Cataclysms And Shattered Hearts

Narcissistic Director Announces Latest Disaster Movie; Real Reporters Roll Eyes In Dismay

Los Angeles (AP). It is a truth universally acknowledged that a two bit director, in search of an explosion, must be in want of attention. So Jane Austen might put it in this day and age. This past week, at the home of Digital Domain, reporters were gathered for an announcement by a film auteur- in his own mind, that is. Real reporters were outnumbered by entertainment reporters, who are bereft of brains and too given to applaud anything. 

This reporter was among them, primarily as his editor loves sending him to these things for the sarcastic value (editor: the readers love it too). And so it was that this reporter found himself in an auditorium, waiting on the latest announcement from the dreadful director, Michael Bay.

A spokeswoman came out on stage, where a podium had been set up with a full length mirror alongside it. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for the greatest filmmaker of our generation, Michael Baaaaaaaaayyyyy!" 

The applause was rapturous from the entertainment reporters. Real reporters rolled their eyes, sighed in dismay and shook their heads, wondering when the nonsense would wrap up (editor: and it is nonsense). Bay came out on stage, waving and grinning like the idiot he is, looking as you'd expect- the days of stubble, the dishevelled hair, the casual clothing. He walked up to the podium, winked and smiled at his reflection, and began to speak.

"Hello! It's wonderful to see you. I love all of you, as much as you love me." (editor: he hates himself, huh?) Bay nodded. "You know, I'm a busy man. Always have projects on the go, things that I'm planning on making in my quest to win Oscars. I don't know why I haven't won one yet. But that's not important. What is important is I'm a busy man. You know me. I'm a guy who loves explosions. And Aerosmith songs and hot babes waxing cars. And explosions. So I've been thinking. What kind of movie do I want to make next? And how many explosions can I get away with in it?"

Bay smiled and nodded again. "I've been thinking about disaster movies. Disasters are always in the news. But what's one kind of disaster that I haven't covered in a film? Then it hit me. Like a puck to the head. The Toronto Maple Leafs."

This caused a stir. The Canadian hockey team is well known for choking when it counts and breaking the hearts of their devoted and deranged fan base every year. Yes, that qualifies as a disaster. But what would that have to do with the usual Bay style of explosions in a film (editor: good question).

Bay carried on. "I remembered some years ago some die hard Leafs fans decided to kidnap the Stanley Cup and hold it for ransom, wanting the Leafs to be designated the champions. Or something like that. Anyway, it gave me an idea for a Michael Bay blockbuster spectacular. Take that as a starting point, but instead of it being fans stealing the Cup, make it a mad bomber who's also a Maple Leafs fan threatening to blow up the city if his Leafs don't win the Cup. Is that an idea or is that an idea?"

The entertainment reporters broke out into applause. The real reporters sighed (editor: me too). Bay grinned like the jackass that he is, basking in the applause and oblivious to the contempt from reporters with a working brain. "You've got to be kidding," this reporter stated (editor: I wish).

"Why do people say that to me?" Bay asked with a shrug. "That doesn't matter. What matters is my cast. And they love attention just as much as me. Now I'm going to be enlisting NHL players to essentially be playing themselves in this thing, because it's too hard to get actors to look like professional hockey players. But that's okay, because the players aren't the main characters. And this way, it's as close as the real Maple Leafs are going to get to the Cup anytime soon. But they'll be there, on the ice and in the thick of the action. But the story is about the bomber. And the heroic cop who's coming to save the day. But can he? Ladies and gentlemen, without further do, playing the mad bomber in this film, one of my favourite actors and one of yours.... Mr. Shia LaBeouf!" 

LaBeouf came out on stage, smiling like an idiot as usual, and waved. "Hello there! It is nice to see you! Shia is pleased that you have come to see Shia!" This reporter sighed again (editor: he's still doing the talking in the third person thing?). LaBeouf came over to join Bay.

