Posted by Anonymous
Everyone's heard about what's gonna be the internet's latest fucking trainwreck, right?
Posted by cutiecat42
ur gonna have to be more specific. it's the internet, so everything is a trainwreck.
Posted by Anonymous
Apparently some PR company is doing some Big Brother shit, but with actual celebrities. Throwing them in a house, recording them 24/7.
Posted by save_me_smee
PASS. I don't have cable, anyway.
Posted by lawsonridge
actually, ive heard abt this. its gonna be on yt. their promoting it hard.
Posted by lawsonridge
theyre*
Posted by Anonymous
I'd subscribe if I were you. Get in early.
Posted by cutiecat42
sounds like ur working for the show. gtfo we don't like shills here.
Posted by lawsonridge
i might check it out once in a while idk
Posted by save_me_smee
Still passing on it. I hate celebrities.
[THREAD CLOSED]
The Heatwave Penthouse- obviously named by some corporate lackey who got his job by promising he had his "finger on the pulse of culture"- was ready for its residents. Their agents had been emailed pictures of the nauseatingly decadent top-floor apartments, along with a packing list and a boilerplate contract. The pictures promised that the residents would spend their three months on the show in absolute luxury, while the contract kept the media conglomerate behind the show safe just in case someone on the show did something stupid— or at least stupider than the show's advertising promised.
The celebrities were informed that their every need would be met, so that they only needed to bring clothing and other small amenities. The house had vehicles, electronics, toiletries, and the like; sponsors had been very generous, eager to stake a claim in what promised to be the future of reality television. Everything was ready.
• • •
The first evening in the Downtown L.A. penthouse was planned as a party, bucking the usual reality TV convention of a quiet meet-and-greet. The guest list was filled with the celebrities that hadn't been chosen for the show. Alcohol and jealousy were the perfect fire-starters, after all. Cameras were ready, and the premiere livestream already had over a million watchers waiting on baited breath.
The private elevator up to the top floor was busy, spitting out guest after guest into the apartments. Doors were flung open, allowing the partygoers out onto the patio; some, however, chose to mingle through the three floors of the apartment. The stars, though, weren't expected to make their own way to their new home. Rather, the show sent them cars and drivers, in an effort to make sure each of them would show up one by one, and all eyes would be on them. They'd get their own microphones, they'd be handed a glass of champagne, and they'd be thrown to the wolves.
The party- at least initially- was more or less subdued when compared to a typical Los Angeles rager. The music wasn't overwhelming and the conversation was polite and clustered in small groups. People whispered about what they'd heard; some of the contestants knew each other, and others had reputations for trouble. Some shared opinions about who they liked and who they couldn't wait to see embarrassed on a global platform. But soon, the atmosphere changed.
The music grew more insistent, switching from background noise to pulsing bass as the lights dimmed and hard liquor appeared on the counters.
