Cliff Cash

No one knows the woods like Paul. For twenty years he has hunted for the monster that killed his father. When local teens go missing after the annual Grassman festival, local news reporter Angela, asks for his help to "quietly" locate the children. Things soon take a turn for the worse and Paul is forced to call Beth. Now the woods are crawling with local authorities and volunteers. Will they find the children intime or will Paul come face to face with the monster who has haunted his nightmares - Grassman.

Cliff Cash has toiled away in the shadows of obscurity for 14 years, resisting the conventional path to standup success (moving to NYC or LA OR going viral). Instead, he has simply enjoyed the ride, touring up to 10½ months a year some years, often living out of outfitted adventure rigs for months at a time and camping and hiking in between gigs. He visited 45 national parks in a station wagon he built to live in. After more than a decade of hoping someone would notice his humor and offer him a home, he decided to take matters into his own hands and finally embraced social media. He got serious about building his brand, recorded a dynamite special “The Long Road” with the talented team at Lighthouse Films, and that was it. The special caught fire, and Cliff’s YouTube subscribers skyrocketed from 280 to 240,000 in less than six months, with the special garnering over 30 million views across clips and platforms.

Look, Cliff Cash doesn’t want to alarm anybody, but as a North Carolina native with a mom who speaks in tongues, a dad who worked on pit crews in Nascar’s dirt-track days, and a lesbian big sister, he’s starting to think TV might not be making Southerners look good—less Southern Charm, more Southern Harm. Truly, when’s the last time you saw a southerner with a multisyllabic vocabulary and explicable storyline recounting a recent hurricane on the news? Then again, what God-and-Dale-Earnhardt-fearing Christian doesn’t go a little crazy when the socialisms and the Nobamas are coming to take your daddy’s junk-drawer .38 and your grandpappy’s hunting rifle, ‘cause they’re gonna melt ‘em down to make rings for abortion doctors’ gay Sharia weddings?