Friday, March 31, 2006

One Decade For My Big Boy

So, ten years ago, last night, the Missus and I sat down to bed. I had the TV on the local PBS channel and they had on "Life With Father" with this actor who looks remarkably like this guy It was the first film that I saw William Powell without a martini in hand, Myrna Loy or a terrier.

At any rate, the Missus was already asleep and I was caressing her hair and her ears. I grazed her lobe and noticed that something was different, she still had her earrings on. I twisted one of them and she zoomed out of the room like a comet.

Now at this point I should mention something, she was nine months pregnant, but I don't think she touched the ground more than three times on the way to the bathroom. The only other time I've seen a woman that "big" move so fast, is when a woman at work who weighs about 190 lbs. skedaddled when she saw a mouse. I asked the Missus what was wrong several times, and after a few seconds, she exclaimed that her water broke.

A little more than nine hours and two trips to the hospital later, a little version of me came into the world. Not only did he look just like me, he put off coming into the world for a few days...that's right, he procrastinated. Huh? Huh? How about that? A chip off the old block.

So some fifteen days later, came my birthday and we didn't have a lot of money. So the Missus gave me a nice little book and she apologized that she couldn't afford to buy me anything more elaborate. I told her that she gave me the best present of all and that nothing before or after in my life could ever top our son, even a Ferrari.

Right now as I type this, he's mastering his brand new cell phone
and it's scary how the technological curve does not effect him at all. Combine that with the brains and artistic ability he gets from his mom and he should go on to change the world.

So a Happy Birthday to my Big Boy and to ten decades more. I never did see that movie though.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Random Musings, Bruising & Aloe-scented Soothings #6

Here comes the rain again
Falling on my head like a memory
Falling on my head like a new emotion

Put a sock in it, Ms. Lennox. Let’s try this instead...

Black hole sun

Won’t you come
And wash away the rain

Black hole sun
Won’t you come
Won’t you come

Excuse me while I go Seattle-stir crazy again and finish up my ark. This will be the wettest March on record, ever, for San Francisco...

The one consolation prize is that the pollen is constantly being washed away.

To those that drive to the front and side of me, see that thing to the left of your steering wheel? It’s called a “turn signal,” it lets people know which direction you intend to go. Go ahead, you can use it, it won’t blow your car up, honest. If your car was wired to explode, the person doing it would wire the explosive to the ignition instead because you have to start your car, to get it going. Obviously, you who believe your fellow drives to be psychic, don't have to use your turn signal because you got your license out of a Cracker Jack box.

This wondrous invention gives people fair warning when you are going to cut across two or three traffic lanes on the road and when you’re going to change lanes wholesale, on the freeway.

Mr. C dropped by on his way to church to give me back a book that I leant him a few years ago. He also gave me a DVD copy of his short film “Gentle Lovers.” His picture conjures up the 1930s in terms of beautiful black and white photography, as well as the comedy of manners among the affluent and he tops it off with an unexpected ending for a romantic comedy.

How exactly does someone become “full of piss and vinegar?”

Yeah, uh, bartender? I’ll have a pitcher of Coors and a balsamic chaser.

I’ve mentioned her before, still, I’ll mention her again. Liz Hickock has done a wonderful job of capturing the modern San Francisco, a city that has gone soft. I mean literally and so does she, it’s just two different interpretations because she uses Jello as her medium

She has three shows coming up, so if you miss one, you can see the other

The best will be on April Fool’s Day but it’s no joke. You will get to see San Francisco shimmy yet again, gelatin-style...

This time CNN won’t show simulcast a shot from a helicopter ala Loma Prieta. Circling the same damn building on fire, over and over again so that the world thinks San Francisco has gone the way of ancient Pompeii.

My refrigerator
and I look good in our Fubar Gear, yo!

The Car just passed the 5,554 mark. I don't know how to import a digital-style number font, but if you look at a digital odometer upside down, you get "hsss."

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Streets of Bakersfield

If you check my profile, you will notice that I listed “Southern Rock” under my favorite music. I’m talking about the Outlaws, Lynard Skynard and The Allman Brothers to a greater extent. Blackfoot, .38 Special, Molly Hatchet, and The Marshall Tucker Band to a lesser extent.

