🎬 CASTING CALL: IT HAPPENS IN FLORIDA (YES… THIS IS REAL LIFE)

Well… it’s happening.

After months of chaos, questionable decisions, and at least one meeting that somehow turned into a debate about whether an alligator can legally be considered “emotional support,” we are officially casting the two lead roles for It Happens in Florida.

And no, this isn’t one of those fake “we’re thinking about maybe possibly doing something someday” announcements.

This is a real casting call.

God help us all.

🎭 WHO WE’RE LOOKING FOR

We need two brave souls (actors… preferably) to bring our beautifully dysfunctional duo to life:

RAYMOND

• Male, appears 40–55
• Put together. Clean. The kind of guy who irons his shirt… voluntarily
• Has his life mostly together (or at least looks like he does from a distance)
• The human embodiment of “this was not how I thought today would go”

OSCAR

• Male, appears 40–55
• A little… weathered
• A walking collection of bad decisions, half-baked ideas, and questionable survival instincts
• Somehow both a disaster and completely confident about it
• The kind of guy who could talk you into helping him with something you absolutely should not be helping him with

🎥 WHAT THIS IS

It Happens in Florida is a comedy series built around the strange, chaotic, and very real energy of Florida life—where normal people collide with absolutely unhinged situations… and somehow just keep going.

Think:

• Bad decisions made in good weather
• Sketchy plans that almost make sense
• Characters who probably should know better… but don’t

💰 LET’S BE HONEST ABOUT PAY

We’re not going to insult you with corporate fluff here.

Compensation is low right now.

Like… “indie production with big dreams and a slightly concerning amount of optimism” low.

BUT—

This is a ground-floor opportunity in a project we fully intend to grow. As the series builds, funding grows, and things inevitably get bigger (and weirder), compensation will grow with it.

In other words:
Get in now… and when this thing takes off, you get to say,
“Yeah, I was there before it got out of control.”

🎬 WHY YOU SHOULD CARE

Because this isn’t just another project.

This is one of those rare opportunities where:

• The characters are actually fun to play
• The tone is loose, weird, and creatively wide open
• And you’re not stuck pretending to be something boring like “generic coworker #3”

You get to be part of something that leans into the chaos… instead of trying to clean it up.

📣 HOW TO APPLY

If you think you’ve got what it takes to survive (and thrive) in the world of It Happens in Florida, we want to hear from you.

Send us:

• Your headshot
• Resume
• Reel (if available)
• And anything else that helps us understand why you are either Raymond… or alarmingly close to being Oscar in real life
• Click Here for Online Submission

⚠️ FINAL WARNING

This show will involve:

• Questionable decision-making
• Florida-level unpredictability
• And moments where you may stop and think,
  “Wait… are we really doing this?”

The answer will almost always be:

Yes. Yes, we are.

Welcome to It Happens in Florida.
Let’s find our Raymond… and our Oscar.

🌴 It Happens in Florida: We’re Back, Baby (Hide the Alligators)

We would like to formally announce that the production team has reassembled.

No one is entirely sure how.

One minute we were “taking a short break.” Next thing you know someone says, “What if we just shoot the damn thing?”

And now there’s a group text detonating at 2:13 a.m. about a hitchhiker monologue and whether Oscar should be holding a gas station churro or a live iguana.

This is how things begin in Florida.

• Not with funding.
• Not with strategy.
• With pure, unfiltered, mildly unhinged impulse.

What Have We Been Doing?

Great question.

“Waiting for funding” (translation: aggressively refreshing email like it owes us money)

“Refining the pitch” (translation: arguing about which version of chaos feels more Emmy-worthy)

“Reworking the schedule” (translation: heat index 104°, morale 38%, someone forgot sunscreen again)

At some point someone said the two most dangerous words in independent filmmaking: “Fuck it.”

And just like that, the production phoenix rose from the swamp.

• Slightly damp.
• Moderately sunburned.
• Carrying unresolved creative tension and a half-charged battery pack.

The New Plan (Hold On to Something)

We’re breaking the pilot into standalone short scenes.

Every scene becomes its own tiny Florida incident.

• No waiting for permission.
• No waiting for perfect.
• No more “maybe next quarter.”

Just cameras, sweat, and the audacity to say, “Yeah, let’s film it before another damn hurricane shows up.”

You know. Art.

The Energy Right Now

Imagine:

Raymond trying to maintain dignity while chaos whispers nonsense directly into his soul.

Oscar operating at a volume level normally reserved for evacuation alerts.

A production meeting that begins organized and ends with someone yelling, “WHY THE HELL IS THERE A PEACOCK HERE?”

That’s the vibe.

We are not easing back in.

We are cannonballing into the creative deep end and hoping there isn’t a gator down there.

Why?

Because Florida doesn’t do subtle.

Florida does:

• Fireworks at noon.
• Alligators in HOA ponds.
• Life decisions made in flip-flops and questionable judgment.

So why were we trying to be calm about this?

