I’ve only met Megan Fox the once, and frankly, that was enough.Thanks to Bjorn and his +1 Burger Van of Temping, I found myself acting as her butler for the day. Yes, most butlers have to spend many years in training, and it’s a job that requires great skill. However, if you go to Bjorn for a butler, then frankly I’m the best you’re going to get. You don’t want to wind up with Humid William. Nobody wants to wind up with Humid William.
“You’ve buttled before, right?” asked Bjorn, as I sat down on a crate of holepunches.
“Aren’t you supposed to be my literary agent?”
He ignored my question. “You've buttled right? Didn’t you work for Natalie Portman once?”
“If by ‘buttled’ you mean ‘snuck into her room disguised as a bellboy’, then yes.”
Once again, there seems to be something of a blur between Bjorn offering me a job, and me arriving at my new place of work. I have often suspected that some form of hypnosis comes into play. That, or he just clubs me over the head with a length of pipe and bundles me into a taxi.
Rubbing the lump on the back of my skull, I looked over the large mansion in front of me.
I was only familiar with the work of Megan Fox through three films. Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, which I had caught the last half of on TV, and almost forgotten she was in. Transformers, which I could hardly see at all through the tears of joy in my eyes. Not because it was a great movie, but because I was glad they’d chosen to rape Transformers, instead of Masters of the Universe. The last movie of hers I’d seen was Jennifer’s Body, and that was one of those films that was okay, but made me crosser and crosser the more I thought about it afterwards.
I also understood that she was supposedly the most beautiful woman in the world right now. Although, if you were to ask me to pick a word to describe Megan Fox, it wouldn’t be “beautiful”. Her cold, dead eyes and plastic, clammy looking skin would, if anything, push me towards the word “cenobitey”.
Arriving at the mansion, I found the door unlocked. Pinned to a cork noticeboard in the hallway was a care sheet for Megan Fox, including the temperature and humidity she was to be kept at, how often she required misting, and how many crickets to expect her to consume in an hour.
Letting myself into the dining room, I found Megan Fox perched on the rafters, applying more hideous tattoos to herself with a felt-tip pen. “Hello, Miss Fox?” I called out to her. “I’m Rutger. The butler.”
Megan Fox scuttled down the wall to join me. “Ah, yes. Bjorn said he would be sending someone in a Gamma Bomb t-shirt.”
“Gamma Ray.”
“Whatever. Have you held a similar position before?”
I studied the laminated care sheet in my hand. “Uh, yeah. I had a pet frog for a while, and you seem to be pretty similar.”
This seemed to meet her approval, and she climbed back up the wall again, whilst I went through to the hall to check the mail.
There were several job offers for her, including some from various comic and cartoon franchises, which I shredded. It appeared, after all, that this might prove to be the easiest job I had ever had. I put my feet up on the table, leaned back in my chair, and studied the decomposing butler crucified to the ceiling.
It was at this point that I realised something was up.
Leaping bravely from my chair with a heroic whimper I looked up at the corpse of Megan Fox’s previous employee. I tried softly whispering “Hello? Are you all right?”, but there came no response, save for the gentle shuffling of a cockroach in the ex-serf's right eye socket.
I peered cautiously back into the room where Megan Fox was entertaining herself. She was holding the phone to her head the wrong way round and making strange mewling noises that imitated speech. “Um...Miss Fox?” I called out. “I’m going to take my break now.”
The cenobital actress ignored me, and climbed back up to the rafters.
I went to my car and took out the implements I needed. Well, I didn’t have what I needed, actually. I needed a crucifix, holy water and a bible, but I don’t tend to carry those sort of things around with me. I made do with my “What Would Henry Rollins Do?” bracelet, a copy of Holy Diver on tape, and my home-made Storm Bolter.
A lot of people ask me about my home-made Storm Bolter, assuming that it’s going to be some sort of gag. Something like two toilet roll tubes sellotaped together, that fires ping-pong balls from elastic bands. People who ask stuff like that then usually laugh derisively. People like that don’t know me. People like that are usually surprised when I show them my cast-iron, fully functioning Storm Bolter that I made in my garage. They are usually even more surprised when I use it to explode a passing squirrel.
Rubbing the lump on the back of my skull, I looked over the large mansion in front of me.
I was only familiar with the work of Megan Fox through three films. Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, which I had caught the last half of on TV, and almost forgotten she was in. Transformers, which I could hardly see at all through the tears of joy in my eyes. Not because it was a great movie, but because I was glad they’d chosen to rape Transformers, instead of Masters of the Universe. The last movie of hers I’d seen was Jennifer’s Body, and that was one of those films that was okay, but made me crosser and crosser the more I thought about it afterwards.
