Ponceman’s Directorial Debut is here!

Ponce wrote, directed, starred in and Executive Produced this lil’ short film.

PLEASE, watch it and PASS IT ON. The more eyes that see it the better. Hopefully it will enlighten some of the people out there who think Down Syndrome means no hope. As you all know from Ponce, there is more than hope, there is success, joy, and a constant state of growing. PLEASE SEND THE LINK TO THIS BLOG POST TO ALL YOUR FRIENDS.

Director’s Statement: I’m Ponceman and I have down syndrome. Sometimes people say I can’t do things. Like acting, but I love to act and I pursued it and made it happen with my help from my brother and family. I have been in movies with Bruce Willis, Joseph Gordon Levitt, Emily Blunt, Val Kilmer, Rip Torn, Glen Howerton and more. I love acting. I want to write and direct too. I have written a lot of stuff with my brother, Scott Allen Perry, and then I decided to direct too. So I wrote The Bridge on my own and got all my friends to make it with me. I’m very proud of it. It’s from the heart, my kind of humor and it was a blast to make. I dedicate the film to everyone who ever had people tell them they were stupid or they couldn’t do anything good and got treated negatively by people. This film is for everyone, the artists, because art has no limits, like me.

-Ponceman

IMDB link to the film: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2911910/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_1

New Orleans and the Promises of the New Year

SAP here ~

This one is for everyone out there who digs our stuff, the fans of Perry Brothers goodies, Ponce’s work, my work, and everyone who just digs checking in to see what we are up to.

“Think it Over One More Time….. baby, won’t you please come home….”

Clifton Chenier sings to me as I write my thoughts on the coming new year, assuming the Apocalypse does NOT commence as scheduled, and his words beckon me back home letting me know that it’s waiting to embrace me in its loving, Louisiana arms.

I’ve finished a new screenplay. It’s a horror flick. One I intend to direct in early 2013. The universe seems to be signaling me that the time is here, make the move, push the envelope, get your groove on. So it’s a push back home, to make all the wonderful projects I’ve been building this past year come to fruition. The birthing legs are ready to walk.

Los Angeles has been pretty good to me. I’m not the biggest fan of the city, this is pretty well known. Mostly because of the actual business of Hollywood and the way people are taught to comport themselves in the City of Angels. Louisiana is my homeland. As limited as the big city things I love so much are in Louisiana, it wins on the people, the music, the food, and the way I feel when I’m here. Right now, I’m sitting at Cafe Envie The coffee is so so, the atmosphere good good, and the feeling of being in New Orleans…. well, as they say, Laissez les bons temps rouler!

A lot of my Los Angeles friends have taken to traveling to New Orleans for work in the film industry. The jobs are growing. And once you’ve spent time here, and really taken in the people and the music it’s clear why a person like me feels most comfortable here. I want to make Louisiana a better place to make movies. It’s already pretty awesome, I want to help make it the most awesome.

So, as 2013 rolls in my mind will be on all the wonders that are already in action and the ways they will flourish and grow as time moves forward. I will be creating a lot, from comedy, drama, horror and mixtures of all the above. I feel more roles for Ponceman in movies and TV and all the new forms of entertainment that are cropping up in this new age of internet based entertainments. I have a love I’ve never felt before in my life, and an excitement and drive that has somehow endured the hardest times and crappiest situations to, oddly enough, come out stronger. And I have a happiness that comes from sharing my works and thoughts with fans, true fans, that I feel connected with more than ever. The book signings we’ve done in 2012, the public appearances and just plain ol’ hanging out with the homies have made me thankful for the past, the good and the bad, and has helped me realize how great this ride truly is.

Thanks for sharing the ride.

-SAP

20121215-164858.jpg

The Apocalypse is here Ponceman style

SAP here ~

Well, dear blog peeps. I think it’s clear we love you. We post here and you read and enjoy and share in the love. That’s a much more fulfilling experience than dealing with trolls on youtube.

That said, here’s our new youtube video. Posting here to give YOU, the diehard friend and fan some inside scoop on the video and such.

So, here’s the video followed by a little self-Q&A:

APOCALYPSE: PONCEMAN GONE WILD!

click here to see more Perry Brothers videos

WHY IS THERE A TITLE OVER THE TITLE LIKE IN A FOREIGN MOVIE?

Because I want people to think it’s been censored or that it is foreign or, basically, to mess with people.

WHERE DID YOU FILM IT?

Los Angeles, the former estate of Eric Curtis and the back alley of my girlfriend’s crib.

HOW DID YOU DO THOSE SPECIAL EFFECTS?

Just like the MC Outdoorz stuff, photoshop and final cut. In one instance, a water bottle was utilized.

DOES PONCE REALLY LOOK AT PORN?

Does the Pope shit in the woods when his mom isn’t there to hear his log fall?

HOW DID YOU COME UP WITH THE IDEA?

End of the world approaching, my friend had a, apocalypse themed film festival at his place, I like puns. Ponce can take a simple idea and make it hilarious. Add those things together and viola! Or whatever favorite stringed instrument you want to say at the end of that sentence.

END LIL’ Q&A

Feel free to ask your own questions. Or if someone knows how to set up on of those REDDIT Q&A’s we’d do that too. Add us on Google plus and we might do a hangout too. All links on out youtube page.

