Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Monday, February 19, 2024

Not Exactly Your Usual Romantic Comedy

 

Overwrought Director Plans New Film; Reporters Sigh In Dismay

Los Angeles (AP). It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a narcissistic director shall be in want of attention. At least that's how Jane Austen might put it these days. This reporter, fresh off a stint at the Super Bowl, and personally seeing a few protestors outside demanding that Taylor Swift be executed for treason, was diverted to L.A. by his editor (editor: yeah, sorry, but the readers love it when you attend these things).

It was to the headquarters of Digital Domain, one of the stomping grounds of the most ego driven person in Hollywood, and there are a lot of those (editor: are there ever).

Michael Bay.


This reporter joined a handful of real reporters and a horde of entertainment reporters in the auditorium. A podium was set up on stage with the requisite full length mirror. The entertainment reporters, being very stupid (editor: oh, they are), were abuzz about what might be announced. At length, a staff member came out and called for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I may?" she prompted. "Give it up for the greatest film auteur in the history of the cinema... Michael Bay!!!!"

The entertainment reporters broke out into rapturous applause. The real reporters shook their heads and sighed in dismay.


Bay strode out on stage, smiling his usual idiot grin, pointing at the crowd. He was dressed in his usual casual way, with dishevelled hair and a few days of stubble. He walked up towards the podium and winked at his reflection. When the applause from the entertainment reporters died down, Bay began to speak. "Thank you! It's nice to see you all here today! It's a great day to be here, isn't it? Of course it is." Bay laughed in that awkward, not unlike an unhinged serial killer way of his.

"Now then, I'm a busy man. Got lots of projects on the go. But I called you here because I've got another project on the go that I want to talk to you about," Bay blathered on (editor: emphasis on blathered).


Bay carried on. "So then, for a long while, there was another director out there who liked doing films with holiday titles in them. Romantic comedies, really. Meet cute moments and all that dreck. Well, you know I'm not one for that. I'd rather just have explosions and hot babes waxing cars to an Aerosmith song and more explosions. But that's not the point. The point is doing a Michael Bay film with a holiday in the title. And so my next project in the pipeline is going to be Valentine's Day."

Entertainment reporters broke out into cheers and applause. Real reporters shook their heads. "You have got to be kidding," this reporter told Bay (editor: tell me he's kidding).


"No, I'm not kidding," Bay insisted. "But I'm not one for romantic comedies either, so I'm not making a romantic comedy. Instead it's going to be a period drama. With explosions. It's gonna be about the St. Valentine's Day Massacre of 1929. Al Capone, with explosions."

"Is this a joke?" another reporter asked. 

"Why do you not take me seriously?" Bay asked back. "Look, that's not important right now. What's important is my cast for the film. Starting off with the guy I want playing Bugs Moran... Mr. Nicolas Cage!"


Cage came out on stage to much applause from the entertainment reporters. He was looking his usual dishevelled and crazy self, stumbling about in a drunken stupor, carrying a bottle of scotch. "Hello!" he called out. "It's good to see you!" He shook hands with Bay and took a swallow of the liquor.

"And playing tenacious police sergeant Mick "Waldo" Shaughnessy, another of my favourite actors, Shia LaBeouf!" Bay announced, and the reporters broke out into more applause.

LaBeouf came out on stage, waved to the crowd, and walked over to Bay and Cage. "Shia is here! Shia knows all and sees all! Shia wants to know why the producers kept him out of the last Indiana Jones movie!" (editor: he's still doing the talking in third person thing?)


Bay nodded. "They should have let me direct that. And give it up one more time for our leading lady. She'll be playing Francesca Moran, the niece of our Bugs and the paramour of our police sergeant, caught between two worlds. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Megan Fox!!!!"

Fox came out on stage, wearing a typical low cut dress. She gave the entertainment reporters an eyeful by leaning over. This reporter wondered how much plastic surgery had thus far been applied on stage (editor: I imagine a lot).


Bay grinned. "Ladies and gentlemen, my leading cast..."

"So who's playing Al Capone?" this reporter asked. 

"I haven't decided yet," Bay acknowledged. "I wanted Buscemi, but he told me to go **** myself for some reason. But I'm still on the lookout."

"So you're making a film about a small group of mobsters getting lined up against a wall and... just getting shot?" another reporter asked.


"Well, and what happens afterwards," Bay answered. "And what'll happen afterwards is explosions and tough choices and lots of drama and lots more explosions. Because I know my audience. And they love explosions. The more the better. And I give 'em what they want. And I expect the Academy to give me what I want. Every Oscar in every category, including for foreign language films, since half the film is going to have Italian dialogue, what with this being being about Italian-American mobsters and explosions. But that's for down the line. Because for now, our film has to get made, and we gotta get busy. Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming out, it's been a pleasure."

The entertainment reporters broke out into applause as the foursome disappeared back stage. The real reporters wondered why studios kept backing Michael Bay (editor: they've run completely out of ideas if you ask me.) This reporter took his leave, personally thankful that he was not a film critic and thus obliged to attend screenings of dreck like this (editor: you're being too kind).

Tuesday, February 13, 2024

Pancakes Are A Source Of Happiness

It is Pancake Tuesday today. Otherwise known as Mardi Gras. Shrove Tuesday. And the lead-in to Lent. I am not Catholic (pretty sure the holy water would boil if I was in proximity to it), but I will certainly be taking in pancakes today. Perhaps for breakfast, perhaps for lunch. In the meantime, I have an image blog for you. Enjoy!

