Some links before getting started. Norma wrote about delivery issues. Krisztina had a pic of the week. Maria had a book recommendation. And Lynn wrote about new pets in the family.
Now then, to today's mischief....
Overblown Director
Announces Unlikely Sequel; Reporters Wonder What His Point Is
Los Angeles (AP). Reporters were summoned once again to the
offices of Digital Domain for a press conference. This included a mix of real
reporters, such as this reporter, and entertainment reporters, who are by and
large the dumbest human beings on the planet, and even more obnoxious than
cranky editors who have no sense of humour (editor:
I swear to God, I will see you suffer for the rest of your professional life,
you insufferable prat! Nobody laughs at my mother-in-law’s funeral and gets
away with it!)
Well, in the opinion of this reporter, who really can’t
stand his editor or the editor’s family, why is this reporter always expected
to show up for such pointless things? It’s not as if this reporter was
personally buddy-buddy with the old battleaxe, right? (editor: my wife is going to have you drawn and quartered the next time
she sees you) This reporter sighed, condemned to the purgatory of
assignments like this instead of actual news for who was to know how long.
The assembled real reporters and the airheaded entertainment
reporters all assembled in the usual auditorium where a podium and a full length
mirror were set up on stage. The latter were all buzzing about the latest
project to be announced by the man we were here to see- some of us by force of
editorial edict (editor: rot in hell, you
snarky bastard...). A staffer came out on staging, calling for the
attention of the press, announcing the presence of her boss.
Michael Bay came out on stage, waving to the crowd, smiling
in that usual dazed way, looking the same as always: the three days of stubble,
the dishevelled hair, the jeans and denim shirt. He waved, pointed at someone,
laughing to himself as if at a private joke, and walked up to the podium. Bay
looked at himself in the mirror, smiled again, delighted, and then turned to
the press, waving. “Hello!” he called out in that gratingly annoying tone of
his. “How wonderful to see you all here today!”
This reporter started a tally of how many times this
reporter would roll his eyes today. Bay carried on with speaking. “You know,
I’m a very busy man. I’ve got so many projects on the go or on the to-do list
that I barely have time to admire myself in the mirror my usual forty nine
times a day.” With that, he looked at himself in the mirror once again and
grinned. “Well, enough of that, you came to see what I’m up to next, didn’t
you? Because everyone wants to know what I’m up to and what films I have in
mind to do. Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve got a sequel in mind.”
A collective groan rose up from the real reporters, one that
Bay seemed oblivious to. This reporter could just see it now: Transformers: Rampage of the Clanging Metal
Idiots With Ear Splitting Noise And Explosions. Not that Michael Bay would
ever title such a sequel that way, but those films could be summed up in those
words.
Bay was still speaking. “You know, one of my favourite films
thus far of every film I’ve made got a lot of notice at the box office back in
the day. People really responded to it. They loved the action, the stakes of
the story, the soundtrack, the explosions, more explosions, and even more
explosions. Did I mention the explosions? It was the film Armageddon. And I’m making a sequel to the film. Isn’t that great?”
The real reporters collectively sighed again. The
entertainment reporters gushed with glee. This reporter shook his head in
dismay. What need was there for a sequel to Armageddon,
after all? The first film, which made a whole lot of money at the box office,
sent Bruce Willis and a team of misfit oil drillers to a threatening asteroid
with the fate of the whole world at risk back in 1998. This reporter mused on the
idea of sending a cranky editor on a one way trip to an asteroid... (editor: I hate you with every bit of my
being, and when you bite the dust, I’ll laugh at your funeral)
In which case, death would be preferable to covering Michael
Bay press conferences. “What the hell are you talking about?” a Reuters
correspondent objected. “There’s absolutely no need for a sequel to that
movie!”
Bay laughed. “I don’t know if they teach this in journalism
school, but hey, there are a lot of asteroids out there, and any one of them
could be coming to kill every single one of us right now. Because that’s the
way asteroids are. Big and bad and threatening and not having so much as any
manners. And just because one’s blown up one asteroid doesn’t mean that’s the
end of the story. So what if there’s an even bigger asteroid coming our way,
years after the first one? How do people respond to that?”
This reporter spoke up. “You do realize your interpretation
of facts is skewed towards making films with lots of explosions and very little
to do with reality?”
Bay shrugged. “Explosions are reality. Anyone who says different should never be trusted.”
