Monday, March 24, 2008

Sorry, Wrong Number

Seconds ago, my phone rang:


"Hello, is this the place where you get the mattresses?"

"Um, I'm sorry, I don't think so. Well, I have a mattress, but I'm using it."

"Okay, thank you!"


Anonymous said...

I assume this blog isn't the place to get mattress, either?


Anonymous said...

..."to get A mattress," rather.

Anonymous said...

Earl, your cell phone needs cleaning. I was asking for Ric Nattress, the hockey player.

Ahhh, why am I even trying? This is so lame. I am inspired to include a list of lame-osity. Of course, since the blog reply section is so lame, I'm going to have to break up long URL's to make them readable. You will have to re-assemble them in on your own. LAME!!!

On this next one, check out entries
#5 & #1 !!!

Even the lone user comment on the bottom is lame:

Anonymous said...


"Hello, is this the place where you get the mattresses?"

Apologetic-sounding words from the other end of the phone line.

"Okay, thank you!"

Bond collapsed his sat-phone into its smallest form and tucked it into a hidden pocket of his dinner jacket. Chastity Lovelock looked at Bond with eyes as round as saucers. He noticed that her pale hands trembled. Bond took one hand in his and gently squeezed her fingers.

"I'm sorry, Chastity," he said, and his voice sounded grating to his own ears. "I got through to E Branch, but I'm sure they've been compromised. We're on our own, now."

Chastity's brow darkened as she absorbed this news. "I heard you say the password phrase," she implored.

Bond shook his head slightly. "Yes, but they did not respond with the correct counterphrase. Damn and blast them all to Hell! Just some jim-crackery about using the mattress already."

"Then we are lost..." The last word was almost a sob from Chastity's wide, sensual mouth.

Bond looked at her cruelly. He could see that she was starting to come apart. Inwardly, he cursed at himself for bringing along the girl. The part of him that thought she could be useful on this operation had over-ridden his intuitive sense. Now, he was stuck with a hysterical woman to anchor him down. Bond had always worked best alone. Well, he considered, these are the cards I've been dealt, so it's time to make the best of them.

"Never fear, Chastity Lovelock, I've been in worse scrapes than this," Bond said as in one fluid movement he drew his Walther PPK with the skeleton grip from its chamois under-arm holster. Just that moment, a hidden door in the wall burst open, and men in uniforms poured through it.

The gun barked in Bond's hand eight times. Eight of the intruders crumpled to the ground. Still more men entered through the door. Bond's gun was empty and useless. He dropped it and strode effortlessly into a wide-footed Judo stance. The leading man danced past the range of Bond's outstreched hands, clearly himself a master martial-artist. Bond attempted to lash out with his foot, but his enemy was wonderfully fast. He caught Bond's leg and with a twist, threw Bond off-balance. As Bond came up, another foe arrived behind him to pin his arms. Bond bent his knee and drove the heel of his shoe on top of the foot of the man holding him. Bond's shoe glanced harmlessly off of the curved steel upper of the man's shoe.

Judo-Master raised one hand like a crossing-guard stopping a car. "Enough," he said in heavily-accented English, "You are in our power now, Mr. Bond. It is futile to resist."

Bond stole a glance at Chastity Lovelock, who in fainting was being held tightly in the arms of a man whose close relatives must have been of the gorilla persuasion.

"Very well," said Bond, "We won't resist. But please do take care to not wrinkle my coat, it is a Brioni, you know."

"But of course, Mr. Bond. Please to walk this way." Judo-Master led Bond and Chastity Lovelock through the door. It led down a metal-walled hallway to another door, much like that of a bank's safe. Judo-Master negotiated the lock to the massive door and one of the other men pulled it open.

Beyond was a chamber to match the throne room of Loius XIV. Lit from above by a galaxy of crystal chandeliers, the room was painted eggshell white with gold trimmings and a sumptuous thich crimson carpet that was matched in drawn red heavy silk window shades. At the focal point of the room stood a large oaken chair that resembled a throne. And upon this throne...

"Moneypenny!" Bond could not help to blurt out the name in surprise. "You?!"

"Yes, James, it is I, Miss Moneypenny."

Moneypenny smiled coldly at Bond. She could see the pieces forming themselves into a larger pricture inside his unwilling mind. "You're a bloody double agent!" Bond finally swore.

Moneypenny rocked her pefectly coiffed head and laughed heartily. "Oh, no James, think bigger."

"But you're M's personal secretary," Bond stammered.

"Bigger than that, dear James."

Suddenly, Bond understood. It was like a gigantic spotlight were aimed right at his head, only instead of light, there was the inky, roiling blackness of pure evil.

"You're the head of SMERSH," Bond said simply.

Moneypenny continued to smile. Imperiously, she arose from her chair and stepped up to Bond. With her hand, she caressed the vertical scar on Bond's cheek. Then, she slapped him mightily.

"Very close James, but you forget that SMERSH has been taken over by an even larger organization. My dear, dearest James, you are looking at Number One for SPECTRE!"

James Bond repeated that last horrible word as a whisper.

"Yes, James, I, Moneypenny, am the evil genius behind SPECTRE. What better way to penetrate your laughable British Secret Service than by posing as your secretary? Oh, James, the secrets that I have been privy to. You have no idea! Did you know that the old M's real name wass 'Melvyn'? No wonder he went by M!"

