Heads Up, Tails Down: Pats & Celts

DATELINE:  Twilight Zone Meets Jaws

With an ice storm on the horizon in Boston, the two championship franchises, the Celtics and the Patriots, were also out of town and out of luck. Every great team has its up and downs.

After our ill-timed braggadocio, life gave us a cold slap in the face with ice pellets. Alas, it was too cold to make lemonade out of the fiasco that befell the Patriots and Celtics on Monday night.

We could not imagine these were the same teams that had been so impressive game after game. What on earth happened to the bright lights?

Miami and Chicago laid the expected victors a harsh dose of reality. No one is perfect, not even Bill Belichick or Brad Stevens.

If ever there was a night for Tom Brady to yell at Josh McDaniels this was it. If ever there was a night for Jaylen Brown to keep wearing his goggles, this was it.

Alas, Brown discarded his glasses and Tom Brady made nice with Josh.

When Jayson Tatum is unable to hit three-pointers and Tom Brady throws an interception and only has a handful of passing yards in the first half, you have crossed through the looking glass. In this case, it’s the mirror Tom Brady broke.

The Chicago Bulls are the worst team in the NBA, and the Miami Dolphins are the toughest opponents the Pats ever face in Miami. Brady has his worst record in 18 years against the Dolphins.

We have to admit the Patriots were without Gronk, who was suspended, and the Celts were without Kyrie Irving who needed some rest.

No matter where Boston fans turned, they were on the edge of the Outer Limits.

Both teams, known for their defensive finesse, showed it wasn’t their night. It was reminiscent of On the Waterfront, when Brando’s boxer complained his brother told him to lose, “It wasn’t my night!”

At half-time we were ready to become fair weather fans for our two teams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monday Night Football, Basketball, and Ancient Aliens

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Jaylen Brown’s 3-D Vision

DATELINE: Celtics Find Clark Kent in Green Lantern

clark kent

Don the Goggles!  He doesn’t need a cape. And you can no longer spit in his eye.

Jaylen Brown may have had an eye infection from his contact lenses this week. However, his solution is not just sterilized: it’s made of plexiglass.

Yes, Jaylen has found his personality. He will henceforth wear goggles. This gives him an edge as an all-star and Celtics legend.

The man who wouldn’t be photographed in glasses will now appear in wrap-around goggles. Brown insists he can see better than ever. In fact, the goggles give him “3-D vision,” in his own words.

Heavens, and we thought all of us had 3-D vision, born with at least one superhuman quality.

This new asset of Jaylen may not be confused with X-ray vision or infra-red vision, or other superhero attributes.

Whatever, Jaylen played like Superman in his new regalia. If Kyrie can wear a clear mask, then Jaylen does one better than superstars of yore in basketball.

Yes, Brown has channeled his inner Kareem Abdul Jabbar.

In his new personae as The Celtics Green Lantern, it would seem that Brown may look more like Sponge Bob than Kareem. He may have more ability to see than Madame Acardi facing Blithe Spirit.

Whether the goggles give him a true extra set of eyes remains to be seen.

Move over, Clark Kent. The intellectual Brown now appears to be smarter than Smart and flashier than Beyonce.

Will the bespectacled Brown take the permanent role of superhero with the brown eyes under glass?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trump, Moore Chased by Frankenstein Monster

 

Trump, Moore Chased by Frankenstein Monster

DATELINE:  Trump Rally at Castle Frankenstein

 trump rally

Called Frankenstein by Trump, Al Franken is now going to run amok in the world of sexual harassment. The monster will turn on the Republicans.

A confused mob once gathered outside the Castle Frankenstein. They look suspiciously like Trump rally supporters who are confused by sexual harassment charges.

Franken‘s resignation is the worst possible news for Trump and his senatorial selection, Roy Moore.

By resigning, Al Franken has the sweet revenge of saying he is leaving the Senate to make America great again.

In the moment Trump or any Republican criticizes or celebrates Franken‘s resignation, he is dead in the water. After the sexual harassment charges against Trump and Moore, those two political hacks come across as lesser men for not having the integrity to resign, let alone offer a mea culpa.

As a result, you may have noticed that President Trump has stopped tweeting about Frankenstein. The monster has him by the throat. The first thing Trump says about it may be the last.