Bay carried on. "And playing the heroic veteran cop, member of the bomb squad about to retire, my guy, Nicolas Caaaaaagggge!"

At this point Nicolas Cage staggered out, carrying a bottle of half-empty Scotch, looking the worse for wear, which is saying something. He waved to the crowd, smiling and grinning (editor: how drunk was he?). "Hey there!"

Bay grinned. "And lastly, playing an unusual role for her, but one of my favourite actresses around. She's the hostage negotiator working for the police and racing against time. Give it up for Megan Fox!!!!"

Fox came out on stage, bowing and showing off her assets, so to speak. She joined Bay, Cage, and LaBeouf. "Ladies and gentlemen, the cast of Sudden Death, a hockey action thriller coming soon to a theatre near you. Thanks for coming out!"

With that, the group left the stage to rapturous applause from the entertainment reporters, ignoring the eye rolls from the real reporters (editor: how dumb are they?). This reporter departed, wondering how long the film would take to make, given Bay's huge backlog of projects, and how many Leafs would be traded away in the duration.

The last word belongs to the beleaguered fans of the team itself. Leafs Nation, as they are sometimes known, continue to be devoted to their guys, no matter how many times their hearts are shattered. "You know what, it's an honour," one fan told reporters in Toronto. "I mean, I'm one of the guys who actually held the Cup for ransom back a few years ago, and ****, yeah, I'm still kind of on probation because of it. But me and Harry and Jack, we did it all for a good cause. And to find out now that they're kind of sort of honouring our plot, well, with some Hollywood extras, because we weren't threatening to bomb anyone.... anyway, it's ****in' great, eh? Anyway, all I want to say is... Go Leafs go!!!" (editor: god help us all) 

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).

The Pumpkin Spice Latte Blockbuster

Egomaniac Director Announces Latest Film Project; Millions Of Latte Drinkers Guzzle Fake Drink

Los Angeles (AP) It is a rite of the fall- for the last fifteen or so years. The time when white girls in leggings stir and go out in search of pumpkin spice lattes in every coffee shop they can find. Even if there's no pumpkin in the lattes. It's become a trend that has caught on, and will seemingly never go away, with millions drinking the vile brew as long as the drink stays in stock (editor: it's a mystery).

And in a year where we've had a Mattel toy turn into a blockbuster, it was just a matter of time before someone decided to do the same with other consumer products. Like a drink. 

Reporters were summoned this week to the headquarters of Platinum Dunes for an announcement from the explosion happy, self absorbed director Michael Bay (editor: he's such a buffoon).

Real reporters were outnumbered in the auditorium by entertainment reporters. The latter group were gushing about what might be announced, and the odds of Bay winning an Oscar (editor: the chances are a snowball's chance in hell). A staff member came out and called for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I may? Put your hands together and welcome the greatest cinematic visionary of all time... Mr. Michael Bay!!!!!!"

She left stage, and on came Bay himself, grinning like a buffoon, laughing and waving to the entertainment reporters, who were applauding and cheering. He was oblivious to the scorn of the real reporters, who were shaking their heads, rolling their eyes, and checking their watches. Bay strode up to the podium, where a full length mirror had been set up, and winked at himself (editor: this is why he's not married. He's in love with himself).

"Hello there!" Bay called out as the applause of the entertainment reporters began to die down. "Welcome! Great of you to come out and see a genius at work. You know, it's been said that I tend to make films for a male teenage audience. And I suppose that's fair. I mean, the explosions, the hot women waxing cars, the explosions, the rock underscore. But that's not all that's out there. This summer has seen a big blockbuster come out that seems to speak to women and girls. I went and saw it, and I was, well, confused. Didn't really get it. I mean, there weren't any explosions. It was Barbie. But hey, I figured, maybe I'm not supposed to get it. But I thought to myself, I've been ignoring a whole element of the population by making films for the niche market I make them for."

