Wednesday, December 17, 2008

ROUND 2, ding

It is 7:30 in the morning on Tuesday. I wake up this morning and I feel great. I feel human. I feel a little sleepy, but I feel normal. The round one chemo has left my system and I am a semi-functioning adult. My energy level is back up to where I can walk around a grocery store if need be - before I could force myself to get to the stopsign halfway down the block and back.

Today is a good day.

Today is a dangerous day.

Today is the day we go in to start round 2 of the chemotherapy. 11am. 3 1/2 hours.

Last week I was scared and I didn't want to do it. The way it makes you feel is difficult to describe. It's sort of a nauseous feeling that won't go away plus a feeling of complete and utter hopelessness. Your energy is sapped from your body to the point where even chewing is difficult because it takes too much of your sweet reserves and then both these feelings just stick to you for like fifteen days and it blows hard.

But today I feel good.

Today I feel excited to go in. I watch the clock tick around sometimes and think - every second. Every second I am one second closer to the end of this. I suppose, though, at the end of the day it all comes down to drips. One drip closer, one drop closer.

Gotta get sick to get better.

Just wanted to let everyone know that today the wife and mother and I are ready to go in and fight this for the next five.

Please keep up all the praying. They make me feel grrrrrreat!!!!!


Sunday, December 14, 2008


My mom is staying with us through our "ordeal". She's been here for almost a month and it's been great having her around. She helps out with everything and has made it so much easier on my young bride and myself, but mainly it's just nice (at risk of sounding fruity) having her around emotionally. This is all way more tiring than you may imagine.....or maybe not. Maybe you imagine it being way worse than it is. Maybe being here and going through it is actually easier - being able to see it and know what's going on.

Either way.....

Yesterday my mom and I were driving to Hollywood to take care of some biz'nus. We were driving down the 170 and we popped onto the 101 - these are freeways - and we're chit-chattting and I'm feeling good. All week has actually been pretty good. I start my second round of chemo this coming Tuesday and it's been long enough to where I'm starting to feel like myself again. So anyway, we're chatting and things are going well and we take the Highland / Hollywood exit and we're driving up the ramp and then I woke up in an ambulance.

Shocking, right?

I've got a paramedic leaning over me saying, "Can you hear me? You had a seizure."


"Where do you live?"

"........I don't.......the valley.....?"

"Do you know what year it is?"


"It's 2008"

i couldn't remember anything except my wife's name. About 45 minutes later it all started coming back to me.


They rushed me to the hospital and when they found out I had cancer told us they wanted to do a CAT scan because the type of cancer I have has a tendency to spread to the brain and brain tumors can cause seizures.


So they hooked me up and juiced me with the iodine and scanned my brain came back negative.

I don't have brain cancer.

For the first time in my life we were all thankful that I ONLY had testicular, lung, and lymphomatic cancer.

Thank you, God.

So what caused this? I'll tell you what.

I've had seizures since I was a child. They are small. They are called Petit Mal - petit - small. Many of you have probably seen me have them. When I'm very tired they come on more frequently. My eyes roll back in my head for just a split second and them I'm back. They don't interfere with my daily life because I'm on medication for them.

My doctor has told me to take 3 pills a day (depakote) but they're really expensive - about $130 for one pill bottle - so I took it upon myself to only take one a day for the past few years and it's been working out great until........well, until about two days ago.
The hospital said my depakote levels should be at 50 and they were at 12. This coupled with the fact that for whatever reason I haven't been sleeping well - pre-seizure I'd gotten about six hours of sleep in three days - and like I said, when I'm tired, they come on more. So the low levels mixed with my sleep deprivation is probably what brought it on.

Needless to say, I am taking my pills three times a day. We were able to find a generic version of the pills for............$10 / pill bottle.

Can you believe this?

Anyway, all is well now and we're back on track. It was really scary not knowing who I was or where I was and my mom sounds like she was freakin' like a mohikin.

She says all of a sudden I yelled and then started locking up and curling into a ball. She threw her hand across my chest because I started tipping over onto her and she pulled up onto the sidewalk and dialed 911.

She's from South Dakota so she has no idea where we are and she's just shouting out the closest street sign she can see and trying to remember what exit we just took when suddenly five people appeared at her side.

One of them cradled my head and the other grabbed my hand and they helped her out until the paramedics showed up and then they were gone.

Believe what you will. Nice people, Good Samaritans. I'm going to believe they were real life angels, there and gone.

That's that. That's my life in a nutshell lately. Thanks for reading.

The one thing, though....the one thing I said to my mom in the hospital once she and my wife showed up, I said, "Man.......lucky I wasn't driving, hahahaha"

Wednesday, December 3, 2008


Got admitted to the hospital yesterday on a whim. Had some blood drawn at the clinic and they said my white count was too low......WAY too low. They wanted to pump me up with some platelets - the stuff they yank out of your blood that causes scabbing. I'm still wondering who's I got - maybe some starving college student? Maybe some near homeless fella? Maybe an immigrant named Juan? Who knows? Some Good Samaritan out there, getting stabbed with needles at fifty bucks a crack so I can have my platies.

So I got all checked in and they doused me for about forty-five minutes. All said and done it was about a 12 hour process. Hospitals work slow. Uck. The hospital beds on the 2nd floor are like prison beds and everything was broken. All the buttons on my bed were broken save for the "elevate back" position.

The nurse who came in to give me my IV let me know that she was "the best" before jabbing me in my elbow, my bicep and my forearm before finally getting it to stick.

We watched a show about face transplants on TV. Man gets malled by bear. Man needs new face. I have no real problems.

They ALSO got a count back on my HCG levels - that's those pesky cancer markers. A quick rundown on those - they started at 32, then jumped to 300 then jumped to 900, which was like, "whoa". That's "whoa" bad news, remember? One dose of chemo, easy does it and..........back at 300.

Lucky guy?

Doubt it. It's the prayers. It has to be and I refuse to believe anything else. I think we feel like often times praying doesn't "work" or doesn't work how we want it to.....but you know what? It's gotta work SOMETIMES - otherwise it wouldn't be a million year old practice - and right now is one of those times.

Miracles at work in our lives, folks.

Take it in.

Today I'm feeling GOLD. Those platelets really got me back on top. I'm eating and drinking way more and oh yeah, they gave me vicodin so that was nice.

My folks have been staying here with us to help out - well, my dad was here for about a week and a half but then the old man had to get back to the grind - brotha's gotta eat, y'know - but my mom is sounding like she's going to stay with us in LA for the long haul.

I was in bed and chilly earlier today and so she brought me in a blanket from her bed. i took a nap and when I got up I realized there were, like.....inch and a half long black hairs all over me. I couldn't shake em. Each time I thought I'd brushed them all away i'd find more. Then I went and took a pee and there were just a BUNCH of them all over the toilet seat - these much shorter, ew.

Anyway, I asked my mom if my dad sheds?

He's a fairly hairy fellow and I'd just figured that he'd been...........what's that called when a bear loses it's fur in warmer climates? They're from South Dakota so I just thought he was doing that and when she brought the blanket in from their bed, y'know, I got run off.

It was about this time that I ran my hand through my beard, just sort of one of those "hhhmmmm" things and low and behold, the largest chunk of hair I've ever seen just rolls off my face.

