Yo!
I thought a new TC's corner story was needed.
The name of this story is "Bond, James Bond"
This story will be in 2 parts. I have an ending for it, but.... Im not to happy with it. So, all my faithful, loyal readers can help me come up with a new ending for this thing.
Make your suggestions for an ending and I will re-write the ending for it.
TC-
Bond, James Bond
DOVER, ENGLAND
5 Royal Air Force Spitfires MKIX fighters were reported missing
yesterday immediately after they reported sighting a 'strange, very fast'
Unidentified flying object over the Straits of Dover. Observers on the ground
Claimed to have seen explosions and smoke trails that dove into the Channel,
And some debris of what appear to be charred aluminum paneling has been recovered by subsequent rescue teams. As of date, nobody knows the identity of the person, plane, thing, or perhaps, things, that were responsible for the destruction of these five Spitfire aeroplanes and we fear, the loss of their pilots' lives. Her Royal Majesty the Queen has turned the matter over to the renowned British Secret Service to track down and capture the ones responsible.
Commander James Bond, of the British Secret Service, dropped the newspaper on the large desk and looked up at the Board of Commissioners that sat before him.
"Most interesting," said Bond as he shuffled in his chair before the desk.
"Interesting indeed, 007," replied M as he opened a file. "In that newsprint was what the public has been
Told. We, however, as usual have gotten something more.� Here." M slid a photograph over the desk and Bond leaned over and picked it up.
"That," continued M, "is a photograph of what we are certain is the incredible aero craft that perpetrated this dastderly and fiendish deed.. We got this image earlier this month, when a Lancaster in a bomb run over Interlaken was attacked by that aeroplane. The Lancaster was shot down in a festering heap, but fortunately an escort in a Spitfire managed to take this photograph."
"That was very fortunate indeed," Bond surmised.
"Perhaps for us, 007, but not for the pilot," M said grimly. "He was one of the five that was shot down yesterday.
I take it you understand this was obviously no coincidence."
"Typical revenge, I should imagine.�Summized Bond
"Certainly was.� Said M. “How did this villain know who even took that photograph? Inside connection?� questioned Bond “
That is what I am afraid of, Bond. He has inside connections."
"Of course, sir. I take it you have an assignment for me?"
"Yes, Bond," said M, handing Bond a hefty file folder. "We have reason to believe our villainous
Aero borne friend, code named TIGERCAT, is now in America."
"Good. Then we should let the American CIA on the other side of the pond take care of him," snapped
Bond.
"Not quite so simple, 007. We know he is tracking a very indispensable man named 'Weedwakr.' Weedwakr alone possesses the knowledge of the workings of an amazing new technology that will make CFO obsolete and make TG2 look like some sort of cube puzzle. With this programme, code named SHADOW, CFS as we know it would be transformed. Whoever has this technology would control it, and thus control CFS, whether for good, or for evil."
"I see," sighed Bond, leaning back in his chair, studying a picture of Weedwakr. "He looks a sensible
Enough chap."
"He is, Bond, he is, and he alone knows the workings of this programme. You must get to him, Bond, without TIGERCAT’s knowledge, and convince him to give you the programme secrets and bring them back to us, before TIGERCAT reaches him. Otherwise, all is lost."
"A very subtle assignment, sir. I will schedule to take the next flight across the Atlantic. Tell me, where
Shall I find this, Weedwakr, sir?"
"Weedwakr is now in Los Angeles, 007. We have reason to believe so is TIGERCAT. It is only a matter of time before TIGERCAT finds him, perhaps only hours. With the SHADOW programme, TIGERCAT would create a massive fleet of his super aeroplanes, and the CFS world would be at his disposal. You will take this
Alias... a Mr. Rookie Doofus, from Cincinnati, a Bakery Ingredient Sales Representative, visiting Los
Angeles for an International Bagel and Donut Convention. Get the SHADOW programme from Weedwakr and get back here as soon as you can. Good luck, 007. And remember... TIGERCAT will stop at nothing to get the SHADOW program.
Bond stepped out of Los Angeles International Airport, secured his baggage, and hailed a taxi to the first-class Focke-Wulf Hotel. After arranging his room, he carefully checked his room for planted listening devices, holstered his Walther PPK, changed into an inconspicuous black tuxedo and tie, and strode out into the street.
Weedwakr, where could one find a Weedwakr? It was a large city, finding one man who would be lying low anyways would be rather a tough endeavor. Thought Bond.
He hailed a taxi, and gave the driver a vague destination (he had always wanted to visit the Hollywood Sign). Ever alert, Bond noticed another figure board a strange coloured vehicle. An older convertible with six tail-lights, and that car appeared to be following him.