This reporter glanced at other reporters, each of us
silently wondering if Bay was drunk, and this reporter spoke again. “You do realize
many people called many things about the first film into question for
accuracy.”
“Jealous! All of them!” Bay exclaimed. “Look, I’m a
filmmaker, so I tell stories. With a bit of creative glossing over the
truth. And lots of explosions and hot
girls waxing cars and explosions. Now here’s my idea. Like I said, second
asteroid, bigger than the first, on a collision course with the world. Maybe
it’s there because it’s out for revenge after its little brother got blown sky
high...”
“Do you understand asteroids don’t have feelings?” the Reuters
correspondent asked.
“How do you know?” Bay said in a petulant way. “Where was I?
Oh, yes, big threat, world at risk, and the only thing that can save the day
will be sending up a crew of oil drillers to drop a nuke in the asteroid, all
of whom are slightly nuts and eccentric and off the wall.”
“In other words you’re just remaking the film,” this
reporter pointed out.
“No!” Bay insisted. “I mean, I’ve got some of the cast from
the first one. Well, not Michael Clarke Duncan, because hey, he’s dead, but
I’ve got Steve Buscemi and Will Patton and Peter Stormare back. I’ve also got
Billy Bob Thornton back as the big NASA chief Truman, though I’m going to have
to figure out a way to explain why he looks so different. I don’t know about
you, but if you haven’t noticed, Billy’s had a lot of plastic surgery done over the last few years. I’ve been
trying to get Bruce Willis to come back...”
“His character died at the end of that film,” this reporter
informed the narcissistic fool.
“Yes, and that doesn’t mean he can’t come back as a ghost. A
ghost in space,” Bay reasoned. “Anyway, let me bring out the first member of
the cast. One of my favourite actors, the go-to guy, playing Harry Stamper’s
roughneck oil drilling brother Barry Stamper... Nicolas Cage!”
Cage came out on stage, waving and lighting up a cigar with
a hundred dollar bill. “Hey there!” he called out, and stumbled over to join
Bay by the podium.
The Reuters correspondent spoke up. “You’re expecting anyone
to buy them as brothers? Nicolas Cage and Bruce Willis don’t look anything
alike!”
“Details!” Cage said with a laugh. "He shaves his head and I've got a glorious head of hair!"
Bay carried on. “Now I wanted to bring back A.J. and Grace
from the original film, but Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler both told me to go to
hell. Liv even said I should douse myself in barbecue sauce and jump into a pit
full of fire ants. She must have been kidding. Anyway, I decided I’d bring in
all new characters. Namely A.J. Frost’s kid brother R.J. and Barry’s daughter
Hope Stamper.” This reporter sighed. Despite what he’d already said, Bay was essentially just remaking the first
film. “Let’s bring out our two young
stars right now! Shia LaBeouf and Megan Fox!”
LaBeouf and Fox came out on stage, waving. “Hello!” Megan
called, as always in an outfit that looked too tight.
“Shia thinks it’s wonderful that all of you have come to see
Shia!” LaBeouf added, his expression as dim as always. “Shia knows the world
revolves around Shia!” This reporter sighed in dismay; wishing Shia would drop
into the deepest darkest hole on the planet.
“Are you certifiably insane?” another reporter asked as
LaBeouf and Fox joined Bay and Cage.
Bay laughed. “Why do people keep saying that about me?” He
shrugged. “You must be joking. Because I’m the most emotionally stable
explosion loving director around. Now then, when we get around to making this
film- because I’ve got a lot of other projects going- it’s going to be huge.
It’s going to break every single box office record. It’s going to get us all
Oscars. Ladies and gentlemen, Armageddon
2: Extinction is going to exceed all expectations. With plenty of
explosions! Yeah!!!!”
With that, Bay left the stage with his cast. The
entertainment reporters, being the dimwitted buffoons that they are, were
gushing endlessly about how much they adored Michael Bay. Real reporters were
rolling their eyes and sighing with exasperation. This reporter found himself
wishing Michael Bay could be dropped on an asteroid, without the benefit of a
space suit, because surely he deser... (editor:
hey! I’m a fan of Michael Bay! He’s really a good director, so stop insulting
him.)
Among other things, the editor’s an idiot. Not that it’s
really that much of a surprise. (editor:
you’re dead to me, you hear me? Dead!)
The editor needs some therapy. Maybe yoga. Or a big bag of
weed.
