52 weeks of Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson: week 35
The Rock wants to get cooking - but just how well would he do?
While I busy myself scouring the darkest crevices of the internet in an attempt to track down the scammers and the scammees discussed in the most recent Rock Report, I think that a little diversion would do us the world of good. A bit of fun in these dark times.
Word reached me this week that The Rock has expressed an interest in appearing on The Great British Bake Off. Cue an abundance of ‘Can you smell what The Rock is cooking?’ headlines, each of them very intelligent and extremely original.
Apparently he told The Daily Star (I don’t believe he’s ever told The Daily Star anything, but I’m not sure where the original quote is from): “I don’t really get that much time for TV with a busy work schedule and three kids – but I always try and make time for The Great British Bake Off. … I would do Celebrity Bake Off if I wasn’t shooting a movie – especially if it was for charity. Hopefully, I’d do well – but if not, I could just kick somebody’s ass.”
If not, I could just kick somebody’s ass.
To me, this quote conjured up a simply wonderful image. It got me thinking.
INT. THE CELEBRITY BAKE OFF TENT.
The bakers are putting the finishing touches on their hazelnut dacquoises.
And…stop baking! Time’s up.
THE ROCK WALKS UP TO THE TABLE WITH HIS HAZELNUT DACQUOISE.
PAUL AND PRUE LOOK AT IT.
Look at that.
It looks like shit.
That…looks like shit, mate.
PAUL STABS A FORK INTO THE ROCK’S HAZELNUT DACQUOISE AND BRINGS IT TO HIS MOUTH. HE WINCES.
Oh, what a surprise. It tastes like shit too.
Hey, come on, man.
Every week you come up here-
Shut up, Prue. Dwayne, every week you come on this show and produce the biggest pile of shit I’ve ever seen in my entire baking career. Your soufflé looked like an explosion in an abattoir; your brandy snaps tasted like the bottom of a welly; and you make bread like a one-legged dog. Every week I call you out on it, and every week you just lift me up in the air and smash me onto the table. You know what, mate – I’ve had enough of it. I don’t care that you’re Hollywood royalty. I’m the only Hollywood royalty around here. It’s time you stopped being such a whiny-
THE ROCK LEANS OVER THE TABLE, PICKS PAUL UP BY THE SCRUFF OF THE NECK, LIFTS HIM FULLY ABOVE HIS HEAD, AND SMASHES HIM DOWN ON THE TABLE.
THERE IS DACQUOISE EVERWHERE.
Oh for fuck’s sake! Aargh! What is wrong with you?
Good grief this is dramatic.
Are you all right, Paul?
Shut up, Prue. I’ve got hazelnuts up me arse! There’s hazelnuts right up me arse! Stop filming!
Not cool, man. You don’t tell me how to bake.
I do – that’s the whole – that’s the whole fucking point of the show, mate!
Stop filming! There’s so much dacquoise up me arse and in me hair!
THE CAMERA PANS TO PRUE, WHO IS CONCERNED, THEN TO NOEL, WHO IS GRINNING.
What’s your name again?
What? I’m Paul Hollywood-
It doesn’t matter what your name is!
LEAPING INTO THE AIR, THE ROCK DOES THE PEOPLE’S ELBOW ON PAUL HOLLYWOOD. PAUL HOLLYWOOD FALLS UNCONSCIOUS.
That’s how I imagine it, anyway.
Stay hungry, stay humble.