Real World heckling

So I was chilling on a boat with the rest of the hired geeks and something caught my eye during a lull in the high-powered sailing action.

We were taking photos of the International Rolex Regatta and we were right next to Hassle Island during the town races. That's the portion of the regatta when million-dollar sail boats have their spinnakers flapping in the wind inside the harbor while overweight tourists gawk at the colorful spectacle.

One of the mindless sight seers was a member of the MTV reality show The Real World -- yes, they are filming the show on St. Thomas -- and he and two cameramen were on the edge of the small island taking in the action.

I had to yell at him.

"Seven strangers, picked to live in a house and have their lives changed..."

The cast member looked over to me and smiled.

"You don't look like Puck, where's my boy, Dominic?" I yelled.

"So you just make fun of them right to their face like that?" one of the USVI Tourism executives asked me. She was on the boat for unknown reasons. I wasted three Dramamine pills on her friend, who continuously chundered below deck.

"I fuck with them constantly," I said. "It's one of my favorite things to do here."

Honestly, I've seen them out and about St. Thomas for a few weeks now. They hit all the places you would assume: Duffy's, Starz, Shipwreck, Carib Saloon, etc.

When I saw them for the first time, I actually felt bad for them. It was a few weeks ago and Spring Break was in full effect, so every move they made, they were followed by a gaggle of MTV pimple-popping groupies.

Who would have thought playing Twister would draw such a large crowd?

I've heard some hilarious stories from friends describing encounters with the MTV ass clowns. One friend held the redhead chick's hair back so she could throw up after drinking too much. Like everyone, she declined to sign the release form.

"They'll probably just blur out your face," the fire crotch cast member later told my friend. "Getting us on film throwing up is their favorite shit."

I had another friend, who works at a certain Red Hook establishment (in a parking lot), that told me about the cast member with big ass holes in his ears. Apparently, all the cameras following him around was a little too much to handle so he locked himself in the bathroom to cry.

That's the same bathroom I've chundered in on more than one occasion. And every time it happened, no one had to hold back my luxurious locks.

From what I heard from most people is that when the cameras are on, these cast members have to put on a performance. Basically, be something they're not. When that little glow from the camera spotlight starts to simmer, they fall back on their normal persona and really aren't that interesting. Not that they were interesting in the first place.

One bartender told me the production crew is a lot cooler than the actual cast members. How does that work? I want to shoot a reality show about the people who shoot reality shows. Shit, that's a better idea than Khole and the talentless Lamar.

I've already contacted friends about taking a small boat across the harbor and infiltrating the Real World compound. Nothing too crazy. Maybe some eggs thrown at the house and toilet paper in the trees. You know, your basic middle school shenanigans.

It's time to stop being polite and get real.

My dogs are limin' hard

I was texting with my girlfriend the other day about normal midday bullshit. How was your day? What time do you want to do dinner? All that stuff.

I had to go cover a basketball game so to end the conversation, I threw out this matzo ball:

Ok. Fish for dinner sounds delicious. By the way, the dogs have Lyme Disease. Both of them. Have a good afternoon.

For some odd reason, she immediately halted our text dialogue and my phone started to ring. Who could it be? Ahh, she elevated it to a voice correspondence.

Aaron (with jackass sarcasm): Hey, so what's on your mind?

Brianna: What? Lyme disease? Are you serious?

Aaron: Yeah, no biggie. Doc thinks they got it in the States and brought it over here but it had been dormant for the last two years. I told him I wanted my money back from the previous two years' worth of blood tests. He's not playing ball.

Brianna: Stop messing around. This is serious.

Aaron: I am serious. And my wallet is almost $500 lighter now. He gave me some pills and he thinks the meds will knock it out.

Brianna (while looking up the disease online): This is scary. I'm calling my mom.

That fine lady is such a worrier. But it's a good thing. Who else is going to step up and pop a blood blister under my toe nail to prevent infection or allow me access to her protein supplements? And that, among many other reasons, is why I love her.

But I'm also in love with two other sexy ladies on this island and I just learned they had the same disease as that chick from the Real World. Remember her? That black dude slapped her in the face when she was in a car. Ahh, good times.

That reminds me, the freaking Real World is filming on St. Thomas right now, but that's a hilarious story for later in the week. Spoiler alert: They are all Douchebags with a capital "D."

Back to my beloved dogs. Doc said he was 99 percent certain they got Lyme Disease in the States. He's been in the vet game on island for the last six years and only three dogs have ever test positive for Lyme Disease. Hunter was No. 2 and Sydney was No. 3. It's actually very rare on St. Thomas.

I had to feed them these horse pills twice a day for about three weeks. I started to hide the pills in cheese but they became very hip to that.

Then I attempted to crush up the pills and sprinkle it on their food. It took forever.

The simple approach actually worked best. I would give them big bowls of wet Alpo and just stuck the pills into the Grade D beef. They devoured that stuff so fast, they barely even saw the pills.

Later on, I went to a 3-week check up, they drew blood and said they would call me later. I wanted to wait for the results but they said it may take 20 minutes. I was fine with that. Then they said maybe 30 minutes. I was still game.

They obviously wanted me to leave, which was a little strange.

"I promise, we'll call you with the results in about an hour," the untrustworthy receptionist said to me.

OK. I understand. But as I walked to the car, I wondered if that was protocol in case dogs are still sick and they don't want owners flipping out in their office. Yeah, that was probably it.

Well, I dropped off the ladies and went to work for the day. Four hours passed. Five. These bastards really knew how to build the suspense.

Finally, the head doctor called me at 5:15 p.m. I guess it was quitting time for him and he had to knock out a few minor tasks before he left for the day. Meanwhile, an insecure dog owner has been biting his finger nails all freaking day.

He told me the girls were OK and the medicine worked. I was so happy to hear the news, I drew a blank on asking him follow-up questions. I had just spent the previous six hours prodding regatta boat captains with questions, pressing a chess professor on the legitimacy of his job and trying to make 15-year-old high school basketball players say something longer that three words.

Yet, I couldn't get a single question in for this guy. And he knew it. He hung up with me instantly and then he was gone.

Could it all have been a hoax? A trick? A mean ploy to make some broke sports writer even more broke? Maybe they had a bad month? Maybe they had to get some funds up?

They thought, he's some chump with two dogs. Two dogs! Let's tell him they have Lyme Disease, charge him for the tests, charge him for this expensive medicine (which was just estrogen pills) and see if he falls for it. What a sucker.

That person was me. They're always out to get me, right? Either that, or I have a real fucked up way of playing devil's advocate. Whatever. The dogs are good. My bank account is meager and everything else is splendid in paradise.