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).

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.

The Not That Faithful Adaptation

Off The Rails Adaptation Of Inane Book Is Released To Savage Reviews

Los Angeles (AP) The first few weeks of the year is often a dumping ground for films that the studios deem a waste, of poor quality and poor potential. So too is the case with a new film opening this weekend coming from the creative talents (if one wants to use that word) of two of the worst hacks on the planet. Director Michael Bay, who has given the world so many loud, explosion prone films over the years such as Pearl Harbor and the Transformers franchise, has just released Hopeless Yearning, the adaptation of a novel by Nicholas Sparks, who’s carved out a reputation as a hack himself, churning out pretty much the same plotline in every book. To call the two hacks is an understatement (editor: stop saying that! Michael Bay is a visionary, and my wife loves reading Nicholas Sparks books!)

The movie differs significantly from the book- at least as told to this reporter by the paper’s movie review columnist, who was forced by the very requirements of her occupation to sit down and waste two and a half hours of her life watching a Nicholas Sparks adaptation by Michael Bay. Her zero star review appears in today’s edition. The book featured a standard Sparks plot- the star crossed young lovers, class difference, disapproving parents, heartbreak, and so on, pretty much the same thing in the rest of the author’s works (editor: he does not write the same plotline over and over again!).

Bay made significant changes, turning the mechanic protagonist, Jonah McKay (played by Shia LaBeouf) into an Army bomb disposal expert. His romantic interest Clarissa (played by Megan Fox) was the daughter of a high society family, with a mother who turned out to be a megalomaniac villain, played by Julianna Margulies. The actress was outspoken about her dislike of Bay throughout production and has refused to take any part in publicity for the film. “**** Michael Bay!” Margulies said in a recent tweet.

Nicolas Cage, a perennial player in Bay films, appeared as McKay’s mentor Jeb Gallagher, and the film was plagued with interruptions due to drinking binges. What would usually be a bittersweet film (and an endless bore for anyone who hates Nicholas Sparks adaptations) was turned into an explosion prone, logic ignoring mess of noise, quick cut edits, an Aerosmith theme song, and babes in high cut shorts waxing cars in slow motion.

Bay is, as usual, ignoring the bad reviews. Found at his production offices at Digital Domain, the director was in a good mood. He looked his usual self- the dishevelled hair, the three days of stubble, the casual clothing, the vacant look in the eyes that suggested nothing much was going on inside his head, and the demented smile (editor: stop insulting Michael Bay!). “Who cares about the critics? They rip apart my films, and why? Because they just don’t understand them. My audiences understand them. My audiences love my films. So they come for the explosions and the Aerosmith theme and the action and the explosions and the hot babes and fast cars and the explosions and the… did I mention the explosions?”

Bay grinned even more. This reporter, doomed for the rest of his career to cover things he didn’t like because he had a cranky editor who was subject to a restraining order preventing him from being in the same space as this reporter, and who hated this reporter (editor: for good reason! Shut the hell up!), had to put up with this self absorbed nitwit (editor: what did I just say about not insulting Michael Bay?). “And then there are the Nicholas Sparks fans. I mean, women love this stuff. The star crossed lovers, the bittersweet endings, the sappy sentimental drama, the whole nine yards. Or ten yards. Or maybe there’s not even a yard involved, unless it has a white picket fence. Come to think of it, there’s a lot white about Nicholas Sparks. It’s as if people of colour don’t even exist in a Nicholas Sparks world.”

This reporter was momentarily stunned. Was Michael Bay having a moment of clarity? This, from a director who usually used minorities for comic relief in his over the top explosion prone films? This realization that Sparks has been criticized in the past for presenting a white bread sort of world? Or would it pass as quickly as ripples in the water of a mountain stream? Bay shrugged. “Well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is I’ve got double my audience, and this weekend we’re gonna do big box office numbers, baby, because people are gonna flock to this movie in droves. And we’re gonna prove the critics wrong next year at the Oscars, because if there’s anything I know, and I know a lot….” This reporter highly doubted that (editor: stop insulting Michael Bay!) “….it’s that the Oscars love tear jerkers. Which reminds me, why didn’t anyone ask me to direct The Notebook? I’d have been great at that.”

