It Was Mrs. Peacock With The Explosives

It's been awhile since I've featured this raging egomaniac. Enjoy!

Self Absorbed Director Announces Latest Film Project, Annoys Gallery Of Reporters

Los Angeles (AP) Reporters were summoned to the offices of Digital Domain, the special effects headquarters of vastly overrated explosion porn aficionado director Michael Bay yesterday, for the latest announcement by the self absorbed twit who brought the world Armageddon, The Rock, and Pearl Harbor. This reporter was doomed to be among them, for his editor makes it his personal mission in life to be as much of a pain in the butt as he can… (editor: do I need to remind you of the fact that you laughed when my kid flubbed his lines during the school play? You will do what I tell you to do, damn you!).

Anyway, before that interruption by the aforementioned editor (question:  why on Earth do you keep demanding my presence at these things? You and I hate each other!) this reporter had been summoned to the lair of the Self-Absorbed Blowhard that is Michael Bay. There were a number of actual reporters present, as well as the inevitable horde of brain deprived entertainment reporters. This reporter has no respect, none at all, for the pestilence that are entertainment reporters.

The spokesperson came out on stage before the assembled group of journalists and fake reporters belonging to such wastes of airtime Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood. She thanked everyone for coming; this reporter sighed in dismay and wondered how long he’d have to wait before he could slip away. Then she announced her employer.

Michael Bay came out on stage, dressed in his usual fashion: jeans, denim shirt, and blazer. As always, there were a couple of days worth of stubble on his face, and his hair was in that usual windswept slightly disheveled look that he seemed to favour. A large mirror was waiting for him beside the podium, and he took a moment to admire himself. This reporter expected he had gone thirty seconds since the last time he looked at himself in the mirror. Bay smiled in his usual vacant way, winked at himself, and looked out at the reporters, waving and grinning in his usual addled way.

“Hello and welcome!” he said, laughing as if at some imagined joke. “Welcome to Digital Domain! Of course you all wanted to come and see what the greatest director of all time was up to, didn’t you?” This reporter looked around, wondering if Alfred Hitchcock or Michael Curtiz might have managed to rise from the grave. Of course not. The self-asbsorbed blowhard was talking about himself. (editor: do I need to remind you your job doesn’t involve personal editorials or slants?) This reporter, admonished by the Editor Demon (editor: hey! I am not a demon!), nonetheless rested assured that while the Editor Demon could send him on pointless stories like this, the Editor Demon could not fire him (editor: I am so slashing your tires for this).

Back to the story at hand. Bay was going on and on about himself and how busy he was with his many projects, but there was something else that he had in development. “You know, I keep thinking about that film a couple of years ago based on a boardgame. Battleship! Yes, that was a real classic.” The real reporters collectively groaned in dismay at the mention of a film that was so ridiculously awful that it could have been directed by Michael Bay, even though it wasn’t. Bay seemed to not hear that groan of dismay. “You know, I wish I’d directed that one. Lots of action, babes, explosions, aliens being all Big Bad for no reason whatsoever. Well, for some reason that film didn’t do as well as it could have, but no matter. It gave me an idea. Why not go back and do a film about another classic board game?” He grinned in a way that suggested a doctor had failed to finish a lobotomy on him. “Ladies and gentlemen, coming as soon as I can film it… the big screen epic murder mystery Clue!”

Another groan of dismay mixed with outrage filled the auditorium. That particular board game had been adapted into a film years ago, one that had been considered a flop.  There have been odd rumours through the years of follow-up films or television miniseries, but nothing has yet become of it. And now Michael “Blow It Up Good” Bay of all people wanted to adapt the boardgame into a movie?

“Are you out of your mind?” a Reuters correspondent asked.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Bay replied, puzzled.

“That was already made into a movie starring Tim Curry. A bad one,” this reporter told the egomaniac.

“Years ago!” Bay said with yet another dimwitted grin. “Everyone’s forgotten that. And my version will be different. It’ll be bigger. It’ll be grander. It’ll be more explosive. We’ll have suspects and red herrings and plot devices and countdowns and hidden bombs in a secluded New England mansion. We’ll have hot babes waxing cars and Aerosmith doing a theme song. I’ve already got them working on it. I really have to keep the band stocked up with whiskey while they write music, let me tell you… those guys could drink Russians under the table.”

