SPECTRE: The Unofficial Novelisation

[Kristatos]

Well, nobody else has started this, so I call first dibs.

CHAPTER ONE: THE FIRST CHAPTER*
Jameson Bournd stalked into the room like a panther. On hearing a sound, he instinctively swivelled around, pulling his gun. He heard a disembodied voice say "Luvvie, darling, that was a beautiful move, but I'm afraid it rather clashes with the gunbarrel sequence. Looks like I'm going to have to put it somewhere else in the film again".

Ignoring these directions, he pursued his prey. The sights, sounds and smells of Tangiers filled his senses as he saw a bulky figure jump from the first-floor window to the ground beneath. He quickly grabbed onto a carpet that was hanging nearby and used it like a zipwire to propel himself to the street below, causing Victor Tourjansky to drop his bottle again. "This never happened to the other feller" Bournd smirked, as he dropped to the ground. "well, it did, but they cut the scene".

Just then, he saw the bald-headed man he was pursuing duck into an alleyway. He ran after him, and saw him run into a building at the other end. Slightly out of breath, he followed him in, only to trip over his unconscious body in the doorway. Looking around, he saw that the room was filled with books, people reading the books, and a familiar figure holding the weapon that had knocked out his quarry.

"I thought you could use a little help", chuckled Bournd's old enemy.
"You! What are you doing here?", Bournd exclaimed.

For there, in the library, with a candlestick, stood Mr White.

*="An ingeniously minimalist title, true to the spirit of Flemming, that boldly conveys the intent of this chapter" - The Internet

[Kristatos]

Just me, then, or does anyone else want to have a go?

[dirtybenny]

I'm down, let's see how I can screw it up (in a good way)

Bournd stood there shocked, sweating in his new suit which he had just bought from the boy's department of the local shopping mall. Sure it was 15 sizes too small but that made it all the more stylish and the price was right.

"Here" Mr. White said handing Bournd a book entitled "On Her Majesty's Secret Service". "Thought this might be of assistance".

"Wot's dis?" Bournd grunted. "Looks like somfing one of dem poncy nerds use to get smaaat"

"It's a book you dunce, this is a library, it's full of them. Maybe you should give it try, I think you'll find it illuminating" White replied.

"Naw I touch use dem fings" Bourn snarled, "Dey's for chumps"

"Smarten up you idiot, this is what we're ripping off, I mean making an homage to in this plot!"

Just then the unconscious man Mr. White had laid out began to stir...

[Capt. Sir Dominic Flandry]

Chapter 3: The Shadow Magnet

The unconscious man stirred. He looked warily at Mr White.

"Who do you think you are, bleedin Colonel Mustard".

Bournd gave a grunt from his cruel waxwork mouth.

"Who are you?" said Bournd

"Mr White" replied White

"not you you berk" said Bournd

The man on the floor rose to his feet and rubbed his smooth face with what Bournd thought were nancy boy hands.

"My name is..........Farquar Blancmange of the Belgium security service."

Bournd decided to have a coffee from the library coffee machine.

"I'll have a cappacino"

"certainly" said the librarian, then - somewhat bizarrely - slowly gave Bournd a rundown of the ingredients: "milk....hot water....two spoonfuls of sugar.....a hint of nutmeg.....ginger...."

Bournd raised his cup to his tangerine coloured visage just as the library electricity was cut....

[Blowfeld]

Just me, then, or does anyone else want to have a go?

Count me in! :d

Be a day before I can try my hand at it.

[dirtybenny]

Chapter 4: Lead up to titles, brought to you by Heineken


Suddenly the stillness of the pitch black room was shattered by a loud sound. Slluuuurrrppp, then PPPPPPPSSSSSSSSHHHHH

The lights came back with a flash to reveal a stunned Librarian covered in coffee.

"Oy!" exclaimed Bournd. Whats tis! I ordered a CAPychino not a CRAPychino!

The Librarian still shocked stammered, "Sir, I assure you that was one fine cappuccino, we've won best cappuccino of the north eastern Tangiers three months straight.