The last word goes to the author himself. Sparks has been spending years churning out the same plotline with different names and titles. He fashions himself as a unique writer, not willing to label himself a romance novelist (all while failing to keep his marriage together, how’s that for you?). He disregards criticism and shrugs off the irritation of people who dislike his books, such as this reporter, who regards him as a plague on the planet. “I didn’t know who he was,” Sparks admitted while at a café in his North Carolina hometown.

“I mean, sure, I’d heard his name before, but he didn’t present himself with his real name. So I signed off on an adaptation. I mean, I’ve had lots of my books made into movies that people have really been touched by and moved over and all that, so I assumed it would be more of the same. When you adapt one of my novels, you’re talking about true love and heart wrenching plot developments and cancer diagnosis moments and… why are you rolling your eyes?” Sparks asked, looking offended.

This reporter inquired, “are you aware that not everyone in this world likes your books? Because I don’t.”

Sparks seemed shocked. “That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s true,” this reporter assured him.

Sparks shook his head. “Then there can be only one explanation.”

This reporter wondered about the answer. “And that would be?”

“It means you have no soul,” Sparks stated with confidence.

This reporter sighed, shrugged, and walked away rather than spend another minute in the company of a buffoon of a writer, wondering what inane assignment his cranky editor would send him on next time (editor: if he’s right and you have no soul, that must make you a vampire. And thus no one will blame me for putting a wooden stake in your heart and ending you.)

This reporter would like to remind the authorities that his cranky editor keeps making death threats upon this reporter’s life, and should be dealt with accordingly (editor: shut up! I hate you! Oh, do I hate you! I hate you infinity plus one!)

Forty Loud Explosions With An Axe

Lunatic Director Announces Historical Drama With Forty Whacks

Los Angeles (AP) It is a painful truth that sometimes reporters are repeatedly sent on unpleasant assignments. Often it is because they have run afoul of a cranky editor who (editor: shut up!) has no sense of humour (editor: what did I just say?) In the case of this reporter, he has a grouch of an editor who can’t be in the same room as this reporter due to a restraining order against said editor after a series of violent death threats (editor: you had it coming!) Why this reporter’s newspaper continues to employ an editor with a serious anger management problem is a mystery (editor: it’s called blackmail material on the publisher, you bastard! Wait, did I write that down? Stop the presses!)

Regardless, this reporter was dispatched via email to the production offices of Digital Domain this week, along with a few other actual reporters and a horde of entertainment reporters, that breed of drooling, vacant eyed nitwits with not one brain among them. Digital Domain is the working headquarters of the world’s dumbest movie director, a man with a serious infatuation for explosions in films matched only by an infatuation for himself. This reporter had often been dispatched by his cranky editor (editor: shut up!) to cover press conferences announcing the latest in a string of films by the director- a string of films in production so extensive that it seems those films might never get made.

The assembled reporters, real and of the entertainment variety, were shown into a familiar auditorium on the premises. The real reporters looked at their watches and compared notes on the bad luck that had them here. The entertainment reporters talked amongst themselves and speculated on what kind of announcement might be made today. A spokeswoman came out on stage, where a podium and full length mirror had already been set up. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today. Without further ado, it is my privilege to welcome to the stage… the one, the only… the greatest film director of all time… Mr. Michael Baaaaaaaaaaay!”

The entertainment reporters broke out into applause and cheers. The real reporters checked their watches again and rolled their eyes. Bay strode out on stage, looking as he usually did: the disheveled hair, the day or two of stubble, the jeans, the blazer, the denim shirt unbuttoned at the throat. And of course the big dumb grin and the vacant eyes betraying his status as a dimwit. He walked towards the podium, looked at himself in the mirror, smiled, winked at himself, and faced the audience. “Thank you for coming out today! It’s so wonderful of you to come and join us for what’s going to be a great movie announcement.”

“We love you, Michael!” one of the entertainment reporters yelled.

“And I love me too!” Bay replied. “Now then, I’m a busy guy, with lots of films in the pipeline, lots of things that are in production and waiting to be done. But I want to talk about a film I’m going to do too. A film that’s inspired by my stopping in to see the film of someone else. Now I know what you’re thinking.” This reporter rolled his eyes, doubting that Bay would appreciate what he was thinking at that moment (editor: show some respect! Michael Bay is a visionary!). “You’re thinking, ‘Michael, why would the greatest director in the history of film want to watch anyone else’s films?’ And you’re right. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to keep an eye out on the competition, you know what I mean?”