Today I have officially started to lose my hair.

Good news is, it's not really depressing, but it is sort of gross. I'm saying like......I can pull out enough hair from my face to fill up a bathroom brush, it's so much. And it just slides out painlessly, like some mangy old gopher's coat.

Oh well, at least I know I'm not sleeping in my daddy's pubes, hahaha.

THAT SAID, all good things!!!!


Wednesday, November 26, 2008


Had a doctor's appointment with an oncologist (that's a cancer specialist NOT someone who's just on call all the time, like I originally thought). The building was a little scuzzy - the type of place where all the bathroom doors are locked and you've got to ask for a key that ends up being taped to a pen or a spork or a giant clown shoe or something - and we waited just past an hour post appointment time before getting behind the giant wooden door that separates the lambs from the slaughter (you know the feeling when they call your name) before being shifted through three different doctors until they finally landed us on one that didn't have any information on us.

After he'd gathered our files and played 20 questions he quickly let us know that:

1. Surgery helped, but.....................................I still had cancer.

It. Had. Spread.

2. I now had Stage 2 cancer and he wanted me to start chemotherapy the following Wednesday......which as I write this, is actually today.

He also let us know that there are two different kinds of cancer - NON-SEMONOMA and SEMONOMA. I have NON-semonoma, which is the more aggressive of the two. From there, non-semonoma breaks down into a few different scattagories and, wouldn't ya know it? I HAVE THE MOST AGGRESSIVE VERSION OF THAT!!!


.....but I just did - the sweet sweet gift of cancer. Oh, thanks Santa - coulda went for the lump of coal, but I guess this'll do just fine.

When people say, "I don't mean to keep kicking a dead horse......................................................" I'M THAT DEAD HORSE!!!! PLEASE STOP KICKING ME!

We had an appointment with our urologist the other day. He said my cancer markers BEFORE surgery were 32. POST surgery - 619. Today: 900.

This is a huge the wrong direction. The doctor wanted me to go the hospital THAT DAY, get a catscan and see what it is we were dealing with.

Got checked in last night, got the scan and today they told us that the some "nodules" had shown up on my lungs.


On my lungs.

Lung cancer.

About two hours later I started chemo and am just currently finishing it up. Jade and I watch each drip-drop into the tube, down into my vein and talk about how each drop is me getting a little bit better.

So far I feel good. In fact, I feel great. GREAT. The doctors are all EXTREMELY adamant that this is going to deal with it. The chemo is going to eradicate this sunnabitch from my bod.



I've got about nine weeks of this and then I'm like Fred f'ing Astaire, tap dancing and karate kicking my way back to work.

Oh, and lastly, wasn't there a movie we were making or something like that??? Oh yeah there was and we're still pressing forward with it.


Tuesday, November 25, 2008


Round one of chemo is complete.
Thank God.

Truth be told, it's not as bad as I was anticipating.....bed-ridden, vomit and diarrhea inducing, chills, fevers.....maybe some crying.....

It was all that, but not to the extreme I was thinking. Sort of like a flu.

I saw one of those posters in the hospital - it's a picture of a stream and it says, "In the battle between water and the rock, the water will always win. Not because of strength, but because of persistence."

After dealing with chemo for one day, I thought. No problem.

After dealing with the side effects for the seventh day today, I'm thinking.....nine more weeks? Perhaps it would be easier if I were to throw myself in front of a bus to save a small child........been hanging around the bus stop lately......waiting for some careless mother to come far no luck.

Came home and laid in bed. Our cocker spaniel Clementine hopped over to me. I thought, "Yes, come here, Clementine. Give me some of that magic you have. Puppy dog tears and euphoric energy. Share it. Make me feel a little better, a little happier about all this."

She came over, pounced on my stomach and made me barf.

Not exactly what I had in mind but I did feel better later. Gotta keep our eyes peeled for the little miracles.

Saturday, November 1, 2008


Had our follow up appointment this morning with Doctor Alan Yamada - the man that stole my heart and my ball.

It's Halloween so everyone in the office was dressed like somebody else.

Dorothy answered the window - it's a sliding glass set-up. She pulled it open and I said, "I'm here to see the wizard."

Behind her was Pippi Longstocking (maybe), an Asian Little Bo Pepe and the oldest woman I've ever seen Halloweening as a receptionist at a urology clinic.

So they called us in and we sat in his office forever and listened to him talk to other patients through the walls because they're so thin. He asked one guy, "How's that tube we put in working out for you?

Things could be worse. I could have "a tube".

Yamada (my doctor) came in and told us some of my test results were bad. See, after they pulled out the nut to end all nuts, they chopped it up - I mean puree, baby. Blender time. Made a paste outta it and did some tests. Tests came back bad. Bad like we need to either give me some chemo or do some more surgery and rip out my lymph nodes - shake em around in front of the other organs, scare them into cooperating.

Either one of those would do, he says, OR you can just wait to see if you die. He doesn't say it like that but he says it.


Choices, choices, choices......

We don't have to decide today. So what do we do? I don't know. YOU TELL ME.

Got some weird testosterone supplements too. He said I could either take

a.) an intramuscular shot everyday for the rest of my life - like, in my bicep or

b.) rub some gel on my shoulders every day for the rest of my life.


choices, choices, choices.....

Took the gel. He warned my child bride and I - he said, "Okay, don't "make love" after he's put this on" and I'm thinking, "make love"? Is THAT what it's called when I hit her repeatedly with the back of my shoe, screaming at her to stop talking to her mother on the phone and just lie there and be still and silent?

She can't touch me for a bit because, you know, we don't want the female half growing a mustache - they tickle. Plus I don't want to feel like some gay sailor while I'm "making love".

I'M LIKE THE BOY IN THE FREAKING PLASTIC BUBBLE! MY WIFE CAN'T TOUCH ME WHILE I'M "ACTIVE ON THE GEL" - MORE F'ING SURGERY! ARE YOU JOKING!!!!???? CAN I HAVE A BREAK???? CAN WE GET A BREAK??!!! WHAT GIVES??? MOTHER...................mother nature....sometimes it's healthy to shout, you know. Even if it does amount to nothing more than sitting silently, alone, on your couch and typing in all CAPS.

Before we leave the offices of Dr. Alan Yamada - collector of testes and vaginal reconstructer extraordinaire - we have to set up another appointment.

Little Bo Pepe and Mother Time are trying to figure it out. I don't know. It seemed very shady. When I came around the corner Bo was picking her nose and I'm thinking.....what am I thinking? What do I say to that? I hope she's not eating out of the public peanut and candy corn dish I'm trying not to snack casually out of.

So Oldest Lady on Earth and Bo Pepe - they're trying to pencil us in, but they've got to write down some doctor code on this sheet for us to take to the place where I need to get my blood drawn and they've got to get the info from the sheet the doctor wrote on, but they can't read the doctor's handwriting so they're both staring at it going, "S......P.........M?" Really slowly spelling out the word, y'know?

So I go, "Can I get the origin of the word?" A little spelling bee humor.

Pepe eats another booger and scribbles something down then looks at us and goes, "Sorry, I don't know what I'm doing."