To this the Belgian sarcastically muttered to himself, "quite a feat indeed".

Bournd threw the cup to the ground causing it to explode in to dust with a crash. "Look mate jus and me down one ov dem" he said gruffly pointing to a large vulgar green and red beer advert hanging behind the counter.

"Oh I see" said the clerk looking over Bournd's left shoulder as if to address an invisible audience. "You want a Heineken, that golden dutch elixir ."

The clerk sauntered over to the refrigerated cabinet to collect the drink but not before donning white curator's gloves to gently and carefully remove the bottle from the case. The clerk handled the bottle of swill as if it were a priceless Ming vase and set it before Bournd, who put it up to his mouth and wrenched the cap off with his teeth and spat it to the ground.

Bournd gently placed the open bottle to his libs and took a long luxurious draught, with that one health swig he emptied the bottle of half of it's contents. Bournd then turned over his left shoulder as if to address that same imaginary audience and said "Ah, Heineken the beverage of choice when others won't do".

Bournd returned his attention to the other two men, "Belgian Secret Service eh, I didn't fink you blocks had time for spying what wif all the surrendering and snail eating you do under that bloody big radio tower you got."

"Non non non non non", Blancmange replied angrily that is FRANCE I am from BELGIUM! We are renown for our Belgium Choc-o-late among many other splendid accomplishments" he snarled in is quaint accent.

"Oy" Bournd replied, "Dat reminds me I got a naughty bit o chocolate crumpet waiting for me back at M's office!" To which he turned to look over his left shoulder and gave a toothy sneer and a wink...

TITLES!...

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 5: A Flimsy Attempt at Continuity With The Unofficial Skyfall Novelisation

Bournd's head hurt. He paused for a moment. That name didn't sound right.

Something was wrong. Sometime in the not too distant past he had been happy. He had felt better, looked better. Things appeared to be on the right course. M had transformed and there was a new secretary. It seemed like the way it was supposed to be. And then....

Things went black for a moment. Bournd steadied himself.

Bond! he thought. His name had been Bond. He had strode into M's office. M had been talking about toppling and missiles. Just as the mission briefing was beginning to unfold...

It ended somehow. It disappeared. Had it been a dream? A momentary fusing of dimensional planes? He didn't know. The pit of his stomach felt empty. He wasn't there, where everything felt right. He was here, where it didn't.

Before the agent could say anything, he looked down at a desk. There was the porcelain bulldog the M -- the late M, the woman M -- had given him.

Suddenly, he felt anger surge within. He grabbed it and threw it against the wall.

The bulldog shattered instantly. The agent caught sight of something. He felt sick. It was a cruel joke.

Amid the shattered pieces of the bulldog, there was a folded piece of paper.

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter Six: A Plot Point to Advance the Story

Bond picked up the piece of paper.

"I knew I couldn't trust you!" the message began. "If you're reading this, it's because I knew you weren't up to solving the Skyfall matter."

Bond grimaced. He looked to the side for a moment. Yes, his name was Bond.

He again looked at the note. "Just before you abducted me up to that ridiculous ancestral home of yours, I figured out who has been responsible for everything -- for the Casino Royale matter, the Quantum misadventure and who was really pulling Silva's strings."

Bond felt his facial muscles contort. He had thought he was getting on with his life. But now, like Michael Corleone in Godfather Part III, just when he thought he was out, he was being pulled back in.

"You must first head to Mexico City. There is a secret organisation there that is causing great harm. It is known as Spectre. It has some kind of relationship with Quantum. Go to the name and address below. This person will set you on your course. Do not trust anyone at MI6. If necessary, you must go rogue."

Bond read the name and address and committed it to memory. He fumbled through his pockets for a match. Or a lighter. He didn't have anything to light it ablaze.

The agent fumbled around a desk. Was there a pair of scissors? No! Well, Bond thought, there was always the old fashioned way.

Bond began to tear the note furiously but paused. He realized he had forgotten the name and address. He bent over to the floor, picked up the bits and papers and reassembled the note. After 20 minutes, the task was complete. He said the name and address to himself fifteen times before tossing the scraps of paper into the waste basket.

