It is better, I'm sure, that you think it is. You will like it more than you think you will. Unless of course you already think you're going to like it quite a bit, if you know what I mean. You are thinking that you certainly hope it is very good, nudge nudge, eh, wink, chortle, devilish grin, a naughty wink, chuckle under your breath and don't tell the missus. Well, then, it won't be so good, for you.

Actually, it will. It will be better than you think, eventually, in the long run. Like when you are a child, and you want the chocolate cake, you must have the chocolate cake, you will die without the chocolate cake. You say, "Mom! Chocolate cake! I must have it! I must! I need it, really, I need it, I will die, I will die right here in front of you, I will die and rot away and rot all over the carpet if I don't get the chocolate cake, and then not only will I be dead but there will be a mess and all for want of chocolate cake you won't even have me around to clean it up! Mom! I must have it! You don't understand! It's not like when you were my age, when the Pharaohs ruled Egypt. Chocolate cake is like oxygen to my people. Do you want me to suffocate, mother? Do you want me to gasp and wheeze? I will! I will gasp! And wheeze! Please, please, please give me the chocolate cake, I'm dying without it, oh, my leg, it's going numb, I'm having an upside-down heart-attack, Are you happy now? A little flour, an egg maybe, a bit of milk, some cocoa, and that's all, warm it up a bit, but no, you'd rather see my heart explode and leap out of my chest and scream around the room, like a crazy person, blood, lots of it, tons, gallons even, spraying all over the place. My leg, mother! It's- yes, I can feel it- it's fallen off! Completely! The only thing holding it up is my pants! My pants are full of leg and if you give me chocolate cake maybe, just maybe, maybe I can learn to walk again. Oh, the darkness. It's getting so dark. Mother, mom, are you there? Hello? Fading, can't hear, numb, only my taste buds can save me, the last of the five senses to survive, how ironic, must have the chocolate cake, need the chocolate cake." But you don't get it and you grow up skinny and fit and in the long run have enough muscles to save people in a war. See? In the long run, it is a better movie.

I told the people at work about it. "Spice World. Great film. A must see. Pay full price, stand in line if you have to, take a few friends, take your dear old mom, she'll thank you for it, sing your praises, forego your siblings and heir you everything, you won't regret it, two thumbs up, five stars, stayed for the credits, can't wait for it on videotape, passion, drama, comedy, suspense, got it all, good soundtrack, nice wardrobe, sound editing, good lighting, nice production, decent direction, looking forward to the sequel, do not consume after July 15, see store for details, void where prohibited, some restrictions may reply."

They all just stared at me.

So I stared back. Mostly at Lisa. She looks just like the curly haired, one, what do you call her, "Scary Spice." Real name: Mel C. I've memorized all their names. Lisa looks just like Mel C, I think it's the eyes, and although I am one hundred percent fat-free certain that Lisa wouldn't get her tongue pierced from a million dollars and a date with Tom Cruise, Scary Spice has got a pierced tongue, so I can fantasize.

"Yeah, right," she said.

"It is. I saw. I know. I'm a connoisseur."

Bill harumphed. Unfortunately for Bill, he sort of looks like the busty one, Ginger Spice. Geri is her real name. She's the one who allegedly wouldn't bow to the queen because she was afraid her bosoms would fall out of her dress. The hate groups and the neonazis and the krishnas said it showed a real lack of respect. Well. If you ask me, nothing says "I have no respect for you" then bending over and letting your knockers jump out all over the place. I say Geri showed real wisdom and decorum. Unfortunately for Bill, his resemblance to Geri stops at the bosoms and gets nowhere near wisdom and decorum. Bill obviously had too much chocolate cake as a child. Sad. Also, I am a monkey's uncle, or, Bill had already seen the film and was not pleased with it's lack of chocolate cake, if you catch my drift and get my meaning.

"Don't make those noises at me, Bill, you titty-boy."

Bill turned red and stomped away. Lard ass. I saw Megan, beauuuutiful Megan, staring at me with her eyes wide and her mouth agape.

"Stanley! I've never seen you so. so."

Megan, ah, yes, hmm, yes yes yes, Megan. Lisa is nice, yes, when it's late at night and the TV reception is poorly and you're lying there wondering what to think about till sleep sneaks up and gets you. But Megan- gosh- looks one hundred and twenty seven percent just like the sophisticated one, Posh Spice, named Victoria. Posh wears little black Gucci dresses, and Megan wears these flower-print sundresses down to her ankles that make a man need a saliva transplant. Ye Gods, talk about your chocolate cake, ice cream, glass of milk, and two tickets to the circus. (That's a metaphor).

"So 'stand up for myself'? Well, I won't have good art insulted by Bill's nose, I won't."

Megan said nothing. She just stared at me. So I stared back.

Then Sporty Spice, Mel B., walked in. That's Dave, the homosexual. No one knows for certain that he is homosexual, least of all David, but he tries to make up for his high voice and swaying hips by always wearing track suits and sweating a lot. It doesn't really work, but he can do more pushups than any woman here where we work, so he seems satisfied.

"My my. Gaze much?" he said, lisping.

"Bitch." Megan said after him as he walked by. I didn't look at his ass, but I could tell he was really working it, with my peripheral. Which is ironic, because as much as David reminds me of Mel B., she's the one that seems the least feminine.

"So have you seen it yet, Megan?" Saying her name to her takes way more- pardon my Spanish- cajones than I've probably got, but, man, that film changed me, I think.

"No, and I really wasn't planning on it, but."

Emma giggled. Emma looks nothing like Emma, AKA Baby Spice. Baby's a real doll, all blond hair and pigtails and a sweet little girl smile and lollipops and when she wears her hair up you think she's finally gone through puberty and thank god, you were starting to feel somewhat like a real perv-o. But Emma looks like she went through puberty and back out the other end a few hundred years ago, and is constantly losing her false teeth in the break room sink, and forgetting about them there, until you come along and find them and wonder how anything that gray and gnarlish can ever hope to approximate the look of having ever been part of someone's face. She sits behind Lisa, tries not to droll on her desk, and gets paid about a bazillion dollars an hour because she has so much seniority, even if Jesus Himself worked here she'd get the promotion before he would. (That's a bad joke).

But thank god it was Emma who giggled, because if it was anyone else Megan might have realized who she was talking to and said something about her washing her hair or cleaning her cat or killing her poor dead grandfather instead of yes when I said, "Would you like to give it a try? My car can fit exactly two people."

So know you can see what I mean by biscuits and applesauce, can't you? Megan and I have seen seventeen movies together since then, including Sphere, Desperate Measures, G.I Jane (rented that one) and Little Big Man (Megan owns a copy) and she even called Bill titty-boy once when he harumphed after she told me how much she enjoyed making pilaf in my apartment. And I owe it all to Mel C., Geri, Mel B., Emma, and Victoria. Ah yes, Victoria, my sweet Victoria, certainly, and how, yes sir, right away sir, without a doubt sir, numero uno, top of the line, made in china, contains no chloroflorocarbons, filmed before a live studio audience.