Farewell, Mr. Bond...

We can continue the ongoing argument about the best James Bond another day. (Because deep down, we all know it's really Timothy Dalton.) Today is about Sir Roger Moore.

Roger Moore had to work for it.  He wasn't handed an Aston-Martin in the Bahamas, outfitted with the Q options package.  He picked up an AMC Hornet in Bangkok, FLEW it to Phang Nga Bay, and out dueled Scaramanga (and his golden gun, AND Tattoo). Then, Moore stole Scaramanga's girlfriend! 

Look, anyone can seduce Urusula Address on a beach in Jamaica. (OK...OK...Almost anyone.) No, Roger Moore instead had his hands full with a jewell smuggler named Octopussy.

Moore's James Bond coaxed state secrets from Russian spies with his pure sexual magnetism. He didn't hand them out to visiting diplomats like boxes of Presidential M&M's on a West Wing tour.

Roger Moore was the most refined superhero through history's least dignified (most shag-carpeted, lava-lamped, plush-veloured, Eddie-Sutton-hair-permed) decade. For those reasons, and many Moore, we will gather today and pour out vodka martinis -- shaken not stirred -- for the man that first personified Shag-a-Dellic.

JJ's Beer Garden -- 4:30 to 6:30
3615 Steele Blvd,

So, we agree that James Bond probably wouldn't go to a beer garden. Unfortunately, the only bar in Fayetteville with the same name as an actual bar Bond frequented is, by state regulation, BYOB. Plus, it's a great day for drinking outside.