Motivation

Michael Bay's Kaboom Corner #1

Howdy, dudes! It's the Mbay Dizzle up in your online blog hizzle! (This is what the young people say, isn't it? Can this be checked before it goes out because I don't want to sound old and out of touch)

It's your favourite action movie director Michael Bay here. You might know me from big screen explosions like Transformers 1 to 23. I'm a big deal in Hollywood. I work with the best, most muscled people you could ever hope to meet. I'm the guy that knows how to film action that could literally knock your socks off. But, hey, I'm not here to talk about my successful, unfathomable career in cinema, I'm here to talk about something that matters to me, something I'm truly passionate about...

Cows.

Bet you didn't expect me to write that, did ya? I bet you were thinking: "what's this hip young gunslinger into apart from making modern classic movies? Cocaine?" I can't even be mad at you for the last part because I'm so full of youthful energy and passion for shallow, wafer thin storytelling! What could the Mbay Drizzle (don't like Dizzle autocorrect when you type this up, Mike) possibly love about cows? Well, listen up/read closer because I'm about to give you the 442 on the whole deal (note: check if 442 is the right thing to say, DO NOT make yourself look uncool) on my pow wow with cows.

Cows produce milk.

Mind blown, right? Like a poor representation of Megatron fighting though a CGI city, it's awesome to think, and witness. I've milked a cow and, boy, was that something. When you take life by the udders as much as I do, it's a true honour to grab a cow by its cow cock and squirt out ready-to-drink milk! It's like diving off a building or wrestling a massive shark and I have done both loads.

I own three cows. I did own four but I accidentally blew it up during the making of that film I made a few years back. It had guns, pecs and pecs shooting guns.

When I'm not making massive man movies I'm thinking about, watching, milking and photographing my three horse-like friends. They are the best friends the Mbay Dongle could have. 

Next time, I will be talking about where beef comes from and you WILL NOT believe me when I tell you. It will make you as excited as you were for Dark of the Moon! 

Next time, gangsters!

Cookie

A rough old day today. Not because of work or anything like that. In fact, things couldn't be better in that regard.

However, a tiny, furry friend of mine passed away. A tiny, furry ball of wonderful that even people who hate cats would feel a twinge of feline fandom.

Cookie is a tough cat to lose. I had a lot of time with her, through my first move to Leicester and my various bouts of unemployment. She was a fussy fixture of a family home that was already cosy and welcoming. It's not hard to form a bond with a pet, whether they fully get you or not. It's always cynical and sad to assume that these relationships don't mean anything. A friend is a friend, no matter if it has the capacity to converse with you.

I got used to Cookies quirks; her desire to be near you, but not sit on you, to meow loudly when she couldn't find you because she wanted you to come back and be around her. 

One of the most beautiful moments I spent with her was during a heavy bout of depression, when I felt it weight down on me physically as well as mentally. She wouldn't leave me alone and was out-of-character affectionate. She broke her own code of sitting on me and snuggling close for hours. It helped because, well, why would  it not? Maybe she sensed it, perhaps she just had good timing. It was a kindness and she was a comfort when I needed it. I don't even ask that from people who don't communicate via meows so I took it for something positive.

With cats, you are never fully sure how they feel about you but with Cookie, you kind of always knew. She liked people, was Posnett-worthy strange. She was awesome. I loved her loads and I will miss her tons.

I used to joke that Cookie was a huge fan of Fleetwood Mac. She was the Fleetwood Mac of felines. She was that awesome. 

Rest in peace, Cookmeister. 

Writing...

Dear Margot,

I hope this email finds you well. It was sent via first class, with lots of stamps attached. So many that it's been hard to use my computer screen ever since.

 I wanted to thank you for the wonderful party you threw at your grounds last weekend. Myself and my husband (a powerful, but mildly insane Doctor) enjoyed it immensely. To think, until this day, we had never eaten polar bear or seen such displays of majestic talent. Wherever did you find such thrilling entertainers? I held my breath when that magician made his own legs vanish, only to be found behind my husbands ear. How did he do it?! 

I personally loved the man whose sword swallowed him, as opposed to the other way around. I'm still scratching my head thinking about how such a fine blade could swallow whole a fully grown man.

You truly wallow in marvels, my sweet friend!

We would love to attend your summer party which, if rumours are to be believed, will feature bees doing tricks. I hope my invite is forthcoming.

Thank you ever so once more.

Your friend

Emily Scream Silk