Moneypenny regained her seat on the throne, he face shining with an unholy animation. "But there's more, oh, so much more, James. I had a front row seat for all of your missions. I had detailed and intimate knowledge of your every move. It was easy to plan what to do next."

"You see, James, it was I who gave Dr. No the technology to topple American missiles from his base in Crab Key. It was I who made the Lektor Decoder available in Istanbul. I supplied Goldfinger's atomic bomb, and I threw in the laser for free."

I hated that damned laser, thought Bond grimly.

"I financed Emilio Largo's expedition to acquire more atomic bombs after that bumbler Auric Goldfinger lost his. Then, with money I siphoned from M, I had the rocket base in the volcano contructed for my true lover Ernst Stavro Blofeld who cunningly used it to capture American and Soviet space capsules. I also built the alpine laboratory at Piz Gloria in Europe as a delightful getaway for dear Blofeldie and me, but he shacked up with that slut of his Irma Bunt."

Moneypenny spat at the floor after speaking that name. Judo-Master whipped out a handkerchief and collected the spittle from the rug on his hands and knees. He kissed Moneypenny's toe before backing away reverentially.

She continued, "I was going to hold the world ransom using a diamond-powered space satellite, but Blofeldie, he was so jealous, he took it for himself. Let the baby have his candy, I would say, dear James. After that, I funded Mr. Big's heroin operations in America, I built Scaramanga's Solex Agitator Beam device, and I set up Stromberg with his underwater city, all using the Secret Service Retirement Fund. All this time, I was developing my own private space program. I used the technological advances I had gained to build a gigantic space station that remained cloaked from the view of the Earth, and I gave it to Hugo Drax to destroy the world. When that plan fell through, it was I who alerted the Russians as to the whereabouts of the ATAC device, you know, the one that was kind of like the Lektor, only it was on board that fishing boat that was really a spy ship that hit a mine. You don't remember? It wasn't that important."

Bond's eyes glowed like an animal's. "Moneypenny, you're mad," he snarled.

"That's not the half of it, James. I gave yet another atomic bomb to General Orlov and Kamal Khan, and I told Zorin where to put his bomb to obliterate Silicon Valley. I double-crossed Georgi Koskov and I took over Brad Whitaker's mercenary empire. Then, I sold Sanchez the sharks he needed to cut your friend Felix Leiter down to size."

"Felix isn't half the man he used to be," observed Bond.

"Yes, Sanchez made short work of him. Where was I? Oh, yes, I built the giant satellite dish for Alex Trevelyan, I gave Elliot Carver his first paper route, I bit off Elektra King's earlobe for her (it tasted like strawberries...), I did whatever all the bad stuff was that happened in 'Die Another Day'... honestly, could you even follow that storyline? It was utter crap."

"Yes, and the invisible car was a complete joke," said Bond, hoping that by agreeing with the megalomaniac Moneypenny, he could buy himself enough time to put into action a desperate escape plan.

"And then I explained the rules of Baccarat to LeChiffre", Moneypenny ended.

"But I played Poker against LeChiffre," protested Bond.

"True enough. He thought that poker was easier to understand, and there's no confusing French words in Poker like there is in Baccarat."

"So what's the game now, Moneypenny? World domination? I see now that the one thing all of my adventures had in common was you, Moneypenny. Even M became a woman over time, but you remained constant. You were, as I see it, in all of my missions, the lowest common denominator."

"Oh, James, you never cease to amuse me. Of course, someday I shall take over the world, I suppose, but not today. No, dear James, today was all for you. It was nothing to switch the telephone numbers for Station E to some poor sod who had nothing to do with our little spy game. All I had to do was to put you in sufficient crisis so as to force you to make that one phone call."

"I'm sorry, James," said Chastity Lovelock, as she miraculously came-to. Her captor let her go, and Chastity walked in a confident, loose-limbed stride to stand smiling next to Moneypenny on her throne.

Bond looked rueful. "Well, Chastity, it would seem I have underestimated you."

"Enough!" shouted Moneypenny, "I haven't finished my evil exposition yet."

"Are you nearly done?" Bond asked, "It's been awfully long, you know."

"I am nearly done, and so are you, my dear James. Once you made that phone call, I triangulated on your sat-phone and sent my henchmen to capture you. And now, James, for all of those times that you flirted with me but would not put out, for all those simpering, bimbos you ran around with, and lastly for all of those bartenders around the world who perfer to stir their martinis, I will now kill you."

Moneypenny withdrew a large, silver plastic box with speakers mounted on the front and a malevolent hole in its side. The hole was pointed straight into Bond's eye.

"Moneypenny, you can't be serious," Bond protested, "That's Q's 'Ghetto Blaster". That's got to be the lamest weapon he's ever come up with. I mean, that seat with the spring was pretty bad, and so was that tea tray on the magnetic rail, but I mean seriously, you're going to kill me with the Ghetto Blaster?"

"I bet you never expected it would end this way," Moneypenny said as she removed the safety catch from the weapon, "In the game of musical chairs, when the music stops whoever is left standing is dead. I have my chair, James, and I don't hear any music."

"You'll never get away with --"