18 November 2005

What the Hell do people see in Bond?

“Who’d you rather be at a party with?” I ask. “James Bond, or an Evil Scientist?”

“Bond!” Is the inevitable reply, from both women and men (and not necessarily gay men either. Sheesh!)

Gentlemen, do you notice how all the ladies are flocking around him? What’s left for you? Ooo, the vegetable tray?* How about another light beer, you lonely loser, hmmmm?

Ladies, he’s slept with more women than Genghis Khan. He’s like a dog with two peckers. For Pete’s sake, when you Google “STD vectors” he’s on the top of the damn list! Do you have to worry about catching the clap from Evil Scientists?

HELL, NO! Let’s face it, we are nerds and don’t get out much. We’re clean as a whistle. (Go ahead, give it a blow!)

Furthermore, the man’s a lush. “Vodka Martini, dry, shaken, not stirred.” Jesus wept! Why doesn’t he just do a grain alcohol enema? How often do you see Evil Scientists getting obnoxiously tanked and puking all over your stereo, hmmm? No more than three or four times a year, I assure you, and that’s usually at office parties.

Money; weellll, don’t get me started. He’s got a lousy civil service salary. We’ve got our own islands, space stations, third world countries and extinct volcanoes. Who’s going to be able to by you diamonds,hmmmm, ladies? Not “Pretty boy”, that’s for sure!

Guns? We’ve got orbital death rays and machine gun wielding goons, he’s got a lousy Walther PPK .380 poodle shooter. To hell with the thrice-damned, ammunitionally challenged, slattern hounding, poverty stricken, arse-fiddling wanker!

Uh, right. Well. I’m, ah, glad we sorted that out.

Um, er…

I, ah, seem to have both weekend nights free.

So, does anyone know of a party?

(*No, I was not referring to Karen Ann Quinlan, you sick bastards.)

And that's the way I likes it.