Really? I'd feel more comfortable if you just lied to me.

Afterward we went to the mall and did some therapy shopping. I bought two pairs of shoes, a hat, two scarves, a pair of earrings and a pretzel - OH MY GOSH, I'M GOING GAY!!!


Thursday, October 30, 2008


Went in for surgery on Friday morning.

I have a fear of needles. It's's debilitating. I can't think. I start to twitch, sweat, breathe heavy. Just the thought of them - the sight of them - sends me into this bizarre panic. So, knowing that I was getting an IV before surgery wasn't exactly the cat's meow for me.

I requested that I have a preliminary shot that numbed the area on my arm before they gave me the big poke.

They said they could do that.

I asked if they could poke me with a slightly smaller needle BEFORE the numbing needle or give me a nice Kool-Aid juice drink that made me feel no pain instead of using the needle altogether - maybe we could just skip the needle...even if I had to drink a gallon of the Kool-Aid stuff, that would be alright with me.

I'd do it.

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Apparently with today's technology the numbing juice drink is not yet a possibility.

Too bad.

They brought in a therapy dog for me to pet and three nurses to chat with me / distract me as though I were a six year old man-baby on the verge of a nervous breakdown while that heartless monster jabbed me with the mega-needle.

They got me all hooked up and, truth be told, it wasn't that bad - it never is. But the fear is still there. I don't know what it is.

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A nurse came in a bit later and gave me, what she called, a "cocktail". She said it would take the edge off and make me a little sleepy.

She was right.

I took a nap.

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When I woke up they asked me to pee into a jar while lying in my bed, which is disgusting. It's really difficult to force yourself to pee into one of those things. It's like when you're in the shower with your wife and you think it would be really funny to pee on her, but you know you only have a few seconds while her back is turned and so the pressure is on and you kind of lock up.

Anyway, it was sort of like that.

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After the "bed wetting" incident (no actual bed wetting was involved) they took me away.

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In the O.R. (that's operating room for those of you that are stupid) the anesthesiologist said she was going to inject me with some sauce. I said, "is this the stuff that puts me down?"

The surgical nurse said, "Yep".

There was an explosion in my chest - a taste explosion. It rose up into my mouth - copper. Gross.

I said, "See you on the other side"

And then I woke up in the recovery room.

Nauseous. Oxygen mask on my face. Sore. That sick copper taste still in my mouth. A nurse came over and asked how I felt. I told her it tasted like I was burping up pennies. She laughed and asked if she could touch my beard.

It's the least I could do after she had been so kind as to tear out my testicle for me.

She poked my beard and told me she thought I might be Amish. I said I wasn't.

i told her my throat was sore. She said it's because they stuck a tube down my gob. I asked her if they banged it down with a hammer. She didn't think so.

They took me downstairs and I chilled out in this reclining chair with wheels that I desired to take home. If it would have had a cup holder and a built in crapper worked into the seat, we would have been in business. I wouldn't have left until they told me where I could purchase one.

This new nurse, she gave me crackers and some apple juice to drink. I told her I felt sick. She brought me a kidney shaped bed pan. I found this strange.

I puked in it.

My wife came in and she brought me flowers....paper flowers and a cactus with some new Gameboy games for me.

At my heart I am a stupid little vomiting boy.

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I stopped drinking the apple juice and started in on the water. I was going to be sick again.

I grabbed the gross bedpan, held it up under my chin and spit some weird salty cracker bile into it. The nurse and my wife were staring at me. The nurse behind the counter was staring at me. I asked them all why they were staring at me. They all turned away. It's really awkward to just start barfing into a cup with strangers staring at you, waiting, watching, anticipating the vomit.

You could sort of tell they were all really excited to see me erupt. You could read it in their eyes, "Oh yes, here he goes - his breathing is getting heavier - this is going to be amazing. I hope some of it gets stuck in his beard - pleasepleaseplease....."

I went into the bathroom and peed. The nurse said it might sting.

It didn't.

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This, however, was the first time I realized I was wearing some kind of.......I don't really know what to call it - nutsack diaper.

See Exhibit A where I demonstrate the proper usage:

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I hobbled out of the bathroom and asked the nurse if I got to take it home. She said that it was a scrotal support and that yes, I got to keep it.

I can't quite tell you how joyous this made me feel. I told her I was so happy. I'd been meaning to pick up a scrotal support for the last few months - had even been looking at a few different styles on the internet - just hadn't gotten around to it yet.

They pulled out my IV and sent me packing. That was it.

I know what you're thinking. I know the question that rests on your brains that you're afraid to ask. Maybe tonight you'll do a google image search to find your answer.

What.....does it......LOOK like?

I'm not gonna tell you. I do have a LITTLE class, y'know.

That said, I DO believe that a picture is worth a thousand words, so please view this image of a chewed up piece of bubble gum:

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Oh wait......actually there was one more thing.

Before I went in for The Big Sleep we asked if we could get some photos of the troublemaker.

This little bastard had caused me some serious problems over the last month and I wanted to see it.

The nurses were kind enough to take photos for us and I've included them below. IF YOU HAVE NO DESIRE TO SEE THESE PHOTOS, SCROLL NO FURTHER!!! THEY ARE IN NO WAY X-RATED, BUT THERE IS A LITTLE BLOOD.

You have been warned. I will NOT be purchasing ANYBODY a brand new keyboard because you went ahead all willy-nilly and lost your lunch on those pearly whites.

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Thanks to everyone for the thoughts, prayers and blood sacrifices you made on my behalf. I really believe they helped. I am normally a very nervous nelly when it comes to surgery but I managed to keep it together through and through. The IV situation was probably the worst, but even that I was anticipating being so much more horrendous.


Next week we have an appointment with our doctor (who I just found out does vaginal reconstruction, so I'm going to talk to him about that - I have about a million questions) and we'll be finding out if I'm going to need to do any rounds of chemo or radiation (please redirect all of your thoughts / prayers / animal sacrifices towards radiation / superpowers now).

The doctor ALSO let us know that the tumor had grown but had not SPREAD. So that's good.

That's my story.

Abe Lincoln out.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008



The movie.

We held our October 18th audition for our Chelsea role and it was........alright. The people that showed up were all really good, but a few ended up canceling and a FEW were no shows and that's always disappointing.

Regardless, we caught some golden girls - not, like......golden oldies, but just ones that really nailed it, so it's (probably) all worth it.

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I'm always shocked and amazed at the headshot culture. Headshots, APPARENTLY, really don't have to represent you at all. Sometimes they don't even have to BE you. In photoshop you can change your hair from gray to blond and remove wrinkles and erase that eye patch and place in a nice glassy peeper.

You can say you're 30 lbs lighter or six inches taller.

You could be expecting a 120 lb, 5'4 red head with shoulder length hair and end up getting Danny Devito hobbling through the door dressed in his Penguin gear with a clawed hand.

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That's that.

In other news - surgery on Friday.

Had some pre-op blood work done this morning and was asked a bunch of questions by a man who looked and sounded like a grown-up Russian version of Charlie Brown.