Bay smiled as he paused, looking at the crowd. “Let’s start bringing out our cast. Playing our hero, Mr. Green, I give you one of my favourite actors in the whole wide world, put your hands together to welcome the one, the only… Shia LaBeouf!”

A collective groan of dismay rose up from the real reporters. LaBeouf, the waste of oxygen given to speaking of himself in the third person actor, walked out on stage. As usual, he was dressed in a sloppy way. “It is good to see you have come to pay homage to Shia!” he called out. “Shia is much pleased!” He took his place by Bay.

Bay nodded and continued. “And as Miss Scarlet, how could I ever pass up a chance to cast her? Ladies and gentlemen, Megan Fox!”

The real reporters groaned in displeasure. Fox came out on stage in a low-cut dress that showed off her assets. She smiled in her customary vacant way. “Hi there! I’m going to have so much fun playing the bad girl with a heart of gold. Though am I the killer or not, Michael?”

Bay laughed. “Spoilers, Megan, spoilers! We can’t let the cat out of the bag yet. Playing a role that is sure to win him another Oscar, ladies and gentlemen, as the ethically challenged Professor Plum, may I present… Nicolas Cage!”

Cage came out on stage, looking bleary eyed and smoking a cigar lit by a hundred dollar bill. “Hello, everyone, don’t mind me, this is just how I smoke. No worries, I’m not going to run myself out of money again…” He joined his fellow cast mates.

Bay smiled again. “I had to think long and hard for this next one, but I think it’s an inspired choice. As the mysterious Mrs. Peacock, someone I haven’t worked with before, but someone who I think will be ideal for my films, Sarah Jessica Parker!”

Parker came out on stage. The real reporters gasped in another dismayed tone. She waved and joined the others. “I keep waiting for someone to greenlight Sex And The City 3: Carrie’s Mid-Life Crisis, but until then, this ought to be fun, right?”

Bay nodded. “You know, I think I could be an ideal director for that kind of project. We’ll talk backstage. Anyway, carrying on, we come to the character Mrs. White. She’s also a mystery, a widow with a whole lot of secrets. Blackmail kind of secrets. Which is why I wanted to work with this actress. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, may I present…” Bay turned to look at himself in the mirror once again, while this reporter wondered if the flesh eating virus might be more appealing than this assignment (editor: keep it up and I’ll give you the flesh eating virus). Then he looked at the crowd again, and announced, “Say hello to Kathy Griffin!”

The real reporters howled in outrage. The infuriatingly annoying red headed comedienne came out on stage, waving enthusiastically. “Take that, Sarah Silverman!” she bellowed and displayed both middle fingers. “Bite me, you ******!”

“And the last member of our cast, at least the last one to be announced for now, is our Colonel Mustard. I say for now, because we have to have a touchstone character guiding the suspects through the story. And while I do have that actor cast…. I’m not going to announce who that is. It’s going to be a surprise left for the film itself. So you’ll just have to wait and see who it is. Ladies and gentlemen, as our Colonel Mustard, give it up for… Mr. Eddie Murphy!”

The real reporters sighed yet again. Murphy came out on stage. “Look, I’m sorry, I know I should know better. I just haven’t done much in the last couple of years, and I’m running out of money.”

Cage smiled and clapped Murphy on his back. “Hey, let me introduce you to my accountant. You’ll  never be in money trouble again.”

Bay laughed. “Oh, they kid, they kid. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the cast of Clue: Murder In The Mansion. It’s going to be big. It’s going to be explosive. We’re gonna have a blowout murder spree for the ages. Too bad we couldn’t have Columbo solve the case, but raising the dead isn’t possible, and no one will ever let us get away with recasting the role. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure there are studio rights involved…”

He shrugged.  “Well, that doesn’t matter. This is going to be a big film, and everyone’s going to love it, and it’s going to get a whole mess of Oscars. Be here, be there, be ready for us, because we’re coming!”

With that, Bay left the stage with his cast. This reporter felt like going to get a stiff drink. And this reporter also felt that he was being abused by his tyrant of an editor who wouldn’t know good taste if he saw it (editor: I hate you with every fiber of my being).

Fine, Editor Demon. Next time you subject yourself to a Michael Bay press conference.