Deep in her house, I am entertaining actress Megan Fox with a little story about human sacrifice.
I tell her about how the ancient Aztecs used to pick a perfect man to live among them as a god. He would be beautiful, fit and healthy, with ideal proportions, like Russell Crowe before the bloat.
Megan Fox is enraptured by what I’m telling her. I know this because she’s gazing at me with her eyes all glassy in contemplation, and her mouth open with questions on the tip of her tongue. I like how she looks. If she spoke, I think those questions would have been quite something.
Fox had earlier been telling me about how being famous is really, really hard. She's sitting on a sofa in workout clothes. I am completely shocked at the realisation that the sweat patches from her armpits are completely symmetrical.
But that was nothing compared to the moment I realised just how symmetrical her face is up close. I fainted. When I came to, I was shocked again when I realised that Megan Fox had two holes on the end of her nose, and that these holes are of the exact same width. I know this because she let me measure them.
Megan Fox is a beautiful monument like the Taj Mahal. It is only a matter of time before the Duchess of Cambridge is photographed sitting in front of her, looking sad. Even her eyes are exactly the same colour. The eyebrow is in perfect balance, like a problem of logic, or a maze I could get lost in only to be plucked out by the tweezer of reality.
She is flawless.
I put a cushion on my lap to steady my dictaphone.
Megan Fox is a bombshell. To be a bombshell in 2013 is to be like an old-world relic, like movie palaces, fountain pens or HMV. Bombshells once used to roam the world like dinosaurs with perfect breasts, but then the ice age came and they died. I want to save Megan Fox from the ice age. I throw a blanket at her. She doesn’t notice. The idea of bombshells like Megan Fox under threat disturbs me.
Feminism and degradation both played their part in destroying these bombshells. If you want to see half naked women, it's a click away and on the front cover of this magazine, so it happens.
But the problem is that women no longer need to be beautiful in order to express their talent. Lurgey Girl Lena Dunham, Fatty Adele, Lady Specsavers and Amy Grizzly Adams (I spit here at the mention of those mingers) are all perfectly, pleasantly plain - and yet they actually get work!
Megan is preparing for the end of times by studying the Bible.
"I've read the Bible," Megan Fox says. "I don’t get it. I mean, she’s pregnant right? And there were no vacancies at the Inn, right? Were the hospitals all closed or something? Couldn’t they have gone to ER?"
My God she’s beautiful. She's much more comfortable talking about God than her career. Beautiful, feminine, curvaceous and religious, she is the exact opposite of Richard Dawkins.
"When war breaks out in the Holy Land, like now, if that is a sign the world is ending, then what are the other signs? Is it the internet or fame itself or celebrity? If I trend on Twitter, does that mean I’m the antichrist or the second coming?"
My God she’s beautiful.
I put another cushion on my lap to steady my dictaphone.
Megan Fox had tried to escape from her fate as a sex symbol. She played a man eating monster in Jennifer's Body, the most criminally underrated film since Citizen Kane.
But she doesn't want to be famous anymore. I know this because she told me.
I remove the cushions from my lap and switch off my Dictaphone. Megan Fox, American bombshell, takes my hand, walks me to the door and leaves to attend to her newborn son. Her son is called Noah. In the ancient story of the flood, Noah rescues animals from extinction by building an enormous Ark.
This gives me an idea.
*as imagined by Victoria Wright, following the real interview with Megan Fox featured in Esquire magazine this month
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