The doors opened and I was immediately surrounded by vermin in too tight shirts telling each other how good they were. There were also women performing the seduction dance all around me. Their bosoms where heaving and flowing to the music. Heaving and flowing. And heaving. Wait, where was I? Right, I was there to kill. I could not be swayed by the beautiful minions around me. I had to stay to the task at hand.
The crowd cleared for a moment and I saw what I had come for. There was the dirty beast across the room. Portly and greasy, he sat among the beautiful minions hypnotizing them with stories of his dissension into mediocrity. His name was Brett Ratner. As I came closer to him, I could smell his failure like a thick musk. He looked at me and flashed a toothy grin. I stared him in the eyes, pulled out my long declaration of crimes against cinema and read them to him:
I VARTEK, THE HACK DIRECTOR SLAYER SENTENCE YOU, BRET RATNER FOR UNFOUNDED ARROGANCE AND BEING A BRAGGART. FOR LOWERING OUR TASTE LEVELS AND OUR INTELLIGENCE WITH FILMS LIKE MONEY TALKS. FAMILY MAN, AND AFTER THE SUNSET. FOR DATING POPULAR CELEBRITIES ONLY BECAUSE IT MAKES FOR GOOD PUBLIC RELATIONS. FOR SETTING A BAD EXAMPLE TO YOUNG FILMMAKERS BY SHOWING THEM IT ISN'T ABOUT TALENT OR CRAFT. AND MOST IMPORTANTLY FOR THE SAYING "I FEEL SORT OF GUILTY BECAUSE I LOOK UP TO GUYS LIKE SPIELBERG AND I BEAT EVERY ONE OF HIS RECORDS." FOR THESE CRIMES, YOU MUST DIE A MOST HORRIBLE DEATH.
The demon's response shook me a bit. "Yes, I am Brett Ratner. My films have grossed over a billion dollars. Would you like my autograph?"
I quickly responded. "Do not attempt to lure me into your lair of hackdome! I would not like your autograph. I would like you to be dead." I opened my cloak and took out a very large knife. The beast screamed and the beautiful minions came out from under his spell. They realized who they were sitting next to and they fled. He tried to run, but I was quicker. I knocked him to the floor and pulled down his pants. The first thing I was going to do was to cut off his testicles and shove them down his throat. When the demon revealed himself to me, I noticed something strange: that there were no testicles to speak of. I asked Ratner to search for them. Had they crawled up into his stomach? Ratner said he didn't have any. He lost them once he started directing. There was no way he could make the films he did and still have testicles. It made perfect sense. So I turned the beast over on to his belly and slit open his shirt. Next I was going to rip out his spine and show it to him as he bled to death in front of me. I cut the skin open on his back, reached in and found nothing. I asked Ratner where his spine was? Ratner told me that he had lost his spine as well. How else could he justify remaking Red Dragon when there was already a superior version that existed directed by a much more talented director? I turned him back over and stared at the nut-less, spineless demon and for a moment, I Vartek, felt sorrow.
But the moment quickly passed and I drove my large knife deep into his stomach twisting it until his intestines wrapped around the knife like strings of bloody spaghetti. And then I grabbed one of the beautiful women whose breasts were heaving and swaying and I made savage love to her all night long while feasting on turkey legs.