I often dreamed of Michael Bay. He wasn't just a famous director, of some of the hottest blockbuster movies... he was a daddy through and through. His wispy brown hair, and kind eyes fill me with a warmth that I've not known before. The fact that he so masterfully commands explosions in his films is what really astonishes me. The flaming glow of his explosions is almost as bright as the glow of my passion for his daddy-ness. I lean back and imagine him. His slender body, all the way down to his full bush. I reach down and start to feel in the most sensual way. Michael Bay, in my mind, begins to remove his clothes. But wait, something's wrong... there's another person in this fantasy. It's not a face I wanted to see. A round, furry grapefruit sized head looks back at me; it's M. Night Shmyalan! He strikes Daddy Bay across the face, and he collapses. M Night. is fully nude. I can't see Bay. The lights go out. M. gets close. All I can see is his burned looking hair, and his Shymalama-ding-dong. My screams fill the rest of the night.