So here's how the evening would go. I would invite Michael Bay to my house, but I wouldn't give him directions to my house. Instead I would give him directions to an abandoned neighborhood where there would be a couple of methed up thugs. What Bay wouldn't know is that I visited his house the night before and laced his clothes with meth, so when the thugs saw him, they would pull out a really big spoon and a really big lighter and they would try to freebase him. Bay would try to put up a fight because well, you know, he's Michael Bay. He would throw punches and say things like "do you know who I am" and "I directed Transformers which was one of the top grossing films of '07" which would no doubt turn the methed up thugs angry and they would kick the shit out of him.
Left for dead, he would no doubt call me to tell me that his spleen is bruised and he doesn't know where his front teeth ended up. I would fake concern and give him the real directions to my house. Once he showed up, I would act like I didn't know him so I would have no choice but to let loose a couple of pitbulls that had been trained by Michael Vick. Of course Bay would try to put up a fight, but now he would probably be pretty weak. But he's Michael Bay, man! He's not a puss. He's the illegitimate son of John Frankenheimer. So he would fight those pitbulls. He would throw punches and say things like "but I discovered Tea Leoni in Bad Boys" and "Pearl Harbor is more historically accurate than it seems as first." But this would not affect the pitbulls because what Michael Bay doesn't know is that his super high-end body wash that he used that morning isn't super high-end body wash at all. It's pitbull pheromones that I put in there that very morning. So these pit bulls try to eat and hump Michael Bay. So they bite him whilst trying to stick their doggie boners in any hole possible.
And so I see this and can't take it any more because yeah, it's Michael Bay, but I actually start to feel kind of bad. So I go outside and get the dogs off him. He's missing some fingers by now and is bleeding severely and completely covered in pitbull semen. I bring him inside and apologize for all the troubles, but he's cool about it because he's fucking Michael Bay already. And I tell him that I'll prepare something for him because after all, he is my dream dinner. But here's the problem. He's pretty beat up, and even though he's Michael Bay, he's about to pass out from all the blood he's losing. So I hook up a low volt battery to his nuts, because the guy has to stay awake for my questions, right? And every time that pussy starts to let his eyes roll back in his head, I flip the switch and send enough voltage to his nethers that he will never reproduce again, and won't that be a goddamn blessing. But man, where are my manners? Bay still hasn't eaten. So I reach into the trash and pull out some three day old roast that's been hanging with a dirty baby diaper. I throw that shit on to a plate, heat it up for 45 seconds on high and pour Bay a nice big glass of ipecac. And while he's choking that stuff down, I ask him my five thoughtful questions.
Piper: Michael, how does it feel to have created quite possibly the worst movie ever in Armageddon?
Bay: I'm losing a lot of blood.
Piper: Next question. So how does it feel to have created quite possibly the worst movie ever in Armageddon?
Bay: This food tastes like baby shit. Have you seen my left index finger? I lost it somewhere.
Piper: On to my next question. What I'm wondering is how does it feel to have created quite possibly the worst movie ever in Armageddon?
Bay: Wait, this isn't water. I can't focus my eyes.
Piper: So Michael, how does it feel to have created quite possibly the worst movie ever in Armageddon?
Bay: Are my nuts hooked up to a battery? Do you know who I am? I directed Sean Connery and he's an Oscar winner.
Piper: Last question Michael. So how does it feel to have created quite possibly the worst movie ever in Armageddon?
Bay: Losing so much blood. Feeling sick. Mommy, is that you?
And of course he's really professional during all this because, well, he's Michael Bay. And just as I'm getting ready to serve up a really nice marble cheesecake with a dark chocolate drizzle and some raspberries for dessert, there is a knock on my door. I open it and it's none other than my old pal Burbanked. He comes in and sees that Michael Bay is my guest and he's majorly jealous because, you know, he's a big fan as well. So then Burbanked and I proceed to kick the ever loving shit out of Michael Bay. And even though he's Michael Bay, he doesn't put up a fight because right now he's a tooth-missing, spleen-swelling, pitbull-semen-dripping, uncontrollably-puking hack of a director. Because, you know, he's Michael Bay.