Shoot two, Day seven: Rife with inside jokes

I’ve been wrestling with this issue of names. I don’t like to refer to people’s real names on the blog, in case they ever decide that being recorded on this ledger of debauchery is no longer fitting to their state in life, and so writing about our merry band of soldiers here was becoming a real problem. Today, however, all was resolved in true and proper form.

We had a long day of shooting in Fargo – four times more tape shot than yesterday – and headed back to the North Country roundabouts 4:30pm. Faced with an ice-slick road and no fuel for miles, some vital decisions were made.

My Boss is now Buford Pusser, “Pusser” for short. As in, answering the phone with a vehement “PUSSER, HERE”, or, en lieu of a standard goodbye, “PUSSER, SIGNING OFF”.

Our Soundman has likewise adopted the Pusser surname, with his given name as Buckethead. He and Buford have always been kindred spirits, so it is only fitting at this juncture that they become brothers in arms.

Our cameraman, having given a remarkably simple answer to what Pusser thought an insurmountable problem, requested to henceforth be referred to as “Mr. Solutions”. It’s not quite as colorful as the Pusser brothers, but it will do in a pinch. Mr. Solutions also has a brilliant business plan to expand a local organic bakery into North Dakota’s source for whitebread erotica. but that’s a story for later.

I’m writing this missive, so I don’t need a name. know why? Because I say so. That’s why.

We celebrated our return to the North by closing out the bar of a nearby restaurant in a fit of hysterics that made me spit beer into my pasta and nearly had me wetting my pants. They love us in this town, for real.

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