Like so many of the unpleasantly awkward tales told to you by your drunken father about the night of your conception or his old pathetic sexual past constantly referred to as the “Good Ol’ Days,” the story of Tsunami Rising contains many of the same ingredients. Yeah, this story contains many of the same sensations of nausea, fear, and despair so common to those grotesque stories passed down from parents. And like those stories of your unfortunate entry into this world our story is laden with drugs, sex, alcohol and flowers. So indulge yourself in this intriguing tale of the magically terrible conception of Tsunami Rising… Many years ago now, in the summer of 2003 to be exact, a young man by the name of Jerry Callahan was living with his longtime friend and agent, Stu Samuels, in a sketchy studio apartment in East Hollywood. Jerry was a rising star in the adult entertainment industry and he had just finished work on the sequel (Nuts in the Sack) to his debut film, Almond Joy, when he felt the pangs of despair as he became more and more dissatisfied with his career path. Stu was a small but gritty talent agent struggling to get his agency, Jubilee Entertainment Worldwide, to the next level. Stu ran a small office on the corner of Sunset Blvd. And although his agency was small, Stu represented some of the biggest names in showbiz (Johnathan Silverman, Gene Shallot, and Richard Dryfus just to name a few). However, Stu was finding it increasingly difficult to find happiness in his day to day galavanting with the stars. Like Jerry, Stu longed for something more. One night after being too drunk to perform, Jerry was kicked off the set of his current film, Ballspark Frank. It was then when Jerry decided he had enough. As he stumbled about in a stoned haze, he entered into an erotic floral shop called Flagrant Floral Arrangements by Dale. Flagrant Floral was run by a beautifully, ladylike young man named Dale Becky. Since a very young age, Dale had spent his life arranging flowers into the shapes of penises and vaginas, (or penises in vaginas, or asses, or boobs, or penises in butts, or butts on butts, or vaginas on vaginas)...needless to say the man had a talent for turning flowers into sex. Dale had done the floral arrangements for many of Hollywood's biggest weddings, such as Siegfried and Roy, Britney and K-Fed, Bennifer, and 3 of Liz Taylor's weddings. Immediately the two hit it off as they found common ground in a conversation about chrysanthemums. Dale explained their usefulness in creating large vaginas (like Britney’s) as opposed to marigolds which make better Small vaginas or even butt holes (like his own), although he preferred roses for the butt holes (who doesn’t?). After hours of floral sex talk, Dale, like the wilting pedals of a rose, delicately revealed that he was not happy anymore at Flagrant Floral Arrangements and needed to change his life. The two made a drunken, cocaine induced pact to do so. Meanwhile, Stu had just been dropped by Ben Savage, his biggest client at the time. He was finding it hard to cope and decided to hit the bottle…of crystal meth. He kept it in a bottle. After 4 sleepless days of drugs, hookers and MD 20/20, Stu returned home. To his surprise he walked in to find the sound of soft jazz and an apartment full of the sexiest floral arrangements he had ever seen. Jerry and Dale’s welcome filled Stu’s heart with joy and sadness at the same time, knowing that he was loved but that without Mr. Savage he would be nothing in the Biz. Yet something in him knew he could be, nay would be, something once again… Suddenly, like the gift of Manna from heaven falling on his ears and in his driveway, Stu heard loud screams of full grown man pain followed by drunken laughter and one-sided conversation. The three quickly ran outside only to see the final piece of their new lives laying on the ground in a puddle of, what was hoped to be his own, urine. Who was this mysteriously soaked man? He was a towering figure known by friend and foe alike as Big Tim McNamara. Big Tim was a neighbor and a roofer who hit the bottle harder then he hit his non-union migrant workers and girlfriends kids. Tim had been divorced twice and his 3 children hated him more than he hated himself. Tim took this out on the small neighborhood children by drunkenly berating them as they passed his house going to and from school. Tim would never harass the high school students, because although Tim was a big man, he was scared of teenagers, plus they sold him Percocets...for his back. After cleaning Big Tim up and finding him some new underwear (which he wears til this day) the four began to talk, drink, cry, smoke, laugh, cry and smoke again until all 4 had vented their frustrations with the drudgery of their daily lives and they committed to do something more. Something fulfilling. A pact was made that early morning. A pact to bring the world sounds no one has heard before. So collectively they sold all of their belongings, purchased instruments and a Christ Baptist Church van and started writing music. It was that smoggy Summer morning in East Hollywood that Tsunami Rising from New Jersey was conceived and has not been aborted yet...though attempts have been made.