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Good grief.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Since we've found out that my man purse is about to be unzipped and all contents emptied out (ie, my one remaining testicle removed due to the unwanted cancerous growth dwelling on it like the weird blond german junkie that's been living on the couch in front of my neighbor's house for the last week) the missus and I have been working tirelessly on sperm freezing for the last few weeks. The only downside is that now I don't have any room for my ice trays or TV dinners and my refrigerator is sort of starting to smell funny.


We show up to the cryo-bank to make a "deposit" and we're (I'm) so hoping to see THIS:

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or THIS:

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INSTEAD, what we THIS:

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and THIS:
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They ask us some questions, get the initial paperwork done. Bill Cosby says, "Is the address on your license your CURRENT address?"

And I say, "No - I didn't drive THAT far!"

She looks at me sideways and i say, "...........It's a South Dakota license."

She looks back at it and laughs WAY HARDER than is deemed even remotely necessary. She then repeats her folly to her coworker in a fit of giggles.

I know I described the person as "Bill Cosby" and then as "she" - but trust me when I say both descriptors are correct.

Bill opens the door and brings us to "The Back". She hands me a small cup - sort of the ATM deposit envelope, if you will - and then says, "Choose any door on your right". They all look the same except for room four. Room four has wallpaper......and printed on the wallpaper is naked women and close up shots of butts and boobs.

I choose the room I'm standing in front of.

Bill Cosby hands me a disc. I look at it - an adult DVD called "Bangin' at the Cabo Cabana". I say "thank you". I pause for effect. I say, "This should be romantic".

She doesn't laugh.

How do you picture these rooms where you excavate for "the good stuff". Mood lighting? Dark walls?......maybe a hue reminiscent of maroon? Candles - black AND white? Votives? Incense?

Maybe........a recliner? Would you sit on the recliner if there was one there?

Did you picture this?

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How about a light dimmer, at the very least? I get "Bangin' at the Cabo Cabana" and a stack of porno - seen above in Exhibit "Thumbs Up". I mean, it's SOMETHING, but a little ambiance goes a long way.

We pop in "Bangin" - more to just check out as a novelty with no real plans of watching it (PLEASE DON'T THINK WE'RE PERVERTS!!!!!)

The DVD starts on the little flat screen television. There are headphones but I just turn the volume zero. I don't like being confined by a cable and I don't want Cosby walkin' by thinking I'm a pervert.


Baby blocks DROP from the sky and twist around until the words "BABY DOLL PICTURES" is spelled out in front of us. No joke.

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From the baby-like logo it pretty much wastes no time getting down to biznus. "Bangin' at the Cabo Cabana" has CERTAINLY earned it's title from frame 1.

We kill the movie because it's sort of breaking the "mood" - the mood that is like being locked in the closet of a dentist's office without pants on. PLUS, I'm really concerned that if we watch it all the way to the end, the guy, rather than choosing to go with the "traditional" adult ending, will just decide to neatly collect his "product" in a little plastic vial and then set it on a nearby counter and I think if i actually witnessed that, it would be game over for me.

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The place is small enough that you can hear Bill Cosby and Mimi from The Drew Carey Show talking down the hallway. Mimi has a bad cough, full of phlegm. Bill Cosby does most of the talking and laughing. People walk by our door with heavy, echoey footsteps. For a moment two people actually stop to chat about plans after work outside my room. I feel really out of place, a little awkward, afraid to be caught, even though I'M paying THEM to be HERE doing THIS.

It's a strange paradigm.

I'm not really going to get into the logistics of the deposit itself for obvious reasons, but I will say this.......the "deposit envelope"........the little jar.......after four visits I'm STILL not sure of the best way to get the "money" from my "wallet" into the "envelope".

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Once you' have to walk through this place, carrying your "envelope" with you, proclaiming to anyone that sees you, "How are you? Why yes, I AM carrying around a jar of SPERM - FRESH FROM THE TUBE! I'd love to stay and chat but I really must be getting off to work."

You drop the goods off behind some sliding glass and ring a bell. DING - EVERYONE THIS YOUNG MAN HAS COMPLETED HIS JACK OFF! CONGRATULATIONS, SIR!

I turn to leave and ALMOST make it back to the exit when a small Asian woman in a radioactive suit pops her head out from the sliding glass door and says in a Darth Vadery voice, "Excuse me.....sir......(all these dots are where Darth is doing his heavy breathing).....i need to ask you........a few questions......"

I come back over to Darth Quan and, with my canned specimen resting next to her writing hand, she says, "How long......have you been.......absent.....?"

Certainly she MUST mean 'abSTInent'? CERTAINLY the LAB TECH JEDI at the CRYO-BANK knows the difference.

She says, "Did you get it the cup.........?

I want to tell her that most of it went on the floor because of their stupid little cup technology (even though it didn't). I want to tell her it's on the TV and all over the magazines and on the headphones. I feel like I should say SOMETHING, but nothing comes to me.

I nod and say, "yes, ma'am. It was a clean escape."

At the front desk they charge me a hundred bucks, which I don't really understand since mostly I did all the work. The lady hands me the credit card paper and a pen and says she needs my signature.

I say, "Ah yes, the ol' John HandCOCK, huh?"

Bill Cosby certainly thought THAT one was funny - and I don't blame him / her.

Saturday, October 4, 2008




Send your info to

If you've got a demo reel, send us on over a link. If not, no problem!

Here's her character breakdown:


Chelsea is a lead role. She spans one long decade – she starts at 18 and ends up at roughly thirty so I THINK the best thing is going to be a mid-20's character that can bend a little both ways.

Thursday, October 2, 2008


Another bomb threat today at MGMhd - fourth one.

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I ALSO found out there was a killer bee scare before the anthrax threat.

The third floor was the only one to evacuate (my floor).

We went and sat at a picnic table for an hour, waiting for the cops to clear out.....again.

Everyone else just sat inside and waited to be blown up.

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I said my job at MGM was definitely NOT worth my life....not losing it, not even MAYBE losing it. Everyone said, "It's just another false alarm".

Whatever you say, boss. I'm going to go stand across the street where I won't be blown away in the initial blast nor crushed and stabbed by falling debris and shattered glass along with the rest of them hanging outside of the front doors.

I'd be across the street, in the shade, sipping on an icy cold bottle of gas station purchased apple juice - the kind that's shaped like a giant apple. I would be safe. I would NOT be thirsty. AND I would NOT be DEAD.

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We came in and they told us they'd found the culprit.

I guess they decided to just *69 the phone and then look up the number or something.

I'm mostly surprised that it took the LA police FOUR BOMB THREATS to come to that way through.

It was an old senile woman.

An old senile woman at a nursing home.

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Turns out they all really WERE safe.

I asked, just to be sure, that they were POSITIVE she wasn't just saying something about Bon-Bons.

Tomorrow is friday.

Casual shirt Friday.

Bomb Free Friday.

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Wednesday, October 1, 2008


Started cutting over at MGMhd.

Since I've been there they've had two bomb threats.

We have to evacuate the premises.

Before I started they had a THIRD bomb threat and an antrax threat.

Today the bossman told me I'd be in a lot of trouble if he found out it was me.

I asked him if I'd lose my job.

My coworker wondered aloud if bomb threats were against MGM company policy.


See? There's even a positive side to possible oblivion.

Thursday, September 25, 2008


If you don't know what a link is, you've probably never used the internet before. A LINK is the thing you're seeing below.

