Hello!

Hi, Everyone.

If ROC can do it, so can I.

My name is Charles.


Charles is a writer. Which is another way of saying he works at something completely different to pay the bills.

He backpacks on occasion in wilderness areas with his golden retriever, Benjamin, and has been known to suckle at the tequila teat from time to time. Charles has, that is. Benjamin prefers the biscuit crisp to the blue-agave wet.

Charles doesn't know anyone famous, except Charlton Heston. He was a helluva nice guy.

Charles hates FaceBook.

Charles is #12 Vampire God on FaceBook, but will that get him a writing gig?

Charles is set at stun only.

Charles is the Kaiser Soza

Charles will write a feature-length screenplay for you to your specifications and all he asks is for IMDB writing credit and occasional oral sex.

Charles is saving a lot of money on Geiko

Charles is a tachyon field emission interference

Charles is a breach in the warp core

Charles is born of the Metaverse

Charles is transcending

Charles is reaching Samadhi, one breath at a time

Charles is
 
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Charles is a strange lad.
smiley_banjo.gif


...who does write rather well, btw.
 
Paper, Ernie, Zen, ROC

Thanks for the welcome!

Btw, here's my camping buddy, Benjamin, enjoying a quiet afternoon in his private pool.




pool02.jpg
 
I have to get myself a helper monkey like you guys have to type your posts for you.

There, just got mine in from Amazon.com. Now dance, monkay!:



ROC enjoys conversing with Joseph and Charles.
 
ROC has already typed this reply to that statement:

"Giving meh fy dorrah is like terevision on honeymoo'.

Unnecesally."
 
Josh (me) welcomes Charles (you) to the forum even though he was around this forum long before him. :lol:

Josh hopes when he writes a treatment or something that Charles will be around to add big words and ideas :yes:

Josh bids everyone a good day!

:director: NO SOUP FOR YOU!
 
Hey, Charles, ever been to L.A.?

Once.

A layover between Chicago and Melbourne, Australia.

Looked out my window about midnight as we were about to taxi out and saw what I thought was water spraying from a wing. Next thing I know the runway is covered with guys in hazmat suits and fire-engines. Needless to say, it woke me from my little fear-of-flying heavily drug-induced stupor (I fucking LOVE my doctor).

Spent the night in a crappy airport hotel until they could find us another plane. Some jerk that looked exactly like Nick Nolte from "Down and Out in Beverly Hills" was selling something I didn't want to know anything about on the sidewalk outside.

When I saw that huge diaspora of busted dreams, smog, and despair disappear 10,000 feet below me the next day, I can't say I was terribly broken-hearted.

I ain't coming back unless it involves an insane amount of money.

-Charles
 
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