Michael Bay? Capable of personal growth? This reporter doubted it. Bay carried on. "Anyway, what I came to decide was that I could look to other things to focus on, and tell stories about. And I've noticed in the last couple of weeks that these pumpkin spice lattes were being out there again and being drunk. And lots of white women drinking them. This confuses me, because, well, I don't actually like Starbucks, and I never had one. But I thought about it. And hey, let's face it, if you can make a blockbuster movie about a Mattel doll, why not about a drink?"

Entertainment reporters broke out into applause. The real reporters sighed (editor: he can't be serious). Bay nodded. "So that's why the next film project in the pipeline is going to focus on a career minded woman, a member of the NYPD. A bomb disposal expert who likes her pumpkin spice lattes but doesn't want anyone to know about it, because she figures she won't be taken seriously. And it's about a mad bomber who plants a bomb in one Starbucks pumpkin spice latte dispenser in New York City on opening day of pumpkin spice latte season."

The real reporters shook their heads. The entertainment reporters cheered and roared. "Now, for my leading lady, one of my favourite actresses and one of yours... Megan Fox!!!!!!" Bay announced.

Fox came out on stage, wearing her usual low cut attire, smiling vacantly, and strode up to join Bay. "Hey there! Good to be playing this role. I'm proud to represent all the pumpkin spice latte drinkers out there in this pivotal role that's going to get me the Oscar."

Bay nodded. "And playing the villain, the mad bomber.... my old pal, Nicolas Cage!"

Cage stumbled out on stage, smoking a Havana cigar and holding a bottle of Scotch. He staggered over to Bay and Fox, and waved a bit. "Hello! Good to be back working with my favourite people." (editor: how drunk is he?)

Bay nodded. "And there you have it. Proof that I can make films for women about things they love, like pumpkin spice latte. And I can make a mint on it. Because when you mix together pumpkin spice latte and explosions and Aerosmith doing the theme song and more explosions, what's not to like?"

"Is Starbucks going to sue you?" one reporter asked. 

Bay shrugged. "Not planning on actually saying their name out loud in the movie, so what for?"

Bay carried on. "Now we'll have to figure out a title for this genius idea of a movie of mine. Because Pumpkin Spice Latte, as much as it moves drinks, isn't a good movie title. But we'll come to that when we come to it. For now, the important part is that this movie is going to happen, it's going to be big, and it's going to win us Oscars. Thanks, folks, you've been a blast. Thanks for coming out!" With that, Bay departed off stage with his two stars. Real reporters shook their heads with dismay. Entertainment reporters were too busy gushing with excitement (editor: they really are dumb).

Time goes on. Bay will make his film. Or not. There's an awful lot of films in the pipeline for him, and they don't seem to be getting made. In the interim, white girls will continue to buy pumpkin spice latte as if their very identity counts on it. And they will continue to believe there's pumpkin somewhere in that mix. But there's not. 

But for one egomaniac director, that doesn't matter. All that matters is the explosion.

Blowing Up The Franchise Again

Egomaniac Director Plans New Installment Of Old Franchise, Guarantees Explosions

Los Angeles (AP). There are few things in life that are guaranteed. Death and taxes. The Toronto Maple Leafs never again winning the Stanley Cup. The depths a Kardashian will stoop to for attention. The gullibility of a MAGA follower.

One of the other things guaranteed is the prospect of explosions in the films of a certain Hollywood director.

This week real reporters and entertainment reporters assembled at the production facilities for Platinum Dunes, a mainstay in the film production business of Michael Bay, director of such dreck as Pearl Harbor and the Transformers franchise. They assembled for an announcement by the director himself. Entertainment reporters were buzzing in the auditorium beforehand. Real reporters were busy rolling their eyes (editor: for good reason. Michael Bay is an idiot).

At length, one of Bay's staff came out on stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the greatest visionary film director of our time, Michael Bay!"

The entertainment reporters broke out into rapturous applause. The real reporters shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Bay stepped out on stage, smiling like an idiot, his customary three days of stubble and dishevelled hair present, dressed casually. He waved, laughed, remained oblivious to the contempt of the real reporters (editor: he is as dumb as his reputation suggests). Bay strode up to the podium, paused to look at himself in a full length mirror set up, and winked at himself.