Still, somehow I don’t have an appreciation for Country music. When I hear them, I love Hank Sr, Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash, and one Jimmy Williams song in particular. I dug Alabama and Eddie Rabbit back in the 80’s when I heard them on the radio, but I have none of the above-mentioned Country artist’s albums nor did I buy them back in the day.

So when I say R.I.P. Buck Owens, it’s a telegram from dilettante land. I wasn’t a big “Hee-Haw” fan, those jokes were lame even for a pre-teen’s sense of humor. I guess I watched the show for the girls but in retrospect, I don’t know why because I’ve never been into women that wear false eyelashes and the wig-like hair. My Misty Rowe infatuation broke off around fiteen and damn if Tammy Faye Bakker didn’t just take that Hee-Haw Gal-look, and parlay it into a career.

But when Buck came on? I cranked it up because he and Roy Clark kicked ass when they played.

The one Country album I did have until I threw it out in December, was Dwight Yoakam’s Greatest Hits Volume One on cassette. Because Dwight is rock n’ roll, plain and simple. “Guitars, Etc...” and his take on Dave Alvin’s “Long White Cadillac” rocks in the same way that the Stray Cats and The Fabulous Thunderbirds do. The undiscovered gem on that album by the general public, is Yoakam’s remake of “Streets of Bakersfield” featuring Buck himself.

I never knew the Bakersfield sound and by the time I read about it, the musical press was calling it “Tejano,” though obviously it goes back to when the Germans settled in Mexico. It incorporates the polka and the mariachi sounds into a schnitzel-like chili.

The sign of every good or great Country song, is that it tells a story and “Streets of Bakersfield” is fairly straight forward. A down on his luck guy reaches the end of the line in Bakersfield, but not the end of his rope. I especially loved the chorus

You don’t know me but you don’t like me,
You say you care less how I feel
How many of you that sit and judge me
Ever walked the streets of Bakersfield?

That chorus is also true of everybody that struggles in Los Angeles or Las Vegas, or even Manhattan.

Someone might have five more dollars in their pocket than someone else, but does that make them a better person? More importantly, could they survive if they had to live the screwed-up life of the person that they look down upon?

Buck didn’t answer that question, he just wanted the glass house people to ponder it while they got nosebleeds from having their heads reared back so high.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Giving Credit Where Credit Is Long Overdue

So for Christmas, the Missus gave me a Compaq V2000 so that I could work without interruption and write whenever the inspiration hits me.

That I should wait so long to mention this gift, is a sin and I've only been using this machine fulltime since February. I was sticking the GeoBook NB-60 a.k.a. "Old Faithful Ver. 2.0" and the home computer instead. I'm a bit of a technophobe, but I'll delve into that in a later post before I go off on another tangent like a dog chasing a stick.

I don't want to praise my wife at the expense of others. So please take this in the best possible way when I say that she was one of only the people in the world (besides G.L.) that had faith in my writing and me. Prior to last October, I've never blogged nor has anyone seen my short stories. None of my scripts have come broken the semi-final barrier nor have the few colleagues that have read my script work, liked more than a few lines here and there.

So the Missus is my cheerleader, my muse, my spellchecker, editor, my bestfriend, the mother of my child, and my wife, all rolled up into one.

She has put up the insecurities that come with being married to an aspiring writer, as well as the whining.

Lots of whining.

I mean if we are to mix metaphors? A vineyard of whining.

She humored me and sacrificed more than a few weekends to learn Corel Paintshop Pro, so that I could have a shop...

Not to mention that she's my editor which is far from the easiest thing in the world to do. If a computer was to be my editor, my mistakes would melt its circuitboard. I mean the last three pages of my latest short story is making William Strunk and E.B. White turn in their graves like a George Foreman Rotisserie Grill hooked up to 454 cubic inch V8. I have no sense of punctuation whatsoever. My writing should be an example of "The Elements of Defiled."

I know that a period goes at the end of a sentence and that's about it. Colons? Semi-colons? What, you mean that that's not part of the anatomy? Somewhere down in Georgia there's a Sheriff going, "boy, there are laws here, against what you do to commas!"