"Driver," said Bond calmly, "forget taking me to the Hollywood Sign., take me somewhere, well, obscure and step on it."
Bonds taxi turned off the freeway and out onto a one way street in between concrete walls. The strange vehicle still followed them. Careful not to look directly behind him, Bond peered into the rear view mirror. The figure in the car behind them was holding something in his hand and was leaning out the window!
"Faster, driver!" ordered Bond, and the driver protested, some nonsensical rot about speed limits and other lawful things that British Secret Service agents can't be bothered with. Overcome with frustration, Bond leaped into the driver’s seat and pushed the taxi driver aside. Too late. The odd bald man in the car behind them hurled a green, glowing sock that shattered through the back windshield and exploded in the back seat of the taxi with a tremendous force!
The taxi filled with choking green fumes, and blinking through the green clouds Bond saw what he
Thought to be socks ... horrid, fume-belching socks, glowing with a green glow reserved only for
Maximized plutonium! Gasping and choking, the taxi careened into the wall, and the strange coloured car roared by them. Bond's eye caught the car's make as it sped past them ... Chevy ... a Chevy Impala. License plate that read... "KILTER"
Bond staggered from the taxi that now was spewing green fumes from the window and doors, and then quickly ran down the alley and into the nearest shop to hide
So, that was TIGERCAT! He knew he was in Los Angeles. And TIGERCAT thought he was now dead. A little closer and that green sock grenade would have done its job, but now Bond could only muse to himself.
Bond found Weedwaker later that afternoon. It was not nearly as difficult as he had originally planned. Who would have thought to check the Business Directory, look up Weedwakr, and discover he owned a company named Com Central.
A quick browse and his man was found; at a ComCentral black-tie dinner at the CrowFoot Indian Casino. Bond invited himself to the $1,500-a-plate dinner and arrived just as it was beginning.
Bond worked his way towards Weedwakr, and thought it curious that the guests at the dinner were, undoubtedly, all CFS luminary chat hero lunatics. He glanced at a few name tags... familiar fellows ... ColdBreeze, he's a character, been keeping the Yank Zone Cops on their toes for years... wonder what he's here for... oh there's a slippery one, Van_Mustang, typical Yank, with his "I-Love-P51's and La Habra" pin on his jacket ... here's Weedwakr himself.
"Excuse me," said 007 as he tapped Weedwakr on the shoulder. "I'll need a moment."
"And who are you?" replied Weedwakr.
"Bond, James Bond, British Secret Service to you to everyone else I'm Rookie Doofus, Bakery Ingredient Sale Rep. from Cincinnati. I was sent here to secure the knowledge of the programme SHADOW which--"
"Absolutely not," snapped Weedwakr. "My secret is mine alone, I will not share it."
"Mr. Weedwakr, should something happen to you, CFS would be domed to extinction.� explained Bond. "Happen to me?" Weedwakr was obviously intrigued. "Just what should happen to me?"
"You should not be surprised to know there are others after programme SHADOW. One such person is hot on my tail, and although he thinks I am now out of the way, that only makes him all the more anxious to go after you."
"So what if he does. He wants my secret, does he? He won't find it written down. It's in here, Mr. Bond," Said Weedwakr, tapping his head, "and he can't get it there."
“He has his ways of getting that programme , and I must say those ways are most unpleasant " replied Bond. Just then a waitress happened by. My dear, waitress, Mr. Weedwakr would like?". Asked Bond
"Ahh, oh yes, make it a double scotch on the rocks." replied the nervous Weedwakr.
"For me my dear, I would like a very dry martini, shaken not stirred." said James Bond in his smooth
British accent as he gave the waitress a wink.
"Right away sir." said the waitress.
''Now as 1 was saying Mr. Weedwakr this person will stop a nothing to get the secrets he wants. So that
Put’s your life at great risk. "
James Bond turned, for no particular reason, and noticed a conspicuous looking guest, loitering among the dinner tables, and occasionally snatching silverware from the tables and stuffing the sterling utensils into his black polyester leisure suit pocket when nobody was looking. Then the bald man looked up as he snatched a silver salt shaker, and met Bond's gaze. Suddenly, the short, fat bald man's stubby hand dropped to his pocket, and hurled a green glowing sock towards Bond and Weedwakr.
"Look out Weedwakr!" yelled Bond as both he and Weedwakr dove under the table and a terrible explosion rattled the surrounding area. Jumping to his feet, Bond pulled out his Walther PPK and through the green smoke fired at the fleeting man in the polyester suit. But the man had the head start, and he Raced through stunned crowds of people and through the exit door.