The worm has not yet turned on Trump. It will. He, McConnell, Hatch, and other senators who allow child molesters into the Senate for political purposes and expediency are hypocrites of the first-order without any redeeming morality as a shield.

Women who continue to support these men are either mentally ill or so cowed by their low self-esteem that they have no respect for honesty.

Trump created a Frankenstein Monster and now it is about to throttle him.

Say It Ain’t So, Gronk!

DATELINE: Rematch With the Pats & Bills Coming Soon!

say it ain't so

The good-natured bon vivant Gronk has transformed suddenly from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.

Beloved by children, and deemed safe for children, he has now taken on the mantle of being dangerous and locked away from those supporters. He may find himself the object of parental controls on the cable remote.

On top of all this, he may lose $2 million in bonus payments under his Patriot contract.

Whether coffee chain, Drunken Dognuts will keep him as a spokesperson may be a bigger issue now on the breakfast table and a test of Gronk’s viability and survivability.

We do not believe he has reached the Kevin Spacey level where he will be CGI removed from future Patriot games, but Belichick may give him more distance in the off-season.

Gronk’s new sudden unpopularity may win him an endorsement from President Trump, a man who likes crypto-Nazis who go against the grain. He has now membership in the ICE-colored storm troopers of Trump.

In an age of racially charged tension, Gronk has gone from the great white hope to a man with a black hearted soul. He has become another white man assaulting a black man. He goes to the top of the Most Wanted List by Black Lives Matter with one pile driving splash.

Gronk has always had carte blanche from the Patriots, and they like to paint themselves as the victims of every scandal.

Like his best friend and teammate Tom Brady, Gronk is challenging the legal determination. Unlike his friend Brady, Gronk has already and quickly admitted his guilt.

Confession maybe good for the soul, but it may not help with followers on Twitter, Facebook, and other childish social media.

Gronk has always been perceived as a big dumb lout, but fun and likable. He has now crossed for thin red line in a year in which football fans are dropping like flies over trivia.

Like the NFL version of Scrooge, Gronk has given a concussion to another player during the season of giving. He’s liable to find himself the recipient of many unhappy returns.

 

Patriot Volcanoes Erupt in Buffalo

DATELINE: Tom & Gronk Blow Up

 Everyone expected the Pats to blow away the new Buffalo Bills. Never did we expect to see Tom Brady and Gronk give twin eruptions. It was as if Twin Peaks suddenly had two live volcanoes.

First, step by step, Niagara Falls may be Gronk’s hometown where hundreds of fans are there just to see him, but a funny thing happened during the game. Gronk fell off the high wall and may well be suspended for a game.

All that practice with the WWE has paid off: unsportsmanlike conduct welled to the surface after Gronk was slandered, hazed, libeled, and picked on, by the various Buffalo defenders. In a fit of pique, Gronk blew his top like Mt. St. Helens.

It was a landslide to see, but likely will cost the parsimonious Gronk a few bucks—and give him a week to rest up before he faces the dreaded Pittsburgh Steelers in a marquee bout.

As for Tom Brady, he blew up on the sidelines at his closest non-playing pal on the team: his offensive coach Josh McDaniels. Apparently, Josh made an off-hand comment that was indeed offensive to Brady.

The slow burn turned into a curse-laden tirade. Babe and Tommy sat slightly apart from the rest of the quarter and ignored each other. Usually you could not fit a piece of paper between them as the pored over the iPad replays tete-a-tete.

Second half someone must have sent roses because Tom was a new man—and the offense had new life. Though Brady had no touchdowns for the rest of the game, he was talking to Josh again.

Thank heavens. We deplore domestic violence and don’t want to see trouble in paradise.

Another NFL/Media Conspiracy on Our Reserved Seats

DATELINE:  NFL Flies By Seats of Stadium

Who's There?AP/Chiu

 

As we come down to the home-stretch of the NFL season of 2017, there is an obvious conspiracy afoot, and aseat.

The networks (both cable and airtime) have joined the NFL in deceiving the viewing public.

Though our Commander-in-Chief thinks he is smartly pointing out that football ratings are down because of kneeling football players, he once again has missed the key point:  there are fewer people at the actual games. The seats are empty.