He paused for a moment, looked at himself in the mirror again, and winked at himself. And then he carried on. “So I went to see that movie that came out recently about Lizzie Borden. Chloe Sevigny and what’s her face from those sparkly vampire movies were starring in it. Strangely enough they’ve never wanted to work with me. That’s beside the point. The point is that I’m watching this film, and I’m thinking two things. First of all, there’s not enough explosions. Second, why haven’t I been approached to make a movie about this? I was practically born to make that film. So I’m going to make one myself. I’m going to make Forty Whacks With An Axe. That’s a working title, by the way. Might be completely different by the time we get into production. Isn’t that a great idea?”

The Borden story is steeped in American history, with the 1892 murders of Andrew and Abby Borden, the father and step mother of Lizzie Borden, who was later acquitted in the case. It’s a story that has taken on a life of its own, adapted for the stage and screen, turning up in folk rhymes, and the subject of academic papers. It’s been compared to high profile trials that came decades later. And surely it would be better left in the hands of directors not named Michael Bay (editor: stop insulting Michael Bay!). The entertainment reporters were applauding rapturously. Bay was soaking in their adulation.

“So without further ado, let me introduce my cast,” Bay announced. “First, my leading lady, the heroine of the story. Ladies and gentlemen, there’s really only one actress I can see in this role, and she’s agreed to play the part. Give it up for Megan Fox!”

The actress came out on stage, dressed as you’d usually expect- the low cut dress, the high heels. She gave the entertainment reporters an eyeful of cleavage, and walked over to Bay. “I’m going to enjoy playing this part,” she said. “Particularly handling an axe.”

Bay nodded. “Now then when you make a historical drama, they say you should pay attention to facts and that, but I’m of the opinion that why let facts get in the way of a good story? So I’m being a bit creative with the casting of the attorney representing Lizzie in the trial of the 19^th century. In reality it was three guys. I’m going to make it one, and he’s going to be the love interest too. Because you’ve gotta have that in one of my films, along with explosions and Aerosmith doing the theme song and hot babes waxing cars… oh, wait, this is before cars, so well, we’ll figure out something else with hot babes. Anyway, playing the attorney Benjamin Baker, one of my favourite actors and I know he’s one of yours.  Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Shia LaBeouf!”

The actor strode out on stage, waving like an idiot, smiling in his demented way. “Hello! Welcome to you all! Shia is pleased that you have come to see Shia! Shia will bestow his grace upon you! Shia knows all!” He strode over to Bay and Fox. This reporter wondered if Shia knew this reporter wished he’d contract a nice nasty case of Ebola.

Bay carried on. “Now then, we’ve got to build up Lizzie into a sympathetic character, and part of that is making her father and step mother into the nastiest, least sympathetic characters you have ever seen in a film. Which is why I’ve cast an actor I’ve worked with a lot with one I haven’t worked with before. First off, playing Abby Borden, give it up for Catherine O’Hara.”

The actress, known for a mix of comedy and drama over the years, came out on stage, looking irritated. “For the record, I lost a card game with this moron and the stakes were I had to star in one of his films. I don’t like this anymore than you do.”

Bay laughed. “What a kidder!”

O’Hara glared at him. “I’m not joking.”

Bay ignored that. “And playing Andrew Borden, one of my pals, who I so often work with. Ladies and gentlemen, the one, the only… Nicolas Cage!”

The actor strode out on stage, carrying a bottle of scotch, half empty. “Hey! Great to see all of you!” He stumbled over to the others, while this reporter wondered if anyone in his life might have the fortitude to point out his drinking problem (editor: he doesn’t have a drinking problem! But he would if he had to put up with you!) This reporter would note as an aside that his cranky editor has just admitted to being a drunkard (editor: I am not a drunkard!).

“Ladies and gentlemen, the cast of Forty Whacks With An Axe!” Bay said, gleaming with pride. “Coming to a theatre near you whenever the hell I get to making it. Thanks for coming out!” The entertainment reporters broke out into applause as the director and his cast withdrew from the stage. This reporter checked his watch and wondered how long it would take to file a story. This reporter also mused that if his cranky editor had been around during the Borden murders, his cranky editor might have ended up a suspect in the (editor: I’m sharpening up an axe right now, restraining order be damned!)

Post script: this reporter has just been threatened yet again by his volatile, unhinged editor. This reporter is pretty sure that constitutes a violation of the restraining order and urges the authorities to take his cranky editor into custody (editor: forty whacks with an axe, you bastard!).