Then, I come to plot conclusions that are perfectly obvious to me, but they sure as hell aren't there on paper. I'd like to give you an idea what this is like without citing my own work, but, it would be impossible. Because if you viewed my work without the experienced eyes of my wife, you would burst into an ever-consuming fire, forcing Mulder and Scully to come out of retirement. Your hardcore geek neighbor would want that. You? Not likely.

If you really want to know what my work looks like unedited, have a seance and ask the ghost of Evard Munch. I showed him a poem in my past lifetime and while he was never the same, this swell painting came out of it...

The Missus provides inspiration by, er...well, besides that. Um, oh yeah, she buys me books on Noir, Kurbrick and the screenplay to "Napoleon Dynamite." Sweet!

She works in a law firm, comes back home with all of her fingers intact, raises my child, and edits my stories. All that without the benefit of Geritol or pep pills like those wussy wives from the 70's and 80's.

So three cheers to the Missus! She does what O.S.H.A, the FBI and the NHTSA cannot do, make my scripts and short stories safe for the viewing public.

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Monday, March 27, 2006

Hungry For A Short Story?

"Beef Wellington, It's What's For Dinner"

Thanks as always to the modern H.L. Mencken known as Tribe for providing the venue.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

F.F.F. #30 or "In The Purple and Gray Morning..."

In the purple and gray morning...I type.

In the purple and gray morning...I see the colors of a writer's manic depression.

The purple reflects the warmth that I feel when the words are just right. In the warm lavender I see the rare elation of self-satisfaction that has been visiting me less and less, with each passing day.

In the gray, I see the fog that has been clouding my mind and that has kept me from finding my voice. In the gray, I see the all too familiar color of a mind burning out and feeding upon itself. In the gray, my conscious mind becomes the worst enemy of all and self-doubt does more damage than all of my antagonists and enemies put together.

Yet, hopefully today, the sun will rise with an even greater warmth and with it, maybe the dark gray will fade.

JJ's Friday's Flash Fiction Challenge

Thursday, March 23, 2006

My Second Short On Flashing In the Gutters

Why be like Mike, when you can bring the pain like Duane? A big ups, props, respect, and everything else I have to Tribe. Who just like the Swierczynski, keeps his writing plate full like an all you can eat buffet. He is not only is one of the busiest flash publishers, but he blogs and writes.

Here's a little ditty I call "Same Circus, Different Towns"

Beware, mistakes abound in the thing and it's entirely my fault. I didn't ask the Missus to edit it as she usually does and Tribe rightfully gives fair warning to the authors that things are posted as-is, except for page formatting.

Hot Topic Is Not Punk Rock!

First, a special thanks to
Sean, I don't know you from Adam, but you are punk rock because you had the lyrics up in their entirety.

Procrastinator Jr. and I were almost home when this song came on the radio and I can't remember the last time I heard a song on the radio and meshed with it right away (maybe Jet's "Are You Gonna Be My Girl). I'm a geezer, but this song revived a sentiment that was long dormant and has stirred in me since the first time I saw this chain of stores. Time to mosh!...

(MC Lars is more punk than you)

Go! Books about Evanescence (Are not punk rock!)
Guns ‘n Roses watches (Are not punk rock!)
Hello Kitty iPod cases (Are not punk rock!)
Rob Zombie lunch boxes (Are not punk rock!)
Slipknot binder paper (Is not punk rock!)
Tinkerbell pillow cases (Are not punk rock!)
Led Zeppelin air fresheners (Are not punk rock!)
Tupac incense burners (Are not punk rock!)

Hot Topic is not punk rock! (Hot Topic!)
Hot Topic is not punk rock! (Hot Topic!)
Hot Topic is not punk rock! (Hot Topic!)
Hot Topic is not punk rock! (Hot Topic!)

Misfits candle tins (Are not punk rock!)
ICP throw blankets (Are not punk rock!)
Beaded Elvis curtains (Are not punk rock!)
Talking Lambchop plush dolls (Are not punk rock!)
AC/DC hair clips (Are not punk rock!)
Spongebob wristbands (Are not punk rock!)
Sex Pistols boxer shorts (Are not punk rock!)
Dischord back catalog (Okay. Maybe that’s punk rock.)

Hot Topic is not punk rock! (Hot Topic!)
Hot Topic is not punk rock! (Hot Topic!)
Hot Topic is not punk rock! (Hot Topic!)
Hot Topic is not punk rock! (Hot Topic!)

