I apologize to the hairdressers, who come by their poncyness (poncitude? poncitudinousness?) honestly.

Please, Jeebus, let this be the end. Five movies of Johnny Depp prancing around like a poncy hairdresser is more than the world deserves.

What JL looks like these days:

I don't care who the next Bond is, but I'd love to see one who's gender-fluid and/or pansexual.

We don't need to invite Rosie O'Donnell to the national argument, nor should she participate at the level at which she's been campaigning so aggressively to be allowed to play.

I can't wait to see these magnificent cunts on the big screen.

I grew up listening to Carole King on the radio and until I saw her on the Tapestry album cover I could have sworn she was black.

Beyond the stupid overuse of lens flare from the first two movies, one hopes.

A one-trick pony of an actor, appointing himself as the arbiter of what's best for a demographic he doesn't belong to? Yeah. That. Give me lots of THAT.

I don't believe you can reduce the essence of CALVIN AND HOBBES to the single embodiment of a lonely child's voice; while that voice does figure prominently throughout the life of the strip, it's only one voice, added to a splendid cacophony of voices- all of them unique, yet all of them recognizable.

Johnny Depp and crew: you are a sniveling collective of poncey, window-licking twat-waffles.