off the property.  No one heard me.  They were already scattered throughout the house, opening drawers and closets and going through my porn collection.
                With a sigh I grabbed my bags and walked out to the limo where Warren held open the door and offered to take the suitcase.
                On the long ride over to the airport I shook my head at this sudden and depressing turn of events, then slid open the electric window between Warren and myself.
                "Warren, my man, do me a solid while we're away."
                "Yessir.  What'll it be?"
                I cleared my throat...  "If any of those lunatics asks you take them into town, do your best to keep the police from becoming involved, would you?  I have a bad feeling about all of this."
                Warren nodded, but kept his eyes on the highway.
                Shit, what a mess.  I just hope they don't burn down the place before my plane leaves Montana's airspace.  I'd hate to see THAT from twenty-thousand feet.
                

                 (according to the schedule, Sonia will be the first to contribute to our story, offering Episode Two on her blogsite, then handing the reins over to Quincy for Episode Three)