The Day We Accidentally Cast 12 Florida Men
A blog post from the producers of It Happens in Florida
Casting for a TV show is a magical process. You put out a tasteful little call for “quirky, lovable Floridians,” and you hope to find a few folks who can act, maybe memorize a line or two, and ideally won’t try to wrestle wildlife during lunch breaks.
Instead, we got a full-blown Florida Man convention.
It started innocent enough: 10 a.m., community center, sign-in sheet, some folding chairs, a table of stale donuts. But by 10:15, a line had formed out the door—and every single guy in it looked like they’d just been ejected from a minor league gator wrestling match. Hawaiian shirts, jorts, two guys in flip-flops and socks (arrest-worthy), one man in a full suit of armor made entirely of beer cans.
The first guy introduced himself as “Two-Stroke Ricky” and said his special skill was “chainsaw ballet.” We hadn’t asked, but he offered a demo anyway. The second guy brought an emotional support raccoon and insisted it also be considered for a recurring role. (The raccoon bit the casting director. We’re now in negotiations.)
By mid-morning, we’d met:
- A man who claimed to be the unofficial mayor of a parking lot,
- A retired magician who only does tricks involving reptiles,
- Someone who swore he is the guy from that viral “meth gator” headline (he’s not… probably),
- And a man named Dennis who had no intention of auditioning but heard there might be free sandwiches.
The best part? We realized none of these people had actually seen the casting call. One of them found it printed on the back of a Winn-Dixie receipt, and it just spiraled. Apparently, “Seeking Florida types” is code for “bring your best sleeveless outfit and a story involving an airboat chase.”
We tried to regain control. We called a lunch break. That turned into a hot dog eating contest. (John placed second. The raccoon placed first.)
By the end of the day, we’d only seen three actual actors, one improv comic who wouldn't stop pretending to be a spoon, and a guy who tried to bribe us with live crabs.
But you know what?
It was kind of perfect.
It Happens in Florida was never meant to be polished. It’s about the wild, the weird, the hilariously offbeat characters that make this state the bizarre wonderland it is. And on that day, we found plenty of them.
Also, we may have accidentally cast the raccoon.
–The Producers of It Happens in Florida
(Still removing glitter from the magician’s finale act)
Budget Cuts & Backyard Gators: When Saving Money Goes Wrong
As producers of It Happens in Florida, we take pride in being resourceful. Scrappy. "Creative with constraints." You know—broke but optimistic.
So when our accountant gently whispered, “You guys are hemorrhaging money like a sunburned piñata,” we knew it was time to tighten the belt.
What followed was a bold initiative called: “Operation Budget Slash (But Keep the Gators).”
Here’s how that went:
📍Location, Location... Backyard?
To save on location fees, we decided to shoot a scene in Oscar’s cousin’s backyard. The problem? His cousin lives in a swamp. Like, an actual swamp.
Production was paused twice:
- Once for a surprise alligator appearance.
- Once for Raymond getting stuck in ankle-deep mystery mud and yelling, “This is not what I trained at Juilliard for!”
👕 Wardrobe? We’ve Got Goodwill!
We slashed the wardrobe budget and told the cast to “bring their own Florida-inspired looks.” Oscar showed up in swim trunks, cowboy boots, and a poncho that may or may not have been a shower curtain.
Raymond tried to wear a suit, but his dry cleaner ghosted us.
The bride character wore a gown made from lace curtains and duct tape. Frankly, it worked.
🎤 Sound Guy? We Have a Boom Stick.
Instead of hiring a sound tech, we gave Oscar a selfie stick with a mic taped to it and told him to “just follow the action.” He did.
Unfortunately, the mic was off the entire time—but we did capture six hours of Oscar narrating everything he was doing, including his mid-scene snack break: “I am currently eating string cheese. This is my process.”
🎭 Extras? Hello, Craigslist.
We hired “local talent” from Craigslist. One of them brought their ferret. One thought it was a documentary about meth. One refused to take off their fursuit.
🧯And Then the Fire.
We tried using discount smoke bombs for “dramatic atmosphere.” They were mislabeled.
They were not smoke bombs. They were firecrackers.
In the end, we spent more fixing the chaos than if we’d just stuck to the original plan. But hey—that’s filmmaking in Florida.
We may be low-budget.
We may be mildly injured.
But by God, we’re still rolling.
So next time you watch an episode and think, “This feels wildly unprofessional but oddly charming”—just know:
That’s not style. That’s survival.
Help Us Bring the Madness to Life: Seeking Support for the It Happens in Florida Pilot
To our amazing supporters, curious followers, and lovers of weird, wild, and wonderful television—
First off, thank you. The enthusiasm for It Happens in Florida has been overwhelming—in the best way. From flamingo boat disasters to fans (or lack thereof), and even the occasional cake-throwing bride, your reactions, shares, and messages have meant the world to us.
Now here’s the honest truth: we’re ready to film the pilot episode—but we can’t do it alone.
Creating a television series—especially one as beautifully chaotic and offbeat as this one—isn’t cheap. We’ve stretched every dollar, begged every favor, and bartered more than we’d like to admit (Oscar may have traded a toaster for wardrobe), but to take this project to the next level, we need investors, sponsors, and advertising partners.
Why support It Happens in Florida?
This show isn’t just about laughs (though there will be plenty). It’s about showcasing Florida’s unique character, uplifting local talent, and building something truly original. With your support, we’ll not only bring this pilot to life—we’ll also:
• Hire local crew and talent
• Support small Florida businesses on and off screen
• Create community-based promotions and partnerships
• Shine a national spotlight on the Sunshine State (in all its glory and gator-fueled madness)
We believe in this show. We believe in our team. And most of all, we believe there’s a space in the world for smart, strange, and hysterical stories told from the heart of Florida.