Copy it and paste it into that big white bar at the top of your screen....or maybe just click on it.

THEN, after you do that, go watch YOUTUBE. You can find funny videos of people puking, people falling down and panda bears sneezing.

Also, I'm watching Riding in Cars with Boys right now, but only because my wife put it in.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008



My CAT Scan (Computerized Axial Tomography or CT Scan) was performed on Friday - pelvis, abdominal and a chest x-ray. The man-nurse told us it was just because we were new patients and the doctor liked doing chest x-rays on new patients, but we'd done our research.

They were checking to see if the cancer had spread.....

I hate needles. I hate needles more than anything. I would first eat mashed potatoes from between a homeless man's buttcheeks using only my mouth and tongue as silverware than take a needle in my own. I would rather shoot a shotglass of footsweat than "just feel a little stick". I would rather fall down a flight of stairs blindfolded than to lay my eyes on one of those thin sliver needles.....SYRINGES. Ug. Just THINKING the word makes my toes wiggle.

Anyway, I digress. Last week they gave me powdered Barium. This is the stuff you drink and it lights your insides up like a Christmas tree in the CT scan. I have to drink 64 oz. of this radioactive potion before my appointment.

My wife says they probably won't have to "stick me" since I'd been drinking the Berry-Yum. This pleases me....I hate needles.

I show up and the first thing the man-nurse says is, "Ok, we're gonna get ya hooked up with a chest X-ray, then we're gonna plug ya into an IV real quick and do a Cat Scan.

My day just dropped from around a possible 4/10, to about a 2/10. An EYE-VEE!!!??? Those things are like the giraffes of needles. The mother brain of pain.
I ask the doctor if there's a bathroom around and he points me off down the hallway.

I tell him I'll be right back. I tell him I've just got to go have a quick panic attack.

They poke me. They scan me. They X-ray me (not in that order) and then we go eat pancakes at IHOP.

My day has just gone up to a 3/10.

Now we wait all weekend to see the results. How is my cancer? Has it spread? Lung cancer? Stomach cancer? Liver cancer? Has it gone to my lymph nodes? Will I die in six months? If it's spread what is my chance of survival? Research tells us that depending on what it is, it could be anywhere from 30% - 93%.
It rests on our minds all weekend, but we push it back by playing mini-golf.

Monday I take a half day and we drive to the urologist.

He tells us that I have Stage 1 cancer. That's Stage 1 of 3.

He tells us it hasn't spread.

He tells us it's all good news.

My day is a 10/10.

I walk out of the doctor's office and hug my wife.

Today is not my day to die.

We posted a while ago telling everyone we'd postponed the shoot. We said that maybe later on we'd be able to look back and go, "HEY!...It really WAS better that we didn't do it late September."

There ya go. Shooting a film and dealing with this at the same time would have been disastrous.

Monday, September 22, 2008


So you wanna get your nasty mug in a movie, huh? Well, here's ANOTHER chance. Jordan's Room Productions is still looking to fill a few spots in their FEATURE FILM.

We've got ONE lead and a few supporting.

Here's the catch - we're an LA based production company that will be shooting in South Dakota so we're looking for actors that are EITHER based in LA or the Midwest (South Dakota, Minnesota, North Dakota, Nebraska, etc, etc.)

If you're interested, PLEASE check out:

We've got a few different age ranges - from 18 to 70 - so don't be afraid to take a gander, salamander.

If you match up with what we're looking for.....or if you DON'T but think you've got a little somethin' extra, send us a myspace message or drop us an email at:

and we'll let you know how to proceed!


Wednesday, September 17, 2008

CANCER?.......but I’m a Virgo...

I was peeing the other day and felt a lump on my testicle.

Oh no...

I went to the doctor and he felt the lump and didn't know what it was so he sent me to a specialist - a urologist.

I went there today - on my birthday.

The urologist told me to pull down my pants and underwear. I just kept thinking, "I hope he doesn't try and give me an oral exam....."

I told him it was a little touchy, a little tender. He started to squeeze and I said, "whoa - I said tender".

He tells me his ultra sound guy is in and he wants to give me the once over so I follow him into a room where a little Indian (India Indian, not Native American) man stands in a white lab coat.

In his thick Indian / Apu from the Simpson's accent he says to me, "Please pull down your pants and underwear and sit up here".

He pats the table with the white paper and I drop em and hop up.

He picks up my weiner and says, "Here, hold this, but don't pull on it". I'm not sure what he means, but I comply.

He says, "I'm going to apply the jelly" and as he's lubing me up for the procedure, I say, "Hey man, you've got the best seat in the house".

He smiles, but not because he thinks it's funny. He smiles because he's a polite Indian man.

He starts rubbing the laser gun all over me and I'm watching the screen and I've got the urge to shout, "Is it a boy or a girl - NO WAIT! - don't tell me, I don't wanna know!" but decide against it. I don't think he'll get it.

He takes a bunch of black and white photos of my testicle, tells me to wipe myself off and go wait in Room 3.

The doctor comes in and tells me I've got a tumor and the testicle has to go.


But I don't even smoke......ALTHOUGH, I HAVE suspected that my testicle has been sneaking cigarettes with my butthole for quite some time now....

I'm thinking, "These things happen to friends of my friends - these things happen to people I don't know. These things don't happen to ME.

GOOD NEWS - 98% survivability. APPARENTLY, if you're going to have cancer, this is the one to go with. Brain, liver, stomach, skin, bones - testicle is the one you WANT!



Tell em what he's won, Johnny!

You've WON......A NEW CAR!......Truthfully, Announcer Guy, I really could have went for the winning lottery ticket or Ed McMahon's giant cardboard check. Heck, I would have settled for a used toaster oven to be honest...

I spent some time this morning being very angry. Angry at lots of different things. But now I'm sort of feeling like......really this is more of a nuisance than anything - I just want to get back to..........normal. I'm hoping we can just move through this and have it exit our lives as quickly as it entered.

I plan to talk about it and write about it and say it's name:


Say it with me. If we don't say it, if we treat it like a secret, it gains power over us - like Voldemort - and that, friends and neighbors, will not be happening this year.

MORE GOOD NEWS - next year's birthday has GOT to be better.

Now listen - I don't want sympathy - sympathy implies that we've lost.

I want battle cries......cuz we're gonna scalp this bitch.

You are not welcome here.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008


I was talking to my wife on the phone earlier today. She was outside with our dogs while I was at work.

Suddenly she says, "I gotta go, Clementine is in the street".

Clementine is our dopey cocker spaniel. She squeezes through the fence on occasion and meanders around in the neighbor's yard, usually being persuaded to escape by one of the stray cats that populate our neighborhood.

We always get her back inside.

We spank her.

We say "no!"

She runs into the backyard and rolls in dirt.

Jade called me back a few minutes later and says that Clementine was standing in the road, smelling it and tasting it - the schnoz berries taste like SCHNOZ BERRIES! But all is well now. She's back inside and I say a little prayer and thank God that my dog has escaped a cruel fate once again.

I got home from work the other night (morning) and walked down to the grocery store at about 4am to buy some Cheez-its and Golden Puffs cereal (in the bag, not the box) and I see my neighbor lady putting food out for all these stray cats - the ones that live around here - they're all just following her around, the six of them, like she's the Pied Piper.