"Are you all right Mr.Weedwakr?" asked Bond
"Yes, yes,.. I'm ok. I guess your right Mr. Bond. I do need your help." said the exasperated Weedwakr.
"It also looks as though our surprise guest has made good his escape as well. He now also knows 1 have not yet met my demise. I'm sure we will met up again very soon." said James Bond as he holstered his Walther PPK and helped Weedwakr to his feet. "Now let's get you to safe keeping shall we?"
The shaken dinner guests were crowding around, loudly discussing the surprise attack by the sinister man, and Bond noticed a fragment of the green sock lying on the floor. On it was etched "007."
A while later TC pulls his 63' Chevy Impala in to his driveway and notices his neighbor Clint Eastwood out front practicing his golf stroke. Clint looks up and see' s TC approaching, Clint drops his putter and runs into the house. "Oh no, that reject from loserville is home," muttered Clint as he retreated indoors dragging his golf clubs. "I hope he don’t come over here and try to borrow anything."
"Wow, look at Clint run. He must have some place important to go to. Oh well, I ask him if I can barrow his chainsaw some other time." TC said to himself.
"Look Bruce, our punk neighbor TC just pulled up," said Dick Grayson, youthful ward, as he paused his lawn darts game with Bruce Wayne. Bruce began to walk over to Robin and observe their weird neighbor when he tripped over a TV cable that ran from TC's living room, across the lawn of Stately Wayne Manor, and into the mansion itself.
"Holy Internet Cable Batman! Are you all right?" asked Robin as helped the caped crusader to his feet.
"Why... that no good loser punk is stealing our internet cable Robin!" squealed Batman. "He is also
stealing all the bat secrets from the bat-computer. And that is also why we keep getting those e-mails from Tina's web cam." The two Superheroes shook their fists towards TC's house, unplugged the cable, and resumed their game of lawn darts.
"I wonder what’s up with those two ? Every time I look up there Bat…errr. Bruce trips over something in his yard. Must be those Bat-sprinkler-heads." said TC to himself as he unlocked his front door and enters his home. TC closed the door behind him and went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and pulled out a fresh diet Coke.
"Holy British Sports Cars, Batman!" shouted Dick Grayson, youthful ward, as he paused his lawn darts game again with Bruce Wayne in the front yard of Stately Wayne Manor, which was next door to TC's house. "Did you see that?"
"See what, Dick?" asked Batma ... errr ... Bruce as he walked towards Robin.
"This guy wearing a black tuxedo with a gun just walked into Tigercats house!" cried Dick Grayson,
Youthful ward. "He's probably going to rob Tigercat!"
"I see, Robin. And about half of Tigercat's things actually belong to us! Although I am a super hero, Dick, that loser Tigercat bum is one guy 1 wouldn't mind seeing get robbed. But then again, I don't want our belongings to end up being burgled. Come, Robin, we must stop this injustice! To Tigercat's house!"
James Bond exited his Astin-Martan and proceeded to wade through what at one time was a lawn, but has long sense turned into a jungle. After much super-human effort 007 made it to the front door. "Well I made it past that obstacle. Anything I encounter from here on out shall be a breeze compared to wading through that jungle and coming out alive. Obviously a well thought out trap." thought Bond to himself.
Bond tried the door knob. It was open. He quietly swung the door open, stepped inside, and closed it. So this was the inside of Tigercat's house. Bond having the ever observing eye of a trained and skilled British Secret Service agent, noticed something most odd about Tigercat house, strange place. Strangest he had ever been to. The imitation linoleum floors were covered with old issues of Rookie Kilter Magazine, empty bottles of some cheap aftershave, diet Coke cans, empty cartridge casings, and dozens of wallets, pistons, oil cans, and various other debris. Quietly stepping over what appeared to be a black imitation polyester leisure suit, Bond crept into the dining room. The table was set with fine table furnishing and cutlery, crystal goblets, fine china plates, and other settings all with what Bond thought to be 'Bat emblems' embossed on each piece.. Bond noticed the table was set for two. He wondered if Tigercat was entertaining a visitor ... whoever the fellow was. Then he observed Tigercat sitting at his computer.
TC helped himself to a fresh can of diet Coke, sloshed on a quarter bottle of Aqua Velva, and sat down
In front of his computer.
"Hmmm " thought TC to himself. "I wonder if ComCentral has replaced that lousy comedy writer
yet. That guy can only write moderately funny crap."
