YAWN!

Is this year’s Super 14 boring the shit out of you too? My computer was so bored it completely shut down. Seriously, she went to sleep Thursday night and didn’t wake up until sometime Sunday afternoon. I tried shoving her but she wouldn’t budge. So I just left her the fuck alone because, quite honestly, I felt her pain. But then my iPod, in a show of solidarity, decided to take an extended nap too and that was where I had to draw the line! Email and rugby shit I can live without but a weekend without music is a fate worse than death! Fortunately Mr. iPod decided to rise and shine this morning just before I left for work…typical male… - GD

Full On Fooliwang
Damnit Nonu! Damnit Jerry!
Somebody check on Nonu! What the hell is wrong with the boy? And what the fuck is going on with Jerry? Check on JC too while you at it! I would say they both need to calm down and maybe relax, have a drink and get laid but we all know lack of alcohol and sex is the least of their problems! Maybe Nonu is acting all discombobulated because of something I know which I can’t say anymore about because I’ve been sworn to secrecy? And maybe all the baby drama is finally getting to Jerry and he had to take it out on nigga’s face?

You didn’t ask for my opinion Nonu but uh…you need to check yo self before ya wreck yo self! Jerry will be on the next All Black’s squad no matter what but your spot, as you well know, is a bit more tenuous. Have you seen the opinion polls? When I took it most people thought you’d never see another black jersey unless you bought it your -damn-self! If you’re not going to show Graham Henry your peepee you best get you act together Bruv. Oh well, nigga has yet to listen to a word I say so…WHATEV!

Just look a him ya’ll! Sittin’ in the sin bin lookin’ like butter wouldn’t melt. Oooooo LAWD!

That’s not why they suck!
I wish The Highlanders’ terrible game play could be blamed on bad hair but if we followed that logic every NZ rugby team would suck! Oh wait; they did lose the World Cup so I guess they may have a freakin point! Kudos to the NZ public for finally recognizing how shitty that shaved, mullet mess is although you left it a bit late don’t you think?

Bitch And Moan, Bitch And Moan!
I don’t know who this Kronfeld dude is but he makes an interesting assessment! Check out the quote below regarding the recent rule changes:


Indeed! If the Hurricanes’ current lackluster performance on the pitch is any indication then old, angry dude has a point. However, SHUT UP! If the IRB wanted your opinion you’d be on the next plane to Dublin, Ireland but as it stands you are sitting in Dunedin, New Zealand eating meat pies like you NZers love to do! If anyone has a right to complain it’s me and galaxyMafia; we’re the ones who have to struggle to make this shit funny! Get your priorities straight and chill out before that vein in your neck pops…fo reals homie!

Bits And Pieces
Gatland stands on his Wales record and stands by the new asshole he ripped for New Zealand. I ain’t mad atcha boy!

Troy Flavell heads back to Japan after Super 14…and who among us besides Cécile really gives a damn? Yes, that’s what I thought…

The Chiefs are doomed and that’s all there is to it!

Nucifora has yet to buy a clue, even after getting his ass kicked in South Africa…

Richie, DC and Co. have way too much time on their hands and not enough razor blades!

I admit the NFL and the NBA have irrevocably spoiled me but in this situation imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery – it’s a fucking insult! Check out these so called cheerleaders in all their denim, cutoff booty shorts and horrendous dance moves glory!

Super 14 week three slideshow featuring: Sione getting his pants pulled down, Nacewa getting crushed to death, Mose perfecting his Heisman trophy stance with his sexy afro, Hurricane hug fest, Ig’nant Highlanders mascot and all up betwixt Richie’s legs. Listen to the commentary if you like but I suggest hitting the mute button.

And In Six Nations News…

I am so damn happy for Scotland, really I am, but shit if the English peeps aren't being hard on poor Jonny! He got the top scoring record ya’ll give him a break! It’s okay pookie toot, you’ll get’em next year!

Irelands scrappy little leprechauns could not out scrap Wales and were therefore sent home.

France poured Hollandaise all in Italy’s Marinara and that shit tasted just as good as it sounds! UGH!