It doesn't bother me. Some people hate stray cats. I sort of like them. They're not friendly but I think they give a certain ambiance that I'm a fan of.

Anyway, I'm not sure if they're HERS or if they're strays and she just feeds them, but it's obvious that she cares for them - I mean emotionally, not just food-wise.


So, I just got home from work this morning - it's about 4:30 in the am - I come around my corner and see something in the street, just laying there - it's about the size of

Dang it.

I pull the car up, shine the headlights on the mass in the road.

Yeah - dead cat.

I park the car and debate what to do, finally deciding to pull my garbage bin out into the street, grab a shovel and a pooper-scooper and lift the cat into the garbage can. The thought of just grabbing it with my hands crosses my mind, but for some reason I can't bring myself to do it....which is funny, because I was attempting to pet this very cat last night...

The animal is much heavier than I ever would have imagined and very stiff. When I lift him or her up and peel it off the street, the smell of dead things hits me. It's not bad enough to gag, but enough to make me want to hurry this process along.

I drop the cat in the garbage can, wondering if putting a cat in a garbage can is something Clark Cunningham would do. I think about digging a shallow grave in our dead garden, but ultimately decide against it because I don't want my dogs to exhume the corpse.

I also think about just leaving it out there - letting someone else deal with it...and then I think about the lady next door.

Do you think she would be happier if she woke up, saw the dead cat and was able to accept it's fate or is it better for the cat to just stop showing up?

I mean...bottom line - the cat WILL just stop showing up. I'm not digging that thing outta the trash - but I don't know.

I kept thinking...if Clementine was hit by a car, would I want to walk into my front yard and see my dopey cocker spaniel stuck to the street with blood running from her ears, drying her face to the concrete or would I rather her just.........disappear.

I said another quick prayer, thanking God that that cat was NOT Clementine. Six hours ago, she stood in the same spot the cat laid.
I came inside and washed my hands with soap three times then threw the towel that I used to dry them in the dirty hamper.

There's something about dead animals that makes me feel unclean.

Thursday, September 4, 2008


Here I sit at my computer, answering emails. Just another early afternoon at Jordans Room. Everything is pretty odor. It hits my nostrils like a creeping vapor.

I am immediately aware of what it is - that smell so eminent and strong, clouding in around me, overtaking my presence, my very being.

The smell of a toddler's diaper. The smell of it on your shoes. A burning bag on your front porch.

I look down and, sitting under my desk staring back at me, is my dog, Clementine. Her mouth is open and she's panting and seems to be just waiting for me to notice her.

Once I roll back to say hello, the smell increases ten fold.

I call her and she casually saunters out into the light and I gasp.

"Heavenly Father, why?"

Clementine has decided to stop, drop and a pile of.......well - you know. The brown plate special.

It is on her back, up and down her sides, COVERING her big floppy ears, on her CHEEKS, around her mouth, on her feet and she seems happy enough about it....she actually seems PLEASED with herself.

I casually follow her around, trying to get close enough to grab her collar without actually TOUCHING her and drag her to the bathroom.

I will never understand the inner workings of a creature - dog or otherwise - that revels in rolling around in the brown blanket (on a hot day, no less).

I spray her, I soap her, I spray her.

She's now staring at herself in the TV. I stand up to look at her and she says, "Life is kind when you're a Clementine".

Wednesday, August 20, 2008



Yeah, yeah, yeah – we haven't said anything yet, we know and we apologize. We here at JRP have hit some snafu's that we recently got taken care of and are back on our game.


We've made our decisions – MOST of them and we plan on releasing the list sooner than later (yeah, right, I've heard that before) but seriously – we want our actors to get on board with us, so we're as frustrated as you guys are.


So, a couple things – first – we're still looking for these five parts…..we've got some people we like for all four of them, we just didn't see very many reads for them and want to be sure that we've covered our bases.

IF you auditioned for one of these roles and are now saying, "oh…I guess they didn't cast me….' THIS IS NOT TRUE. We just want to MAKE SURE you are the best decision.

I know, we're savages.

That said, if you're reading this and haven't auditioned, check out the roles below and email for more information on how to proceed.

We are ALSO still accepting submissions for our NON-SPEAKING roles. Got a face only a mother could love? How about just a face? If you have a face, please submit it to and he will stare at it.



Early 40's, Caucasian. Debbie Reckings is obnoxious, self centered and completely unaware of her utter pompousness. Debbie considers herself a cut above the rest of the town. She lives inside a little bubble of prescription pills and nasty rumors she likes to spread. She's the woman we all love to hate.

I hate you Debbie Reckings.


You know that older guy that's really funny that you wished you could have been friends with when he was younger? Here's a chance for you to BE THAT GUY!!!

Late 50's and beyond, Caucasian, average - heavyset. Truth-be-told, we're not so interested in Ivan's physical characteristics – we're just looking for an older guy who has a "leader-of-the-pack" quality. He runs in a pack of three farmers and is by far the most out-spoken.


Bud is one of my favorite characters….he reminds me of a cartoon for some reason – he's mouthy and animated.
Late 50's and beyond, Caucasian, thin. He's the third wheel in his group of friends, (Bud, Daryll and Ivan) mostly overlooked and almost never heard; not because he doesn't speak, but because they don't listen. Overalls and and oily cap. Bud has worked on a farm his entire life. He's a little rough around the edges.


Howard used to be Police Chief. Howard used to be married. This wasn't how it was supposed to work out….his career is dead. His wife is dead. His hobby has been taken away from him. He pretty much spends his days feeding birds, watching soap operas and reading crime novels (soon he'll have to use a magnifying glass to see the words and he hates that).
Older gentlemen, Caucasian.


Chelsea is a lead role. Okay, now you're interested – good. Her character spans one long decade – she starts at 18 and ends up at roughly thirty so I THINK the best thing is going to be a mid-20's character that can bend a little both ways. Please use your own discretion ladies, but PLEASE use some kind of discretion. If I get one more 45 year old telling me they can pass for 18, I'm just going to flip.

This isn't Grease folks.

Chelsea is the high-school IT girl, but we never really get to see that side of her. When we are first introduced to her, she is trapped in a dark basement and a little freaked out.

When we see her later in life, she's a little messed up and angry about the whole thing.

Blonde or redhead – brunettes MAY apply even though they don't have as much fun.

Sadly, we do have some bad news – well…it's bad news right NOW. Hopefully when the time comes around we say, 'Hey, it never would have worked out THIS good in autumn!' That's the 20/20 hindsight. Anyway, due to circumstances out of our hands (that sounds so phoney) we're having to push production from autumn to spring.

We probably wouldn't have to push it that far, but it's all that pesky snow that we hate.

As much as some of you may hate hearing that – I can almost guarantee you that it breaks my heart into a million more pieces – bring your pieces to me and we'll count them together and just see who it bothers more, huh! I DARE YOU! Winner gets to keep the other persons pieces.

Anyway, you've come with us this far, come just a little further………


Sunday, July 27, 2008


Last night, we here at Jordans Room were sitting outside (near the still standing wasp nest - we here at JRP are idiots that never learn our lessons, apparently) and we noticed a man.......

