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.    

  


 

The Slavistan Job

See how I blend into another culture.

We flew low over Slavistan to avoid radar contact though the whole bloody cuntryside could hear and see us, luckily cell phones weren't widely very available back then. The Spooks on board eyed me suspiciously, they were getting out when the plane landed in Turkey with their gagged, blindfolded and trussed up cargo. They didn't ask me questions and I didn't ask them any.

The Crew chief carefully made his way to the back of the Globemaster and told me to get ready to jump. I didn't use a parachute like the soft fuckers did, I dooned a bottle of beat the wife to loosen up and hoped that God would catch me in his sweet and gentle embrace.

That jump is a little hazy to this day but I remember having second thoughts just as the bay door opened.
As Alexander the great once said, "curry flavours the bald" I ran and leapt into the icy cold air, as I was hurtling towards some tree tops I remembered that my Colonel said I was expendable, fuck! I had thought he said dependable.
When I get a second wee dialog going on in my head I tend to miss what people are saying to me or sometimes I'm thinking about the theme to Scooby Doo  and the next thing you know I'm married or have agreed to rub someone's bunions .

The trees didn't feel as lush and fluffy as they looked from the air but they did break my fall, and some ribs, lucky I had some spare.

I checked my map under the nearly full moon, I had 10 miles to do in cross cuntry and had two hours to do it in.

As I moved as quickly as I could over rough terrain with poor light I heard some male voices up ahead. I stopped, quietly moving to a tree for cover. Three males in a mix of civilian and military clothing with rifles slung over their shoulders passed me by 12 feet away, they were durty swarthy types so probably didn't notice my scent of alcohol, piss and stale cum.

Why where they out in the middle of nowhere? probably just looking for sheep to bum. Once clear I pressed on, my animal senses alert to every sound my inner eye reaching out like psychic radar to warn me if someone awaited me in the dark.
After 5 hours I reached my objective, the picnic and nap that I wasn't supposed to have did me good, olives are kind of salty yet metallic, very odd, I'd be burping them up for hours to come.

A grand two story hoose with thick brown tiles on the roof and ornate eaves, a small wall surrounded it and according to intel there would be two sentries on the wall at all times.

I ghost walked towards the complex with my Sterling submachine gun at the ready, the suppressed version of course, now would not be a great time to fire it though as it was a still and silence darkness. Closer is always better.
The nearest sentry was day dreaming and probably didn't even register the grab around the mouth and the thrust of the knife being pushed up into his kidneys. I propped him up and headed along the inner wall using the shadows as I headed towards the main building.

I was excited, tired and a little itchy ... fucking allergies. Gaining entry to the main house from the kitchen I could hear the snoring of the guards from doon the hall. No one expected company, this was their home turf where they beheaded people who didn't show enough respect. No one ever expects The Company.

It was a big hoose and if I wasn't on business I'd be taking some of the nice shit they have. The stairs were solid, I just had to remember which room was which, the drawing that our operative had done of the layout missed a lot of detail... like about 4 various doors and an alcove.

The room up ahead was his bedroom which he shared with a lovely lady 20 years his junior. I slowly opened the door and went to the bed, only the gurl was there, my mind was racing where could he be at 3:15am oh look she's not bad is she? .... focus focus.   

His study of course. I went back to the hall way and orientated myself to find his study. In the near total darkness I could see it was a very solid door with panels and metal studs, I really liked what he had done with the place. From under the door I could see a faint light, a reading lamp maybe?

The door was heavy and as I opened it my eyes stung in the dim light. He was sitting at his desk, his head propped up by his hand, he must have been leaning on the table writing something and dozed off as his pen was balancing loosely in his other hand.

I had a picture of him taped to the inside of my wrist, it was him.  Should I wake him? If someone dies in their sleep do they know they are dead?

He might call out if I wake him, the power of life and death was with me, I felt like a god, "are you going to kill me or just watch me sleeping? it's really quite creepy."

He had just spoiled my moment, "sorry Sahabbi old chap, this isn't personal" I put one between his eyes, the clank of the bolt broke the silence, I paused with my head cocked, nope I was clear.

He was dead, job well done. I had time to look through his desk and collected some little books with some barbaric scribbling in them, the romance languages were my thing all this ach ne aba allah shite was gibberish, luckily these Mooslims are too poorly organised to be of any great threat to the world.  
I went back into the bedroom for another long look at yon lass and wiped it off on his velvet curtains, consider it my calling card ..... later I discovered that the Russians had made clones out of my other calling cards and made an army to kill me, that would be 20 years later as at this time no one knew about that sort of stuff, it was science fiction.

It really was darkest before the dawn, I seemed less agile and more clumsy on my hike away from the complex. I was to make my own way to a safe port, like the colonel had said, "expendable."

I don't know when the body was discovered I bet the sentry was found first. I caught and skinned an elderly farmer and wore his skin as a disguise for three weeks as I made my way out .... well I lived with his wife for two of those weeks, she nagged something rotten but could really cook and was a sex machine for someone in her early 90's, she may have figured things out when I couldn't speak the lingo we'll never know.

I got to a friendly port and then back to the office in Poland, they really did not expect me back and meeting my younger, taller over educated replacement was quite awkward, I got a swift promotion to the office in Somalia, in yer face new boy.

Sometimes in the wee hours of the morning as I start to sober up I am hit by regrets ... I regret I had not labeled all the panties I had stolen from my jobs, ach we all have regrets. 
   

  



     

            

 

The Only Way To Make McCain Look Good

"When yer Preez you'll find that the blood just doesn't come off, its fucking awesome."

Its official I'm sick of US politics. A presidential candidate is as useful as an ash tray on a motorbike. Its like putting 3 guns on a table and saying "Which one do I want to blow my head off with?"

I'm a little busy at the moment I got a call from the 'Company' saying my license to kill needs to be updated. I'm ok with guns, knives, explosives, ropes and woodwind instruments its the miscellaneous section that needs some work, that's the killing with a pen, rolled up magazine, dish cloth etc. I updated my fountain pen skills to a bic and then a sharpie so I thought I was good but oh no it was the mobile phones that got me.
Back in the day the mobiles were just so heavy you could smash someone's head in with it but now they are tiny and skinny and require more skill to kill with, I don't even own a mobile but you just don't know when you have to pick up whats nearby to fight with.

Mobiles are so small now I can hardly see them no wonder people have to shout into them. I heard a young fella shout into one, "Where you at?" do they mean in life? fuck that's a bit deep, I know I'm at that stage in life where I look at what some people have to say and wonder why no one has killed them yet, a fool at 40 is indeed a fool.

Now that I'm in Callyfornia I have to take a course in hand to hand sun glasses fighting. In the UK if you see someone wearing sunglasses you'd think either "look a blind person" or "look a tourist" in any case easy pickings to mug if you needed some beer money.
Nah only kidding what kind of cunt do you thing I am mugging a blind person ? I would stand behind them when they are about to cross the road waiting for the lights to change and go "beep beep beep beep beep beep" well I have ADHD and am a sex addict so its not my fault I just get bored easily.

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