"Hello!" Bay exclaimed, looking out at his audience. "Thanks for coming in. But of course you had to. Everyone in the world is fascinated with me, and what I'm going to do next. It's in that spirit that I'll let you in on one of my future projects. I've recently acquired rights to a franchise that's been, well, a kid's franchise. And I want to put my own Michael Bay spin on it. Girls in hot cars waxing the hot cars. Aerosmith music. And explosions. Because you've got to have explosions. What kind of movie is it without explosions?"

"The kind of movie you can't make?" this reporter suggested (editor: good dig at him).

Bay laughed. "Funny! No, the kind of movie I don't want to make."

He paused before continuing on. "No, see, the thing is, like many of you, I get a lot of spam in my email. I mean, Nigerian princes, pointless links that'll hack into your email if you click on them. We all get those. I also get a lot of spam email from people telling me to stop making movies. They must be spam, because everyone knows I make great movies. But a few weeks ago I got this spam from a guy claiming to be a burglar who had broken into a house and was subsequently crippled by a little girl. I mean, that's a little over the top, don't you think?" (editor: this from a guy whose films are the very essence of over the top?)

Bay looked out over the crowd and grinned, somehow missing the contempt from the real reporters. "First of all, a burglar admitting to his crimes? And admitting to getting beaten up by a kid? But it's the sort of idea that gives me an idea. And when I get an idea, you know it's going to lead somewhere."

"Into an overblown movie with lots of explosions?" this reporter asked.

Bay clapped his hands together. "Exactly! Now a couple of weeks back, thanks to cheating in a poker game, I acquired the rights to make a Home Alone sequel. Problem solved. But it would have to have my own spin on it. First off, we'll ditch the kid. I don't like working with kids."

"You're proposing making a Home Alone film, only without a kid?" another reporter asked. 

"That's right," Bay replied. "What I want to tell is the story of an Army bomb disposal expert on leave, back at her home in Chicago. It's a big home in the suburbs, thanks to inheriting a ton of money from Dad. He'll be played in flashbacks by Jon Voight, because you've got to have a Jon Voight appearance in my films. And little does she know but there's a couple of burglars in the neighbourhood, casing houses for robbing. Played by Nicolas Cage and Steve Buscemi."

At this point the two actors stepped out on stage. Buscemi didn't look happy, but when does he ever (editor: this is true). Cage was guzzling from a bottle of scotch. "Hello!" Cage said as he stumbled over to join Bay. "It's great to see you!"

Buscemi sighed. "Look, everyone, I really don't want to work with this guy ever again, but I lost a hand of poker in the same game he got the rights to this dumbass movie, and he's demanding I make a film with him again."

Bay laughed. "What a kidder!"

Buscemi glared at him. "I'm not joking."

Bay didn't appear to notice. "And playing my protagonist, Kelly McCallister, is one of my favourite actors. Give a warm welcome to Megan Fox!"

Fox herself came out on stage, with the usual vacant eyes and her customary barely clothed showing off the cleavage attire. She smiled (as much as the plastic surgery could allow), blew kisses, and gave the cameras a look at her cleavage (editor: why does she keep getting roles?). The entertainment reporters applauded wildly. The real reporters sighed. She joined the others.

"You expect us to believe Megan Fox could believably play someone capable of defusing a bomb?" this reporter asked (editor: good question).

"I can do whatever I set my mind to," Fox replied. "What was the question again?"

Bay shrugged it off. "You're just jealous. Or kidding. I don't care. What I care about is a film concept that has overeager burglars getting in over their heads and finding themselves at war with a really hot babe who knows a thing or two about war and hurting people and leaving them crippled and crying and begging for mercy. What I care about is Aerosmith doing the theme song. What I care about is explosions, explosions, and more explosions. That's what I care about, that's what my audience cares about, and that's all that matters."

