Nice Eyeball Virginity. I’ll Take It.

Note From Management: This post from Mr. Bay is spoiler-heavy. When we pointed that out to him, and explained that not everyone would be able to see the movie in time for his triumphant post movie release column, he started slapping Chad until he bled from the mouth and promised “the next motherfucker who tells me what the fuck I’ll be doing today is getting a dick right in the ear. Their fucking ear!” At Nonstop Karate our charter clearly states under Rule Number 3: “If Anyone Gets a Dick Put in Their Ear, They Have to Commit Fucking Suicide and Will be Buried Upside Down and Have a Home Built Over Them So They Can Never Know Rest or Release.”


We don’t make the rules, and we don’t break the rules.

Well, I guess we do make the rules. But we don’t break them.

Be Ye Dutifully Warned, Beyond the Italicized Font, There Be Spoilers…

By Michael Bay







AAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVVVE. As of this dictation, my movie’s made five and half million dollars. That’s not even from one day. That’s one showing at midnight. Do you know how long it took X-Men to make five and half million dollars? Nine months. Green Lantern? Eight years. Who gives a shit? That movie was fucking shitty.

“My wishing ring doesn’t wish right! We have jet fighters and alien armies built into the movie and we just ignore them for the poop tarantula from Uranus!”


If anyone from Green Lantern has a problem with anything I’ve said they’re welcome to step into the Thunderdome with Mike Blizow Blizay and I will fuck them IN HALF. Come find me. I’ll be at the exclusive club for Big Be-Dicked Bastards who Routinely Clear a Billion Dollars at the Box Office.

Oh, what’s that, Ryan Reynolds? You can’t get in? Maybe make some calls before you’re in another bullshit extravaganza where an eagle snatches your Blackberry.

Yeah, an eagle, fuck you, you fucking Canadian pussy. ‘MERICA.

Sweet Aviators.

Come at me, Martin Campbell. You saved James Bond? Then why did the studio go bankrupt? You didn’t save shit. I’ve made so much goddamn money, Paramount and Dreamworks have both been offered seats at the next G8 summit. I’m going to go just to help with all the protesters. I’ma shoot hippies with rubber bullets and fuck five chicks on top of a burning cop car while tear gars billows in the background in slow motion as the camera pans up to see the sun shine through an American Flag.

Then, helicopters. Always helicopters.

Oh, hippies.

Motherfuck, I am hard right now.

Should I be this hard right now?


I have a doctor come by every morning and pump an extra three pints of blood into my body so my mind can operate at optimum capacity and my dick remains so dense it can reduce the insides of lesser women into a fine mist.

All because I’ve earned it. When you show up and make people billions of dollars, guaranteed, you can do whatever you want. The second Transformers sucked, hard, and it’s still made over 800 million dollars. This one we actually spent more than a week writing and we didn’t even have to; I just wanted everyone to have to shut the fuck up. Not that I can ever really hear any one of you normies complain, but I like knowing that you’ve had to cram it while I get to go out and do whatever it is I want.

Filthy Commies.

I just got back from Moscow where we had the premiere because I forget. Maybe because Russia’s awesome.

All the women are skinny because there’s no food and they have giant boobs, either due to genetics or surgery because having giant boobs is one of the few ways to not be hunted for sport by energy oligarchs or retired generals.


For, like, five bucks, you can shoot wolves from a hind helicopter. For an extra ten, you can shoot the wolves with the hind. You ever see something organic get shot with rounds designed to knock aircraft out of the sky or fuck up tanks? It evaporates.

Goddamn it, I bet Afghanistan was fun when the Soviets were there.

Hinds are awesome.

I know you’re going to see Transformers: Dark of the Moon, and I bet most of you will like it because I trimmed almost all of the stupid crap. I love Ehren Kruger, he’s my boy, but that guy is not fucking funny. He gives me a great canvas to blast action all over, but he needs to stick with that and not try to be hilarious.

Because he’s bad at it.

Yet, we had to leave some of the “comedy” stuff in it, because as Steven [Spielberg] pointed out to me, a nice big chunk of America is so fucking retarded, many accidentally piss into their own mouths when trying to use the restroom. Have you seen the shit that murders in the ratings?

Dancing with the Stars? It’s just as boring as watching normal people dance with their clothes on, except you’ve heard of the contestants before. Whoopty shit. A bunch of has-beens and old athletes plodding around stage while a hairless gay man does high kicks and spins.

All of these shows are awful. Why would I ever listen to anything Maroon 5 has to tell me? About anything? Ever?

All the singing competitions are dumber than hell, too. Let’s waste six hours a week to watch some dumpy broad from Kansas or a transsexual sing Queen songs but shitty. “Find Me Somebody to Love” is a classic and every year some asshole from Dumptruck Iowa drags it through the mud and violates it in front of God and everybody, and we’re all supposed to be excited for that.

Fuck you.

If you consider yourself cultured and learned, and you have a problem with the humor in my movies, murder your dumb fucking neighbors. Until then, shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down.

And to all the bloggers and commenters on review sites, why in the fuck are you wasting your lives? I mean, who are you going to save? Who’s going to read something posted under your stupid limp dick screen name and say “yup, he’s done it. He’s convinced me that this a bad movie. I’ve completely changed my tastes in the stuff I like because an anonymous stranger is offended that Shia’s girlfriend in a movie is hot and this winning machine hiding behind his computer screen deems her too attractive for him. That person is upset that someone wants to be entertained in a particular way, and thanks to their tireless crusade, I am converted. I am so glad that his person feels that a positive review is a betrayal of some standardized taste we’re all supposed to adhere to and is here to give us all examples of safe movies it’s okay to like as examples of films that Mr. Bay, Bringer of Light, Dispenser of Bang-Bang, should strive to be similar to.”