Where once there were screaming throngs and sell-outs at every game across the NFL, there are now many teams faced with the embarrassing lack of din from supporting fans. The lung power of screams of support have turned to boo-bird calls—but the only way to make crowd noise is to fill the stadium with fake sounds.

Now, New England fans may not know what we are talking about. Their stadium at Foxboro is always filled. Indeed, Pat fans know no decline in support. They now are showing up at visiting stadiums where the home crowd is supporting the visiting Patriots. No wonder opponent team owners salivate when the Pats show up: it’s guaranteed revenue. Empty seats disappear.

No wonder the owners are happily taking their teams abroad. In London or Mexico City, language is no barrier to paying fans filling up every seat.

NFL Red Zone doesn’t have to avoid crowd shots of the stadium in a foreign land. Just the needed field goal kicks show the ball flying over empty seats as it hits the net for 3 points. The visual impact is that the viewers realize they are more alone than you might have thought.

Whether Trump is right that the politics of players and the national anthem issue have driven away fans is debatable. Perhaps we are just saturated by games of no importance, and seats of great cost.

Your owner greed has cast them into their own Twilight Zone of Red Zone: charging exorbitant prices for a day at the game has now created the effect of Roman emperors sitting in their luxury boxes watching the peons who paid good money for little entertainment.

Don’t get us started on the camera shots of owners, respectfully called “Mr.” billionaire by fawning broadcasters. That’s a conspiracy for another day.

 

 

Matt Lauer: Latest Sexual Outlaw

DATELINE: Boys will be Dogs

Lauer Rabbit Lauer, Lauer, Pants on Fire

Whatever are we to make of NBC firing Matt Lauer for his sexual peccadillo?

We may start to see “Wanted” posters in the Post Office that depict men who are dogs. Come to think of it: most Post Offices already carry pictures of President Trump, the Commander-in-Chief of P***y Grabbers.

Lauer’s crime is singular. Only one accuser has come forward.  We now wonder about all those women co-anchors that Lauer had fired for being difficult.

However, he has gone where others like Moore, Trump, and John Conyers, survived with multiple allegations. Last count had Judge Moore up to 8, Trump up to 13, and Bill Cosby in the stratosphere.

What surprises us is that we always thought of Lauer as rather neutered, like one of the boy-band types like Menudo, for pre-pubescent girls.

If you had asked us to put money down on the chances of Lauer going sex mad, we’d have cruised down the gay side to say he’d be caught with a boy.

It just goes to show that we don’t know who or what we have invited into our living rooms through cable TV. We know the FCC airwaves are polluted and the GOP wants to keep it that way.

Lately we hear that Trump now thinks the tape on which he sexually attacked women’s genitals in his heart is a fake. Tell that to Billy Green Bush who was fired over the contretemps that catapulted Trump into the presidency. Or President Bush, #1, who has two charges against him lately.

Politics makes for strange bedfellows: and most of those are women voters who have no problems with being enticing and seductive. Of course, when Angela Lansbury laments women bringing on their own fate, she is pilloried. Make no accommodations for anyone over 90.

We have pointed out that, once you begin to shoot dogs with fleas, you will have a genocide on your hands.

 

 

Gronk & Turkey in the Straw

DATELINE: Too Many Cooks

 photo by Matt Stonephoto by Matt Stone

As rare as a 1916 Mercury-D dime, the Patriots had an impromptu TD celebration.  And, the star of the show was the only man who would dare to stand up to Head Coach Bill Belichick:  no, not Tom Brady.

It was the inimitable Gronk. He usually spikes the ball with great elan. We have been in awe of the fact that for his entire career, he is the only Patriot with the chutzpah to commit such an act within the view of the Scrooge-like coach.

The NFL has now allowed hare-brained celebrations in the endzone after scoring. We have seen leap frog played. We have seen Oddsmell Beckham doing his dog duty impression. However, no Patriot dared to speak the love of celebration.

We must call attention to the Turkey Trot of Brandin Cooks, who jumped on Gronk’s back and rode the Big Pony back to the sidelines in celebration. We swear that Cooks has a 26-inch waist and weighs less than 185 pounds. For Gronk it was like picking up one of those Victoria Secret models for a magazine cover.

You may have missed Gronk being ridden like Seabiscuit by Brandin Cooks, but Bill Belichick emerged like Godzilla from the depths to spit fire over this so-called celebration.