Bay shook his head. "What's important is this. Home Alone: Blown To Hell is going to do big box office. It's going to be an epic blockbuster that everyone's going to want to see. It'll be funny and fast paced and exciting and it'll be the talk of the town for months. And it's going to win me all the Oscars and all the recognition that I'm long overdue. Thanks for coming out!"

With that, Bay departed the stage, followed by Cage and Fox. Buscemi remained behind for a minute. "Hey, I'm really, really sorry I'm stuck with this. I thought I was done working with that hack for life."

He departed again. Entertainment reporters were buzzing about the prospect of yet another Bay film. Real reporters were shaking their heads in dismay. And when last seen, Nicolas Cage was getting into the back of a limo, using a hundred dollar bill to light a cigar.

This reporter wondered when Cage's next bankruptcy would be happening (editor: ouch).

Bloody Mistakes All Around

Weird And Pointless Celebrity Couple Drink Blood, Real Bloodsuckers Annoyed

Los Angeles (AP) In a world where Hollywood can also be called Hollyweird, few things are shocking. But many things are weird. Such as why Jennifer Aniston keeps getting roles. Who keeps greenlighting reality shows and music competitions for television. How Steven Seagal lasted as long as he did before vanishing into oblivion. Tom Cruise doing... well, pretty much whatever he does. 

And then there are the pointless couples, devoid of talent, who have to resort to trying to shock the audience.

Actress Megan Fox and rapper Machine Gun Kelly (yes, it's a stupid name) recently announced their engagement. 

Fox is best known for appearing in Michael Bay films (which speaks volumes of her lack of talent) and plastic surgery alterations. Kelly walks around with a dazed expression that suggests he's suffered from severe brain damage and whatever passes for his brain got dislodged. If they ever reproduce, they'll have dragged back the progress of evolution.

Weird enough to start with. And it got weirder.

It started with the two openly talking about carrying around vials of each other's blood. Now with the engagement, they've claimed that they've actually drunk that blood.

Yes, you've read that right. 

Megan Fox and Machine Gun Kelly are claiming to be blood drinkers. 

Can they be called vampires? Probably not. Sampling one bodily fluid of the significant other you're with does not make you a vampire. After all, it requires death and becoming the undead, a craving to consume the blood of anyone in your reach, and a tendency to sleep in coffins and avoid sunlight.

And yet they went ahead and did it anyway. Weird. 

Real vampires are dismayed by the headlines. Speaking to this reporter by Zoom, Count Anton Vordor- official spokesman of the Nightwalker Society, as they call themselves- was irritated. "We've spent centuries developing a reputation and a legend as fierce and fearsome creatures of the night. We are cursed and blessed, depending on who you talk to, with eternal life, with certain conditions. Among which are never seeing the sun again and an aversion to wooden stakes. But that's beside the point."

He paused before continuing. "The point is we have had, from time immemorial, been feared by the world at large while we've stalked the night and taken what we need to feed. But now?"

Vordor put up his hands in an expression of dismay. "Now we find ourselves being portrayed on screen as sparkling nitwits with nothing to do with our time but hang out with sullen teenagers and sneer at dog boy werewolves. Do you have any idea how much damage those idiotic books and films did to our reputation? I assure you, there's been a lot of it. We've spent years putting up with the laughter of werewolves at group summits. As if they weren't also disparaged in that franchise. But no, we were far more sullied by that halfwit writer."

"Ever thought of going after that writer for doing it?" this reporter asked.

"What for? The damage is already done. Besides, the consensus among us is that her blood would leave a bad aftertaste of mediocrity and sour apples."

"And this whole Megan Fox and Machine Gun Kelly drinking each other's blood?" this reporter asked. 

"Rubbish," Vordor replied. "Just like they're rubbish. One of the benefits of eternal life- and I should say at this point that I've managed going through 1492 years as a vampire without running afoul of a wooden stake- is that you see how fleeting fame is. No one in a century will remember either of them. Oh, people are going to remember the Beatles. But immortality through your artistic talent doesn't happen when you don't have talent. And these two don't have talent."

