In Hollywood, evil lurks everywhere. And in the least likely of places. For example I was in a restaurant lavatory relieving myself when I discovered a foul beast standing right beside me. He was talking on a phone without any cords so he didn't notice me. He was slick with flowing locks of hair and a long chiseled face.
I tapped myself several times so as to not get anything on my kilt and then I reached for the declaration of crimes against cinema. As he continued to urinate, I read them to him.
I VARTEK, THE HACK DIRECTOR SLAYER SENTENCE YOU, MICHAEL BAY FOR ENDLESS VIOLATIONS AGAINST MOVIE WATCHERS TOO LONG TO LIST, BUT SINCE I'M HERE I WILL MENTION A FEW: FOR MAKING US BELIEVE THAT STYLE OVER SUBSTANCE IS IMPORTANT IN MOVIEMAKING. FOR CREATING WHAT MIGHT BE THE WORST CINEMATIC EXPERIENCE IN ARMAGEDDON. FOR RETELLING ONE OF THE WORST MOMENTS IN AMERICAN HISTORY AS IF IT WERE TOP GUN. FOR KILLING OUR MEMORIES OF THE ONCE GREAT TRANSFORMERS BY MAKING ONE OF THEM PISS OIL ON SOMEONE'S HEAD. FOR TARNISHING THE CAREERS OF SEAN CONNERY, ALEC BALDWIN AND JOHN TURTURRO BY HAVING THEM IN YOUR MOVIES. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY AND MOST PLAINLY, FOR BEING A MAJOR DOUCHE BAG. FOR THESE CRIMES, I SENTENCE YOU TO A VERY SLOW AND VERY PAINFUL DEATH.
The Foul Demon interrupted his phone conversation to turn around and say "hey asshole, do you know who I am?"
"You are Michael Bay, and I am Vartek the Hack Director Slayer"
The Demon looked me up and down. He then smiled and said "Look buddy, I'm not casting right now for any movies so you're wasting your time." The Beast was obviously not aware of his impending fate and it was starting to boil my blood. I shouted at him "Silence foul beast. It is time for you to join your hack brothers in hackdome." I pulled out a hatchet and swiftly drew it across his throat. The Beast grabbed his throat as blood sprayed everywhere, but there was not panic on his face. Quite the opposite. He laughed at me and said "obviously you don't know who I am." He reached a bloody hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was a contract with Satan. The Beast's soul for eternal life. Son of a...
I, Vartek, did something I have never done before. I walked away from the Beast for it was obvious there was nothing more I could do. At least for the moment. I then proceeded to another restaurant called The Ivy. It was there in the kitchen area right beside the dish washer that I knew I would find the portal to Hell. I went through it and a second later was surrounded by fire and brimstone. Minions clawed from the ground and gathered around me, gnashing their teeth and rolling their death eyes at me. Suddenly there was a large clap and they scattered back from the holes in which they came. Satan had appeared and naturally they were terrified. I have to admit that I was a bit taken back by Satan's appearance. He was not the scary beast I had always imagined. He was in fact, Jerry Bruckheimer. And I was pleased to see he was very cordial.
"What business do you have here?" he asked.
"I have come to purchase a soul. Michael Bay's soul." I said.
Bruckheimer waved a minion over who was holding a folder of paper. He looked through the papers and raised an eyebrow. "Michael has made a lot of money for me over the years. Why should I sell his soul to you?"
Satan had a good point and I knew that the rational argument would not work, for what does Satan care for quality? But I, Vartek, was smart in the Hollywood ways and I knew the right answer to give. "Transformers 2 is no doubt in post production and if it is successful you can plug in a much younger director who demands a much smaller paycheck for the third installment thus guaranteeing you even larger margins."
Bruckheimer smiled at me, and asked me what I had to offer. I rummaged through my coat pockets and found 73 cents. Satan took it and I watched him destroy Michael Bay's contract right in front of me. We shook hands and I was on my way.
I had only been gone for a few minutes so I knew my chances were good of seeing Michael Bay at the same location. I walked in the door just as he was sending his meal back for the third time. He watched me approach his table with a smug smile on his face. As I drew my hatchet for the second time, he reached into his pants pocket again and pulled out the piece of paper. Only this time it burst into flames. His arrogant glee turned into terror as I brought the hatchet down on him repeatedly. Blood and matter splattered everywhere and the restaurant cleared quickly. Despite the slaughter that surrounded me, I, Vartek, had worked up quite an appetite. I called the waiter back and said that Bay's food was good enough for me and then I feasted.
I tapped myself several times so as to not get anything on my kilt and then I reached for the declaration of crimes against cinema. As he continued to urinate, I read them to him.
