Monday, March 20, 2006

Decoys 2:Deep Throat

All in a days work on the set of "Decoys 2:Rebirth", you might say.
This particular evening, movie magic took a back seat to movie petroleum jelly, as I was attacked by a beautific blond Decoy in the horrifying climax to Scene 111: Nick's Blue Balls. The latex tentacles wrapped around my arms were slimed up and tied to my wrists; off-camera an SFX guys looking much like Charlton Heston in Ben Hur, clasped to the tentacle 'reigns' while I writhed in fear. The menacing tentacle trident was animatronic, and would pinch at will. That greased-up beauty forwent passing "GO" and landed right into my mouth. I'm shy, and struggled with admitting here that the KY Jelly didn't taste so bad. (Other actors asked to execute the same intimate action needed honey applied to the tip; I'm only a gentleman from the skin out, and required no such inducement).

After this, a greased-up FX performer (one of the SFX designers, Sylvania Yau) got into her latex alien suit and straddled me as I lay prone in the snow. Lying in the cold, wet "snow" (at this point, we had shifted to an indoor set) under an alien matron, covered in KY Jelly, I felt about as close to being "reborn" as I'll likely ever get.

Dig the Hawaiian shirt I got to wear!

And yes, that is lipstick smeared around my lips. The lipstick isn't mine. And I didn't get it off the tentacle.
It belonged to the talented Lindsay Maxwell, an alien temptress I managed to outmaneuver in order to save my own skin.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

What happens at West Ed stays at West Ed.

Those visiting the West Edmonton Mall--The Greatest Indoor Show on Earth (not counting my performance in the sack, which isn't necessarily limited to the in of doors)--can consult the Sea Lion enclosure's "Wall of Fame" to see none other than trusty B cozied up next to Jazz, the Sea Lion Adultress!

I am in exceptional company! My mash photo is right next to Ben Mulroney's (although he looks altogether too uncomfortable with a sea lion that close to his hair) and underneath some guy who looks a lot like Bronson Pinchot (his claim to "fame" I suppose).

Whether I deserve such a lofty accolade is neither here nor there.

What could be next? The "Wall of Fame" at Dangerous Dan's Diner, your favourite alien courtesan attempting to finish one of James' Coronary Burgers? Let's hope.
Maybe James will let me wear his fruity hat?

. . . if I promise not to smudge his Mayim Bialik autograph.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Have you seen this cruel, evil bastard?

Returning to my job as a beer salesman might sound like a harsh dose of reality after battling buxom blond aliens, but it's less arduous than you might think.

Fact of the matter is--I love my life.

Sitting at the rail of my new favourite SWP account, I inadvertently bellied up beside a total class act. Barely able to stand, the first alarm bells should have sounded when he took one look at my tweed snap-brim hat (which I love to bits) and said:

A- "Are you an Irish Catholic green beer drinking bastard?"
B- "I'm at least two out of the four things you listed."
A- blink.

Then he proceeded to explain to me the following formula. I'm going to have trouble writing it down accurately, because it made absolutely no sense.

A- "Did you watch the Oscars?"
B- "Yes."
A- "What a crock of shit, eh?"
B- "Ye--"
A- "They give out 24 Oscars, right?"
B- "No idea."
A- "They give out 24 Oscars. . ."
B- "Sure, if you say so."
A- "They do. Twenty four. And they give out 24 Grammy Awards."
B- "Okay."
A- "Now add those two together. Do it."
B- "It's, geez, 48."
A- "And multiply it by 2, for two awards shows."
B- "Easy, slow down. Uh, 96."
A- "What happens to the other 4?"
B- blinks. "What 'other four' are we talking about?"
A- "That other four. . .what happens to them? Who gets them?"
B- ". . . uh. . . who?"
A- "I don't know--but I'd like to. I'd like to get my hands on them--those four--and I'd like to win 4 Nobel Prizes as well."