Since Brady never made him those biscuits for Thanksgiving, Gronk gave us his own version of The Original Biscuit Eater.

Alas, after the game Gronk was not allowed to talk about his venture into the realm of happy feet.  In fact, he admitted that the man who won’t allow office parties at Xmas with x’s and o’s, yelled at Gronk for his display

Don’t expect Gronk to join in any reindeer games this season. He won’t even be allowed to give thanks for a touchdown.

Not only was his nose red after the celebration, but his entire face was red. All the better to see inside the dark and gloomy dog house that Coach Belichick built for such players who go about with a Merry TD on their lips.

If Belichick had his way, such players would be buried in the endzone like Jimmy Hoffa, in cement overshoes up to his eyeballs.

So, the Turkey Trot of Gronk was not cooked up by Cooks in the backroom of the holiday luncheonette. It was spontaneous, but nevertheless, it was verboten.

Keep the NFL Out of Mexico!

 DATELINE: Belichick’s Complaint

Belichick

It was bound to happen after a grueling jet lag victory in Mexico City. The Head Coach of the Patriots, Swami Belichick, found his tongue. We need a wall to keep the NFL out of Mexico.

On a local radio show, upon his return from south of the border, he fired off that it was a long trip and a logistical nightmare, requiring too much manpower—and blatantly unfair to players.

In Oakland, the losers of the game, they dealt with jet lag from Mexico by firing their defensive coordinator. To each his own.

However, implicit in Belichick’s harangue was the fact that the NFL stacked the deck against his championship team. It’s done in the name of parity: you make sure every disadvantage in Roger Goodell’s arsenal is dumped on the best team in the NFL this century—from Deflategate fake news to Montezuma’s Revenge.

Belichick also threw into the mix that they were lucky there were no earthquakes during the game or aftershocks. We had noted earlier in the year that the NFL made no comment after the terrible, tragic earthquake about sending a team into the breach, ready or not.

It is reminiscent of the Trump administration returning temporary immigrant visitors back into places unprepared to house them.

Critics jumped all over Belichick for his ignorance, though we had no problem with saying that a trip to Mexico, with its thin air, was not helpful in preparing for the next game up.

Indeed, Belichick referenced Monday night games as having a similar jet lag issue when travel required cross-country trips. We’d have thrown in Thursday night games as being far worse.

Accusers have a bad habit in this country of being disbelieved and mistrusted. When Belichick accuses the NFL of their bad decisions, it is reminiscent of Alabama candidates for the Senate: as Mr. Trump would tell us, nothing is proven about accusations while he cloaks himself in the flag attacking football players who protest their treatment at the hands of nutcases.

But we digress again: sports is like that in the world of politics. Mexico ought to build a wall to keep out the NFL.

Down with Men

 DATELINE:  All Men are Dogs

ALF

Just today we heard that Senator Al Franken and Sylvester Stallone have joined the sexual assault parade. There isn’t a man to be trusted.

In regard to Man, that generic sexist pig, for years we used to say, “Don’t shoot all the dogs just because one has fleas.”

We now admit that we were wrong. It’s time to shoot all the dogs. They cannot be trusted around women. They cannot be trusted in any kind of polite society. Straight men are Deplorables. Even Trump is one of them.

They should be isolated like some virulent pestilence. Clearly it is time for Amazon society. We don’t mean the buying Internet giant. We mean a society of women without men.

Why, heavens to Betsy, gay men cannot even be trusted around other men. The last month or two has proven the point. Men are dogs. They should be kept in kennels, if not euthanized.

It’s the only way to keep women safe. Even if we put them in prisons, we know they’ll go to their own kind. They are like cannibals. They have voracious sexual appetites.

So sorry to say, women will be better off with women in all leadership positions. Women should have all control over everything related to men. Then, only women will assault other women.

The grand experiment of male domination has now proven to be a complete and utter failure.

Why hang on to the old way? Out with the ganders and in with the geese. Out with the buck and in with the doe.

Castrate the dogs and let the mangy Curs keep to themselves in dog pounds.

Casting Celtics around Batman Kyrie Irving

DATELINE:  Colorblind Mask

 Masked Kyrie Kyrie, Eleison

Kyrie Irving, now playing the Masked Marvel, led the Celtics to their 13th victory in a row. It qualified them to meet the reigning dynasty next in the matchup of the year.

