He used to be one of the coolest people on the planet.He’d pull out his silenced PP7, dash off a witty remark, slam back a martini (shaken, not stirred) and kick some communist ass.

Hell, he was James Bond.

Roger Moore, in my opinion, was the best of the MI6. He wasn’t too hard core, like Sean Connery, nor was he a dork like Timothy Dalton.

Whether or not you agree with this, you have to wonder: what was Roger Moore doing in “SpiceWorld”?

To divulge this information is to admit to having seen the movie. My $5 was part of the $11 million the movie made over Super Bowl weekend, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Okay, I am ashamed.

But poor Roger Moore. He plays the Chief, a mysterious Dr. No-type evil genius who speaks in mixed metaphors and pets a hairless pig. This is the 007 who fought criminals in outer space, for crying out loud.

Now he’s the cryptic boss of the Spice Girls. Double-0-Moore must have fallen on hard times to accept such a flimsy assignment. Bob Hoskins, too. And George Wendt. And that guy that was in “L.A. Story.”

“James,” M says, “there’s a group of notoriously poor performers that are gallivanting around the world setting the standard of British comedy and music. The MI6 spent too much money on Monty Python and the Beatles to allow these women to continue. Your job is to infiltrate and destroy. For England, James.”

“For the world,” Moore must have replied, since this is the only logical scenario I can imagine for the talented British actor.

“SpiceWorld” is incredibly lame. It defies logic. Honestly, there are thousands of outstanding scripts that movie companies option every year that never see the silver screen, but the Spice Girls get a feature film?

What kind of whacked-out society allows this to happen?

The people who went out in hordes and picked up the Spice Girl albums, purchased their T-shirts, ate their specialty brand potato chips and saw the movie. Yes, I suppose I’m part of the madness, unfortunately.

Saying I’ve seen “Spice-World” is to also admit that I know the nicknames of everyone in the group, although I didn’t when I went into the theater. But why are they “Baby,” “Posh,” “Sporty,” “Ginger” and “Scary”? They really should be “Got-Baby-Tattooed-on-My-Ass,” “Lipo,” “Bad Teeth,” “Whore” and “Split-Ends,” respectively.

At least I didn’t watch the television special.

I grow weary of the pop sensation bands that are manufactured by their record labels, sing a couple insanely popular songs, then disappear into the night. It’s clearly only for profit. How else can you explain why Smash Mouth and Matchbox 20 get big contracts when the two groups sound exactly the same?

Ian Fleming must be rolling in his grave. Shaken? Yes. Stirred?

Absolutely.