The agent went to his office at MI6 to retrieve a few things before his trip. Before he reached the office, he spotted Eve Moneypenny in the hallway.

"Hello 'penny," Bond said. He wasn't sure where that came from. A residual effect of the blurring of dimensional planes?

"Beg pardon?" Moneypenny.

"I said, 'Hello, 'penny. It was intended as a friendly greeting."

Eve shook her head. "You really should get a life!" she said before continuing on.

Bond reached his office. He found his "unofficial" credit cards which he kept for emergencies. He looked around the office one last time. For some reason, he wasn't sure he'd ever see the office again.

He counted to 10, went to the door and left.

[dirtybenny]

Chapter 7: Going Rouge

"Finally!!!" Bond squealed "I have just the thing for this!" He sprinted to the changing room stripping off the skin tight Tom Ford™ suit he had been wearing and flung open the door to his locker. Bond removed an ugly multicolored checked dress, blond wig and black pumps. Very tasteful he thought to himself. Just as he was putting the finishing touches on his outfit Tanner, M’s chief of staff entered the room.

“What in the devil are you doing 007?!” he shrieked in horror.

“I’m going rouge” Bond replied.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Tanner fired back.

“That’s when you go off and fight bad guys without MI6’s authorization duuuhhh!” Bond childishly quipped.

“You mean going rogue, you dolt!” Tanner chided.

Bond sheepishly removed the lady’s wear and reluctantly slipped back in to his Tom Ford™ suit only $3000 at your local Nordstrom. “Well” he said “I better be off to Q branch to get kitted out for this mission.”

Tanner replied “I don’t think you really understand what going rogue is do you, what is it about unauthorized mission do you not get?”

“Obviously the core concept” Bond fired back over his shoulder as he waltzed out the door.

Bond entered the bunker labeled Q Branch and found the youthful technician hunched over a laptop furiously working.

“Morning Q, what you up to? Coming up with some fantastical spy gear?” Bond queried.

“Dude, I got an awesome game of Brick Breaker going so don’t distract me!” Q said.

“Look mate, I got a real important rouge, I mean rogue mission to get on to so I need some gear.”

An electronic jingle came from Q’s computer which caused him to exclaim, “Look what you made me do! It took me hours to get to that level! Now what the hell did you want bro.”

“I need gear for my mission to Mexico.” Bond restated.

“Well I ain’t got no burros in here mate so piss off!” Q said tersely. “Alright I know what you want I’m only kidding come on.” He said in a softer tone, to get Bond to stop weeping.

The two men walked to a far corner of the bunker, Bond wiping the tears from his eyes, to a spot below a portrait of a distinguished older gentleman in a three piece suit.

“Who’s this geezer?” Bond said sniffling as he motioned to the painting.

“Oh” said Q, “One of my “illustrious” predecessors.” he said sarcastically, “Do you know this old fool invented an exploding pen! What a joke.”

Both men cackled at the thought of such a ridiculous invention and got down to the business at hand.

“Alright I have just the thing for you 007.” He said motioning to the far wall. “ you’ll be using this Aston Martin™ DB10™ without modifications limited to only 10 examples so all you well-heeled Bond fans better act while you can.” Q said in an aside to the other wall.

“Wow” said Bond “It looks a lot like a Chevy Corve…”

Q cut him off, “Hey ix-ne’ on the evy-che’, they didn’t pay to have their brand mentioned.” He said in a low voice.

“Now 007 here is the rest of you gear.” Q said handing Bond each item one at a time.

“ Here is an Omega™ Seamaster™ watch available in a special collector Spectre edition limited to 10,007 watches at quality jeweler and watchmakers near you, a Walther™ PPK™, some more Tom Ford™ suits in boy’s size 10, a twelve pack of Heineken™ pilsner, a bottle of Bollinger™ Champagne, and finally a ticket to beautiful Mexico City, Mexico.” Q turned to the far wall again “The travel destination of choice for James Bond agent 007, book your Spectre sightseeing package now while space is still available.”

“Gee, thanks!” Bond said, “All these wonderful products will no doubt aid me in my quest!”

