Giant Robots and the Supermodels Who Love Them

BAKER STREET | REVIEW

 by Eric J Baker

And for my next trick, I will attempt to write intelligently about Michael Bay and the Transformers franchise.

My qualifications for doing so are:

1. I’m not a movie critic.

2. I’m not a Sci-fi summer blockbuster fanboy who drives a yellow Camaro with a BMBLBEE license plate (I swear to Your Deity that I saw that very thing in the Costco parking lot the other day and laughed heartily).

3. Megan Fox vs. Rosie Huntington Whiteley in a no-holds-barred, bikini mud-wrestling extravaganza. This isn’t really a qualification, but today is Str8 Sunday here at PFC and I get to girl the place up for the next 24 hours.

Megan Fox (left) and Rosie Huntington Whilteley, brought to you by Maxim Magazine, casting summer blockbusters since 1999.

First, I’ll address the fanboys’ case… Lads, saying, “But Transformers movies are supposed to be stupid!” will never be an impressive counterpoint to any argument. And now, moving onto the professional reviewers…

I Dream Of Blogging

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

I don’t know if other blogueurs do this, but I dream sometimes about my daily post, and I’m so utterly convinced it’s what I should write about that I sit up in bed and try to make myself remember.  More than a couple of posts so far have been written in the middle of the night with a pen and a notebook by my side.

I should have dreamed about Ashton Kutcher instead. I should only dream of Ashton Kutcher.

I know that last night I dreamed about director Marcus Nispel, I guy I wrote for and developed films with for a couple of years at the turn of this century.  I dreamed I should blog about Marcus and commercials, and the whole thing was brilliant when I was dreaming about it, except not having kept paper and pen by my bed I don’t remember how to reconstruct that brilliance.