Author's Note
I apologize for this in advance.
Everyone Died.
Michael Benjamin Bay brought his fist down upon the alarm clock in slow motion, immediately shattering it into twenty thousand (exactly) different pieces and sending bolts of electric energy lancing through his bedroom. Five to ten people downstairs immediately suffered a massive aneurysm and died, including his busty housekeeper Juanita. The casualties amounted to a full two quarters of his sexy maids.
He took a moment to mourn the necessary losses brought upon by his wreckitude before he performed a triple-cork frontflip out of his Optimus-Prime-sized bed. (Shaun White cursed silently in Sochi as he felt the undeniable feeling that somewhere, somehow, he got wrecked) As soon as he left the bed, eighty full pounds of hyper-pure, two hundred percent Semtex detonated and blew the mattress apart, propelling him through the air to land softly on his feet in the bathroom.
The hobo that was camped there promptly fled to the street in terror before boing run over by a horde of whooping Mongols with assault rifles.
He thought to himself as he revved up the miniature jackhammer he used as a toothbrush, loud bass-thumping rap music filling the restroom. Today was an important day- he had a nine O'clock appointment with Vin Diesel, Will Smith, and Arnold Shwartzinager to make a updated version of "Hamlet", a nine-thirty appointment to start and finish the new Transformers movie, and a nine-thirty-one appointment to do something meaningful like robbing a bank or modeling trains.
He swallowed his gasoline mouthwash and blew flames, washing off the jackhammer with pure 890-proof Jack Daniels whiskey and throwing it down his incineratory garbage can. A puff of smoke came out, followed by a roar and a massive gout of purple flames.
Having cleaned his teeth of debris from eating several .50 caliber armor-piercing explosive bullets, he flossed with ten feet of powered 40-gauge telephone wire. He sold the newly-stripped copper to the U.S. Marine Corps and made a shit ton of money.
He swagged downstairs swaggily, fornicating with all of his housekeepers as he went. The Latina women collectively decided to forgo their next paycheck as thanks for the godlike experience that was Michael Bay.
He spake not a word as he went into his kitchen that was often mistaken for a baseball field, pouring himself a breakfast. Said breakfast consisted of two Beretta M9 pistols, a Nissan Altima, four bars of solid gold, and lucky charms. The force of him chewing obliterated the opposite side of his mansion with seismic shockwaves, taking with it another quarter of his maids.
He shed a tear, which being made of military-grade thermite, burned straight through his granite countertop and bored through to China. It burned into a hidden fusion bomb and set it off, obliterating half of northern Hong Kong. He stopped crying and ate.
After polishing off his breakfast and stuffing the dishes down the garbage disposal, he noticed something peculiar. It appeared that the hole in the wall where he usually kept his heroin/meth signature mixture was now a hole to another dimension. Perhaps the large quantities of drugs in one spot had opened a planar rift? He paid the thought no mind. The thought then went and hung itself from shame.
He immediately unzipped his pants and stuck his dick in it, making all of the maids he had just banged die of jealousy. And that's how he ended up in Equestria.
THE SECOND PART
Michael Bay stood in the middle of a Canterlot street, his untied bathrobe flowing in the breeze.
He was slightly annoyed at his current situation. He just wanted to feel what another dimension would do to his junk, but apparently that alone was enough to bring him there. He left his bathrobe untied, and every mare in a twelve-mile radius swooned.
He heard a peculiar throaty knocking sound, which he simply thought was his exposed wood knocking against his leg, until he decided(Michael Bay doesn't realize: that implies he could have been mistaken) it was coming from above him.
Looking to the sky, he attempted to find the source of the knocking sound. Anyone looking on would be obliterated into a fiery nuclear explosion by the sheer violent awesomeness of the gesture. He put on a pair of shades to prevent this.
He saw the source- surrounding the colorful city was a pink bubble-like shield, which a nestle of black specks appeared to be slamming against. With each pitiful impact, the force-field was marred with a splay of webbed cracks. As he watched, the entire shield came shattering down in a decidedly non-awesome manner, offending him deeply and causing the completely painless deaths of over ten percent of his unborn children on each continent.
