Before I go into today’s adventure, I’d like to point something out. So far, there’s been one constant in these documented exploits: They continue to doubt me, yet, I continue to persevere.
“Zed, you’ll never get the shirts on time.” Oh, you mean these shirts?…
“Zed, you’re not going to drink that 80 degree beer.” Gulp…gulp…gulp…huh?
“Zed, you can’t roll a fake ass movie spliff in ten seconds.” (twisty, twisty…) You’re right, but I can do it in seven. Bitches.
“Zed, there’s no way that you can actually give yourself a boner, in real time, and have it look cartoony and awesome on film.”
I would have unzipped my fly and retorted as usual, but our effects wizard, Ian Strandberg, had already cooked up this air-compressor-up-my-shorts-into-a-balloon thing. And I have faith in him, so we try it.
Unfortunately, this was not Mr. Strandberg’s finest hour, and not only did my faux-dick do my real-life member no justice; it even popped a few times. I won’t ruin the surprise for you, but there’s another pretty major special effect going on one of my other lower extremities, which makes this whole thing more complicated.
We’re a little behind schedule today, and Augustin is kind of pissed. He nixes the balloon idea, and authoritatively decides how we’re going to do this: he finds something dick-shaped (I think it was a pinecone from outside,) wraps it in duct tape, and tells me to stuff it down my pants and tape it place. I comply. (It was a little more accurate than the balloon, too, though maybe a bit girthy…)
So we start shooting, and after a few takes, my duct-dick shifts this way and that. For whatever reason, this scene just won’t happen like most of them. And the tension mounts. If the dick is right, the scene isn’t right, and if the scene is right, the dick isn’t right. (Know what I mean, ladies?) I have to be standing in a very particular spot, in a very particular way. So, Augustin takes on the role of duct-dick adjuster so I don’t have to move. And, in his frustrated hurry, during one of these adjustments, he accidentally grabs my real dick.
I know he didn’t mean to. And, in a drunken state, I’ve even said shit like, “Dude if I was gay, I would totally be gay with Augustin.” But, um, getting your prostate checked out pales in comparison to the awkward that came with this one.
Lesson to be learned, though: There is no stunt double for the Zedpole. If you doubt that, you will end up on your knees before him in shame. Stay tuned…