It was a sultry night in Monte Carlo. The roulette wheel was rolling in my favor - I always bet red, red, red. That's when she caught my eye, tall sultry and wearing red lipstick that could melt through the average aluminum beer can.
I had left my tux at the cleaners after busting through a few buttons while attempting to tie my JC Penney's loafers - no choice, I had to wear my Carson Palmer jersey and khaki shorts. Just as well, the disguise was perfect, a disgruntled Bengals fan wandering the Mediterranean looking for a team that didn't lose, searching for adventure and spying for her majesty's secret service.
The lanky brunette, obviously impressed by my winning style and rugged yet dangerous good looks sauntered over to me - she asked me something, but it was in French and I had forgotten all of the French I learned in College so I pulled out my high tech universal translation device - apparently she wanted to know whether my goldfish smoked cigars. Immediately I understood, it was a code, but for what?
I smiled and answered with my secret code response "C'est La vie, vous le vous couche avec moi?" She stared at me with penetrating determination before slapping me silly - damn those inter-service rivalries. I then retreated to my sultry car, turned the ignition and let the cats roar, all four of them, as my electric runabout flew up the hill at a mind numbing speed, at least until the policeman on the moped overtook me. He stepped off of his sinister looking vehicle slowly, I checked it carefully for hidden machine-gun ports.
He asked me my name and I handed over my international driver's license and answered him coyly; I'm Bond, James Bond. He gave me a sultry look, I then became worried...
Being male is being Bond, as we enter the world of James Bond we become perpetual adolescents - wishing for the adventure, the intrigue, the savoir-faire that only he can experience; but at least we get to join in vicariously. With that spirit I eagerly await the upcoming release of the latest Bond film, Quantum of Solace.
BTW - I like my Corona w/ lime shaken, not stirred.
Copyright 2008, Raving Reviews™
I had left my tux at the cleaners after busting through a few buttons while attempting to tie my JC Penney's loafers - no choice, I had to wear my Carson Palmer jersey and khaki shorts. Just as well, the disguise was perfect, a disgruntled Bengals fan wandering the Mediterranean looking for a team that didn't lose, searching for adventure and spying for her majesty's secret service.
The lanky brunette, obviously impressed by my winning style and rugged yet dangerous good looks sauntered over to me - she asked me something, but it was in French and I had forgotten all of the French I learned in College so I pulled out my high tech universal translation device - apparently she wanted to know whether my goldfish smoked cigars. Immediately I understood, it was a code, but for what?
I smiled and answered with my secret code response "C'est La vie, vous le vous couche avec moi?" She stared at me with penetrating determination before slapping me silly - damn those inter-service rivalries. I then retreated to my sultry car, turned the ignition and let the cats roar, all four of them, as my electric runabout flew up the hill at a mind numbing speed, at least until the policeman on the moped overtook me. He stepped off of his sinister looking vehicle slowly, I checked it carefully for hidden machine-gun ports.
He asked me my name and I handed over my international driver's license and answered him coyly; I'm Bond, James Bond. He gave me a sultry look, I then became worried...
Being male is being Bond, as we enter the world of James Bond we become perpetual adolescents - wishing for the adventure, the intrigue, the savoir-faire that only he can experience; but at least we get to join in vicariously. With that spirit I eagerly await the upcoming release of the latest Bond film, Quantum of Solace.
BTW - I like my Corona w/ lime shaken, not stirred.
Copyright 2008, Raving Reviews™
