Real World
Montana Is Big Sly Country

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Montana Is Big Sly Country

Montana and Vaj are on their way to a restaurant. When they arrive in an Italian bistro, Vaj needen't much encouragement to continue to riding the front float on the idiocy parade. Montana: "I was afraid that I was starting to get over Vaj." But his wooing words and the tall glass of red wine that sits in front of Montana eventually convince her that as soon as they started talking about old times, she tells us that she was "like, oh yeah." Ah, the poetry of their love. Montana stirs tension by telling him that she hasn't hooked up with anyone in Boston since she's been there, and Vaj tells her that there is "no need to even discuss this." Back at the house, Vaj tacks up a poster of -- is that Che Guevara? -- and Montana says, "I like it," because she thinks it's one of the Marleys or just wants to shut him up or something. Obligatory Polaroid product placement photo-taking moment. Next in this ribald sequence, they make a hastily handwritten sign reading, "Gone Sexin' / Back in three days / If the curtain's a-rockin', don't come knockin'." Noooooooooooooooo! That was one 'O' for each meal that just came roaring back up my throat to haunt me following the smacky kissing noises to follow. Plus, like, ten billion more 'O's.

For some awful reason I am currently at a loss to discern, the women of the house descend upon Montana and Vaj's brief coital interlude the following morning. Disturbed by this interruption and perhaps somewhat cognizant that even he would not want to be a voyeur to his own self, Vaj snarks "So much for the conjugal visit!" Laughs are spliced in during post-production to make Vaj's visit seem palatable to someone -- anyone. Montana's confessional tells us, "I don't think that I could find somebody better for me than Vaj. We know each other so well. I feel confident that we'll weather this time apart." Elka lingers too long with that forlorn "I think I used to sleep here...once" look until Montana forcefully suggests that it might be time for her to go. I stifle a dozen or so aforementioned callback cross-references to Vaj's smell. Thank me later.

Over at a building that that funky font with the arrow tells us is the "Alpha Phi Alpha House," Kameelah voice-overs that "Boston is sorta, kinda starting to become more familiar to me. I'm starting to meet people that are kinda more like me and think like me." Continuing on: "I really enjoy the strength of the unity between African-American fraternities and sororities." Cut to a montage of said Alpha Phi Alpha, which appears to be an African-American fraternity where Kameelah has been spending bunches of time as of late. Walking, dancing, hugging montage. Cut back to the firehouse, where Kameelah runs to answer a ringing phone to discover her friend "Crystal" on the other end. She heard that Kameelah had hooked up with some Alphas. She has hooked up with a few guys, she admits, one of whom was "very nerdy cute," who offered to take her around Boston. Cutting to the chase, Kameelah tacks on two more requirements from her well-established list, "Forty-seven: has a name with more than one syllable." Wait. Is that from the requirements list or the peeves list? Failure to find out would force me to abandon my purpose in life, which has clearly become to cater each word I say and action I undertake to model myself after Kameelah's ideal of a perfect man. And I was so close. Until the hundred-and-ninety-pound thing. A Kameelah peeve she tacks on: "Number 32: men who can't get the hint." Wait. I don't know how that relates. Dang. Now that's two shortcomings in a row.

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