Hot Topic is a contrived identification with youth subcultures to manufacture an anti-authoritarian identity and make millions. The $8 you paid for the Mudvayne poster would be better spent used to see your brother’s friend’s band.

DIY ethics are punk rock
Starting your own label is punk rock
G.G. Allin was punk rock.

But when a crass corporate vulture feeds on mass-consumer culture, this spending mommy’s money is not punk rock!

Tuesday, March 21, 2006


What ever happened to and

P.S. Rick's back (sure, you wait 'til I ask where the hell you are to post)!

Monday, March 20, 2006

The Critics Are Unanimous

Here is what the critics have to say about Write Procrastinator!

His reviews of “Hoodwinked” and “Night Watch” mark a new voice in film criticism. Now will you stop blocking my driveway? I’m already late for an appointment!
-Roger Ebert

Huh? What? “Wily...Protractor?”
-Jessica Simpson

Both as a screenwriter and an author, Write Procrastinator is a rising force in literature that is to be reckoned with. There you have your stupid quote, now give me back my Hummel figures, you bastard!
-Joyce Carol Oates

I laughed! I cried! I laughed because, is this the drivel that passes for humor on the Internet? I cried, because he plucked my moustache off with a pair of rusty pliers!
-Gene Shalit

Write Procrastinator? That bastard owes me $2,500! Cal Berkeley didn’t win or cover the spread in the NCAA’s! You tell him to stop sending scripts to my house and that he better pay up or I’ll have James Caan go Sonny Corleone on his ass with not one, but two garbage cans!
-Francis Ford Coppola

Write Procrastinator? He is a clown, but he doesn’t amuse me.
-Joe Pesci

More like “Not Quite Right Procrastinator,” the boy ain’t right in the head!
-Dr. Phil

Don’t talk to me about him. I gave him fifty dollars and the keys to my Porsche to get us some Thai food and I haven’t seen him since.
-Quentin Tarantino

So it’s unanimous! Write Procrastinator is a wily protractor of a bastard blogger that owes people money! Write Procrastinator! Coming to a blog near you and this time, it’s personal!


Saturday, March 18, 2006

The Purgatorian Flash Friday Challenge F.F.F. #29

“I never said you were her.”

Good, I have her attention. That’s right, blink at the me with those pretty eyes.

“What I mean is, you could be her, but they are three things missing. You weren’t driven here by the wind gods, there is no gigantic scallop shell underneath your feet and you’re nowhere near nude. Still I could be wrong, you could be Venus, coming down from Mount Olympus to revisit us mortals.”

“Us mortals?” What the hell did that last part come from? You're laying it on thick like concrete on pancakes. See, look how confused she looks?

“I love your eyes, they’re so pretty. The way you gaze at me with them, such intensity. You’re an intense person and I love that, I can appreciate that. It shows that you are as strong as you are beautiful.”

This is it, she’s measuring you with her eyes. Damn. After they get a load of her at work, they'll call me "Action Man."

“Your eyes...they inspire me. They’re so exquisite, yet so inquisitive. I’ll bet that you’re wondering if I could match your intensity and if we could make a connection.”

Oh, God, I sound like my grandfather. Maybe I could break out his Member’s Only jacket and gold chains from storage, yeah. And then I’ll open my shirt down to my waist, that will levitate her libido...idiot!

Oh, wait. All’s not lost, she’s still maintaining eye-contact.

“What I mean is, I want to get to know what is behind those eyes before I’m lost in them for forever.”

Jesus, “for forever?” Smooth move Ex-lax. Hey, look at that smile!

“Jeg ikke taler Engelsk.

“Wha? Pardon?”

What did she just say? What the hell language was that? Oh great, you probably called her a skank in whatever she's speaking and you didn’t even know it. Wait, wait, she’s going into her purse. She’s writing down her phone number, but what the the hell are we going to talk about?

Wait a minute, this is perfect! There's no small talk to get in the way and I won't bore her! We’ll have to do all of our talking between the sheets. No, she crossed out what she was going to say!

“I from Norway, I don’t speak English. De synes hyggelig, men De slår det ned
.** Um, sorry bye-bye.”

Great, now I’m not Action Man but the Internationaly Shot Down Man. Wave back to her and pretend to smile like you actually have some dignity left.