I also understood that she was supposedly the most beautiful woman in the world right now. Although, if you were to ask me to pick a word to describe Megan Fox, it wouldn’t be “beautiful”. Her cold, dead eyes and plastic, clammy looking skin would, if anything, push me towards the word “cenobitey”.
Arriving at the mansion, I found the door unlocked. Pinned to a cork noticeboard in the hallway was a care sheet for Megan Fox, including the temperature and humidity she was to be kept at, how often she required misting, and how many crickets to expect her to consume in an hour.
Letting myself into the dining room, I found Megan Fox perched on the rafters, applying more hideous tattoos to herself with a felt-tip pen. “Hello, Miss Fox?” I called out to her. “I’m Rutger. The butler.”Megan Fox scuttled down the wall to join me. “Ah, yes. Bjorn said he would be sending someone in a Gamma Bomb t-shirt.”
“Gamma Ray.”
“Whatever. Have you held a similar position before?”
I studied the laminated care sheet in my hand. “Uh, yeah. I had a pet frog for a while, and you seem to be pretty similar.”
This seemed to meet her approval, and she climbed back up the wall again, whilst I went through to the hall to check the mail.
There were several job offers for her, including some from various comic and cartoon franchises, which I shredded. It appeared, after all, that this might prove to be the easiest job I had ever had. I put my feet up on the table, leaned back in my chair, and studied the decomposing butler crucified to the ceiling.
It was at this point that I realised something was up.
Leaping bravely from my chair with a heroic whimper I looked up at the corpse of Megan Fox’s previous employee. I tried softly whispering “Hello? Are you all right?”, but there came no response, save for the gentle shuffling of a cockroach in the ex-serf's right eye socket.
I peered cautiously back into the room where Megan Fox was entertaining herself. She was holding the phone to her head the wrong way round and making strange mewling noises that imitated speech. “Um...Miss Fox?” I called out. “I’m going to take my break now.”
The cenobital actress ignored me, and climbed back up to the rafters.
I went to my car and took out the implements I needed. Well, I didn’t have what I needed, actually. I needed a crucifix, holy water and a bible, but I don’t tend to carry those sort of things around with me. I made do with my “What Would Henry Rollins Do?” bracelet, a copy of Holy Diver on tape, and my home-made Storm Bolter.
A lot of people ask me about my home-made Storm Bolter, assuming that it’s going to be some sort of gag. Something like two toilet roll tubes sellotaped together, that fires ping-pong balls from elastic bands. People who ask stuff like that then usually laugh derisively. People like that don’t know me. People like that are usually surprised when I show them my cast-iron, fully functioning Storm Bolter that I made in my garage. They are usually even more surprised when I use it to explode a passing squirrel.
I also put on my Solomon Kane Hat, which I always carry for such purposes.
I kicked open the front door, ready to kick some bad-acting arse. The house seemed quiet at first, but then a spatter of lightly acidic drool splashed onto the brim of my Solomon Kane Hat. Looking up, I saw Megan Fox on the ceiling above me, looking how she would have looked in Jennifer’s Body, if they’d picked someone who could do monster make-up, and someone who could act.
“The power of Dio compels you!” I cried, throwing the dodgy copy of Holy Diver at her, which bounced off of her head with a hollow “clack” sound. I ran into the house before she could land on top of me and eat my soul with her hungry, zombified face. As I ran, I turned to see her chasing after me across the ceiling like the alien in Alien 3. I fired my home-made Storm Bolter, and the massive bullet tore a lump out of her shoulder. She spun round in the air and collapsed to the floor.
I stood over her, the Storm Bolter trained on her at all times. “Nice try, Fox, but this is one butler who you’re not going buttle. Off of this mortal coil. Face.”It wasn’t the best triumphant one-liner I’d ever had, but it came somewhere in the middle. I was surprised when she smiled up at me. “Oh, Rutger. You saved me from the demon that was possessing me, I’m now free to live my life!”
I smiled back. “That’s great, Megan. What are you going to do with your new found freedom!”
She smiled enthusiastically, “Well, I’m going to play SuperGirl in the next Superman movie! I’m auditioning for the part of Cheetara in the new Thundercats movie! And then, most exciting of all, I’m going to commence shooting Transformers 3: Childhood Memory Raping of the Dinobots! Available in cinemas everywhere, next sum...”
The final gunshot was an exclamation mark to everything that had led to this point. I released my finger from the trigger. And then it was over.