Answer: we were dehydrated and temporarily rational.

That phase has passed.

The Bottom Line

We’re back.

• Not polished.
• Not perfectly funded.
• Not entirely supervised.

But absolutely fired up.

Cameras are rolling. Scenes are breaking off into their own beautiful little disasters. And the swamp has once again accepted our chaotic offering.

If you’ve been wondering where we went…

We were regrouping.

And maybe overthinking the hell out of everything.

Now?

We’re done waiting.

Let’s make some magic and a little bit of a mess.

Because if it doesn’t feel slightly out of control … Did it even happen in Florida? 🌴🔥

Where the F*#% Have We Been?

Let’s just say… Florida happened.

If you’ve been wondering why It Happens in Florida went quieter than a gator in tall grass — fair question. We’ve been off the radar. No new episodes. No blog posts. No chaotic Floridian brilliance lighting up your screen.

So yeah. Where the hell have we been?

Short answer?
Life. Business. Bills. The glamorous behind-the-scenes stuff nobody puts in a sizzle reel.

Long answer?
Building. Rebuilding. Rethinking. And realizing something important.

Waiting Is a Terrible Strategy

• We told ourselves we needed funding.
• We told ourselves we needed the “right” moment.
• We told ourselves we needed everything lined up perfectly.

Spoiler alert: Florida doesn’t wait for perfect. It barely waits for hurricane season.

At some point, we had to ask: Are we filmmakers… or are we professional excuse collectors?

And the answer hit us like humidity in August.

We’re Done Waiting

To hell with funding.

To hell with “someday.”

To hell with waiting for someone to greenlight something we already know is funny, wild, and unapologetically Florida.

We’re doing this. Somehow. Some way. Scrappy if we have to.

• Phone cameras? Fine.
• Skeleton crew? Fine.
• Sweat stains? Authentic.

Because It Happens in Florida was never supposed to be polished. It’s supposed to be real. It’s supposed to be ridiculous. It’s supposed to make you say, “Yeah… that tracks.”

And if we’re being honest? The last year taught us something:

The only thing worse than failing… is not creating.

What’s Next?

• More shorts.
• More stories.
• More characters who should absolutely not be trusted with fireworks.
• More Florida energy.

We’re not waiting for permission anymore.

We’re pressing record.

If you’ve stuck around — thank you.

If you forgot about us — that’s on us.

If you’re new here — buckle up.

Because it happens in Florida.

And we’re back.

🐪🎭 It Happens in Florida Part 3: The Accidental Camel of Christmas

After the spectacular incident with Santa security, the cast and crew attempt one simple mission:

“Let’s just go see the mall Nativity play.
We keep our heads down.
Nothing explodes.”

Reader… that was adorable optimism.

They show up, popcorn in hand (because every story is better with popcorn, even holy ones). The Nativity scene is fully cast:

• Mary ✅
• Joseph ✅
• Baby Jesus (with suspiciously lifelike blinking) ✅
• Shepherds ✅
• One very tired mall employee dressed as a camel ✅

But suddenly ... disaster!
The camel actor taps out, dramatically clutching his back like he just attempted CrossFit for the first time.

The director panics.
The audience gasps.
A kid yells: “Put Baby Jesus on the Roomba again!” (Everyone pretends not to hear it.)

Then Florida Man stands.

Sparkle still glistening from his Santa-Guard cosplay.
Eyes shining with destiny.
Mouth full of pretzel bites.

“I. Will. Camel.”

He dashes backstage, reappearing in the camel suit like he was born for it: headpiece on backwards, tail dangerously long, hooves taped on with duct tape branded “FLEX SEAL.”

The show must go on.

Act 1: The Entrance

Florida Man gallops dramatically across the set.
The camel has never moved faster in the history of mall theater.

Shepherd #2 mutters, “Please slow down, dude.”
Florida Man neighs.
Because camels neigh now.

Act 2: The Gift Situation

The Three Wise Men present gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Florida Man quietly adds:

• One pumpkin-shaped Peep
• A fog machine from clearance
• And… a Bed Bath & Beyond coupon (expired)

Mary whispers to Joseph: “Is this supposed to happen?”
Joseph whispers back: “I think this is Florida.”

Act 3: Camel Improvises

Out of nowhere, Florida Man attempts a heroic backflip.
Camels are not built for that.

The entire front row gets a wave of fake hay as he lands somewhere between glory and chiropractor advertisement.

Baby Jesus blinks twice ... perhaps judging.

Finale: The Standing Ovation

The director tries to cut the lights before things get weirder.
Too late.

Florida Man takes a bow.
A very deep bow.
Camel head falls off.
Crowd gasps ... then erupts into applause because…

Is it a Nativity play in Florida if something unhinged doesn’t happen?
No. It is not.

Florida Man beams with pride:

“Put me down as your go-to holiday camel.
I got range.”

And the cast and crew?
They just laugh, because honestly… they should’ve seen this coming miles away.