I'm starting too late in the story. Give me a second to tinker with my flux capacitor and I'll roll us back a few months.......

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We just moved in. This place is new. Who are our neighbors? We don't know.

What we DO know is that EVERYTIME we go outside, the human who occupies the apartment next to our house is taking a shower.

"Surely, you jest! A man cannot be showering EVERYTIME you're outside!"

I jest not.......and don't call me Shirley.

This man - we assumed it was a man - earned himself the moniker "Mr. Clean" - as he MUST have been oh so clean ALL THE TIME.

Thinking about it now though - I suppose Mr. Dirty would have been an equally fitting name - certainly someone that lathers and scrubs THAT often has to be........dirty, right?

I'm drifting.

I'm ranting.

I'm coming back.

So Mr. Clean. He showers with the window open. It's a high window, set towards the ceiling so we can't see in (not that we tried, okay?). We don't know what he looks like so this sort of becomes a weird running joke for us. Months pass and we only ever hear him showering, this faceless stranger with a mysterious name.

What does he do? What does he look like? Who is he? Is he a he?

One day we're outside and the female says "Look! Mr. Clean! I saw the top of his face!"

I missed it and became angry. I became obsessed with seeing his face. She says he's hispanic - a latino.

She says neither of those words, though. She says he's Mexican.

This makes sense. Everyone here is Mexican.

Everyone except us that in our honky paradiso.

Strangely, we start seeing him more - well.....we THINK it's a him, judging by the top of his head. And so now it turns into this weird Wilson Dilehmma - you know, Wilson....from Home Improvement.

He was giving us JUST enough of his face to want more.

The man was a sicko.

Back to the flux capacitor. Let's head back to the present.....well - the past - last night....the future past - just.........c'mon.

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I turn around and sure enough, there he is. He looks a bit like Mario of Super Mario Bros. if Mario were Mexican and not Italian.

He smiles, waves, and opens up his fridge, pulling out two Coronas. He lifts them up and points to me.

I smile and nod.

He comes out and we meet by our fence - a four foot high cement brick monster......and there we stand for the next 30 minutes. Me and The Female and Mr. Clean.

Let me take you back again - a few years - I guess now it's been more than a few - to High School.

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I'm in Spanish class. For the life of me I can't remember my teacher's name and this bother's me in a strange way. She was from Portugal or Chili or somewhere down south (way south) and she was married to the Algebra teacher who taught upstairs.

Anyway, I failed her class. I'm saying FAILED. Like.....I had a 36%, I remember.

I never took another semester of Spanish and I never understood a word of it.

The Female is A LITTLE BETTER. She can say "How do you say" and "What is your name" type stuff. Very basic - and I got the impression that we were sort of slaughtering that.

Mr. Clean - who's REAL NAME is Filipi, but his friends (us) call him Lupi. He was in the same boat, except on the opposite end. He knew probably ten words in English and that was it.

So back to last night - Lupi doesn't speak English and we don't speak Spanish so, like I was saying, maybe "talk" is a little loosey-goosey for what we did. It was more like "Win, Lose or Draw" or "Taboo" or "Scherades".

Mr. Clean, as it turns out, is a 35 year old man that came to America four years ago and has been laying tile in bathrooms and kitchens ever since - granite, marble, etc. He drives an hour to work and back and works ten hour days. He lives with his three friends and they love beer and football. He's never been married and has no kids.

The Female and I relayed a little information about ourselves to him and that was that.

It felt good talking to a person in some new, strange, hybrid language. Trying to communicate thought and friendship with no words. We'd point and laugh and make gestures. I tried to explain to him that I was an editor, but, as it turns out, "editor" is an almost impossible scherade.....go ahead.....try. I ended with "TV" and pointed to his football game I could see through the window.

He knew the word "work", so I just said, "TV, work" and then I shrugged and laughed. We all knew we weren't going to get any closer than that.

We stood outside, neighbors, humans, whatever. We drank Mexican beer and we learned a little bit about each other. At the end, we clinked empty bottles together, lifted our hands and walked into our own houses.

Another mystery solved.

Saturday, July 19, 2008


We were driving back from "The Dark Knight" talking about where traffic laws came from - WHO established the red light?

I say, "Don't they drive on the left side of the road in England?"

She says, "Yeah - all over Europe and Asia, I think."

I say, 'That's weird, you'd think since we came from Europe we'd drive on the left side as well."

She says, "I don't think cars were invented when the pilgrims came over."

I smile sheepishly and wonder what those poor fools did without Flowbees.

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Monday, July 14, 2008


Uh-oh. Looks like the sport is really starting to pick up.

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NoobHunter and NoobHuntress are here to pwn.

Jordans Room Productions - now blowing your mind in the real world as well as the pretend one that we spend most of our time in.

Noobs beware, your end is nigh.

And yes, that IS a rocket launcher my wife has chosen to do combat with. She likes to charge in bullmoose style and cause large amounts of bloodshed in short amounts of time.

Friday, July 11, 2008


I have a confession to make.

I play a game.

It's an online first person shooter called "RETURN TO CASTLE WOLFENSTEIN" that was released in 2001, which a.) pretty much makes it an antique as far as games go and b.) pretty much makes me a complete tool for taking the time to look that up specifically for this blog.

This is not my confession.

For many, many years I went by the screen name Johnny The Face. I killed and was killed and people knew who I was.....I'd like to THINK people knew who I was. I didn't want to change my name because I thought it would kill my e-reputation.

So I kept this name for about five years, solely because I wanted people like Bernhard, Toy Soldier, Rambo Balboa and the closely related Ram Bro Ski to remember who I was and to respect my gaming abilities.

To give you an idea of what kind of warzone I'm used to being entangled with, I've taken the liberty of including some screen grabs.

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I mostly like to play as a medic - it allows me to revive downed teammates as well as the ability to slowly regenerate health myself. You can see I've chosen to be a medic for the sake of realism in these stills - those are my feet hanging out of the bottom of the screen there - I've been shot while taking a screen grab.

You can also see on the left side of the screen one of my teammates avenging my death - shooting that axis evil-doer right in the back.

On the right side of the screen stands another teammate - he's just watching, unphased - he's been exposed to this sort of bloodshed before.

Also, what you're seeing here is called the "Forward Bunker". We've captured the flag and will now be spawning inside of here rather than down on the beach front. 1 POINT TO THE ALLIED TEAM! GO AMERICA!

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Here you can see that one of our engineers has successfully blown apart the sea wall breach and a small team is trying to push on alone - up the ladder to find the war documents.


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The Axis have reclaimed the forward bunker, forcing us to respawn at the beach. You can also see at the bottom there that Shaik Kaleem is shouting for some ammo - you can activate certain voice commands by hitting 'V' and then a series of numbers.

(For ammo, it would be "V-2-2" For MEDIC! it's "V-2-1")

Pepito Grillo is also shouting "Yee-haw!" That's a term that is strictly American. If you choose to be on the Axis team, your shout / celebrate turns into a menacing snicker.

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Here's me. I've died again and am waiting for a fellow medic to come and revive me. (This is where I'd press "V-2-1". MEDIC!