Ten of the black specks broke off from the crowd and headed immediately towards the half-dressed human, who was standing on the outskirts of the town. As they came closer, Michael Bay saw that they appeared to be large black insects. As they flew closer, eight of them attempted to feed off his emotions and promptly exploded into massive gouts of lens flare and plot twists.
As the other two flew closer, they barely noticed the eight dying beside them. They flew up to Michael.
"SURRENDER, MORTAL." Michael heard the voices of the two in his mind as they landed on the street and drew close. He reached for his M60, but cursed when he realized that he had on his bathrobe.(The sheer brutality of the unbridled curse flung him into the future where he retroactively added this side note) Instead, he pulled out two Colt .45 pistols from his anal cavity and blew the changelings' brains out. The green matter splattered in slow-motion across the cobblestone in an awesome manner, spontaneously reviving the unborn children that had died a minute earlier.
The witty quip that came next was written in the history books as the greatest and most wittiest quip of all time. The quip was so witty, in fact, that one could not hear nor read the quip without experiencing multiple explosive orgasms and then disintegrating into a fine white powder that could be snorted for a decent high.
Micheal Bay, upon saying this quip aloud, almost had a heart attack. However, he could also adjust his cholesterol levels at will so the point was moot.
He flipped the automatic pistols around his fingers once, and reholstered them by slipping them into the pockets of his bathrobe.
He snapped his fingers, and his warhorse Bloodfeast McSwastika appeared. The black steed was almost five times the height of Bay, who promptly mounted it swiftly WITHOUT crushing his open-air ballsack. Awesome music and an applause track began playing before he kicked off. The mares who had just finished swooning began to swoon again, their brains beginning to melt from the massive levels of arousal they were experiencing in but a short amount of time.
He rode off towards the towering city, the sheer force of his awesomness collapsing the mountain upon which said city rested. Luckily for them, his mega-swagness simultaneously rebuilt the mountain as a 14-mile high representation of his colossal genitals. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough material to make his mountain-phallus anywhere near tall enough to truly portray it's size, as well as the fact that the mountain crumbling and being built at the same time caused a massive crack to form in the universe, swallowing the Pillars of Creation, 384 million galaxies containing sentient life, and all possible realities in which Mr. Bay did not receive numerous sexual favours from Marilyn Monroe and David Bowie at the same time. Those realities were discarded into the Shitty Realities That Never Happened trash can, also known as Purgatory.
The world, yet again, became infinitely more awesome than it was before.
His war-cry echoed throughout the streets of Canterlot, the massive force alone sending thousands of ponies and changelings alike down to Hell where they belonged, the communist bastards. Michael would probably see them later when he needed to get a warm shave anyways.
As his steed first slammed into the writhing crowd of insectoids, Bay produced his three .45's and opened fire. Right and left, changeling's heads exploded and their hearts punctures as he wielded guns from his right hand, left hand, and mouth. Whenever a shapeshifter would try to copy him, the pure swag contained within his form would simply remove them from all of existence and into another where they would receive a constant stream of noogies and Indian Burns.
As he reached the end of the crowd and charged again, he realized that he was out of ammunition. Instead, the director pulled out his massive member and began swinging it like a flail, sending wave after wave of alien invaders spiraling off into the distance where they would meet their fate at the hands of Michael's personal band of Carnies.
Within five point two seven three seconds, the entire changeling horde was dead. The street, littered with green entrails and empty husks of changeling bodies, began to crack under the pure weight of Michael's swaggery. He snapped his fingers once, and Canterlot exploded.
The massive orange ball of spiraling flame completely annihilated the Tirith-esque city, chunks of the hanging metropolis shooting so far up that they eventually reached orbit. The shards continued to circle around Equestria for all of eternity, and after a few years began to take the form of Michael's penis.
There was still not enough.
And so everyone died.