This calculation, although meaningless to me, obviously meant something to him. He certainly wanted those Nobel prizes; he went on about them for a few minutes. . .until he sidetracked himself, and dropped this bomb:
A- "The Easter Bunny, he's coming around soon--that bastard!"
B- "What beef could you possibly have with the Easter Bunny? He's pleasant, well-dressed--"
A- "He never has any pants on when I see him!"
B- "Maybe because he's always crapping out chocolate eggs for children?"
A- "Yeah, hey, he gives children candy, right? Chocolates and eggs and gum, right? But what does he give the elderly?"
B- " . . .nothing, really. My mom--"
A- "--He fucking. . ."(index finger up to signify an important point)". . .eats them. Eats them whole!! Dirty fucking--"
B- "He doesn't eat the elderly! He's friendly and jolly!"
A- "That's Santa, and he fucking well does! If I were you, I'd stay the fuck away from him this year. You're getting a little old for the Easter Bunny. He's gonna put some sauce on you, and eat you up whole. . .dirty fucking Easter Bunny that he is!"

It was around this time that my friend's agitation had attracted the notice of management. Moments later, pockets out-turned, A was gone. I leaned to the bartender and said, "Dude was blitzed! Did you hear what he had to say about the Easter Bunny? Eats the elderly?". The bartender nodded; A had already told her that tidbit of information.

I wonder if it was fear of the Easter Bunny's appetite for elderly that gave Peter Pan his unhealthy obsession with youth? I already know that Michael Jackson's security entourage caught the Easter Bunny with ol' MJ's head in his mouth, all chewed to shit.

"Little Rabbit Foo Foo running through the forest! Picking up the elderly and bopping them on the head!"

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Maid in Man-underwear.

Hotel living can be trying when done in long stretches; and over the last three months, I've done my share of it.
It's not that I'm crazy about making my own bed--it's not that at all! I just always feel like I'm being watched and graded. What kind of underwear does he have in his suitcase? What kind of books does he read? Is he this big a slob at home?
I have to tidy up my room and fold my towels before I leave just so the maid doesn't think I'm a piglet.

My mother used to make the bed before we left hotel rooms for the day--little did she know, that's the worst thing you can do to a maid.

Unless your twin brother C is visiting you, and when he leaves the room to let you take a nap, flips the "Please Make Up" sign on the door.

The scene:
Me, lying on top of the duvet in my underpants, mouth hanging open, dead asleep 32 minutes after playing host to my family in an Edmonton room.

I was startled awake by the feeling that someone was in my room, watching me sleep.
I was right. Some poor middle-aged maid was gaping at me, eyes like saucers--neither of us had expected to find the other, and certainly not in this condition.
She fled.
Then later slid a note under my door asking if I would kindly leave a note outside my door telling her when it was okay to come back. I didn't realise how uncomfortable the situation was until I left later that day to shoot some scenes for Decoys:Rebirth, and noticed that the tag on the door had invited the poor maid to her fate.

M- "Yeah. The guy in room 1208 is a total pervert. He was even waiting on the bed for me! In his underpants!! Pretending to sleep!!!"

Talk to the door.

There are a lot of firsts in life. First steps. First words. First kiss. First time having a woman rip a door off its hinges and throw it at you. First recital. First Communion. First airplane flight.

Perhaps I should back up a bit.

Last night, while you all slept (surely--it was around 4am) an alien babe ripped a door off its hinges and threw it at myself and a couple of my movie buddies.
To give this brand of entertaining stunt to the folks at home takes no less than three different types of doors: the real McCoy; a wooden door; and a foam door. Even upon closer inspection they all look pretty similar; so much so, that the actress who did the throwing didn't realise the door had been changed until she tried to use it.

Today I get a slimy tentacle in the face.


Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Ride Mindbender or die tryin'.

Maybe those familiar with the spotted past of one of West Edmonton Mall's brightest stars won't find the title to this post funny. But riding the Mindbender knowing that it's got a taste for blood makes the experience all the more enjoyable.