Also, there's not much time left on the clock - 4:29 - BUT IT'S STILL ENOUGH TO WIN!!!

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Game over.

We lose......again.

Now that you're a little more familiar with my situation, let me get back to my confession.

I was playing the other night - it was late, perhaps 3am.

I had just respawned in the forward bunker and was going to press on to kill all my opponents, capture the war documents, transmit them, save the day and take the victory for all of us.

As you all know, the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step - and I couldn't take mine because some freaking new guy who hadn't even bothered to change his name from the default Wolfplayer was standing in the doorway with a big rocket launcer firing at anything that moved. (The rocket launcher is often considered a 'noob' weapon - it takes little accuracy and almost no skill).

I couldn't get out - I COULDN'T SAVE THE DAY - this frustrated me because I was on a blood lust of my own and I KNEW I was a much more skilled player than this guy. Who was he to be holding up my plan for domination?

So my journey COULDN'T begin thanks to this 'noob' as they say (I don't say this - I've always felt it was a little TOO gamery for my delicate tastes).

So Wolfplayer and his stupid rocket launcher are blocking the door and I can't talk to him because I don't know the voice command for "MOVE!" so I just keep bumping into him, hoping he gets the point.

Eventually he does.

He steps aside to reload and I walk past him just as an air raid team begins to fly in. If I stand where I am, I will I try getting back into the forward bunker but this frigging NOOB is STANDING IN THE DOORWAY AGAIN with that big dumb noobite rocket launcher of his.

I don't have time to bump into him until he gets the point - I try once or twice, but he doesn't get it so I just plant a couple blasts between his eyes and shout, "F*ing NOOB!"

This is not a voice command.

This is me, alone, in my house, at 3am, talking to a kid probably a decade my junior, located who knows where that can't hear me.

This is my confession. I'd never used the word 'noob' before - not seriously. It had always been joking around (mostly with my wife concerning sex). But this time, I let it rip with true malice in my heart.

I wanted this guy to know that I thought he was a nooby - I suddenly felt inspired to tell people that I was no nooby - I was a pro.

A real killer.

I decided it was time to put a rest to Johnny The Face and start a new identity. Yes, the guys would forget Johnny The Face - he would fade from their memories, but someone else would take his place - someone greater, someone with FIVE YEARS OF WAR EXPERIENCE.

Someone who was a pretty f*ing good shot and wasn't afraid to break a few eggs to make an omelet.

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NoobHunter was born.

Now when I log in, I usually say, 'I'm here to hunt some noobs - I hear they're pretty big game in these parts"

That's not a voice command, either.

I actually take the time to write that every time I log in and sometimes during gameplay if I feel I killed an especially noobious player.

I've embraced what I am.

I've embraced who I am.

And I hope this blog empowers anyone out there who is struggling with embracing their inner gamer.

I have.


Hey Everyone!

A few months back one of JRPs friends was LITERALLY stabbed in the brain squabbling over a bag of sugar in Africa.

His name is Manuel and he is roughly 19 years old - HE'S ALIVE, BUT NEEDS OUR HELP!

For every friend request we receive, JRP will donate 1 cent to The Elias Fund to help raise money.

It doesn't seem like all that much cash, but realize that it takes roughly $200,000 ZIM dollars to equal ONE US DOLLAR.

if we can get 100 people to come over, we'll have raised $100,000 ZIM DOLLARS!

Our money goes much further because we are the White Devil.


Sunday, July 6, 2008


Late last night we here at JRP were sitting on our back steps, talking with John's mother on the phone when a wasp casually drifted down from it's nest above our kitchen door.

Weeks prior we'd thought about destroying it; we'd thought about crushing the nest when the wasps were least expecting it - BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY!.......but we didn't. We said "live and let live" and we left the nest. The wasps weren't bothering us and that was that.

Last night that all changed. An unexpected siege was planned.

A wasp fluttered gently down from the heavens and landed by Jade, who promptly evacuated the scene. I, peaceable imbecile that I am, thought, 'I won't move, and he'll leave me alone. I'm not gonna run. I'm not gonna show fear. He'll just leave me alone."

And he did - he left me alone. He just took flight and then......landed immediately on my ankle.

I tried to keep my cool. I really did. I thought, 'Just be cool. They only bite when they're defending themselves. He won't hurt you.'

Yes, he's about the size of two quarters. Yes, if he bites or stings you, it's going to be heinous. Yes, he IS a savage - HE'S A BEAST! HE'S MALICIOUS! OUT FOR BLOOD! My calm zen quickly escalated into near hysteria without warning.

So I freaked out. The throws of frenzy and panic suddenly began pulsing through my veins. One second I was fine, the next second, the reality of me allowing a giant killer wasp to crawl up my ankle struck home and I panicked. I panicked in the worst way.

I kicked my foot. I slapped it around in the air senselessly, lost in oblivion, just wanting this thing to get off of me, hoping to use gravity as my ally to slap it into the night air.

It was gone.

I had succeeded.

Goodbye, wasp. Sleep tight. Perhaps next time we can meet as friends....and then it happend....the worst thing happened.

I felt a burn in my loins. Not a kind, romantic, slow burning ember, but a poisonous, heating, flame.

This is not a warning. This is not a joke. I had managed to kick the wasp off my ankle and UP the leg hole of my loose shorts unto which there would be found no underwear.

This wasp, vindictive, hateful, loathsome little creature that he is, found my little wee-were and dug in deep.

I tried pulling up the legs of my shorts to get him out and finally only managed to save myself when I unzipped my drawers and just let it all hang out.

The wasp flew away and I politely told my mother, 'mom. I've gotta go. A wasp just bit my dick...what do you put on wasp bites?'

For anyone wondering, APPARENTLY, meat tenderizer does the trick.

We didn't have any meat tenderizer so I just manned through it like the idiot that I am.

This morning, swelling abounds.

Think you've got problems? My wang looks like the Elephant Man.


Saturday, June 28, 2008


John and Danny just got back from a week long production trip to South Dakota where they sealed the rest of the locations up and held a GRUELING five days of casting local talent. Going in, we weren't really sure what to expect from mid-America, but I think it's fair to say that our meager and mediocre expectations were blown away by and far. We saw some amazing and unexpected people come in to read for us.

Special thanks to The Daily Dose coffee shop in Harrisburg for donating enough coffee to feed 110 people a five day caffeine feast! Next time you're in town be sure to check out's something about's a hot drink......Vanilla Wake Me Up or something.

I wish I had one of their fine and delicious products in front of me right now.

Anyway, we PLAN to have our casting decisions finalized sometime in late July. Be sure to check out our website for updates and if you're not already our friend - QUIT READING AND CLICK ON US! There's more important things than TALKING, and READING. There's INTERNET FRIENDSHIP!

We are still looking to fill THREE ROLES:

Debbie Reckings.
Bud Avery.
Ivan Mennings.

As well as a whole slew ("SLEW" being roughly 10) of non-speaking roles. Think you've got a beautiful face? WE'LL BE THE JUDGE OF THAT! Send us over a photo to

We saw some great talent for the three aforementioned roles, we just didn't get to see ENOUGH PEOPLE trying out for them, so we just want to make sure we've covered our bases.

If you're interested in any of these roles, please visit: to learn more.