I wonder if there's anything good on TV tonight?

*I don’t speak English.
** You seem nice, but you need to dial it down.

This was a short story in response to JJ's challenge...

Thursday, March 16, 2006


The second incarnation of the blog profile...

Also, an irreverent look at writing, screenwriting and the City. If ever there was an acquired taste, my blog is just that.

The third...

The home of Cormac Brown. Also, an irreverent look at writing, screenwriting and the City. If ever there was an acquired taste, my blog is just that.

...and today’s...

Do not operate heavy machinery or drive while reading Write Procrastinator. There is a low occurrence of side effects with Write Procrastinator. In some rare instances, Write Procrastinator has caused a slight increase in blood pressure, wry smiles, myopia, teeth grinding, manic depression, crying, hara-kiri in squirrels, narcolepsy, hair turning gray, dyspepsia, the Pennsylvania Polka, and rashes. So consult your physician and see if Write Procrastinator is right for you.

Monday, March 13, 2006

The Closest I've Ever Come To Being Published

I couldn't think of a pen name. So, how about Cormac Brown?

I'm still not used to it. So for fun, call me that and watch me whip me head around to see who else came into the room.

Check it out at and if you likes, let me know. If not, let me know in a half-polite manner or just print the short story out to line your birdcage or make paper airplanes.

A special thanks to Katie for helping me to kick off the lead paragraph, The Missus for putting the foot to my tokhes and Tribe for providing the venue.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Every English Idiom Under The Sun...

...means literally, this site is hours of fun.

I was looking up the origin of an expression for a short story and I stumbled upon this treasure trove of sayings...

Click the link and click "Diversions" on the left-hand column of the main page. Then click the scorpion icon that is right next to "Expressions & Sayings.

I'm glad I did because the one about "I've got to see a man about a dog" always bothered the hell out of me and now that I know it's origin and true meaning, it's slightly less obnoxious. I'm in geek heaven, minus the pocket-protector.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

He'll Give You The Shirt Off His Back

Just like me, Script Weaver has his own T-shirt and tchotchke shop

All of the proceeds from his shop will go funding his short film, "From Here To Virginity" and future productions. Purchase $25 worth and you will get a "special thanks" mention during the end credits.

Purchase $100 worth of S.W. swag and you will get a "producer" credit! Hopefully he will remember to thank us all come Oscar time when Bill Conti will drown him out with that insipid music.


Tuesday, March 07, 2006

R.M.B.A.S. Of The Oscars

“For those of you keeping score at home, I just want to make something very clear: Martin Scorsese, zero Oscars. Three 6 Mafia, one.”

Thank you Mr. Stewart for kicking off my favorite rant of all time and one that I’m certain to be spouting off every late winter for the rest of my life until I’m withering away in some rest home. Some of you who know me or read me online will know it by heart and it will be the very one where the Missus will decide that she has heard it 4,001 times too many and will “adjust” my pillow until I cannot rant any more...

Do they teach “Ordinary People” in film school? Does “Ordinary People” even play in light rotational repeats on TV? Can you watch “Ordinary People” on any channel other than American Movie Classics?

The answer to all of the above is a resounding “no.” Yet “Ordinary People” beat out “Raging Bull” for best picture and that, is all you need to know about the Oscars.

Now, in the same chronological order as this household viewed the show...

The Missus said, “wow, is that Al Franken?” I said “no Honey, that’s Phillip Seymour Hoffman.” She was glancing at the nineteen-inch screen from about seventeen feet away. So I moved back a few feet and squinted to approximate the same perspective and sure enough, from a distance, he looked just like Al Franken.

Dolly Parton or marionette? You decide...

That tribute to Noir was anything but a tribute. I imagine that it didn’t manage to win over any new fans and it was so all over the place, that it couldn’t have impressed any diehards or borderline fans. They should’ve done a gag reel like the former HBO show “Dream On” or that out of context, gay cowboy pastiche...

Speaking of gay, I’ve always heard that The Oscars are the Super Bowl for gay people. Well, no, that characterization is technically only half-correct. For it to truly be a Super Bowl, you have to get even more drunk five minutes after the Lombardi Trophy is awarded (or Best Picture in this case), get into fights, throw garbage cans, break windows, and overturn cars and/or set them on fire. I’m surprised I have to explain this, riot it up, gay people! Riot-it-up!