With that Bond turned and left the bunker, arms filled with trademarked "spy" equipment…

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 8: Some Oscar (R) Worthy Characterization

Just before leaving headquarters, Bond ran into Mallory, the new M.

"Dammit all," M said, as he fell to the floor after Bond slammed into him in the hallway.

"Sorry, sir," Bond said, extending his hand to help his superior get off the floor.

M glowered at Bond and got up from the floor on his own.

"Really, 007, you need to get a life!" M said. "That was very clumsy."

Bond was taken aback. "Get a life?" he thought to himself. He had just heard that not too long ago.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Then, Bond remembered the contents of the note. "Do not trust anyone at MI6," the late M had written. Could the new M be part of the conspiracy? The conspiracy he now had to challenge, the way St. George challenged the dragon?

M shook his head, said nothing and walked off.

Bond vowed to be more careful from this point onwards -- and it had nothing to do with avoiding running into people in the hallway.

Three hours later, Bond's flight to Mexico City departed Heathrow. Unfortunately for Bond, he had been unable to secure a seat in Business Class and had to settle for a middle seat in Economy. The heavy man in front of him reclined his seat as far back as it could go. The man's head was practically in Bond's lap.

Eventually, a flight attendant reached Bond's row with the refreshment cart.

"Is there anything I could get you, sir?"

"Yes," Bond replied. "I'd like an order of scrambled eggs, with an order of green figs on the side. I'd appreciate your best Bourbon, along with a cup of black coffee, with a finger or two of whiskey to put into it."

The flight attendant shook her head. "This is Economy, sir," she replied. "I can give you a bag of peanuts or pretzels." I can sell you one container of alcohol for $8. But only if you use your credit card. We don't take cash anymore."

Bond, by being very insistent -- he dropped three or four f-bombs in the process -- got a bag of peanuts *and* a bag of pretzels. She also sold him one small container of Bourbon, and didn't ask if he wanted that specific brand. As she left, Bond tried to wave at her to get the coffee, but she ignored him.

"For f*ck's sake," Bond muttered under his breath.

The flight attendant hadn't even offered a plastic cup so Bond simply drank from the small plastic bottle of Bourbon. As he drank, the man in front of him began to snore -- loudly.

After consuming his snack, such as it was, Bond began to reflect on what was unfolding.

Get a life. What did M and Moneypenny mean? He thought he had a life. Although, Bond reflected, that odd experience where he seemed to be a different person -- taller, darker, better looking -- had weighed on him for some time.

Had Bond been teased with the life he should be leading? If so, it was a aggravating tease. To come that close, to get a taste of it and then have it taken from you befor e you could savor it.

And now this note from his former superior! She was inserting herself into his life from the grave! Bond's thoughts all ended in exclamation marks!

Bond took a deep breath. For whatever reason, he needed to see this through. By doing so, perhaps he could find the answers to the thoughts that troubled his very soul.

[Blowfeld]

Just a folder for alternate and unfinished chapters.

[Blowfeld]

by Kristatos

[spoiler]CHAPTER THREE: VIOLENCE IN THE LIBRARY

The assailant's name was Dave Henchman. He was a low-level operative in an as-yet unidentified organisation, by which I mean SPECTRE, obviously. Bournd had been sent to track him down to Tangier and terminate him with extreme prejudice. "Extreme prejudice?", Bond had asked M. "Maybe you should send 005 for that - I hear he's a member of UKIP".

This pun so annoyed M that he started to yell "Adava Kadav...' before stopping himself and remembering that he had got his franchises mixed up.

Upon further enquiry from Bournd about his mission objectives, M had clammed up, muttering something about how they had thought that it would make a good pre-credits sequence. And so, here he was in a library in Tangier, being charged the huge, bald-headed man who Bournd guessed was probably a former wrestler of some sort. He did a nifty sidestep and Henchman slammed into Mr White, sending them both crashing into a rack of bookshelves, which collapsed on top of them.