I’m sure all you gamers out there recognize that line from Street Fighter (Or was it Mortal Kombat ?). I remember years ago, sitting on my boyfriend’s parent’s sofa watching him pay SF and MK. I know what you’re thinking but I was young and in love and hadn’t become completely jaded yet.

Actually, I didn’t really mind watching. The only video game I like is Tetris so the whole idea of a video game whose sole purpose is to beat hell out of your opponent was intriguing to me because I love watching people fight. Now let me clarify what I mean by “fight”. When I say fight I mean brawling, fisticuffs, Queensbury rules or just straight wildin’ out with a minimum of gunplay. Blunt objects are cool (coffee pots, hammers, 2x4’s, etc.) just so long as they don’t overshadow good, old-fashioned fist-in-face.

So with that in mind I compiled a list of some of my favorite celluloid dust ups. Enjoy!

Arsenic And Old Lace (1944) Carey Grant

This is really a Screwball Comedy but there is one really good fight scene that never fails to make me scream with laughter. Most of it takes place off camera so all you see are bodies flying into the fray and bodies being thrown out. Chairs are broken over people’s backs and pieces of broken furniture are thrown around to the sound of scuffling, punching and yelling. What makes it so funny is Carey Grant’s reaction to what’s going on. Here is a sane man stuck in a very insane situation. Towards the end of the movie he’s come to accept the looniness all around him and his reactions are priceless!



The Quiet Man (1952) John Wayne

Okay so this movie is full of stereotypes but we all know stereotypes are based in truth so let’s not get bogged down in that shall we? We all know that all Irishmen aren’t lazy, shiftless, bare knuckle brawling, drunkards but the idea that they are makes for one great movie battle! John Wayne plays a disgraced American boxer who decides to go home to Ireland. While there he falls in love but gets on the wrong side of his love’s brother’s temper. What follows is one of the greatest fight scenes ever. That fight goes from the house to the street, down rolling green hills and into the town and it is fab…u…lous!

Enter The Dragon (1973) Bruce Lee

There are just so many reasons to love this movie! Who couldn’t love hot ass Bruce Lee and his whoops and yells (Waaaaaah! Wooooohaaaaaah!), hot ass Jim Kelly and his Shaolin funk soul brother attitude (To Mr. Han: “Man, you come right out of a comic book!”), Bolo the behemoth, international crime conspiracies, the funky soundtrack and just the cheesy 70’s eastern mysticism of it all? There are many fight scenes to love here but my favorite would have to be the climactic battle between Lee and Han in the mirrored room. Lee tries to put the smack down and is doing well but fails to consider that Han is a crafty sonofabitch! Lee has to use his brains and his brawn to defeat the diabolical Han. After remembering some inspiring words from his sensei he regains the strength he needs to finally send Han on a wild, rickshaw ride to hell!



Drunken Master (1978) Jackie Chan

This movie is billed as the first king fu comedy and yes it is funny (What the hell kinda name is “Thunder Leg” for a villain anyway?) but my favorite scene is where Chan is trying to mack on a girl when her mother rolls up and puts the supreme smack down…right on Chan’s ass! I love a movie where a women doesn’t have to resort to gunplay (usually having said gun slapped from her weak and ineffectual hand), running away in high heels, waiting until the man’s asleep and pouring hot grits on him (If you don’t know ask your mama about Al Green), waiting until the man’s asleep and cutting his dick off a la Lorena Bobbitt or worse yet, committing suicide, to get her very simple point across: LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE FOOL!

The Warriors (1979) Michael Beck

Don’t you just love the good old days? Back then if you mentioned the word “gang” to someone the last thing that would come to their minds would be guns. Switchblades maybe but never guns. This movie not only brings back the filthy glamour that was NYC before Giuliani cleaned it up but also those thrilling days of yore when shooting someone in the head execution style would be considered cowardly! The Warriors are accused of a crime they didn’t commit and they have t make it back to their “turf” in one piece. Along the way they meet many a lame ass gang, at least by post Colors standards, and have to take them all out. My favorite gang/fight scene is a toss up between the Baseball Furies (men in baseball uniforms, painted faces and bats) and the Lizzies (uncharacteristically hot Lesbians with knives). The Warriors dispatch them both in short order but it’s still fun to watch!



