We open with totally-the-U.N., where Swedish Thatcher Impersonator is channelling spirits and her friend is sad because nobody could think of a country for him to be from.
Then somebody plugs a detonator into United Kingdom's translation socket and kills him with zipping noises THIS IS NOT HOW ANYTHING WORKS DAMNIT
Don King's more subdued brother is quietly amused.
Oh FFS again with the voodoo. Fleming clearly had a bad experience on a Caribbean holiday at some point...
Say what you like about this blood-crazed houngan of the darkest rites of West Africa, dude loves him a SpiritHood and a plastic snake. Look at his little face!
"Bit unsubtle isn't it Mr Broccoli?"
"No, no, they're TRIBAL boobs. That makes it educational, like National Geographic."
Most. Metal. Bond Titles. Ever.
"Miss Smith, I hope you've learned why we don't give paint pens to Class 3B."
"007, I hope those fleshy slapping noises I hear are somehow related to professional espionage work!"
Bond is struck by the sudden realisation that Moneypenny is leafing through his collection of German dungeon porn.
Much like cats, neglected Bond Girls tend to relieve their frustrations in the nearest pair of shoes.
Ah, the machismo of the Seventies...gold medallions, hairy chests and cars that looked like a heavily chromed replica of the Hammersmith Apollo.
Maybe it's irrational but something about these sideburns just makes me think they'd be going in your sandwich all the time...
Best thing about movies set in 70s New York: Spotting all the rough, tough ghetto muhfuhs who learned how to enunciate at Julliard ^_^
Lest you think they call him Tee Hee because he's a softie, you should probably be aware that that's his wanking hand.
Somebody should really tell Mr Big that his cunning disguise looks like Zaphod Beeblebrox fucked a clumsily made waxwork of Prince :/
Years of dealing with Axl Rose have aged his lead guitarist to a tragic extent.
Solitaire finds Time Lord fashion choices a little too subtle and functional.
Enough nonsense for one evening, I think. Goodnight folks, Tee Hee wishes you sweet dreams.
Come, Tee Hee! Let us wrap this nonsense up!
We rejoin Bond as he stubbornly refuses to obey the No Smoking sign or put his seat in the upright position.
..and cunningly disguises himself as an Action Man to hover undetected in the nighttime skies.
Meanwhile, confusingly in full daylight...
This deadly attack technique does require the target to stand completely motionless and not look over his shoulder, but repays the effort by being fooking hilarious.
007's darkest secret is revealed: He moonlights as Madame Felicity on weekends.
In contrast to his more rough, brutal forebears, the latest Bond's seductive look merely conveys "Hehe. You've got a butt."
That long, doubtful moment after you try Charizarding for the first time.
Most sinister flautist 1973.
Sideburns Cabbie is now mysteriously in New Orleans. Maybe it's irrational but something about these sideburns just makes me think they'd be going in your Po' Boy all the time...
HOLY SHIT! Secret origin of Maz revealed!
Pauses snark for a moment...
Goddamn but that's an amazing shot ^_^
Tee Hee's side job at Butlin's doesn't pay like organised crime, but he does it for the love.
Knowing there might be some risk of uncertainty, Mr Big helpfully points out where the boobies are located.
Even Mr Big isn't immune from the lure of picking at a sunburn.
Mr Big is fond of showing off his experimental golf club, but honestly it's done nothing for his short game and has already crippled half a dozen caddies.
Then Smokey and the Bandit broke out, just in case anybody was at risk of staying on their tractor.
The Generic Voodoo Islanders' Fetlife account lists "Stripey Wooden Poles" under both "Into" and, oddly, "Watching Others Wear".
Forget James and Domino, the real romance here is between Goat Houngan and Green Plastic Snake. I ship them as GrePlaSnoGan.
Good Lord goat dude has been doing his squats. Green Plastic Snake obviously likes some toned voodoo booty.
This went to a weird place.
A look that says less "I am ridden by the dread loa Baron Samhadi, lord of death" and more "I fell asleep in the liquid latex tent at Burning Man and some bastards decorated me."
Mr Big may have overlooked something.
DAMNIT THIS IS NOT HOW COMPRESSED AIR WORKS EITHER
As climactic battles go it's fine, but it's no flaming-kebab-death-meringue-explosion-medallion-strangling-testicle-judo-battle :/
G'night folks xx
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