🎅✨ It Happens in Florida Presents: Santa’s New Bodyguard (He Didn’t Ask For)

The day has come.

The mall once again smells like cinnamon, fake snow, and a deep fryer working overtime. Overnight, elves spawned in every window display. Meanwhile, the It Happens in Florida crew returns to finish what they started: Christmas shopping before the Christmas chaos.

Florida Man has a plan. A mission. A purpose that came to him somewhere between eating leftover Halloween gummies for breakfast and getting stuck in an inflatable reindeer costume.

“Santa needs protection. I am that protection.”

He’s holding a résumé.

Well… technically, it’s a Halloween napkin with “BODY GARD (EXPERT)” written in glitter glue. But hey, ambition matters.

Santa arrives — jolly, innocent, completely unaware that he’s about to enter Florida Man’s world. Kids cheer. Bells jingle. The sleigh looks like it’s been rented from a guy named Dale.

And then… security notices him:

Florida Man.

Standing guard beside Santa’s throne.

Wearing sunglasses, a muscle shirt, and elf shoes.

He leans in to Santa and whispers with the seriousness of a soap opera villain:

“I’ve been tracking rogue mall Santas for years. You’re the real one. I can tell.”

Santa: glances nervously at security

Security: glances nervously at liability insurance

Meanwhile, the cast and crew try to blend in — which is difficult when you’re loudly debating whether candy canes count as vegetables.

Florida Man springs into action every five seconds:

• A toddler sneezes → “CODE FROSTY!”
• A candy cane falls → “WEAPONS DOWN!”
• Someone says “Merry Chrysler” → “SUSPICIOUS!”

He confiscates elf hats for “inspection,” examines fake snow for “chemical traces,” and does a forward roll across the food court like he’s auditioning for the world’s weirdest action movie.

And yet… Santa sits a little taller.

Almost impressed.

Until Florida Man grabs the mic from the mall DJ and announces:

“Attention shoppers: Santa is SAFE. But the Grinch is among us.”

A man in a green sweater drops his Orange Julius and flees.

Chaos. Pure, peppermint-scented chaos.

Santa sighs the sigh of a man who just wants cookies and maybe a nap.

Security finally escorts Florida Man away — gently, because he’s still covered in sparkles and threatening to “flashbang” the crowd with a snow globe.

But here’s the twist:

Before he leaves, Santa slips him a candy cane and says:

“Ho-ho-hold onto that dream, son.”

Florida Man salutes.

The crew cheers.

And somewhere, a rogue mall Santa does get caught double-dipping in the cookie tray.

So who’s the real hero?

Florida says: probably Florida Man.

Beating the holiday shopping crowds by going early.

Halloween is over. The jack-o’-lanterns are collapsing into sad pumpkin puddles. The candy wrappers have staged a coup on the living room floor. And the cast and crew of It Happens in Florida — plus Florida Man, because he just… appears — decide it’s time for the NEXT great American tradition:

Beating the holiday shopping crowds by going early.

Way early.

So they pile into a golf cart that definitely isn’t street legal, wearing half-collapsed costumes and fueled entirely by leftover Reese’s. Destination: the local mall, AKA the sacred birthplace of “I’m just browsing,” which always turns into “How did I spend $247 on candles?”

But when those automatic doors swoosh open, the expected angels-singing-over-a-sea-of-tinsel moment does NOT happen.

Instead?
Halloween.
Every. Where.

Skeletons doing clearance-rack yoga. Ten-foot inflatable witches slumped over like they had a rough time on Tinder. A wall of zombie masks staring into their souls at 75% off.

The only hint of Christmas?
A single plastic tree in the corner… decorated with discount spiders.

🎅: “Ho-ho-NOPE.”

Florida Man, ever the optimist (or perhaps on day-old candy corn again), sees opportunity. He grabs a fog machine and shouts:

“We’ll MAKE Christmas happen! Florida style!”

Cue dramatic music. Cue mall security looking very tired.

Within minutes:

• Someone is taping Santa hats on skeleton dogs
• A kid-friendly Santa backdrop is now a haunted gingerbread nightmare
• The fog machine is… foaming?? (We don’t ask questions)
• Florida Man attempts to trade 14 plastic jack-o’-lanterns for a hoverboard

A store manager walks by, eyes twitching like a caffeinated squirrel.

“We don’t put Christmas merch out until TOMORROW morning,” she says.

TOMORROW.
They were one day early.

The entire crew collapses dramatically into a pile of discounted werewolf slippers. Florida Man shrugs, grabs a giant bag of pumpkin-shaped Peeps, and declares:

“Fine. But when Santa arrives… he’s getting Halloween candy in his stocking like the rest of us.”

And thus, a new Florida tradition is born:

🎃➡️🎅
Hallow-mas: The holiday no one asked for, but Florida celebrated anyway.

Because in this state, if you wait for the rest of the world’s rules…
you’ll miss the discount fog machines.