Fight Club (1999) Edward Norton, Brad Pitt

This whole movie is of course one big fight but my favorite scene was when Edward Norton’s character beat pretty little Jared Leto’s character so badly that dude’s face looked like raw hamburger! [Insert highly inappropriate and scary laughter] Man, that’s the good stuff!

Sexy Beast (2000) Ray Winstone, Ben Kingsley

Now those of you that have seen this movie might think I’m stretching things a bit here but I say if the antagonist of the movie has been shot in the gut twice with a shotgun (one shot was close range) but still continues to punch, slap, kick and hurl insults at the protagonist and his friends while they in turn punch, slap, kick and hurl insults at him then it’s a fair fight! Bloody as all get out but fair! And for the record, Ian McShane (Deadwood) is the creepiest of all creeps in this movie. Yikes!



The One (2001) Jet Li

This movie has some pretty good martial arts and special effects but it is the very last scene that does it for me! Jet Li, in his halting English (Which somehow makes it sound even better) tells the inhabitants of a penal planet, “I am Yulaw! I’m nobody’s bitch. You…are mine. I don’t need to know you. You only need to know me.” them proceeds to put the smack down on all comers as the camera slowly pans out on his lone form atop a pyramid, adroitly chucking guys over the precipice!

Oldboy (2003) Min-sik Choi

This movie is so deep; not your typical Asian Cinema flick at all! Most Americans, I’m sad to say, will miss the underlying themes because of the subject matter but if you take a chance and leave your puritanical ideas behind you might enjoy it. And if that isn’t enough of an enticement to watch this movie then take in to consideration that it also features one of the most awesome fight scenes ever! One long tracking shot of about twenty men with sticks and bats against Min-sik Choi, his fists and a hammer! Yes I said a hammer Dear Reader! And you know what the best part is? Although he’s bruised and bloodied by the time it’s over he still reigns triumphant! This movie rocks harder than the Stones at Wembley stadium!



A History Of Violence (2005) Viggo Mortensen

You’ve read posts from GM and me about how much we love this movie so I won’t go on about it but I will say that even after three LOTR movies and a few other Viggo vehicles I never thought he was sexy…until this movie. Does that make me peculiar? Probably but I don’t care. I’d love to have a husband who could and would skillfully kill lots and lots of people to protect our family and me. All I can say is bless you David Cronenberg . You are one magical, sick muthafucker and I LOVE you!

What are your favorite fight scenes? Inquiring Divas want to know – GD

GalaxyMafia has said it before and she will say it again: There is no one as pretty as Paul Walker (not even Wentworth Miller, sorry!). Unfortunately, there is no one quite so irrevocably and categorically dumb, either. Never was the evidence of that fact more clear than with Walker’s latest theatrical release, “Running Scared”.

Oops. . .he did it again!

Paul Walker has said in the past that he hates being called a pretty boy, and that he disdains movie roles that rely on his looks as opposed to his acting skills. And you have to know that it would be hard for Walker to disdain anything, as he probably has no frame of reference for the meaning of that word. And as for those mythical acting skills, galaxyMafia supposes that Walker is talking about his ability to come off as a scatterbrained lug nut in every part he plays.

Walker is no less the ludicrous Neanderthal in “Running Scared”. He plays the same sun-kissed blue eyed laid-back slacker, the flip flop-wearing, hang-ten surfer fool that he always manages to pull off. The only difference is, in “Running Scared”, Paul bastardizes and mutilates a Brooklyn accent. His supposed to come off like a “Sopranos”-type hood but he ends up sounding like Fran Drescher – loud, nasal and annoying.

His character, a small time hood named Joey Gazelle, is given the task of getting rid of a gun that was used to kill a cop. It’s a job so easy that even a monkey could do it, and that’s an insult to the monkey. Instead of breaking the gun up into several pieces and dissolving it in battery acid, Joey hides the gun in his basement in a hole covered by what looks to be particleboard. This might not be so bad if Joey didn’t have a belligerent young son who doesn’t know when to sit down, shut up and do what the hell his parents tell him. The son is crafty, insubordinate and too damn curious for his own damn good. So why would Joey put guns where they could be easily found by his kid? Why, to advance the ridiculous plot, of course.

