MON Productions Team Members
Matt
My story begins in Mongolia when I was a simple camel trader, working in the Southern outskirts of Ulaanbaatar (of course we locals simply knew it as Shelving District 947). It was during these days as a young bright eyed optimist where I began to ply my trade as a snake rustler. Word of my skill travelled across the land and I soon achieved international fame when I successfully rustled 12 snakes from Napoleon's pantaloons.
I hadn't intended to follow the path of my father, the most successful snake rustler in all of New Hampshire but I guess events just got away from me. Even so I resented being forced into my father's line of work and it was with great glee that I was afforded the opportunity to entertain the Royal Family, following a successful game of cribbage with the Earl of Sandwich.
I was part way through my act, the juggling of three elephants, when I received a call; my moose was on its death bead. Leaving my three elephants as a gift for the Prince of Wales, I dashed out of the room to a waiting Alpen Horne and set off back for Mongolia.
But I would never make it. Along the way my Alpen Horne fell off a cliff, my self included. Luckily I was wearing an oversized pair of parachute pants and fell safely to the Earth. The only problem - an updraft which sent me to New Zealand. It was in New Zealand that I began to get a hankering for some wild goose horn. I scoured the land for the best goose horn, enduring constant, humiliating taunts from disinterested cheese mongers (how was I to know goose horn only existed in the dreams of Richard the Lionhearted).
When I entered the offices of the last cheese monger in New Zealand, despairing at my sudden bout of misfortune, I was distracted by the capering of an oversized squirrel. Upon closer inspection I realised the squirrel was actually Monet. He seemed well and lively (despite the obvious handicap of being dead for the last 84 years) and proceeded to teach me the ancient art of whistle whittling.
Thus I began another international tour, whittling whistles (and occasionally exact replicas of Notre Dame) out of paddle pop sticks for 2 nickels each. On the 27th of October 1645, I was in Botswana, whittling for an old blind canary when a person asked if I knew the way to Turkey. Not knowing where Turkey was (I first took him to Brazil and tried to convince him that Turkey had got a lot more rain since the last time he was there) I never the less offered my services as a travel companion and guide on his trip to Turkey.
It was on the incline railway in the Blue Mountains that my new friend (whose name was Alex) revealed to me his darkest secret, a desire to film movies about a character named George and his bizarre time traveling ability.
Having decided to place our stories in a shoe box for safe keeping Alex and I travelled to New York to see if they would sell. It was there that we bumped into Deon and Ben who were trying to sell knock off whistle lollipops to over incentive submarine captains. The four of us thought we would travel to a cave in the Andes for no particular reason. Once there we became bored until it was suggested that we attempt to divert our boredom into the creative field. And thus Middle of Nowhere productions was born.