Yes, Golden Boys from California are next on the list to become the Golden Fleece to the Celtics.

Irving won national attention for wearing a mask to his game in New York, not a late Halloween gag, but a medical necessity after a small bone in his face was cracked by a teammate’s elbow. He told Aaron Baynes not to send a fruit basket.

Everyone awaited to see the black mask he wore several years back with Cleveland—but Irving wasn’t in the mood to play the Lone Ranger. Black was out, which seemed ironic, but he explained that the black mask limited his peripheral vision.

Even teammates had to relent: they want a victory and a happy camper in Kyrie, even if he failed the Bruce Wayne as Batman contest.

Fake news expert commentator Brian Scalabrine, redundant in his new fake hair from Dr. Leonard, made the off-hand comment that the NBA had stopped Kyrie from becoming the man in the black iron mask. But, that was untrue. Nor did he wear a high yellow mask for racist Boston fans.

Instead, Irving wore clear plastic with thick black bands. It was not a look or feel he enjoyed, constantly adjusting it and removing it. He even left it on the table before Scalabrine during the game.

Like it or not, Kyrie is the Boston Batman. His Robin is clearly Jayson Tatum, and his Alfred the Butler is the tall drink of water known as Al Horford. Commissioner Gordon Hayward is out with a broken ankle, and Jalen Brown may take on the role as the team joker.

Whatever the facial remedy, short of Tom Brady’s Botox mask, the Celtics went on to victory: setting up the hoop dream as their best team in a decade goes after Steph Curry and Kevin ‘I Don’t Look Good in Green’ Durant.

Alabama: Home of Vixen Lolita Teenagers

DATELINE: Roy Humbert Humbert Moore

Lolita

Actress Sue Lyon as 14-year-old Lolita in 1962

You have to feel sorry for Judge Moore: he was constantly being tempted by a series of Alabama-style Lolita temptresses.

Alabama has once again thrust itself into the laughingstock of the United States. Not since George Wallace tried to block little girls from going to school have we seen such paleo-imbeciles, excepting Jeff Sessions testifying in Congress.

Are they all so backward as Judge Roy Beanbag Moore, the crypto-Nazi who disdains every scandalous sin except his own?

Alabama has thrust itself to the forefront of backward backwoods people—sort of like Afghanistan politics in America.

We knew for sure that you might find someone standing in the doorway, blocking the schools in Alabama, but we never suspected that Judge Moore was sizing up the undergraduate sophomores in the high school as potential “dates.”

Yes, a man who wants to be in the US Senate has a past worthy of a man in the Roman Senate 2000 years ago when emperors and senators could buy teenagers for sex without recrimination.

Alabama might serve as the headquarters for pedophiles in politics. At the least, it is the newly discovered capital of Nabokov’s Lolita-ville.

We did not know it was still possible in Alabama to hold court like a combination of Roman emperors and Ozark hillbillies.

However, Judge Moore has drawn parallels to himself and the Holy Bible. Alas, he missed the point that the man interested in young nubile girls was Herod Antipas—and his intended was step-daughter Salome. Now that might better serve as the metaphor of choice for Moore supporters.

The price this time for victory may be Trump sending Sessions back to the Senate, appointed by the Alabama governor, payment for creating a special prosecutor to investigate and to jail his political enemies. It’s the price of good people doing nothing.

Those paragons of virtue and defenders of morality at Breitbart News have sent undercover operatives to dig up dirt on the accusers, or make up dirt if that is the only other alternative.

We have already recommended Alabama as the Neanderthal’s vision of making America great again. Welcome to the new America that starts to resemble Nazi Germany.

 

 

Time for Kelley Control in America?

DATELINE:  Call to Arms?

 Man with No Name or TB12?   Guns Don’t Kill People

After the latest mass murder by maniac Devin Patrick Kelley, it’s time to institute Kelly Control in America.

There are too many Kellys on the streets of the United States.

We need bump control on Kellys.  We don’t know how many Kellys there really are in Congress, but we know there are a few loose cannons.

Trump should insist that both his White House Kellys be registered. Trump states that there is a mental health problem in the United States–and Kelley represents a lone nutcase. At least one Kelly was known in Homeland Security for a time. Trump should file legislation or an executive order to keep unwanted Kellys from coming into this country from dangerous terrorist nations, like Ireland.

