The HPJ Trilogy Production Blog, “Have Faith, Will Travel” Day IV: Tits and Tacos… Enough Said!

PREVIOUSLY ON THE MAD ONES FILMS “EVERYTHING BUT A BLOG”…

“So after a brief but frenzied field trip back to Greensboro to shoot a quick pick-up outside of The Hill, I dismissed the tired troops for as unfading and everlasting as they were, a 13-hour film set can exhaust even the most relentless of rogues in our gallery. And thus, the only ones for me caught some z’s with the sandman (or woman) of their choice, as visions of the following day’s tasty treats danced in their bed heads.”

AND NOW… THE EAR-BITING, ATTENTION-DISTRACTING, CHERRY-POPPING, SINFULLY STUNNING CONCLUSION TO THE LATEST “CHOOSE YOUR OWN” MAD ONES FILMS ADVENTURE!!!

And so it was that on the fourth day of principal filming, the hot pink velvetine son of God decreed that the souls of the ones who were mad, shall rest… however, being the diabolical director that I am, I decided to save the very best – and breast – for last. For our final day of filming was focused on one very specific and prolific extravaganza of erotic eateries. That’s right true believers, the light and the beauty and the glory that is “Max Diablo’s Tits & Taco-Rama” had finally arrived here on Earth. The culmination of exhilaration, the fruition of mammarian weapons of mass distraction, the catharsis of the gyrating genesis of taco-shelled titillation!

I’m not going to lie to you kids, cause that’s a sin you know… I love tacos. In fact, I’d daresay that I love tacos almost but not quite entirely unlike as much as I love tits – but in a totally different tasty treat kind of way. You ever try and motorboat a tray of tacos? Pick the wrong shell and you could lose an eye. However, I digress, as I’m wont to do about breasts. Hells belles, I’ve even gone so far as to make a lascivious and laundry list of all the types of tits that have I’ve grown to fancy over the years but you’ll just have to pay exxxtra special attention (tits ahoy) to Act III to catch that particular “Tit List”.

So I’m pretty sure that the only things my friends have really heard pouring forth from my big furry gob over the course of the last three years has been, “Blah blah blah tacos… meow meow meow tits… yadda yadda yadda Hot Pink Jesus… ,” and that’s not terribly far from the truth actually. So imagine, if you will, the look of excitement on my mug, when “T & T & A Day” finally reared it’s beautiful head and it was time to light the fuse! Because after spending many manic moons thinking, drinking and creating the world that would house the sin-soaked stage where the vixens of virtue and vixens of vice strutted their siren song in high heels for low lifes, the real titular titty twister is that I didn’t even get to really enjoy it!

Now don’t get me wrong dear readers, turning the Garage into Max Diablo’s Tits & Taco-Rama was, by far, the most fun and visually stimulating (amongst other sensory stimulations) Mad Ones set that I’ve ever had the good graces to run. In fact, I was the crazy cool captain of the big ship Lolly Tops, for everywhere I looked, as far as the dilated eye could, was nothing but a sea of tits, and it was a beautiful godsdamn thing. I’m quite sure that I’ll be number one with a bullet on several of my friends XXX-Mas card lists, for some of those varmints got a four-hour lap dance AND tacos FOR FREE! While I, on the other hot little hand, being the dutifully diligent and decadent director, had to settle for sneaking side glances of side boobs as I directed an unfolding scene of the utmost sinful and sensoury debauchery that even a dirty young man like me could imagine.

Of course, it wasn’t all side-boob snucken (just for you baby) glances, as there were several instances where I had to “direct” the dancers on what I wanted for the scene and since there was no bloody point in covering up since uncovering was illicitly imminent, there I was face to… well, tits, with some of the most vivacious vixens the Triad has to offer. Sometimes, it’s really really really good to be the king.

So we got all of our establishing shots, and multiple takes from every (well, almost every) conceivable angle of my usual prurient & prolix style of crucial tongue-in-cheek/tongue-in-taco dialogue. With that out of the way, what ensued can only begun to be described as the “batshite b-roll bevy of boobs extravaganza”. For those of you scratching your heads trying to figure out what, in the bloodiest of hells I’m talking about (much like this entirely way too long directorial diatribe) this was when I put a camera in damn near every available crew members hand, cued up “Have Love, Will Travel” and told DJ Miguelito to pump up the volume. We then proceeded to run around like horny headless chickens filming close-up shots of tits, tacos, dancers, dancees, and even more tits. As if I didn’t have a big boy crush on Robert Rodriguez already, there was actually one point when the song stopped and as everyone paused momentarily, unsure as to what may come next, my diabolical bellow of “KEEP FILMING!!!” offered the right hedonistic homage to keep the talent shaking their proverbial moneymakers for another four minutes.

And so, ladies & gentlemen, we called the proverbial “martini shot” and afterwards several other shots (as well as beers, drinks and more beers) were had. The air was an aromatic mélange of sex, tacos, smoke & lust. In fact, the sexual tension was so thick, so palpable, so distracting, that by the time that everyone left, I’m quite surprised they managed to wait long enough to actually get in their cars before succumbing to the coming of the wowsers in their trousers. But then again, what do you expect when you subject an already deviant crowd to several hours of sin-soaked sexually-charged hedonistic honeycomb hideout hijinks?

Hell, we’re probably lucky that no “immaculate conceptions” occurred… for strange things can soon become afoot when those feet are attached to bodies forced to watch drop dead gorgeous swirlie girlies dancing the body electric, all for a bloke who looks like Jesus, all in the name of Hot Pink Jesus. And so my band of merry Mad Ones disbanded for the evening, off to seek solace, shelter, and (more than likely) salvation in the comfort of their real grown-up lives that pays the bills and passes the time (and calms the mind riot) in between MOF shoots. As I lay me down to sleep, I prayed the lord my soul to keep… except for that fact that I sold that soul many many manic moons ago. However, after seeing how absolutely drop-dead fucking tits-brilliant every single sinful thing about this film has turned out, I might just be willing to buy it (the soul) back… and trade it to my fuzzy hot pink messiah man.

Holy Hells & Hallelujah!
x6x6x6,
Jaysen

TUNE IN TOMORROW TRUE BELIEVERS FOR PART IV OF THE HPJ III PRODUCTION BLOG… now filmed live in front of a studio audience.

www.madonesfilms.com
www.hotpinkjesus.com

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