YOUTUBE PAGE

A Thanksgiving Tale

by Scott Allen Perry

One fine autumn morn, Farmer Delacroix stepped out onto his tobacco field, sniffed in the sweet blue-skied air and said, “Today is a good day for killin’.”

WHACK!

The sound of the axe cut through the air as forcefully as it did the turkey neck Farmer Delacroix had chosen as his victim. He didn’t much care for turkeys. Never did. Never would. He did like killing them though, and did it with Vigor and Joy. Vigor and Joy were the neighbor kids down the way who loved watching Farmer Delacroix do his “turkey whackin'”. Mostly because he’d always give them the turkeys he whacked and that meant they’d eat well that week. That is, as long as Aunt Nedelia wasn’t visiting.

Aunt Nedelia was a portly woman. Scratch that. She was Rotund. Blimp-like in her shape and seemed hellbent on increasing her mass by ingesting every ounce of food that came within her reach. She especially had a hankering for turkey.

Vigor and Joy bounced into the kitchen, their overflowing excitement dredged as they laid eyes on Aunt Nedelia. They dropped the headless turkey right there on the kitchen floor and got a powerful spanking from their father, Lawrence Gibbler, for making such a bloody mess in his temple of yum. Lawrence Gibbler was a patient man, but not when it came to turkey blood, or turkeys in general as he considered them to be the foulest of fowl.

The children sat frownie-faced as the headless bird was gutted, plucked and placed into the oven for a slow cook journey that would lead it to Tummyville. The kids knew that their tummies would be lucky to get the slightest morsel of that turkey Farmer Delacroix had so happily handed over to them that morning. If he only know that his bird was to be ravaged and swallowed up by that gluttonous behemoth known as Aunt Nedelia. Then it hit them….

Lawrence Gibbler always saved the turkey feathers he plucked from Farmer Delacroix’s gift turkeys. He one day planned to make a fine frock for himself, adorned in turkey feathers that circled his visage and trailed down the long kingly train he imagined he’d one day wear. He kept the feathers in a series of wheelbarrows out in the big, red barn behind the house. They’d been separated by turkey size, turkey sex, and feather hue. Lawrence Gibbler was all about the feather hue. Vigor and Joy gathered up the feathers and poured them into a trench they dug off the back porch of the house. Their plan was in motion.

Aunt Nedelia sat at the kitchen table, gazing at the turkey in the oven as it slowly browned. She fantasized what the first bite would taste like, the crisp skin cracking beneath her bicuspids. The saliva formed pools in the corner of her mouth. Her gargantuan stomach groaned like the bowels of an old slave ship in a squall. Then it hit her…. the smell of dark chocolate. It was one of the only smells on the planet powerful enough to pull her away from her turkey gazing station. The chair creaked as she heaved her poundage up and trudged her way across the floor to the back porch. With every thudding step she took, the scent of dark chocolate filled her nostrils, sending adrenaline pulsing through her heart and driving her closer to the decadent smell that she longed to swallow whole.

The porch door swung open and Nedelia squeezed her way outside. The wood cracked and moaned under her weight as she drew closer to the source of the smell. Then she saw it. It was beautiful. There, just a few feet off the porch steps, was a shiny, dark chocolate, Easter bunny. The sun had already heated it enough for it to moisten, it’s curves glistening in the glow of the Autumn sky. She moved faster. Down the stairs she walked, drops of saliva falling from her lips as she imagined taking the brown, sugary sweetness into her mouth in one gaping swallow. A vision that vanished the instant she stepped into the trench Vigor and Joy had carefully camouflaged with leaves and twigs. Nedelia plummeted and quickly sank beneath the thousands of turkey feathers the children had placed there atop a thin layer of fresh, hot tar. Nedelia writhed and wailed, swirling herself in a bath of tar and turkey feathers. When she finally emerged from the trench she no longer looked like the Nedelia that was there moments before. No, this was an entirely new look, a new creature that now graced God’s orange and brown earth. This was a giant turkey woman. A giant turkey woman that had crawled out from the ground at Lawrence Gibbler’s place and into the sights of Farmer Delacroix’s axe-blade.

WHACK!

WHACK!

WHACK!

Vigor and Joy grinned that night with every bite of turkey they ate. A knowing look passed between them they would share every time their tongues tasted turkey, then and for the rest of their natural lives. Lawrence Gibbler never suspected a thing as he’d returned to his kitchen that afternoon to find a note from his spherical sister that read, “Lawrence, I couldn’t wait for your turkey to cook. I’m leaving forever for Turkey Ville, South Carolina, where the turkey meat flows free. I shall ever return for I intend to marry a turkey once I arrive there and make little human/turkey babies for the rest of my years. Love always, your sister, Nedelia.”

That night, Vigor and Joy finished the entire bird. There were no leftovers. A symbolic way of finishing off their little secret. They were content, for the knew there would be more turkeys. And they knew there would be no more Aunt Nedelia to swoop in and take the bird from their lips before they’d ever had a chance to taste it. And if, by some chance, another person invaded their lives, a person with a hunger such as the aforementioned Aunt Nedelia, they knew there would be a remedy for their dilemma. For every day was a new day, and, as Farmer Delacroix would say, “Today is a good day for killin’.”