So, as any self respecting writer has, I have started my own ProdCo. Yes, I am officially a cliche! Anywho, the site is up, even though it is merely one page. But I do have a fancy new email addy. david@gauchefilms.com. For those who are unawares, Gauche is French for Left. It also means Lacking Social Graces or Awkward. And anyone who knows me, knows I lack all social graces. So check out the site, while I sit in a public place and fart. www.gauchefilms.com
www.gauchefilms.com
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About eldavisimo
Who am I? Shall I tell you the sordidness of my existence like "David Copperfield"? "To begin my life at the beginning of my life, I record that I was born..." I say let's move beyond this point some 30 odd years and tell you, "Le Vie Vrai du David" or as I affectionately refer to as, "Yes, it's big, Yes, it's powerful and No, you can't touch it." So there I was minding my own business, playing a losing game of solitaire, when she walked in. Her stoic face said 'No." Her lascivious legs said "Yes." Her five inch stilettos coupled with a mangled, blood stained katana said, "Maybe." Immediately overwhelmed with a one-two combo punch of sexual awakening and verbal diarrhea, I blurted out, "Hi! Can I help you breasts?" Of course, in my mind, I said," Bonjour ma petit chou. You need my help. N'est pas?" In a thick Russian accent, she informed me that I was being hunted. Upon recovering from the fetal position, wiping the crocodile tears from my cheeks, and the screams for my mommy, I decided she must be pulling my leg. She told me that I was in danger. Thirty minutes later and an underwear change I told her, "Danger is my middle name." I told her it was also my first and last. She said an evil consortium of assassin circus clowns must eliminate a dangerous threat; specifically a Danger D. Danger threat. I told her this isn't possible. "Look you smoking hot, sexy, enigmatic lady with amazing legs and a terrifying accent to boot, this cannot be! Danger D. Danger is my nom de plume." She said that they are, in fact, hunting some idiot who calls himself that said name. I was screwed, to say the least; especially since I am coulrophobic. Suddenly, the lights in the building went out. The backup generators went on. She grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me in close. She started to feel my body up and down. I said, "Slow down, my little KGB love bird, let’s not use up your Danger D. Danger 'love-slave' card right away." She reached her hand into my pocket and pulled out a Starbucks gift card. She threw it to the side and informed me that it was, in fact, a homing beacon for the assassin circus clowns and that they followed me here to this place. After the second change of my shorts, I said, "Let's kill 'em all!" or "I want my mommy!" It was one of those two. The next thing I know smoke grenades were dropping in through the vents which began smoking up the joint. That's when it happenned; my greatest fear realized (a fear with a probability of .0000001% chance of happening). The clowns and their painted smiles and red squeaky noses came flying in, ninja-style, through the windows and ventilation shafts. Amazingly a few we