"Well, they just had a whole load of books fall on top of them" smirked Bournd, before realising that he really wasn't very good at these sorts of quips. "Oh bollocks", he snorted. "Cut to main title".

[Blowfeld]

by dirtybenny

Spectre, Spectre, we’re cutting a big check there,
Our money would be better spent if we just gave to the poor
Spectre, $300 million not a penny more.

Spectre, Spectre, we just don’t give a fleck there,
You’ll be asleep before the second lion’s roar
Spectre, you’ll snore!

Spectre, Spectre, a pain in the neck there,
Political Correctness has cut to the core
Spectre, my jaws on the floor!

Spectre, Spectre, you’ll wish a bird your eyes will peck there,
The script should be trashed right after its tore,
Spectre, your nerves will be sore.

[Blowfeld]

by Kristatos

From the looks of the latest information, it appears that the scene in the graveyard comes later, and that all I really need to do is replace the Minister of Defence with C. Here is the original version of chapter 11, preserved for posterity:

CHAPTER 11: WHAT SONY MAY SOON BE FILING

Bond stood in M's wood-paneled office. With him were M, Q and the Minister of Defence, Sir Jewemy Upperclass-Twytte. Without further ado, M began the introductions. "Sir Jewemy, this is Commander Bond, one of our best field agents on the rare occasions that he actually works for us. And I think we both know our quartermaster, Captain Ronald Obvious. Now, 007, I'll get straight to the point. You remember that hard drive we had you chasing during the last kerfuffle, and then sort of forgot about? Well, apparently, it contained the script of this movie. We're worried that those bas***ds at DCINB will get hold of it and use it to create some sort of parody novelisation thingy. We'd like you to retrieve it for us."

"And on the way, we expect you to get a life", chimed in Q. "Because that's the theme of this movie, getting a life. You see that lifeless stuffed animal over there", he added, pointing to a stuffed bear in the corner. "That's you, that is".

"Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious" snapped M. "Now, if we're all...."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Bill Tanner with some teas and coffees. "Ah, Sir Jewemy" beamed M. "Allow me to introduce my trusty chief of staff, Bill Tanner. I don't think there's another fellow in the service as trustworthy as him. Trusty trusty trust".

Tanner blushed and set the drinks down on the table. "Why thank you sir. Now, have we finished with the foreshadowing? I have work to do".

"Yes, yes, of course. Run along". M dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "You too, 007".

As Bond left the office, he pulled the note from M's predecessor out of his pocket and looked at it once again.

[Blowfeld]

by Blowfeld

Show Spoiler

Prelude to a thriller

‘So, 007, lots to be done. Are you ready to get back to work?’

‘With pleasure, M, with pleasure.’

The dignified man behind the desk wearing a dark Savile Row (tm) suit sporting a matching sling cradling his left arm sat down unceremoniously, using his good arm he opened the top secret drawer secreted in his desk carefully shifting through the contents trying to find the Strangway file.

‘Err. Sir?’

M halted his search looking up at the dower 007.

‘Is there a problem 007?’

‘Well sir. Seeing as I was reinstated with all back salary and benefits restored. I’d very much like to take all of my accrued leave now.’

“What?” The question popped loudly inside M’s balding head.

‘Sorry 007, I don’t believe I find your attempts at humour as amusing as you do.’

‘Oh no sir. There is nothing funny about unused leave.’

M studied 007’s constipated face searching in vain for any sign of humour. “d**n it!” he thought this daft ape is serious.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong.’ M spoke calm and rationally. ‘I seem to recall you telling everyone you were ready to get back to work?’

‘Indeed sir. With pleasure.’

‘Then what is all this rubbish about taking a vacation?’

‘It’s not rubbish sir, it is my right as an employee of Her Majesties’ Secret Service.’

‘How the hell is it you have any leave left? Didn’t you fake your own death to hang out in a seedy bar that only served Heineken. Having sex with wanton abandon with whatever low hanging bar fruit you could find!?'

‘They’re called “Skanks” sir. Slightly below low hanging fruit, a tad above forced sex worker.’ Bond paused before continuing. ‘Just barely.’