If you’re an investor looking to be part of a fresh comedy series, a sponsor who wants to align with something bold and buzzworthy, or a business ready to reach an audience with a taste for the offbeat—we’d love to talk. You can also check out our Get Involved page for other ways to help.
Together, let’s make It Happens in Florida actually happen.
With gratitude,
— The Producers of It Happens in Florida
(Yes, we’ve already forgiven Oscar for spending the wardrobe budget on a taxidermy hawk. We think.)
Runaway Groom, Rolling Cameras: The Bride Who Crashed the Set
Production days on It Happens in Florida are usually chaotic—alligators, forgotten lines, Oscar accidentally setting off fireworks indoors—but nothing prepared the crew for her.
She arrived unannounced. In full wedding gown. Veil. Heels. Lipstick that screamed revenge. And she was angry.
“I was supposed to get married at the county fairgrounds,” she announced to no one and everyone. “But if Travis wants to ghost me for a Monster Truck Rally, then guess what? I’m casting a new groom—TODAY.”
Naturally, she wandered straight onto the set.
Security hesitated. Why? Because she was holding a wedding cake like a weapon and yelling, “Are any of you emotionally available and gainfully employed?”
Raymond, ever the gentleman, tried to calm her down. She offered him a corsage and asked about his credit score.
Oscar—never one to miss a golden opportunity—asked, “If I say ‘I do,’ do I get cake?”
He did. Right in the face.
Meanwhile, the crew just kept rolling. They figured it might make a good subplot.
At one point she tried to officiate her own wedding between two confused PAs. When asked to leave, she shouted, “I have SAG eligibility and abandonment issues—this is my moment!”
Eventually, she was gently escorted off set, but not before leaving behind:
- One size 7 glittery heel
- A bouquet stuck in the boom mic
- And a signed note that read:
"Call me if things don’t work out with the network. Or your current spouse. ❤️ -Bridezilla."
To this day, no one knows her real name. But legend has it, if you whisper “commitment” near a craft services table, she will appear.
We’re Kinda Famous: Oscar & Raymond Meet the Public (Sort Of)
When the creators of It Happens in Florida told Oscar and Raymond to “get out there and meet the fans,” they took it seriously. Too seriously.
Armed with a folding table, a Sharpie, and a homemade banner that read “Autographs: Free-ish!”, they set up shop outside a Florida strip mall between a vape store and a taxidermy-slash-tanning salon. The plan? “Surprise and delight” their growing fanbase.
The problem?
No one knew who they were.
At all.
The first person to approach was a confused retiree named Barb, who thought they were giving out free COVID tests. Oscar offered her a signed headshot instead. She took it. To be polite.
Next came a guy who asked if they were running for local office. Raymond said yes before Oscar could clarify, leading to a 10-minute rant about potholes and HOA conspiracies.
At one point, a group of teens stopped, giggled, and asked if they were TikTokers. Oscar said, “Yes. But in spirit.” They walked away mid-selfie.
After two hours, zero confirmed fans, and three separate “Do you work at the vape shop?” inquiries, Raymond suggested they call it a day.
But Oscar had one more plan.
He wandered into the parking lot and began loudly announcing, “Get your picture taken with local Florida legends! Stars of stage, screen, and sketchy YouTube ads!”
One person took him up on it. Kind of. They took a selfie with him in the background and captioned it: “This guy said he’s on TV. Thoughts and prayers.”
At the end of the day, they packed up their table, waved goodbye to Barb (who returned the headshot, saying it was “haunting her purse”), and agreed on one thing:
“Next time, let’s just pretend we met fans.”
Boom, Gator, Boom: Oscar and Raymond’s Firecracker Fiasco in the Everglades
If you thought fireworks, friendship, and Florida couldn’t get weirder—you must be new here. Welcome to It Happens in Florida, where every holiday is an explosive blend of chaos and questionable decision-making.
This Fourth of July, our beloved disaster duo Oscar and Raymond decided to “get back to nature” by heading deep into the Everglades for what Raymond called a “quiet, reflective weekend off the grid.” Oscar interpreted that as: “Bring 12 cases of illegal fireworks, a bucket of hot dogs, and a Bluetooth speaker blasting Creedence Clearwater Revival.”
Here’s how it all went down (besides Oscar’s folding chair, which collapsed immediately upon arrival):
Act I: The Setup
Raymond, ever the voice of reason, had packed sunscreen, bug spray, and a fully laminated map of the swamp. Oscar brought a bottle rocket named “Gator Zapper 5000” and a T-shirt that said, ‘Fireworks Don’t Burn, People Do.’
They pitched a tent (wrongly) and accidentally camped on what they would later discover was an active alligator nesting ground. Things were already tense after Oscar tried to roast marshmallows over citronella candles and Raymond discovered his portable toilet was just a paint bucket with glitter on it.
Act II: The Explosion
The fireworks show began at exactly 8:17 PM when Oscar tripped over a tree root and landed on a Roman candle. (He’s fine. His eyebrows are…recovering.)
In what Oscar later described as “an impromptu salute to freedom,” several rockets launched directly into the sky, narrowly missing a low-flying mosquito plane and setting off a chain reaction of panic, patriotism, and smoke. An airboat full of confused tourists mistook it for a local military exercise.
Raymond tried to de-escalate by waving a sparkler and yelling, “We’re part of a TV show!” but the gators were unimpressed.
Act III: The Escape
By midnight, they’d managed to put out the small brush fire (with a cooler full of Busch Light) and Raymond was arguing with Oscar about whether or not it was legal to ride an airboat without a shirt or a license.
The episode ends with them hitching a ride out of the swamp with a guy named “Shrimp Dan” who lives in a floating RV and believes the U.S. government is run by raccoons.
Classic Florida.
