Alan Moore has really cornered the market on getting paid to write fan fiction.

You cannot hear me chortling, but I assure that I am.

There's nothing "creepy" in Watership Down. It's violent and bloody, but its also a rollicking adventure story. Nothing fucking creepy about it.

I am left with the inescapable conclusion that Roald Dahl did not like children.

Everyone seemed a little bit more themselves this time around. I fear that may have affected my opinion more than the film itself, but it's hard to say. I liked it at any rate.

You and me against the world, mate!

I was like, is it the Assumption, and then I looked it up, and it was the Assumption, and I was like: 13 years of Catholic school not entirely wasted. From a certain point of view.

"Relax, DC geeks. The future of your gritty, ultraviolent mega-franchise is probably secure."

No. Someone gave him the Cliff's Notes version, i.e. Star Wars, a long time ago and it has stayed with him. As well as the rest of Hollywood.

As a stealth New Gods movie, though, it was pretty spectacular.

It would be pretty easy to go high camp and do a Flash Gordon with it.

Sadly enough, me.

Post-apocalyptic wasteland filled with robots and sorcerers and mutants, defended by a monosyllabic Conan with a lightsaber, his Asian sort-of girlfriend, and a giant monkey-cat man. I'm so fucking sold, I'm already in the theater!

Curse my metal body! I wasn't fast enough.

Sometimes you need that guy. Hugh Jackman did a fine job as him in the first X-Men movie, for example.

"The Mads wouldn't send us a snuff movie, would they?"

There's a hyphen: "spider-manity."

It's the ears.

Don't forget the sardonically irreverent "Dybbuk, Schmybbuk, I Said More Ham."

That's true of everything.