But the funny this is, “Running Scared”, despite its advertisements, is not a film about crime, or the mob or guns. Even though it steals plot devices from various movies, including “Pulp Fiction”, “The Matrix” and “Snatch” to name a few, at the core of its being, “Running Scared” is a cautionary tale for young boys full of too much piss and vinegar, for the audience, and most importantly, for Paul Walker.

Hansel Reinvented

Just because Paul Walker stars in this flick doesn’t mean it’s about him. It’s not Joey who’s running scared. If the movie were about Paul’s character, it would be called “Fucking Stupid”. The truth is, “Running Scared” is a description of the real star of this film, Cameron Bright, who plays Oleg.

Little Oleg, an asthmatic, is a friend of Joey’s son and it is his character that sets the wheels in motion. Oleg is the victim of an abusive, John Wayne-obsessed stepfather who beats him. His mother, a former Russian prostitute, loves him but is apathetic and ineffective. After Oleg steals the gun Joey the Ignoramus was supposed to ditch, that’s when the script is officially flipped.

From that point on, “Running Scared” becomes a warning to bad little boys who disobey their parents. As the movie progresses, we follow Oleg on a twisted fairytale as he encounters grave dangers that multiply exponentially. Oleg has to deal with a ghoulish crack addict who’s a cross between the Grim Reaper and a Rasta. A “Mack Daddy” pimp and his prostitute. A creepy husband and wife child molesting/tormenting team whose fiendish evilness was so apathetic and yet so pervasive that galaxyMafia is still glancing over her shoulders every now and then. And if that weren’t enough, he almost gets his ass shot off at a hockey rink by a Russian mobster. Every step of the way, down every path Oleg takes there is blood, guns, carnage, and death.

The lesson to young boys is clear:
Don’t steal
Don’t play with guns
Don’t mess with drugs
Don’t talk to strangers
Don’t play hockey – after all, you aren’t Canadian.


Stop the movie, I want my fugging money back!

“Running Scared” has already been made before, several times, by much better writers and directors. You’d be better off renting “Snatch” or “Reservoir Dogs” than wasting your money on this ridiculous tripe.

Still, if you must go, look out for these bright spots:

1) The word “nigga” used to describe people who are not of color. Don’t know what the writer was trying to prove, or what kind of political statement he was trying to achieve but, when a blue-eyed, blond-haired California white boy with salt water in his veins and sand between his ears is referred to as a “nigga” by another, less-dazzling but still equally white guy, you know it’s time to create a damn drinking game. Break out the Chivas Regal and the Alize!
2) Oleg’s crazy as fuck stepfather is fine as hell!! You don’t get to see this until the end of the movie (and that means you’ll be forced to either sit through the entire two hour farce or try to sneak in and catch the last thirty minutes) but girls, it’s a real treat. His body is banging up against a wall, knocking a hole right through it and coming out on the other side!! Now, the dude looks like he’s been beat with the ugly stick about the face but, from the neck down, it’s on like a pot of chicken bones!
3) The end credits. Even though you’ll want to get the hell up and leave, try to stick around. You’ll see Oleg’s nightmarish adventure drawn in vivid color like a fairytale graphic novel. It’s cool and original and, really, it’s the best damn part of the movie. Also, watch for all the Eastern European names listed as film crew. Apparently, part of the film was shot in Prague although, to galaxyMafia, it looked like they were in New Jersey.
4) The scene in which Paul Walker gets hit in the mouth with a hockey puck and manages to keep all his teeth. The bad guys beat the shit out of him, and yet, he remains beautiful even with his face in a pool of his own steaming blood.
5) The F-word. Who the hell knew there were so many different variations of the word “fuck”. They used it as every part of speech – as a noun, a verb, an adjective, an adverb, a gerund, a dangling participle. . .