‘You abandoned your post to go on tour of Europe’s low rent brothels, yet you expect me to approve this?’ M’s voice managed to conceal his growing contempt.
‘No. Not if I have anything to say about it. Consider your request denied.’

007 showed no emotion only looking at M with his dull lifeless eyes. M had expected some sort of reaction.

Thinking the matter closed M continued.

‘Now that matter is out of the way I have a case that should be just your speed.’

007’s dull eyes blinked.

‘Oh. Sorry sir. It rather isn’t up to you.’

‘What!?’ this time the words escaped M’s mouth.

A blinking yellow light on M’s caught his attention. Mashing the button down he spoke harshly.
'What?'

In the back of his mind M cursed himself for using such a low rent word so quickly in succession. His mind couldn’t grasp how that damned Bond managed to drag him, a well-educated, cultured man, down to his (Bond’s) level.

Moneypenny’s husky yet feminine voice spilled like honey over the speaker.

‘Sorry to interrupt. It is an urgent call.’

‘Take a bloody message! I’m in meeting!’ M’s voice rattled the room.

‘Sir. It’s about Bond.’ Moneypenny whispered.

‘Bond? What about him?’

‘I wouldn’t know sir. However it’s Human Resources, they would like to speak with you about him.’

‘Do they? I’ll take the call. Maybe they can clear this mess up.’

‘Very well sir. Line one.’

M turned his glare on Bond.
‘Don’t happen to know anything about this do you?’

Bond's hollow voice responded he did.

‘Yes sir. I had a call in this morning to them.’

M sneered as he pick up the phone punching line one with a vengeance.

‘We will bloody see about this!’ he snapped at Bond.

‘M here’ he spoke into the phone regaining much of his lost composure.

‘Ah, HR, how are you. Good. Good. What brings you to call me? 007? Yes. Yes. I am aware of that. Well, no I was not informed of this. Not at all. I don’t see how that is applicable.’

He swivelled the chair away from Bond until the back of the chair presented itself.

‘He bloody faked his death.’ M’s voice hissed quietly ‘He is damned lucky not to be facing charges. Well, no, he is not facing charges. But.. Yes. I reinstated him.. No. That never came up. Well then I will just fire him.. What do you mean I can’t!’

In stunned disbelief Gareth Mallory swivelled back around to face Bond once more. He had just learned a disturbing piece of information, in fact it was what ultimately caused his predecessor (Olivia Mansfield) to go stark raving mad. As his mind raced absorbing the new facts he felt he now knew why the previous M had Bond shot off a moving train in a country with no workers rights.

The fact that shook the new M so profoundly was as a government employee Bond simply could not be fired.

M continues his conversation as he looks upon Bond in utter disbelief.

‘So tell me how much leave as he accrued?’

A pregnant pause fills the room.

‘thirty-six months!!!’ M’s bellow was heard through the sound proof door.

The matter was settled, so Bond gave M a nod indicating his respect, then walked out the room in his short mincing strides without a another word.

[Blowfeld]

This was fizzel. I was attempting to show my outrage at the rumoured, er, casting requirements.

There was another version with Bond calling the front desk of a "mom&pop" B&B to complain the girl sent to clean his room would not help him 'find the stationery", Bond goes on to describe how he came out wearing only smile and she ran away screaming. Turns out she is the daughter of the proprietors they are horrified she was assaulted in their establishment. He demands as a feminist they hire someone to clean his room who was obligated have sex with him.

The beleaguered graveyard shift deck clerk at the Fonab Castle Hotel (tm). He was a thin wiry young man with dark hair, working his way through university he avails himself of an opportunity to study as he struggles to stay awake. Pushing his books away he picks up the phone.

‘Hullo, front desk’ he answers crisply.

‘Er. What? Could you please say that again. You voice was a bit mumbled.’

A jolt of shock causes the young man to sit up straight.

‘No, Sir our maids do not do that sort of thing I can assure you. ‘

The mumble monotone voice retorts in the form of a string of profanity.

‘Sir if that is you attitude I suggest you leave. I will have you’re total ready for you!’

