'Real World' in a Princeton Penthouse?

Dear NBC, ABC, WB, MTV, and (heaven help us all) FOX,

I would like to file a complaint. Over the past two years, my roommates and I have religiously followed your reality television programming. Last week we realized none of us fit the categories of "the tall girl," the caterpillar driver turned refined pseudo millionaire, or even the second place "winner" surrounded by 25 men vying to win her affection. In fact, the last reality show any of us identified with was probably Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire. We have only one question, what kind of reality are you living in?

I understand your dilemma — times and tastes change, and with them go viewer ratings. Ten years ago Joe was probably an extra hollering for 30 CC's, STAT over the din of the E.R. It's possible that five years ago he was solving "based on real life" crimes alongside Lieutenants Brisco and Curtis. Understandably, he has now once again been removed from his dozer and thrust into the upper crust of the French countryside surrounded by women competing for his attention.

Though this is all economically well and good, I beg you to reconsider your take on the entire season's programming. It appears that instead of shifting eras or developing new reality plot lines, we're merely dementing the classic ones. Who didn't see Survivor and the Bachelor collide when Joe Millionaire's 20 ladies were released into a room with exactly 20 dresses? Jackass wouldn't even air that footage.

Obviously your audience is waning, otherwise the overly dramatic advertisements wouldn't be necessary. FOX's lineup rings frighteningly alarming with its latest addition: Man vs. Beast. The bait? "Can 50 little people pull an airplane farther than an elephant?" And honestly, ladies, out of the last 25 men that arrived by limo to your front door, were any of them pilots or firemen — much less all of them?

So what I'm suggesting is that you drop the Anna Nicole Smith adventures and the not-so-funny bantering bicker of High School Reunion and focus on a more real life representation than the Real World can offer from its Vegas penthouse. Instead, why not tap into a live feed of "average people" leading "average lives" in a small east coast city. Princeton.

I myself live with six lovely ladies with across the board backgrounds. You wouldn't even have to stage fights since such high estrogen figures have been known to bend steel. Survivor has nothing on this room.

In fact, just to show you an "average day" in the "average life," I'll recount my past 24 hours to you. In 24 hours I have been to math and English class, serenaded a total stranger from the top of a table, enjoyed being coated in beets and egg yolks, lead Bible study, been drenched with water for forgetting Captain Planet's weakness, and been covered in enough glitter ink that my neck now has a neat three-line stain. I've witnessed eggings, relay races, cross dressers, cement slip-and-slides, and body pictionary. Jackass has nothing on TI's stations.

I've purred like a kitten and lapped coke from saucers. Conversations have begun over lotion twister and I have probably singlehandedly improved the shaving cream stock prices at CVS stores nationwide.

You know, maybe no one gets hurt or spends the entire day wasted so MTV may not be interested. While this may be competitive, there is no torch ceremony, wedding, or eventual presidential candidate as a closing scene, so maybe this isn't for NBC or ABC either . . . and if you three aren't interested, I guess that rules out the WB as well. But FOX, really, this season you're allowing total strangers to marry on national television as a result of the viewing audience's call-ins only to spend the next 11 shows determining if they will "make it or break it" — what do you have to lose?

I'm offering 5,000 kids with 5,000 lives on a campus where Beirut, Taliban, and Morgan Stanley all come up in the same conversation. This all-inclusive location contains restaurants, classrooms, historical references, art, sports complexes, and its own personal nightclubs. We've got Rush, Bicker, ROTC, "Keepers of the Pee," room draw, reunions, and applying to Woody Woo. The Darwin Awards practically originated here.

So think about it. There're enough testosterone and blind date candidates to warrant at least a survey and screen test. We did pretty well in A Beautiful Mind, you know.

Get the best of the ‘Prince’ delivered straight to your inbox. Subscribe now »

Keep us in mind the next time Joe Millionaire forgets his middle name and how long he's had his 50 million, or when the Bachelorette rides off into the sunset with another 6'6" blond firefighter. We'll still be here, and if you catch us at the right time, we'll be riding greased up hot wheels or digging through mayonnaise to find the lifesavers. Come to think of it, MTV may be more interested in what we have to offer on the third floor . . . Sincerely, A concerned viewer Ashley Johnson is a sophomore from Florence, Ala.