Memo to Paul Walker:

Paul, this is the last time galaxyMafia will say this: You’re pretty. Just do a damn romantic comedy and call if a freaking day. You don’t see Matt McCougnehey bitching and kvetching, do you? That fool knows he’s handsome and he understands what kind of movies a handsome guy works well in. “Failure to Launch” was No. 1 at the box office this weekend. Paul, that could have been you. . .it should have been you. I mean, Matt’s got his own place but, you’ve said yourself you’re a scrub. Stop trying to fight the inevitable. Just give in. You’re never going to be a big action star, or a gritty character actor. You’re pretty so my advice to you is to just accept it, and move on to a starring role with Reese Witherspoon in a delightful romantic remake of “Roman Holiday”, or “Father Goose”, or “Funny Face” or whatever the damn hell.

2005 copyright galaxyMafia. . .should have went to see the movie with Paul and the snow dogs instead!

Recently, I saw the new Viggo Mortensen movie, “A History of Violence”. Based off the graphic novel of the same name, it tells the story of a cold-blooded killer who reinvented himself into a warm, loving family man.

In a word or two, it was succulent, superb (much like Eddie Cibrian, or in GlamourDiva’s case, Went Miller but, that’s another topic altogether!).

It was also painstakingly, unapologetically violent.

My reactions to the drama unfolding before me on that big screen were visceral, cacophonous, histrionic. I screamed, I howled, I slouched down in my seat while my legs sliced up through the air, I guffawed. I wondered, as I drove home, wishing that I had a husband like Viggo Mortensen’s Tom Stall character (a husband who can kill some asshole with a coffee pot and then come home and make love to me on the stairs with his hand around my throat), why had I laughed? Why had I shouted with glee? Why had none of that superfluous violence filled me with a terrifying dread (as the threat of an outbreak of the Ebola virus or the thought of that Ben Affleck/Jennifer Garner spawn does)? Why hadn’t it saddened me? Or made me worry about the state of the world and the way people are so vicious to each other for no damn good reason.

A History of Violence was raw, shocking, breathtaking and intense. It was also very funny. But, should it have made me laugh? Am I desensitized to violence? I decided the answer might be found in researching my own history of over-exposure to violence.

As a kid who lived in America, I was bombarded with tons of violent images from a very early age. You might know what violent images I’m talking about. That’s right, our old faithful friends. . .cartoons, the very epitome of violence.

Think about it, what did your parents do on Saturday morning? They weren’t out playing catch with you or taking you to the museum or teaching you how to perform linear algebraic equations so you could get a decent SAT score, were they? No, they had better ways to waste their time than spending it with some snot-nose, bratty kid. They plunked you down in front of the television with a bowl of Coco Puffs and turned the channel to whatever network was broadcasting “Looney Tunes”. And that’s where you saw Daffy Duck get all his damn feathers blow the fudge off with a shotgun. That’s where you saw Wile E. Coyote fall off dangerous precipices in the Grand Canyon and blow himself up time and again with those no-good, faulty incendiary devices from ACME (which makes you wonder. . .why did Wile E. continue to patronize that company time and again? Why didn’t he try to get his money back? Or, at least call the damn BBB on their ass!) And that’s were you saw a punk-wuss Sylvester the Cat get the shit kicked out of him by a kangaroo he’d mistakenly thought was a giant mouse. And were you horrified? Were you aghast and filled with righteous indignation? Not hardly. You laughed.

The next time you probably laughed at something violent was in grade school. Remember grade school? Apathetic teachers, moldy bathrooms, grade F mystery meat and playground politics so gruesome and vicious, they would make even that unrepentantly evil Dick Cheney sob hysterically. Do you perhaps recall when two kids, full of piss and vinegar, got into a bitching contest and came to blows over it? Remember what happened when one of the kids knocked the motherfudge out of the other kid? Remember how cool and funny it was? And when we recalled it the next day, as we retold it, we laughed! We didn’t care if some poor kid had gotten his head cracked open or his teeth knocked out of his mouth. The fight was funny and we laughed.

