The son of Reverend Ivan Stang used to work for the 'Balloon Boy's" father. Here's what he has to say about the guy.
On Oct 16, 11:03 am, "Rev. Ivan Stang" <st
...@subgenius.com> wrote:
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> It's true! About 7 years ago, when my son was first looking for film
> work in L.A., before he became a director, he worked for Richard
> Heene, the father of Balloon Boy Falcon Heene.
> Heene is more fucked up than any of the news reports have even HINTED
> at, and he already looks pretty desperate in the media.
> My son wrote up his experiences with the guy -- he worked in their dog-
> piss-smelling, unthinkably messy house, when the wife was pregnant
> with Balloon Boy. I am awaiting permission from the lad to reprint his
> testimony here. I remember him telling me about this nut, and it
> worried me because I feared he might end up with a film career like
> mine, working for people so crazy that nobody else would work for them
> (and I stopped doing so in the 90s). Heene is a CLASSIC case of a
> dumbass with delusions of grandeur, something we see a lot of right
> here on alt.slack.
> At the time my son worked for him, Heene's business was supposed to be
> a post house cutting reels for aspiring actors. It wasn't really; it
> was just a fucked-up poebucker madhouse.
> I sure hope the boy grants me permission so that I don't have to
> clumsily reword everything he told me!
He granted it! I have slightly censored it.
* * * * * * * *
From: Son of Stang
Whoa! I was doing my regular skimming of Gizmodo headlines (while
rendering video) and came across this crazy story about a kid who
floated away in a homemade flying saucer. Curiosity got the best of me
and I read it. Turns out to be a long and dramatic REALLY whacky
story... and the pivotal character is my OLD BOSS–the first guy I
worked for here in LA!
Here's the link: <
http://gizmodo.com/5382627/boy-flies-away-
uncontrollably-in-homemade-flying-saucer>
http://gizmodo.com/5382627/
boy-flies-away-uncontrollably-in-homemade-flying-saucer
...and the ensuing poll: <
http://gizmodo.com/5382866/who-should-we-
blame-for-the-anticlimactic-balloon-boy-saga>
http://gizmodo.com/
5382866/who-should-we-blame-for-the-anticlimactic-balloon-boy-saga
The article and videos are amazing and sum him up pretty well, and I'm
sure many of you remember bits about Richard when I spoke of him, but
I'm going to indulge myself for my own records here and recount my
experience with him briefly. Read on if you're interested, or feel
free to ignore...
Just before ((former employer, a commercial director's agency)), and
after months of searching for a job in 2002 when I first moved to LA,
I wound up at a desperate position at My You Me Productions–that's a
nonsensical play on his Japanese wife's name, Mayumi; he thought it
was genius. He thought HE was genius. He hired me and two of the
dumbest cute girls I've ever met (blonde jokes don't begin to scratch
the surface of the true stories I frequently retell about these
bimbos). He always spoke at the top of his lungs as though the
building was on fire, he had super serious diabetes, and he slept all
day long while his wife and I did the work. The establishment, by the
way, purported to be a post house that cut reels for actors, but he
had BIG aspirations. His wife Mayumi, was pregnant with their second
kid when I worked there and she barely spoke a lick of English. She
was sweet and competent, but was constantly yelled at and berated by
Richard, and I mean yelled at and berated. He would accuse her of not
working and then proceed to take a nap, insisting that he was
brainstorming multi-million dollar ideas like his groundbreaking TV
show about what can be made from cardboard boxes or his book of hidden
camera photography to expose the fact that people pick their noses in
traffic. He once showed me a self help video for penis enlargement
which involves tying progressively heavier weights to your member and
swinging them back and forth. I SAW the video. The office was a sick
mess and looked like the ((censored))'s living room. He had a
senescent dog that pissed everywhere it went, and the smell of the
office did little to hide it. Much of my time was spent vacuuming up
his ailing dog's urine. The paychecks always bounced for the two girls–
whoever deposited first got paid and I always did it on the way home
on payday, whereas they waited a week or so, and of course they were
the ones living paycheck to paycheck. At least he gave them the single
parking space at the building, useful for when their broken down cars
weren't doubling as smoke machines. I wish I had recordings of this
guy's rambling insanity, but all I have left are the above memories...
at least now I have these fantastic news stories (and apparently their
episode of Wife Swap if I can track it down)
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. Nothing will stop these DEATH BALLOONS!!!