Having a Kelly in your White House is a constitutional right. However, a Kelly in the hands of children or a childish mind could be dangerous. Lock up your Kellys when not in use for hunting.

The White House has several Kellys on the grounds. The danger in America is the Kellys are now in the hands of unstable people, like Mr. Trump. In the hands of the president perhaps two Kellys can be monitored by other morons on the staff, or perhaps two Kellys should be part of the Secret Service detail.

We want to be the first to institute Kelly control in America. We feel the NRA will not oppose it.

Guns don’t kill people. Kellys kill people.

It’s time to ban Kelleys from the media. Any John or Conway can be a Kelly in the hands of the wrong people like Russian colluders.

A Conspiracy of Dunces in the NFL

 DATELINE:  NFL Collusion

3some

Word is now seeping out, as it does like swamp gas, that certain owners of the NFL have received subpoenas for their records of email and phone logs that pertain to conspiracy to defraud a player of his rights.

It seems the lawyers of Colin Kaepernick are charging them with collusion to keep the kneeling QB out of the league. The NFLPA, the union of the players, is trying to stay far away from this radioactive leak.

Why do we think the name of Donald Trump will be invoked sooner than later?  He demanded that players like Kaepernick be “fired” for daring to express their political opinion. By that standard, Trump should have been impeached months ago.

The blowhard President can’t keep his mouth shut about anything remotely not of his jurisprudence, whether it comes to football players protesting police brutality—or keeping mum about a soldier who was charged with desertion or a terrorist who killed innocent people on a bike path.

The nitwit President Pinocchio fails to realize that his words jeopardize justice.  And soon, Kaepernick’s attorney will make mincemeat of the NFL Kollege of Kollusion.

The American public, or at least those with minimal understanding of the US Constitution, will want lynch-mob justice—at the behest of their caped crusader in the White House.

Make no mistake:  Robert Kraft of the Patriots, Jerry Jones of the Cowboys and Bob McNair of the Texans are ripe Trump followers. Their subpoenaed documents will provide better laughs than you might find at a Grand Jury on Russian subterfuge.

That likely means they are ripe for the picking by a shrewd lawyer with the Bill of Rights on his side.

We may soon know what the conversations among billionaire owners of the plantation and their president encompassed. We know it will not raise the level of discourse, nor prove that bright minds are the richest fat cats in the country.

So, we have NFL owners against black players—and a president touting white privilege. When did we lose America? The answer is forthcoming.

 

 

 

 

Yes, Dr. No is Bananas

DATELINE:  First Bond

in Bond bed

Back in 1963, audiences were treated to a new kind of superhero in the person of Sean Connery:  Bond, James Bond.

The film called Dr. No was a departure on many levels from your usual spy/adventure stories. First, this was tongue-in-cheek (sort of) and came out of a series of Cold War novels by Ian Fleming.

As you might expect in this movie, the spies are decidedly low tech: old fashioned telephone banks are everywhere. There are no computers, and MI-5 or 6 communicates by short-wave radio with its agents.

The shocker: Bond has a license to kill and does so with the aplomb of your everyday cold-blooded sociopath. Of course, it’s all done in the name of the Queen and Country.

This movie deals with an independent terrorist organization that calls itself SPECTRE and is motivated mostly by evil and money, whichever is most handy.

The movie is lusciously filmed in Technicolor in Jamaica where Dr. No (Joseph Wiseman), a half-Chinese mad genius, has a nuclear power plant where his workers wear what we’d call Hazmat suits today. Yet, the whole bunch of bananas seems like parody, not far from Get Smart.

Along for the Bond ride in this first Fleming novel on the big screen is Ursula Andress in various states of undress and Jack Lord as the CIA agent (before he went Hawai 5-O on us). Wiseman’s half-Chinese villain has no hands (black prosthetics) and cream-color suits that would make Sydney Greenstreet envious.

Bond is nothing less than promiscuous and rather dangerous, and Connery is perfect as the pre-politically-correct man’s man. Don’t shake that martini. Audiences must have hooted every time that Bond music motif hit the screen. It still tingles.

We particularly like the tarantula put into Bond’s bed and crawling up Connery’s arm and back. Ah, those were the days!