The last time I checked, this was the greatest fucking country in the fucking world and we were free to spend our money and our time doing whatever the fuck we want. If you don’t like a movie, don’t go see it.

But you will, because I am a cultural force, and it will kill you that you can’t get too specific about your complaints when all your friends are cooking out on July 4th, high-fiving each other because they’re not a part of Club Dipshit, and trying to ignore you, a charter member of Club Dipshit.
The complaint of Shia dating Rosie and Megan makes no sense to me. You’re watching a three story tall screen for two hours, why in the screaming blue fuck would you want to watch ugly people that big for that long? Do you know where most people watch movies starring Paul Giamatti and Philip Seymour Hoffman?

How great of a villain was he in MI:3?

At home. On a small screen. Because it’s Paul Giamatti and Philip Seymour Hoffman. Fantastic character actors, but return to your bridge, Trolls.

I’ve also adapted my style to the brave new world of 3D, by getting Cameron’s crew from Avatar to help me shoot this. It wasn’t too hard to get them, actually. I approached the team while Jim was in the Amazon trying to nail native chicks or something and offered them the chance to shoot a movie that was exciting to watch and not a bullshit parable about where to stick your dick when fucking a forest.

Blue-ass titties.

Avatar looked great, and I’d screw a blue cat woman monkey senseless, but Jesus Christ, what you had to sit through to get to the dragon riding and fighting the military? We spent two and half hours watching someone relearn to like pretty things and sex before the aliens fought the goddamn robots.

Are you fisting me?

No, not on my watch. We’re blowing shit up pretty steadily. If something’s not blowing up, I’m tossing people over tables, having shootouts with cyborg pterodactyls, and car chases where the cars are also Predators.

I took what they did in Ferngully the Day-Glo Rainforest, and adapted it to the Bay style. I still bring the hurt, the pain, and the rain, but we’re cutting around less and built it around a movie that’s about something that matters: America.

You’re fucking welcome.
Before the rumor mill gets going on this one, Shia didn’t fuck any of his costars this time around. I don’t blame him, I mean, seriously:

What a hot bitch.

And her boyfriend husband looks like this:

Yeah, well, he's still married to Megan Fox.

The new chick, while sexy:
Has a boyfriend that looks like this:

You just got Stath'd.

That’s goddamn terrifying. We went out drinking once, and after Statham rammed five police cars with his Audi, because “they’s a buncha fucking cunts” he got out and fought an entire elementary school after giving them a box of machetes he keeps in his trunk “for just such an occasion,” and then when the paramedics showed up, he spin kicked an EMT’s trachea in.

It was awesome. That was only the fourth time I came via sheer willpower, without anyone touching my dick.

Second, it wasn’t my idea to fire Megan, but she called me “Hitler,” which is whatever. She’s young and dumb, and I’m worth 100 million dollars so I couldn’t give two shits what she says about me as long as it’s between takes of her bending over a tank barrel wearing a sheer teddy.

However, the producer of our movie, and the head of one of the studios making this 300 million dollar juggernaut, made his transition from popcorn fare director to serious filmmaker on the backs of two movies about WWII.

This isn't one of the movies I was talking about.

I’ve banged piles of hookers smarter than that.

Speaking of, the worldwide sales are coming in and look at that, according to this computer, I’m unstoppable and incredibly handsome. This calls for a treat.


Assistant: Yes, sir?

This poor girl.

Bay: Bring me a pile of supermodels! Asians and blonds. I’ll be in the Fuck Hangar strapping into the harness.

Assistant: Yes, sir, I’ll walk them over–

Bay: No, goddamnit! I don’t want to fuck A LINE of supermodels. I want to fuck A PILE of supermodels! Bring them to me as a PILE.

Assistant: Sir, they can easily form a pile after I seal them into the padded Impact Chamber–

Bay: I don’t understand what is so hard about this. I bought that industrial strength forklift. We had pallets custom-made to be stuffed with goose down and covered with velvet and silk for the women to pile onto. I bought a hangar for me to fuck in so we’d have extra-wide doors for ease of transport. I hollowed out and re-padded an old blast furnace used for melting steel so I could have an Impact Chamber that could comfortably pile in a large number of women who are hairless from the eyebrows down. I’ve made every concession for you, so please, WILL YOU GET ME A PILE OF SUPERMODELS I CAN FUCK WITH MY FIVE GALLON BONER?

*Bay begins to yell at the top his lungs, pulls out a golden handgun, and fires it into the air with his left hand, staring into Assistant’s eyes the entire time. Still screaming and never breaking eye contact, he removes the empty clip and reloads once, twice, three times.*

Assistant: Fuck. Fine. Jesus.

*Assistant leaves*

Bay: Victory shoot!

*Bay spikes the golden gun and pulls out a platinum handgun, and fires it into the air with his right hand while screaming at the top of his lungs. Assistant drives by in a giant forklift, wearing a hard hat, and carrying a pile of Asians and blonds who wave and giggle at Bay as they roll past.*

But, you know, minus the text.

Bay: Could this day get any better?
*Across the lot, Woody Allen steps out of a production office holding a sandwich, Two bald eagles swoop down on him and attack him for his lunch.*

Bay: That’ll do it.

*Bay’s penis rips through the front of his pants.*

What the fuck is wrong with me.

See you guys Tuesday.


Posted on June 30, 2011, in Character, Matt Loman, Movies, Pop Culture and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Christ alive. *salute*

    For the sake of pointing out favorite lines: “All the women are skinny because there’s no food and they have giant boobs, either due to genetics or surgery because having giant boobs is one of the few ways to not be hunted for sport by energy oligarchs or retired generals”

    … and only because the Internet reviewer and Statham scene transcend “liking”…

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