He shook his head. "Real vampires don't do sentimental nonsense like this. We don't start like this. We don't live like this. But honestly, we've spent years doing damage control because of Twilight, and now we have to put up with the ridicule of being compared to two vapid buffoons like this? Totally unacceptable. It makes you want to call in a tip to the Van Helsing family and tell them those two actually are vampires."

Ella Van Helsing, present day head of the vampire hunting clan, had her own take on things. "First of all, Count Vordor has his day coming. Second, we bloody well know that Megan Fox and Machine Gun Kelly aren't vampires. They're many other things. Profoundly stupid. Wastes of oxygen. Screaming for attention prats. But they're not vampires. And we don't do freebies because real vampires are crying about their reputations being sullied."

Love And Bombs On The High Sea

Egomaniacal Director Plots Adaptation Of Inane Television Show, Basks In Himself

Los Angeles (AP) It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that an egomaniac in want of attention will call a press conference. At least that's how Jane Austen might write her introduction these days. A fitting way for this reporter to introduce a story of an egomaniac at work promoting himself. After the recent unpleasantness of his former editor being committed to an insane asylum after years of deranged behaviour and threats, this reporter was pleased to get a new editor who's entirely pleasant. Even to the point of giving this reporter a twist on a regular assignment: full permission to ridicule the subject as needed. Thanks to the new editor (editor: you're welcome)

And so it was recently that this reporter arrived at the LA headquarters of Digital Domain, home base of the biggest ego in Hollywood- which is saying something. Michael Bay, the explosion prone director of such mindless dreck as Pearl Harbor, the Transformers franchise, and much more, has had in recent years a growing backlog of projects he keeps meaning to get to. Such is the case with his newest project.

This reporter joined a handful of actual reporters- all still masked- and a horde of entertainment reporters- all unmasked- in the auditorium at the studio. A podium had been set up on stage. Along with a mirror. The entertainment reporters were gushing about what was to be announced. This reporter wondered if he could call in a favour from a cranky Mountie. 

At length, a woman strode out on the stage and called for attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the greatest director of our time and any other time.... Michael Bay!" The entertainment reporters broke out into applause. Real reporters began rolling their eyes (editor: for good reason; Michael Bay is a wanker). Has this reporter mentioned how grateful he is for the new editor?

Bay came out on stage, waving and grinning like an idiot, looking his usual self. Dishevelled hair, stubble, casual clothing. He walked up to the podium, winked at his reflection in the mirror, and began to speak to the crowd. "Thank you! Thanks for coming out! It's wonderful to see you all here today. You know, it's been awhile since we've had one of these." Not long enough, this reporter thought to himself. "But here we are, getting our way through this whole pandemic thing. Sorry for the no room for social distancing thing, but hey... people love seeing me. So I'm sure it'll all be fine. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. The big announcement."

He paused a moment before continuing. "You know, I think a lot about the masterpieces I've made and the things I still have to do. I've given the world my spin on World War Two and asteroids and giant robots and all that. Now I want to move in a new direction. Something that you might not expect out of me."

He smiled as he looked out at the audience, totally oblivious to the contempt on the faces of real reporters. "I thought about a television series. Not doing a television series, but adapting one. Bringing it to the big screen for a three hour extravaganza of fun, Aerosmith tunes, bikini clad women, and explosions. Because you've got to have explosions. What kind of movie is it when there aren't explosions?"

He paused once more before continuing. "And so it is, ladies and gentlemen, that I will be adapting for the big screen... The Love Boat."

Entertainment reporters broke out into applause. Real reporters rolled their eyes and sighed. Bay remained utterly oblivious to their disdain, laughing and basking in the esteem of the entertainment reporters. The television series had followed a number of crew members on a cruise ship helping various guest stars each week with their romantic foibles, back in the 1970s and 1980s. It was a light hearted but utterly tedious show with faded stars in the guest roles each week, following a tired formula (editor: I agree with you; who was calling for a reboot of that dreck?)

