Sunday, December 16, 2007
You Only Live Once. If you're lucky...
Professor Sir David King the Government's chief scientist singled out women who find supercar drivers "sexy", adding that they should divert their affections to men who live more environmentally-friendly lives.
Christ on a fucking bike. Will the prigs never get to fuck, and leave us normal humans alone?
Bond paused at the top of the short flight of stairs leading from the baccarat tables to the foyer. He could feel the recycled hemp soles of his hand-crafted sandals compressing the thick pile as his gaze tracked back to the door of the powder room. Ignoring the relentless itching of his FairTrade underpants, he remembered the voice of the Community Surveillance Liaison Officer in the quiet briefing room at headquarters,
"She's a hot proposition Bond, sophisticated, likes the good things in life; but now of course we have to deal with these matters in a sensitive way that doesn't affect the environment".
Bond snapped back to the present as the door opened, to reveal the lithe body of his contact, Flapza Kimbo, sinuously walking towards him. He frowned inwardly at the wasteful silk sheathe dress, the diamonds at her elegant throat and at the leather - yes - leather shoes.
"Well Mr. Bond", her voice was a throaty, feline purr, "What did you have in mind?".
His reply came with a sardonic look,
"I hope that perfume wasn't tested on animals",
"Because if it was, it's as bad as wearing those leather shoes",
"An animal died to make those shoes, and how many silkworm were worked to death to make that dress?"
"What the fuck are you on about?".
Despite himself, Bond felt his voice sliding up the scale to the sharp, petulant whine that seemed to have characterised him more and more since abandoning the pungent Morland balkan cigarettes he'd favoured since his teens,
"And don't think we're eating meat tonight. I've booked us a table at 'Cranks', where we can get a really nice mung-bean melange..."
"Every cow produces enough anal methane to gas forty baby polar-bears",
Bond was warming to his theme as they reached the exit from the casino, and stepped into the street. The valet swerved into the kerbside, handing Bond the keys to his car with a barely suppressed smirk. Flapza's face writhed with shock and revulsion,
"I'm not being seen in that bag of bollocks!", she shrilled,
"A SmartCar is the only choice these days. Anyone who drives anything over one litre capacity is a planet murderer"
"Kiss my Chanel-swaddled arse you freak. I'm off!".
Bond watched askanse as his date hailed a black cab and disappeared into the night. He slid behind the wheel of his SmartCar, suppressing a twinge of regret as he remembered asking 'Q' what gadgets MI6 had installed,
"Gadgets? What the fuck? Are you mental Bond? there was barely enough room for a fucking cup holder. Gadgets my arse. Just bugger off out of it!".
Bond pulled into the traffic with a sigh. Sometimes it seemed that life had been less complicated once upon a time.