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Forgot About Bay

By Michael Bay

What the fuck is this fucking shit? Avengers crushes the record for opening weekend gross? They took the record that I earned with my blood, sweat, and cinematic seminal fluids from me?

You come at me, Michael Bliz-ow Bli-zay, the one summer I take off to gather my strength to make a comedy and prep for Transformers 4: a World without Shia, and you think I wouldn’t notice?

You think you’re the fucking king of summer, Avengers? You think Bliggity Bay get soft?

Now you want to run around, talking about breakdancing robots tearing each other arms off, like I ain’t got none? You think I sold them all, just because I’m well off?

Think you can talk that shit like it won’t get back to me? Like I’m not everywhere?

Motherfuckers think you can forget about Bay?

War, it is.
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This is my equivalent of a desktop background of a sandy beach.

I have seen the film early for the benefit of us all. Earlier in the week, Mr. Chad Quandt wrote an article regarding his concerns with the film Sucker Punch. It can be read here. Go ahead. Read it. I’ll wait.

You didn’t even click it. You dick. Alright, let me paraphrase.  In general, Chad is concerned with the turn that nerd culture has taken. Our rabid love for all thing’s nerdy has begun to be used against us, specifically by Hollywood.  To sell us on movies, tv (no one fell for the “The Cape,” right? Thank God), or people that are without question, sub par. In the case of people, Chad has named the astoundingly hot, yet wholly untalented Olivia Munn as the epitome of nerd pandering. I can’t say I disagree. But comparing what she does to Sucker Punch is a bit of a stretch. Read the rest of this entry

Dying with your Boots on pt. 2

And here’s part 2 of my semi-exhaustive, but not really, examination of my favorite onscreen heroic deaths. I many go back later and do a most satisfying deaths, like when the villain dies, but we’ll see.

Not a death, but hey, this is my blog.

Until then, courage.

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Heights of Manliness to Which We Can Aspire pt.1

I don’t think anyone’s going to dispute my being a paragon of manliness.

With my chestnut eyes beckoning you to lose yourself in them, my lantern jaw, and encyclopedic knowledge of Star Wars and Battlestar Galactica, it’s not hard to see why I am one of the last bastions of masculinity in a sea of pasty vampires and Justine Bieber haircuts.


Ignore the double chin. It's a trick of the light. Shut up.


Thanks to my well-defined triceps and complete runs of Geoff Johns on Green Lantern and Grant Morrison and Howard Porter on JLA I’ve had sex many, many times.

With women.

Who were hot.

It is however, lonely at the top. The problem with being a thoroughbred is that there’s no one else at the front, to know my pain and share my joys. A few people have asked me, “Matt, as the idol of literally tens of people, who do you look up to? Also, you’re super handsome, and could you open this pickle jar? My hands are weak and child-like.”

After loosing the pickles, I let out a mighty chuckle, pat the person on the arm, nod knowingly, bust out a couple sets of at least fifty pounds on the ol’ bench press, and return home to a pile of women.

Upon reflection, I’ve done everyone a disservice. No one on the path to knowledge should be turned away, in fact curiosity and initiative should be rewarded.

So, here it is, a list of the men, that I, a modern cowboy who is also a samurai and ninja, that was raised in Sparta, look to when I need inspiration.
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