Now, in order not to blame our parents for our desensitization to violence (which is very tempting because our parents are usually to blame for most of the hell in our lives, right?), it is important to look at the country we were born and raised in. Yeah, that’s right I’m talking about America – that vicious, devious bitch (God Bless her!).

Think about it. America was stolen because of and subsequently founded upon Manifest Destiny. In other words, our founding fathers raped the land, and mindfucked the Indians into self-imposed exile on reservations like so much wall-eyed, nonchalant, cud-chewing cattle.
European colonization was all about violence. Pasty, thin-lipped white guys and their equally pasty women and chillun came over from England looking for a place where they could bust loose and go buck wild. When they got to America, it was on like a pot of neck bones! Free from suppressive (and largely hypocritical) Victorian morals and reactions, the colonists reverted to their primal nature – bloodthirsty sons of bitches. They did what all folks do when they leave home and go someplace where no one knows who the hell they are and no one is going to be able to go and blab to the folks back home what they did – they explored the facets of their personalities that heretofore they’d had to repress for fear of silver bells and cockle shells.

So, as I drove home from the movie, still all a-twitter and a-flutter and tingling from the sheer sensation of the experience, I realized that if I was the kind of person who took violence seriously, I never would have enjoyed “Pulp Fiction”.

In other words, as an American, I have violence in my blood, in my genetic code. As my French friend, Antoine says, “You Americans are obsessed with violence”. To some extent, that is true. But, we aren’t obsessed with violence because we want to be but, because we were given no other choice. As the drug lords say, “Silver or lead, bitch!”. My response to violence, while not constructive, is nevertheless typical. When violence is funny to us, then often that means our response is a defense mechanism (or contraption, if you prefer).

We laugh because with so much bloody, heart-wrenching nonsense going on in the world, we just don’t feel like crying about some guy getting his ass shot off fifteen minutes into the movie.

Copyright 2005. . .galaxyMafia will continue to laugh whenever some dumb fugger gets clocked in the face with a bag of hot nickels! (Unless it's Eddie Cibrian. . .then she will be dismayed and damaged!)

Bland. James Bland.

Ask any slack-jawed Joe Schmoe Podunk yokel who his favorite James Bond actor is and he’ll lie and say, “Sean Connery”. And sure, you might be inclined to believe that Neanderthal. After all, it don’t get no cooler that Connery saying, in that frothy Scottish burr, “Bond. James Bond.”

Well. . .actually, it does get cooler. My favorite Scottish burr comes from that miser Scrooge McDuck who uttered such classics like, “I canna find m’lucky dime!”. Heck, I even like his arch-nemesis, that devious Flinthart Glomgold! Go “Ducktales”! It’s ya birthday!

The point is, even though Connery isn’t my favorite Bond (I’ll get to that later), there was something cool and iconic about Connery’s Bond, and that’s why people always say he’s their favorite Bond. Truth is, he’s the only damn Bond they can remember!

Now, after firing Pierce Brosnon (you remember him, doncha? You know, Steel. Remington Steel.), MGM and the powers that be behind the Bond franchise are slapping us in the face with another damn Bond that we’ll quickly forget.

His name is Daniel Craig (isn’t there some rule about never trusting men with two first names?) and he has the irrevocably absurd distinction of being the first blond Bond.

So, first we had Connery, and there was never any doubt as to what was under that kilt baby! A Walther PPK! Okaaay!!!!!!

Then we had that guy that nobody remembers, George Lazenby.

Then came Roger Moore, all one-liners and one night stands.

Then came my favorite: Timothy Dalton. Granted, I probably liked him the best because he was tall as fudge but I did like his performances. And interestingly, his performance was, I recently read, the closest to the way that Ian Fleming wrote Bond. Now, if you ignoramuses would bother cracking open a book or doing some research, you’d find that Mr. Fleming didn’t intend for Bond to be some jig-head poon hound. He was to be a serious agent serving Her Majesty, damnit!

Then came the Irishman, Brosnon, who’s Bond was a cheap mixture of Connery’s and Moore’s. He was a-shootin’ and a-screwin’, and usually at the same damn time. To give Brosnon his props, the Irishman did rather well as Bond, serving up a nice helping of cheddar for MGM and the Broccoli crew (who produce the franchise) however, he faced stiff competition from another pistol-packing, karate-chopping, car-chasing action anti-hero: Bourne. Jason Bourne.

