Roger Moore, the guy I will always think of when I think of James Bond, died today at the age of 89. Moore was most famous for his role as the British master spy, but he was also in some movie called Ffolkes (I presume pronounced: Fuh-Folks) that always made me think it was a James Bond movie when I saw it in the HBO Book but was actually about guys in wet suits. Sad.
Anyway, the first movie I ever got to see in the theater by myself, which is a tradition my poor social skills has kept alive, was Moonraker. James Bond goes to the moon and also Jaws is there. If you offered me a million dollars to tell you the plot of the movie I would walk away as poor as I am right now, but I do remember there was some anti-gravity lovin’ at the end. I didn’t tell my mom that part when she picked me up afterward. Ahh the good old days. I assume if a kid did that now he or she wounld be a sex slave in no time flat.
Anyway, if you are old enough to remember that there was an HBO book but not old enough (or douchey enough) to think it was Sean Connery, then you know that Roger Moore was the best James Bond. He kicked everyone’s butt despite looking like he was 25 years older than everyone he was fighting (or humping) and seemed like any minute he would stop either activity and say “Well hold on, then; I’m afraid my back’s gone out” in a suave British accent. You will be missed, old uncle Bond.