Now, do you remember the time I said "Henry Cavill is going to be Hotty Mc Hot-Hot in the new Superman", and then he was? And didn't I predict that, even with His Royal Reynolds in the starring role, nobody - not even ScarJo - would dare see Green Lantern? Indeed.
That's because I'm usually right as much as James Blunt is just downright irritating. My only recent misfire came off the back of The Lone Ranger.
I'd have bet Jennifer Aniston's first Oscar win on the assumption most cinema-goers wanted their faith in Westerns reinstated after the curdled Cowboys & Aliens (thank Barbara Broccoli you've still got Bond to keep you fed, Daniel Craig).
But boy oh boy - I had more egg on my face than the film had Rotten Tomatoes.
Anyway, last night, I dreamt LA moved more ferociously than Melissa McCarthy mid-drift on a treadmill. A number of tremors struck the city and the whole experience left me how one would feel sitting through Saw then What's Your Number? without taking a break.
It's not even worth thinking about.
So could all of this mean something? Would you say Charlton Heston is trying to speak to me from Hollywood Heaven? Is he looking for me to lead and save the NRA, recite the Bible to my friends, campaign heavily against abortion before catching up for beers with the Bush's?
Because while I'm a staunch Republican who's an alcoholic and totally pro-life - except for when I hunt animals with a machine gun that could possibly make Steven Seagal show emotion - I'm not sure I'm the right gay for the job.
So hang in there for another heathen, Charlie.
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