TC read for a while, chuckling occasionally. As TC finishes reading he says to himself "Ha ha, that pally sure does get himself into some funny fixes. Who would ever believe he lives next to Tom Cruise and Starsky and Hutch? What jerk would use Old Spice anyways? And how about that stupid car he drives? A 63' Rambler American? Come on...there ain't no pally named Shadow Treetrimr. Who would have a name like that?"
"I really wouldn't know," boomed a calm and steady British sounding voice from behind TC. Tigercat jumped in surprise and turned around in his imitation nagahyde swivel chair in front of his computer. Leaning in the doorway to the hall was none other than James Bond himself.
"I trust you've had a pleasant evening?" asked Bond, striding towards TC, who jumped up and backed away.
"Hey, pally, what’s all this? And who are you? Stuttered TC. "Ya know this is private property? You could get in trouble for this, pal. You know, unlawful entry, theft-
"The names Bond, James Bond of the British Secret Service. I do hope that stealing one's leisure suit jacket will not distress you." finished Bond as he snatched TC's black imitation polyester leisure suit from the coat rack and withdrew the fuming green sock from the pocket.
"How interesting. Someone has taken the time to have etched 'Weedwakr' on this amusing little green sock."
"Yo! Ain't that interesting, heh... heh," squirmed TC as his mind churned. "Someone must have stuck that in my pocket without me knowing earlier today...yeah, that's it..some punk put that in there... heh heh."
"Of course. Then I don't suppose you would mind if! Kept it?" asked Bond, smirking.
"Uh, geez, not at all, pally," stammered TC.
"Splendid. "
"You got that right, Bond pally!" shouted. TC as he pulled a vividly colored pistol from his back pocket.
"Don't move, pal, or you'll crawl back to the Queen dripping wet." Bond recognized the weapon in TC's stubby fist right away. The weapon 'Q' had warned him about. The Summer Fun Squirt Blaster Water Pistol, the world’s most powerful water gun . One spray from it and ... boom ... Bond shook the thought from his head.
"I pray I wasn't out of line by taking your coat," continued Bond slowly. "I merely intended this to be a
Social visit. If you wanted this back, you merely had to say so."
"That’s more like it, pally," barked TC. ''Now into the dining room. I was expecting you, Jimmy pal. Dinner is served, if ya want it pally, because I don't think you's gotten much to eat at you-know-where’s earlier today."
"I would be delighted," agreed Bond.
"Yeah, pal, now put that leisure suit down and get into the dining room."
Tiptoeing through the shrubbery, Batman and Robin peered into TC's dining room window.
"Holy table settings, Bruce!" cried Robin, "Tigercat isn't getting robbed! He's having dinner with that guy in the tuxedo! And look at the plates and glasses! Those are the missing Bat-Plates and Dishes! That punk Tigercat took them!
"I see that, Dick, and look on the counter. There's the missing Bat-Blender!" replied Batman. "Obviously these two are in cahoots together. They are probably are planning their next underhanded plot. ..
Just then a out of breath Clint Eastwood came up and crouched down next to the dynamic duo
"I darned near lost my life wading through that jungle that Tigercat calls a lawn. I also discovered a few skeletons of some poor souls who didn't make it out of that jungle." said Clint
"Hey, Bat partner isn't that your utility belt that Tigercat has around his fat waist." said Clint as he pointed at TC through the window.
"Holy utility belt Batman that is your belt." cried out the boy wonder.
"Why. Let me at that low life punk Robin! Just let me get my Bat gloves around his skinny little neck." yelled out Batman as Clint and Robin tried to hold back the angry super hero.
"Hey, come on now partner, calm down. There is probably a good explanation why Tigercat has your utility belt." said Dirty Harry.
"Holy golf clubs Clint." said Robin "Aren't those your golf clubs in the corner with the initials C.E. on the bag?"
"What!" exclaimed Clint "Let me at the low life cattle rustling, sage brush chewing, stage coach robbing, cactus breath smelling scrawny snake hide. I'll tear him limb from limb." said the angry screen star.
''Now calm down Clint. There is probably a good explanation why Tigercat has your golf clubs." said Batman
Don't hand me that crap about 'Good explanation'. That punk stole my golf clubs." said Clint in his typical Eastward fashion.
"Shhhhh!! Quiet, Clint! Tigercat's looking this way!"
"Say, Jimmy pally," said TC, carefully watching Bond for any fast moves, "do you, ah, by any chance, fly CFS?"