Tuesday, February 6, 2024

Requiem For A Super Bowl Weekend

 

Super Bowl Sunday Looms; Certain Segment Of Society Claims The Game Has Been Ruined Forever

Las Vegas (AP) The week leading up to the Super Bowl is carrying on in this gambling city of the American West. Fans are pouring in and taking in some of the pre-game hype. Reporters from all over the world are present. Betting sites are taking action on literally every aspect of the game. Scalpers are working to unload tickets at steep rates and avoid being seen by the police. And the usual Vegas crowd are oblivious to it all, feeding more and more money into the slot machines.

This year the San Francisco 49ers are meeting the Kansas City Chiefs in the first Super Bowl held in this city. The two teams have proven to be controversial, as the MAGA segment of the population hates San Francisco, a liberal city, and so would be inclined to root for their opponent.


But their opponent is Kansas City, and in recent months, the team has been in the news for another reason- one of their team members, Travis Kelce, has been in a relationship with Taylor Swift, the megastar singer whose legions of fans call themselves Swifties. And she herself is seen as liberal- so the MAGA crowd have been screaming murder and claiming that she's ruining the game (editor: what a bunch of crybabies).

This reporter has been dispatched to cover the game, despite the fact that he's not a sports reporter. Perhaps it's because his editor appreciates the general snarkiness of his writing for such events. It's very different from this reporter's previous editor, who's still locked away in a mental hospital after multiple violent threats (editor: that guy was out of his mind).


Swift, who has a habit of writing breakup albums after previous relationships went south, may or may not even be attending. She's in Japan doing a concert the day before, and a flight back would take eighteen hours. Nonetheless, the relationship has MAGA faithful foaming at the mouth, what with the habit of broadcasters regularly cutting to check her out at games. 

"It ain't right!" Jeb "Bubba" Guthrie of Tennessee told this reporter this week at one of the pre-game events. "It's our sport! Not dem libs! Why the **** does anyone let somethin' like this happen, anyway?"

This reporter asked if Mr. Guthrie thought there might be a conspiracy.


"Damn right! No matter who wins, we lose! Damn Marxist libs want us to vax our kids so they can put mind chips in 'em! Just like they're hidin' the truth about the flat earth and the ice wall! Well no sir, not me! I ain't woke!"

Nor educated, this reporter thought, seeing little point in trying to reason with him. It's been a long season, with some teams thought to be sure fire in the Super Bowl falling by the wayside. And the end result being the two competing teams in a combination that infuriates many GOP voters.

Terry Bradshaw isn't broadcasting this year, but never passed on an opportunity to come to these things, was more circumspect.


"It's been a weird year, sure," Bradshaw told reporters. "But an exciting one. Sure, some people out there might be feeling sore and all, but you know what? That's life. Your guys don't always win, because what would be the point?"

It's also been the year of the final downfall of a coach who was once a big name in the game- Bill Belichick. The former Patriots coach, who cheated his way to multiple Super Bowl championships, was fired early in the year after over two decades in New England. Belichick has been seen this week roaming about, looking for new coaching opportunities.


No one has been biting as of yet. Rumour has it that Belichick even reached out beyond American borders to the Canadian Football League and offered his services to the Ottawa RedBlacks, who have been having a few bad years. A staff member, speaking on condition of anonymity, told this reporter by phone, "look, yes, we've been struggling a lot, but we're trying to turn it around. Besides, we're not that desperate." (editor: ooo! Burn!)

It has been said that Belichick sold his soul to the Devil to gain his victories. The Devil has previously confirmed this, and spoke with this reporter this week by phone from the Seventh Circle of Hell. "At this point, his soul is effectively worthless. I'm putting some serious thought into maybe revoking his ability to die, and condemning him to be an eternal wanderer, walking the face of the earth, trying and failing to get a football job. I think that's the sort of thing he deserves."


Country singer Reba McIntyre will do the national anthem to open up the event. The halftime show is said to be headlined by Usher (along with whoever else for a pointless lip synch extravaganza that will leave fans wondering what that was). In between and after halftime will be a game, interspersed with commercials that companies are paying a mint for (editor: pretty dumb commercials too).

Another figure present, though not wanted by anyone, is disgraced former player and ex-convict O.J. Simpson, who's been spending years since his release from prison coming to these events anyway, and making a scene. This reporter is well acquainted with the man.


Simpson was standing at one of the pre-game events, talking to anyone who would listen. Most people saw him and made a point of making a wide berth around him. "It's like this," Simpson said. "The ****in' NFL won't let the Juice back in. No sir! They won't let me participate, won't let me coach, won't let me play. They tell me I'm bad news. **** that! People ****in' love the Juice. Except for Nicole and whatever that waiter guy's name was. Well, **** 'em. They're dead anyway."

Simpson paused, looking out at the group watching him. That included this reporter (editor: uh oh). "Hey! It's you! You're that mother****er who keeps tellin' people I was threatenin' to ****in' kill your ass! You take that back, mother****er, or I will kill you!"


Simpson strode forward, his face enraged.... and tripped. There was a loud crack as he hit the floor, and he started screaming. "My hip! I broke my ****in' other hip!!!!" (editor: he got exactly what he deserves)

This reporter walked away as paramedics came in, hearing Simpson scream curses in between screaming in pain. The city waits for the spectacle. Here and there one sees MAGA protestors holding up signs saying that the NFL must revoke both teams playing in favour of "our boys", or threatening to hold their breath if either San Francisco or Kansas City wins.


And this reporter is front and center for it all (editor: sorry, I'll send Dennehy next year). Even though this reporter doesn't even like football. Oh well. The entertainment value in watching whatever passes for brain matter melting in MAGA heads should make up for it. 

Because no matter who wins, those overgrown babies lose.

Friday, February 2, 2024

Revenge Of A Jittery Rodent

 

It is Groundhog Day. Despite what the prognosticating rodents across the continent might be saying, there will be six more weeks of winter. I have an image blog for the occasion.