The young man hung up indignant; deftly turning to the computer screen he quickly tallying the total for room seven. For a moment he could not believe the amount of Heinekens consumed form the mini bar, thinking back to the mumbly voice he heard creating a mental picture of the man who belong with that voice he knew the total was no mistake.

The phone sounded again a moment of fear gripped his heart. He cautiously picks up the phone.

‘hulllo, front desk.’

‘huh, room 007? No sir. We do not number our suits in this manner.’

The tired young man caught on a little slow but he caught on just the same. There was only one idiot who call room 7, room double oh seven

‘Changing your voice will not help. I have you total ready! Please leave! ‘

Slamming the phone in to the cradle he ended the conversation....................................................................

It was not Bond calling it was M calling after Bond call him to refuse to work until he was "sexed".
Knowing the young man would not listen over the phone M tries another method. Face time call with M
M begs the young man to find a "hooker" for Bond. He is in the middle of a case and refuses to work.
M promises the young clerk all sort of things like a scholarship and maybe a job.

[Blowfeld]

Follow up on chapter 28 leading to a conversation with Q. To follow later...

Chapter 28b : Make 7, UP Yours

Back in his hotel room Bond was looking at the mirror becoming more irate. That damned Jeremy Renner was staring back at him again. The Bas***d had the nerve to not only ape Bond’s look but to be a better actor, in better franchises. And, Bond wondered, where the f**k does he get off having a personality?! Bond had struggled his entire adult life to cultivate a personality to no avail.

But what really pissed Bond off was Renner ruined the Bourne series, the series Bond had modelled his life on. Bond also had the sneaking suspicion Renner was sleeping with his wife. He just knew they both were somewhere nice laughing about him right now.

Enraged Bond threw his half empty Heineken™ bottle smashing the mirror showering glass shards everywhere. Bond wobbled drunkenly for a moment shocked by the sudden death of the mirror, then went to the mini fridge to snag another bottle. He snatched a replacement taking quick swig from green bottle, like poor Smeagol it choked and burned in the back of his throat, he spat it out disgusted. Poison! Was his only thought.

Carefully tuning the bottle around from the always facing the camera stance which came so naturally to him he read the label, 7up™. What the f**k was this? What did 7up™ have to do with him? And why was it in his fridge? Was this some sort of overly complicated plot to get him? After all Bond was sure the world revolved around him, thus his family motto, Orbis non sufficit. Bond could neither read nor write one lick of Latin, still he was sure it was something about the world being in orbit around him.

Bond disposed of the dangerous content by pouring the remains of the bottle into the toilet, tossing the bottle into the shower stall with the rest of his empties which were becoming quite numerous by this point.
f**k it! He thought, it’s the maid’s problem now. It didn’t bother Bond his drinking habit had rendered his hotel shower stall unusable, for he almost never took showers while on mission. Too many bad memories.

Returning to the scene of the crime, Bond carefully grabbed a Heineken™ this time, reading the label before facing it outwards towards the camera. ‘Sweet nectar of life’ Bond thought as be popped the top taking a king sized gulp of his favourite brand.

For Christ’s sake! It fizzled in mouth, he struggled to swallow the brackish beer taste in his mouth. What the f**k was this! Was he drinking piss water?

Bond studied the label again his ape like eyes trying to comprehend the letters, sounding them out to be sure. What the s**t! Had the 7up™ polluted his pallet so violently it ruined his appreciation of Heineken™? A scary though encroached from the shadows of his mind, what if the 7up™ had merely cleansed his pallet and he was only truly tasting Heineken™ now?

For the first time in his life Bond truly knew fear. He didn’t know who he’d be if he couldn’t drink Heineken(tm). The turmoil in his soul was so great, so enormous, it threatened to swallow his very being like a ship caught in the tempest of the stormy sea in the darkest of night. Waves and torrents of emotion splintering the planks of his life. Soon he would be adrift, shipwrecked, marooned in the barren existence called “life”.

‘Screw this!’ Bond screamed angrily at the ceiling. He then left his room and the stench of lousy beer, going down to lobby to locate the hotel bar to get a good stiff drink.