Matt Damon took over as Jason Bourne, a role created in the land of TV mini-series by Richard Chamerlain, and although I am loathe to say it, Matt did a damn good job as the apathetic amnesiac assassin. Even though the Bourne movies lack the intricate and highly improbable plotting that is present in the Robert Ludlum novels on which they are based, these current screen adaptations are excellent, spy vs. spy at its best.

Now, here is what I think you should do. If you want to know how this darker, grittier, edgier, more character driven Bond will be then just go out and rent the Bourne movies. My guess is that Daniel Craig and the producers will use Matt Damon’s performance in the Bourne Identity as a paradigm.

In the Bourne movies, Matt Damon’s Jason Bourne is a trained killer but, and this is the most important thing, he had flaws. Serious flaws. Like, “he can kill a man with a folded newspaper and he doesn’t know why” flaws. Damon portrays Bourne with an apathetic pathos; he’s full of melodrama and histrionics and yet he can smother those raging emotions. He doesn’t exactly cry into his pillow at night but the point is, you get the feeling that he wants to, and that’s why you feel his pain, man, that’s why you want him to kick ass and take names. Even if he is Matt “punk-ass” Damon and as such does not deserve the level of box office success that he’s achieved with this franchise.

(You must excuse galaxyMafia. . .she has to take a moment to have a apoplectic fit: It should have been Ben Affleck as Jack Ryan, damn it! It should have been Ben with the big box office paper!)

Recently, an online article had this to say about Daniel Craig:
“. . .Craig radiates a magnetic, volatile screen presence. If this is how he plays Bond, then the new 007 will be one steely, ballsy son-of-a-bitch. . .”

Promises, promises. . .

Craig as the new Bond promises to be all hard and soft at the same time, sort of like a ‘smore. The producers are promising that we’ll find out what makes Bond who he is, what shaped and molded him, and what gave him texture. They promise that we’ll discover why he likes his martinis “shaken, not stirred” (which will be some explanation that won’t be as clever as the writers hope it will) and why he prefers one night stands (um, could it be because he’s a cold-hearted horny misogynistic bastard, perhaps. . .?). They even promise (Lord willing, if the crick don’t rise!) that James will (collective gasp) FALL IN LOVE. Can’t you just heart Nat crooning now? “When I fall in love. . .it will be forever. . .”

Nevertheless, all their promises sound to me like a whole lot of sound and fury signifying nothing (now, was that a Shakespeare or a Faulkner literary allusion, you ask? Well, it’s up to you! What’s that. . .? Never heard of Faulkner? Don’t understand Shakespeare. . .? Hmmm. . .pity).

The long and short of it is, this new blond Bond is a huge mistake and not just because of the hair color (I mean, can’t you see all the blond Bond jokes. . .comedy writers are rejoicing as I type this!). We who love and embrace and stroke and pet the Bond franchise don’t want some darker, grittier, edgier Bond. We don’t want to get dragged into Bond’s melodramatic pathos. We don’t want to know hurts him, what demons hound him, what atrocities have broken his heart. It’s a trip we don’t want to take and I say we act like petulant three-year-olds and refuse to get in the damn car! We don’t really want to know why he likes his martinis shaken (he just does, and we’re okay with that), and we don’t care why he’s a fervid slut puppy (he just is and that’s cool with us). We don’t want the mysteries of James Bond solved. We just want him to chase the bad guys, get the girl and spew a lot of lame ass double entendre along the way.

Let Matt Damon as Jason Bourne handle the pathos. James Bond will take care of the p*ssy!!

One thing I know is this: When the new, gritty Bond comes to the big screen in the form of Daniel Craig, I shall not be there.

All I can say is. . .

Bye. James Bye.

copyright 2005. . .mafia. GalaxyMafia likes her martinis neither shaken nor stirred and longs for the days when she would come home from school and watch "DuckTales". . .(sigh). . .oh, Unca Scrooge!!!!! I hardly knew ye!