And so this reporter sighed, expecting the worst. Because even more obnoxious than a retread of a 70s television show is a hack of a director like Michael Bay directing it. Of course he would announce his usual crew of nitwits as the main characters, but what washed up contemporary actors would fill out the list of passengers on this cruise ship to movie going hell? And how many Michael Bay techniques would we be seeing? Because he had already mentioned explosions.

"Thank you! Thank you! Oh, what a wonderful response!" Bay said, pleased by the cheers of the entertainment reporters. 

"Are you insane?" this reporter inquired. (editor: spoiler note- he is).

"Why does everyone keep asking that?" Bay asked, oblivious to the contempt from the actual reporters. "Now of course we have to tell the story of passengers finding romance as they meet on this great cruise ship off the West Coast. But there has to be more. Because I'm Michael Bay, the greatest film director ever, and I know what the audience wants. Which is why my plot will shift as the heroic crew tangles with a villain hidden among the passengers. A mad bomber out to make a whole lot of trouble. I mean, I did mention explosions, after all."

"Are you aware the bomber on a ship thing has been done before? It was called Speed 2, and it was a sequel no one was asking for," this reporter pointed out.

"I've never heard of it." Bay shrugged, smiled like an idiot before carrying on. "And we'll have high drama, great action, amazing explosions, and life and death stakes. And explosions. So without further ado, let's start introducing you to our stellar cast. Playing the leading role of Captain Stubing, he's one of my favourite actors and one of yours... Mr. Nicolas Cage!"

Cage came out on stage, carrying a bottle of aged whiskey and lighting a cigar with a hundred dollar bill. Obviously his previous brushes with near bankruptcy have not taught him anything. He looked as bizarre as usual, which is saying something. "Hey there!" he called out to the crowd. "Great to be here. And it'll be great playing this role. Did I mention I always wanted to be an admiral?"

He joined Bay, who gave him a fist bump. "And two of my other favourite actors playing key roles in this film. He'll be playing Doc, and she'll be playing Julie... let's give it up for Shia LaBeouf and Megan Fox!" 

The two stepped out on stage; she was wearing a low cut black dress and gave the entertainment reporters a view of her proverbial assets. He was waving like an idiot, and started talking in the third person like he usually does. "Shia approves of all this applause!" he told the entertainment reporters. "Shia loves to bask in the love! It is good for Shia!" This reporter wondered if Shia LaBeouf understood how much of a dumbass he came across as. 

Fox and Labeouf joined Bay and Cage, and Bay smiled like the dolt that he is. "I've got plenty more casting to come. After all, we've got our villain to cast. I tried calling Jon Voight, my go-to guy on these things, but he's too busy curled up in a fetal position and muttering his undying loyalty to some guy named Trump. So we'll have to find someone else who can emphasize crazy like no one else can. I'd go with Samuel L. Jackson, but he told me to go **** myself. I don't know why... I mean, I'm a perfectly respectable person."

"It just means Sam has standards," this reporter suggested. 

True to form, Bay didn't understand that he was being insulted. "It can't be that."

He smiled again. "At any rate, lots of things for us to do and lots to get ready for. So get yourself ready for an extravaganza of fun on the open seas with five star service, sunbathing, and explosions. It's The Love Boat, Michael Bay style, and it's coming to your theatres before you know it. As soon as I've got all the other stuff I'm working on done. Genius takes time, you know..."

"You're not a genius," this reporter called out.

Bay laughed. "You kidder!" With that, Bay and his cast left the stage. Entertainment reporters were gushing. Real reporters shook their heads and took their leave. In an ideal world, Michael Bay would be thrown off a cruise ship. In the middle of the Bermuda Triangle (editor: covered in barbecue sauce and tossed in with hungry sharks).

This reporter likes his new editor.