I VARTEK, THE HACK DIRECTOR SLAYER SENTENCE YOU, MICHAEL BAY FOR ENDLESS VIOLATIONS AGAINST MOVIE WATCHERS TOO LONG TO LIST, BUT SINCE I'M HERE I WILL MENTION A FEW: FOR MAKING US BELIEVE THAT STYLE OVER SUBSTANCE IS IMPORTANT IN MOVIEMAKING. FOR CREATING WHAT MIGHT BE THE WORST CINEMATIC EXPERIENCE IN ARMAGEDDON. FOR RETELLING ONE OF THE WORST MOMENTS IN AMERICAN HISTORY AS IF IT WERE TOP GUN. FOR KILLING OUR MEMORIES OF THE ONCE GREAT TRANSFORMERS BY MAKING ONE OF THEM PISS OIL ON SOMEONE'S HEAD. FOR TARNISHING THE CAREERS OF SEAN CONNERY, ALEC BALDWIN AND JOHN TURTURRO BY HAVING THEM IN YOUR MOVIES. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY AND MOST PLAINLY, FOR BEING A MAJOR DOUCHE BAG. FOR THESE CRIMES, I SENTENCE YOU TO A VERY SLOW AND VERY PAINFUL DEATH.
The Foul Demon interrupted his phone conversation to turn around and say "hey asshole, do you know who I am?"
"You are Michael Bay, and I am Vartek the Hack Director Slayer"
The Demon looked me up and down. He then smiled and said "Look buddy, I'm not casting right now for any movies so you're wasting your time." The Beast was obviously not aware of his impending fate and it was starting to boil my blood. I shouted at him "Silence foul beast. It is time for you to join your hack brothers in hackdome." I pulled out a hatchet and swiftly drew it across his throat. The Beast grabbed his throat as blood sprayed everywhere, but there was not panic on his face. Quite the opposite. He laughed at me and said "obviously you don't know who I am." He reached a bloody hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was a contract with Satan. The Beast's soul for eternal life. Son of a...
I, Vartek, did something I have never done before. I walked away from the Beast for it was obvious there was nothing more I could do. At least for the moment. I then proceeded to another restaurant called The Ivy. It was there in the kitchen area right beside the dish washer that I knew I would find the portal to Hell. I went through it and a second later was surrounded by fire and brimstone. Minions clawed from the ground and gathered around me, gnashing their teeth and rolling their death eyes at me. Suddenly there was a large clap and they scattered back from the holes in which they came. Satan had appeared and naturally they were terrified. I have to admit that I was a bit taken back by Satan's appearance. He was not the scary beast I had always imagined. He was in fact, Jerry Bruckheimer. And I was pleased to see he was very cordial.
"What business do you have here?" he asked.
"I have come to purchase a soul. Michael Bay's soul." I said.
Bruckheimer waved a minion over who was holding a folder of paper. He looked through the papers and raised an eyebrow. "Michael has made a lot of money for me over the years. Why should I sell his soul to you?"
Satan had a good point and I knew that the rational argument would not work, for what does Satan care for quality? But I, Vartek, was smart in the Hollywood ways and I knew the right answer to give. "Transformers 2 is no doubt in post production and if it is successful you can plug in a much younger director who demands a much smaller paycheck for the third installment thus guaranteeing you even larger margins."
Bruckheimer smiled at me, and asked me what I had to offer. I rummaged through my coat pockets and found 73 cents. Satan took it and I watched him destroy Michael Bay's contract right in front of me. We shook hands and I was on my way.
I had only been gone for a few minutes so I knew my chances were good of seeing Michael Bay at the same location. I walked in the door just as he was sending his meal back for the third time. He watched me approach his table with a smug smile on his face. As I drew my hatchet for the second time, he reached into his pants pocket again and pulled out the piece of paper. Only this time it burst into flames. His arrogant glee turned into terror as I brought the hatchet down on him repeatedly. Blood and matter splattered everywhere and the restaurant cleared quickly. Despite the slaughter that surrounded me, I, Vartek, had worked up quite an appetite. I called the waiter back and said that Bay's food was good enough for me and then I feasted.
Well, it's official: I'm a Vartek groupie.
ReplyDeleteIn fact, maybe I could get a job as his assistant. Do you have his number, Evil Clown? Or do you think you could get my resume to him? I'm really a hard worker and I know a bunch of stuff about Hollywood and one time Clint Eastwood said "thanks" to me and he's not a hack but maybe he knows a few people and Vartek could get a studio job or something. I've got my own car.
Call me, okay? Vartek, you rule! Love your work!
Vartek may need some help. At the very least he could have someone carry the Mutton that he likes to eat. And maybe some weapons. Those old-timey weapons can get really heavy.
ReplyDeleteI'll pass on the good word to Vartek. He usually doesn't take compliments well. He may smack me around a bit, but that's what I'll do for you Burbanked.
I think I re-read "brought the hatchet down on him repeatedly" 7 or 8 times in a row...Aaah, good for the soul...
ReplyDeleteI'm surprised Bruckheimer didn't negotiate for the movie rights to "The Slaying Of Michael Bay".
Bob,
ReplyDeleteI'm praying that maybe Bruckheimer will come across this in his daily googling of his name, read it and then offer me a pile of money for the rights.
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