I think the reason Jon Stewart got better as the show went along had nothing to do with his comfort level, but everything to do with the fact that the Valium that the Academy surreptitiously slipped him, was starting to wear off...

Snap at your wife when she asks you if the Three 6 Mafia’s song was on the “Crash” soundtrack and you will watch the Oscars, alone...

Seriously, that wasn’t Dolly Parton. That was the creation by the same puppeteer that made those stuffed penguins for the winners of The Best Documentary category...

You’ve heard of “Buns of Steel?” Watch your tone with my Missus or she will show you “Shoulders of Ice.” Let me explain my half of my snap. All I said in a tone that was a little too loud was “they said twice that it was from the ‘Hustle And Flow’ soundtrack” and the livingroom turned into the Yukon in February...

Congratulations Josh, on being nominated!

No, that wasn’t Dolly Parton, that was a Craig (no relation to Katie) Schwartz creation...

The Missus has a real future as a screenwriter’s agent as she wouldn’t even return my phone calls, even though she was just in the next room...

Craig Schwartz was John Cusack’s character in “Being John Malkovich.”

Actually, the Missus did come into the room just in time to see Josh on TV. We wanted to see him win so that he could become the ultimate Bad Cog in the Hollywood machinery... to bring this back full circle. For all of you that think that “Brokeback” wuz robbed? Check back in a decade or two, when time will ultimately decide which film was truly the Best Picture of The Year.

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Sunday, March 05, 2006

The Market Is Slightly Down From Last Month

God forbid I should write last night, so I Googled myself instead and found out that my blog is a traded stock. Amazing, no one openly puts that kind of faith in me but the Missus, the Mother-In-Law and a few close friends.

Yet there it is and all I can say is, "huh?"

Me? I would've gone with the well-knowns and the ones on the rise that are listed in my links, as well as:

The non-screenwriting Todd





and Rissa for their quality blogs, traffic and linkage which I imagine are the criteria for a blog stock making big fictional bank.

Not to mention, The Hoochie

and Katie, yet again, 'cause they crack me up and for their candor. They're worth the visit.

This cat apparently owns the largest amount of shares of my blog

Drop by his blog and say something nice. Or at least pray that his real life business savvy does not reflect his investment in me, the dotcom bust of blogs. Let me stop being an ingrate and say, thank you, Atlas.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

"Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo"

So in an effort to be a better than average parent, I watch everything on TV that Procrastinator Jr. watches to make sure that it is appropriate and to explain any questions he might have, if I can. This is not the easiest thing, I barely survived "Barney" during the early years and those hours in our lives are lost and we can never get them back (cur-sed purple s***head!).

I tried to steer him away from the more mundane or inappropriate programming (again, cur-sed purple s***head!) and I've mostly succeeded. Then, there are the shows that as a parent, I can't quite justify as to why he cannot watch them.

This one show, "Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo,"
defies description. It is not particularly violent and there are no more drag or adult references than say, "The Fairly Odd Parents" or "SpongeBob SquarePants (sp)." So I let him watch it, though to say this cartoon is surrealistic is not even close. I mean, this show makes Salvador Dali look like Norman Rockwell.

The cat has a full-on, three foot blonde afro and he wears a blouse. You say, "so what Procrastinator? Every city has one of those." Yeah, well, he battles his opponents with two nose hairs that know karate and the hairs extend to several yards. When they fail, he baffles his opponents with bullsh*t and surrealism that would make Buggs Bunny do a double-take.

I mean, here are some of the quotes from the show on the IMDB and they barely scratch the surface

I tell you what, do you have a friend or family member on drugs? Let them get nice and high. Make sure they are nice and comfortable. Then turn the TV on and drop this show on their addled brains. I guarantee it will scare them straight.

Hazelton, along with all the other rehab clinics and places should show this carton night and day because this would win the war on drugs.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

I'm Just Saying

I'm just saying, seperated at birth?

Robert McKee


Robert Mandan,%20Robert

Has anyone seen them together at the same place? Literally at the same time? He, I mean, "they" have the same first name so that he, I mean, "they" can stay in character.

I thought I'd put that out there.