"James is my name, sir, not Jimmy." replied Bond, "and yes I have been known to occasionally fly for the Queen's RAF in CFS. I find it rather enjoyable, relaxing, improves my lightning fast reflexes. By the way Mr. Tigercat, you have two masked and caped peeping Toms outside your window."
"AH…. Never mind them two, they're just a couple of super-hero crime fighters that live next door."
Replied TC. "Ya don't say Big Jim pal so ya do fly CFS. Imp just a rookie myself.�
Would you want anything to drink?"
"Please, a very dry martini, shaken, not stirred," answers Bond politely.
"Hey! Beaver, butler pally!" shouted TC towards the kitchen. "Bring the drinks."
"Okay, Mister," replied Beaver Cleaver as he ran out carrying an ice chest. "Say, Mister, you gone pay
me this time?"
"Yeah, yeah, here's 25 cents," grumbled TC as he snatched the ice chest. "Here ya go, Jimmy."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Tigercat, this is a can of diet Coke."
"I'm kind stocked low today, pal," replied TC. ''Now onto the business at hand, pally. See, you's out to
get me, and I'm out to get you, see. I could. Blast your British punk hide into dripping wet shreds with this Summer Fun Squirt Blister here, see. But that wouldn't be as you Brit's say, very sporting of me, see. I've always wanted to go after 007, mono e mono, both of us, on fair grounds, see. In CFS. My Genuine Rookie Kilter against your stock Spitfire Mk I."
"Why should I accept this match? Asked Bond.
"Well pally, just take a look here in the garage." said TC as he motioned 007 to get up from the table and look in the garage.
"Weedwakr!, you have him!" said the startled Bond.
"That's right Bond pally. If ya don't play ball my way, It's curtains for Weedwakr see, and the Shadow
program is all mine Mauhahahahha!.. Said TC
"I see I have little choice in the matter but to accept," said Bond. "I must note, however, that I doubt your Genuine Rookie Kilter to be, as one says,� Stock."
"Hey, Jimmy pal, it's just a harmless repaint. And beside Bond pally , you don't have a choice in the matter. hehehe," TC said as he tipped back his glass of diet Coke. "Imp given' ya two hours, Jimmy pally, to meet me in the air over Sturmgruppe, no tricks now, or Weedwakr will go out... all the way out. If ya catches my drift Bond pally."
"You have my word of honor as a gentleman of the Queens secret service that I shall be there at the
Appointed time," replied James Bond. .
Two hours later we find PGTigercat at his computer ...
Now let’s see, what's in my e-mail..., an
Absolutely Last Notice Phone Bill' ….better throw that one away.
And... What have we hear a letter from Clint Eastwood my neighbor pally across the street. Hmm,
Something about 'you only borrowed my Karaoke machine for a weekend, TC you punk, it's been 3 months, now bring it back!' Sheesh! Talk about being impatient!"
"Oh ,oh I better hurry into CFS, I got a kilten waiting for me." mused TC to himself as he was loading up CFS.
<PGTigercat> YO! Pallys
<Shadow _ Treetrimr> Hiya TC! Say, when you gonna get your next comer to me?
<Exit> RCAF Wishhbone
<PGTigercat> Uh, geez trimr pally, I, ahhh…., was so busy writing the next comer I forgot to send it. And besides those pesky aliens abducted me again and I just escaped...yeah, that’s it.
<Enter> PG Toob
<Shadow_Treetrimr> Oh no not the alien story again..sheesh ok TC whatever.
<ColdBreeze> C 0 L D B R E E Z E
<+MarsSinger> Watch the caps, Breezy boy
<Enter> PG_Fair_Oh
<Exit> mercs_cmdr_wal
<The_Ghetto _Mouse> yeah that was a good floodin last night CB
<ColdBreeze> hey ghetto you loser commie flag wavin punk
<Exit> Van_Mustang
<The_Ghetto_Mouse> hey, can it CB
<ColdBreeze> Make me, commie punk loser
<Enter> PG _ Leetwo
<PGTigercat> say any Rookies out there that need to be Kilt?
<ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <ColdBreeze> GHETTO MOUSE IS A COMMIE PUNK LOSER <PG _ Toob> Here we go again
<+MarsSinger> Cut the flooding CB
<ColdBreeze> Hey Toob, your mother wears combat boots...hehehhehe <Exit> PG _Maxamum
TO BE CONTINUED>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
TC-
Latest: HighestAce
New Today: 0
New Yesterday: 0
Overall: 6648
People Online:
Members: 0
Visitors: 297
Total: 297
Visitors:
Forum FAQ
Log in to check your private messages
Login
Search
Offline
www.jerry-miller.net