This can't be all there is surely? :- Existential crisis? Or shortage of toilet tissue?
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Read on to find out. Only you won't. This is merely click bait. I'd apologize but it would be insincere because I'm not sorry. I am the same as everyone else is. I only care about me. Like you I will pretend to give a shit about various issues, but we all know we only do it to enhance our own profile. Presenting a carefully designed public mask to hide the fact that deep down we are all cunts who couldn't really give a shit about anyone else.
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I love James Bond. Only in the manly sense though. By manly I don't mean taking a rock hard penis up the rump while simultaneously sucking another man's cock. I'm not into that sort of thing and neither is James Bond I imagine. Unless they edited all the sodomy out of Ian Fleming's books. Although the way things are going his next reincarnation will either be a woman or a homosexual man. Do homosexual's mind being called homosexual I wonder? I don't want to offend my homosexual readership here. They are a fiercely brand loyal race. From the country of Homosexualia somewhere north of Houston, Texas. So they tell me anyway and I've checked. You have to know your audience but steer clear of sexual contact without a lawyer being present.
Now where was I? Oh yes; I was slowly stroking my erect penis while typing this on an extremely sticky keyboard. Advising my reader of my love for James Bond while at the same time qualifying that so that nobody assumes buggery is involved. Nothing wrong with buggery in the right circumstances of course. If you want to clinch that job at the first interview stage or appear with Kevin Spacey in his next project, it's pretty much essential and we've all been there before. Choking on Kevin Spacey's cock while imagining our happy place. It's not gay when you're crying all the way through the ordeal. Just like it's not rape if you happen to have strayed accidentally into Harvey Weinstein's hotel room. This is Hollywood and it's not real, the second you've signed the nondisclosure agreement.
Can't imagine James Bond doing that can you. Grasping your ears as he crams his licensed to kill, secret agent manhood, down your unwilling throat. Not unless he was interrogating someone anyway. At which point he's only doing his patriotic duty. They say torture doesn't work but most men would be singing like canaries in that situation. I know I did. Now I've strayed into the psychological cesspit that is my warped mind, instead of getting to the meat of why I really love James Bond. I've unintentionally strayed into weirdly homoerotic territory. A bit like when you go to your local gym, except not as sexually ambivalent or sweaty.
What I love about James Bond is that he mostly uses his real name every time he's sent spying. When he does have an assumed name that's the only thing his handlers give him apart from the fake identity's occupation. There is no biography or back story. You're John Smith Architectural Flange Straightener. Here's your fake passport. That's it. Then he flies off to some picturesque exotic location, bones a beautiful woman he met 5 minutes ago and plays baccarat. Whatever the fuck that is. James Bond is never briefed or debriefed. He undergoes no special training and usually only speaks a few words of the local language, that he uses to procure as much alcohol and sex as he requires for this vital mission of international importance. I like to think the rest of his conversation with his spy handler goes like this:
BOND: Will I need a flange straightener?
HANDLER: I hope not because we have no idea what one is. How's your knowledge of architecture?
BOND: Completely non existent
HANDLER: What about flange? Do you know your way around one?
BOND: Well sir I don't like to boast but I've had some of the best flange available. There was Pussy Galore, Honey Rider, Tatiana Romanova...
HANDLER: No Bond. Flange isn't a euphemism for fucking... At least I don't think it is? I mean, why would it need straightening?
BOND: Perhaps they're lesbians who need to be converted to loving cock? Other than that I haven't got a clue.
HANDLER: What was your name again?
BOND: My name is Bond, James B... Oh shit! I mean my name is Smith, John Smith. I'm an Architectural Flange Straightener and licensed to kill. Ask me any question you like as long as the answer only involves those words I've just spoken.
HANDLER: Good work Bond. It's tiny little details like this that could blow your cover. Fortunately you seem to have grasped the intracacies. You can Google anything else you might need.
BOND: I can't do that. I've only got Firefox on my tablet.
HANDLER: Can you Firefox it then?
BOND: I can Firefox any attractive woman before she even... Oh that's not a euphemism either. I suppose I could but I probably won't have the time between fucking all those women, I'm afraid. I'll wing it with my spy training.
HANDLER: Excellent. As long as no one asks you any questions other than your name or occupation this will work. What could possibly go wrong?
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