Monday, 8 September 2014

On Her Majesty's Secrete Service

I like babies shaken not stirred ... the British nanny way.

Since it's been a few years, some of my former activities have become unclassified. I am now able to tell you about the time when Old Knudsen was a super secret spy werking for MI-9 which is the agency MI-6 werks for as you all know. We were so feared and hated that our enemies did a pun of our names and called us 'mimes'  which is very unfair as being trapped in an invisible box is no laughing matter.

I had to infiltrate the ranks of the Swiss evil master mind Baron Blokenfinger, he built a quantum singular reactor that if activated could render sterile every living creature on the planet that didn't have his patented lead underwear.  

The Queen had just married, we wanted heirs to the throne and an unending supply of bacon. (this was before the time in which we injected the Queen with the immortality serum that our resident Nazis scientists made for us) No heirs, no bacon .... no hope for the great British empire, aye fuck the rest of the world, they didn't pay my wages.

I had to get to the reactor and destroy it, grab a pair of lead undies, shag some lasses and maybe kill Blokenfinger if I felt like it.

I posed as Professor Knudsen at a science convention in Geneva and knew that Blokenfinger would be watching.
I stood there in me dicky bow, tweed jacket (with elbow patches) and fake spectacles, I looked more science than Bill Nye yon science guy.

How to get a head in villainy. 

Blokenfinger walked over to me and introduced himself. I'd seen his type before, smelling of strong cigarettes, addiction to pain killers and covered in cat hair. He'd been through the Stavro school of evil villainy I'd wager.

How to be an evil villain, step 1) the evil laugh 2) it's all about the pussy 3) tell nemesis yer plan before you kill them but never stick around to watch as that is just rude.

So Professor Knudsen I'd love to invite you to my secret lair high up in the Alps to discuss your paper of metalecular fusion within the dianetic pulse wave projector field.      

A thing that Old Knudsen never does is study his mission briefs, all that werdy reading lessens the spontaneity of the performance. I do it on the night.

Yer what is itchy? oh yon metalecular diabetic corn field I got ya, aye I'd love to have dinner with a pretty young thing like you .... remember when I said about not reading mission briefs? well I got confused and thought I had to shag him before killing some lasses, an easy mistake to make ... if yer me.      

Blokenfinger blushed and made arrangements for a helicopter to pick me up.

After glancing at me orders again I was taken high up into the mountains to his massive secret lair. I fondled his pussy lovingly as I suspected he was a love me love my cat kind of person and we talked about our hopes and dreams before the red wine and my charm took us to bed in a fucktastic sexathon that was not at all ghey cos I was only doing my job.

Fuck me orders, who can resist a Swiss accent? I sneaked from beneath the black silken sheets and searched the lair for a big evil looking machine.

It was quite small to be honest, not very impressive at all, it would take more than that to kill Old Knudsen's seed. My jizz is like a virus and has been known to make weemen pregnant via handshake.

I destroyed the dread machine and grabbed a couple of pairs of lead belly warmers for her majesty should this machine be created ever again.

 To think that I let you stroke my pussy.

I was discovered! Two henchmen brought me to Blokenfinger, "who do you work for Mr Knudsen if that is even yer real name?" ....  I'll no tell you fuck all except you were shite in bed .... "I don't really care, my mother loves me and so does my cat and that is all the validation I need, now you will die."

Yes it is Knudsen, MI-9, I also sometimes werk for the company and consult for various other world governments on matters of security, if you give me a pen and paper I can write you a list, please don't kill me I'm too young and pretty to die.

As any operative knows you cannot last indefinitely when being tortured, he knew my weakness, but how could he know I was afraid of being harmed or killed? .... unless MI-9 had a mole, or a hamster, it didn't matter what kind of small rodent they had it had to be stopped but that was for another day. The wheel turns my little furry traitor.

I crumpled doon in a sobbing heap, pissing and shitting myself, just enough to distract the henchmen (quite a lot) that I took out my trick explosive dentures and threw them at Blokenfinger. As the teeth and saliva flew towards him I could see him grimace and flinch away in disgust and I threw myself out of a window.

The explosion singed my ear hairs as I ducked and rolled doon the snow covered mountain using my skill to cover myself in a giant snowball otherwise the 8,000 foot drop would have hurt or even killed me.

At the foot of the mountain the 10 meter wide snowball broke open and released me from it's grip of safety. I climbed out of the snow stained with the red wine and the food from the previous night, dehydrated and dizzy but just glad to be alive.

I destroyed the device, didn't get the underwear but I shagged and killed someone and the henchmen so it was a successful enough mission, yay me! at least I didn't blow me head off trying to eat that steak during dinner.    



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