It wasn´t my idea to be here. I don´t belong here. I don´t know what I´m talking about. I´m gonna get eaten alive. But Tom Zielinski and Paul Baack thought it would be funny to get me – a Bond-ignorant action movie fan who once called 007 “a fucking baby’ -- to review Thunderball and GoldenEye. So here goes nothing.
 
First, the backstory. My disparaging comments about Mr. Bond came in the form of a review for Die Hard 2. In the review I called Bruce Willis´s character John McClane “the working man´s James Bond’ and compared and contrasted him to 007. My argument was that Bond was a spoiled rich boy among action heroes. Bond gets an Astin Martin that shoots missiles, McClane has to borrow his mother-in-law´s beater, and it gets impounded. That kind of thing. Tom and Paul had written me a lot of nice emails, and I felt bad that I had been so harsh to their favorite fictional character. So when I was putting together a collection of my reviews, I thought it would be a nice addition to the book if they would write a rebuttal to the review. They graciously did me that favor, which brings us to today, when I owe them one.
 
I don´t know if it´s payback for my big mouth, or if they´re trying to convert me, but I welcome the incentive to learn a little more about Mr. Bond. I have to admit I am most familiar with the Pierce Brosnan Bond movies, and I wouldn´t say I was a fan. Watching Thunderball though, I was about 4 minutes in when I realized it was already better than all the Pierce Brosnans combined. In the opening scene, Bond is at a funeral for some SPECTRE bastard he was gonna kill. Now I don´t want to be judgmental, but in my opinion it is pretty god damn rude to show up at the funeral of some motherfucker you were planning to kill. I mean come on people, you just don´t do that. Call me old fashioned, call me a square, but that´s one rule I try to follow. The only exception is if once the person was dead you realized it was wrong to want to kill them, and maybe you were going to go make amends with this person when you found out they were dead. That is not the case for Bond. So I´m not inclined to let him off the hook. But luckily this point of etiquette becomes moot when he discovers that the funeral is a fraud and that the not-really-dead villain is in drag, disguised as a grieving widow.
 
(I guess that brings up another important funeral related rule: if you´re faking your own death, don´t show up at the fuckin funeral. I know it´s tempting, you´re curious how hard people are gonna cry and all that. But it´s not worth the risk. Your fake death isn´t even in the obituaries yet and you´re already about to blow it.)
 
Anyway that´s when we get an excellent fistfight between Bond and a man in a funeral dress and veil. Let me take a moment to honor this lost tradition of cinematic fighting, where two opponents square off in an enclosed space, punching each other, throwing each other into furniture and breaking things over each other´s heads. You don´t see this type of fighting in movies much anymore - now days everything´s guns, kung fu, and guns. Bond ends up tossing the guy in the fireplace and throwing flowers on him. Not as fancy as the fake funeral, but it will have to do.

Next thing you know Bond runs outside and magically produces a helmet and jetpack (big pockets, I guess) which he uses to fly about two blocks away to his getaway car. This is what I´m talking about, John McClane would´ve just ran the two blocks. It´s not that hard, Bond. He´s one of these guys who instead of walking four blocks to the store to pick up some ice cream, he drives. In fact, I bet the Segway was invented for Bond, so he wouldn´t have to walk from one end of the room to the other. His has a built in rocket launcher, but he never uses it.
 
The traditional theme song over silhouetted sexiness is sung by Tom Jones, who does a real good job acting like we should know what the hell “Thunderball’ means. One thing about the James Bond movies, no matter how good or bad they are, they always got sexy opening credits. And these movies are all about sexiness. I´m sure you guys have noticed this before, but man James Bond is a sleazeball. I don´t know what his mama taught him but for such a smooth dude he sure doesn´t know how to treat the ladies. Case in point, his co-worker Moneypenny. Now, if you´re working in an office or secret agency type situation, it is best not to call the women “honey’ or “sweetie’ or “sugar’ or “toots’ or “honeypie’ or etc. That is condescending and degrading, especially in a place like this where a woman who has worked as hard as Moneypenny to get where she is deserves to be treated as a professional. When Bond tells her “Next time I see you, I´ll put you across my knee,’ I feel that that is unprofessional. He doesn´t just pull this on his co-workers though. What´s with the scene where he forces a kiss on that poor nurse? Fortunately, the Bond movies take place in a universe where every woman secretly wants to screw James Bond, and they just pretend they don´t like his advances. But the rest of us guys don´t have that luxury.
 
So yeah, the nurse wants him, but does that justify him walking out after sex and quipping, “See you later… irrigator’? I think I know what that means and if so, not that classy. There are times when Bond movies seem like porn movies with the good parts cut out. I mean don´t get me wrong. They would be really topnotch porn movies. I´m just saying, there´s a lot of scenes leading up to Bond getting laid.
 
And plus, what about this scene where Bond gets attacked in the spa? I swear, he´s attached to some kind of Fucking Machine. Like the British version of Barbarella´s Orgasmatron. He almost humps himself to death. An appropriate end for such a horndog I guess. But he escapes.
 
Then next thing you know he´s in a boat with another gorgeous lady, Paula. I´m thinking, how many hoes does this motherfucker have in his stable, anyway? He really gets around. One thing I noticed when I went to rent these movies, there is a cartoon they got called James Bond, Jr. which is apparently about James Bond´s son. You know, the one son that he had. Well let me tell you, I don´t buy that. James Bond Jr. proves that the equipment works, the pipes are not tied, the seed is potent. So I happen to believe there are a whole fuckin lot of James Bond juniors running around out there, disrespecting women in a number of exotic locales. The way this guy pokes around in 2 or 3 gals per movie, there´s no telling how many dashing half-British crumb crushers there could be out there. I´m betting he rivals Screamin´ Jay Hawkins in the illegitimate children Olympics.
 
I mean I gotta tell ya, if I was Blofeld or somebody, I wouldn´t worry too much about 007. Because I´d figure eventually he´s gonna slip up. That fucker is a fiend for the honeypot and he´s pretty god damn lucky to have gotten as far as he has without somebody slitting his throat while he´s got his guard down, getting a sensual massage or a blowjob on the beach or something. I mean that dude will fuck anything with two legs and a hole. (In fact, I haven´t seen all the movies, I wouldn´t be surprised if he goes for a gal with one leg and a hole, plus some kind of artificial leg made out of gold with built in weapons.) It just so happens that he runs in circles where everybody like that is a gorgeous knockout bombshell type. But I think if he had to spend a night in a town with no Bond girls, he´d still find somebody or something to stick his dick in. In my opinion. Pardon my French.
 

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