James Bond’s Bad Day
He saw a beautiful woman at the bar. He ordered a drink.
“Three pounds? A bit much eh? A ‘igh figure, what what! I much prefer your figure ‘oney.”
What had happened? Why was he losing at cards? Why wasn’t he pulling the ladies? And why, for the love of God, wasn’t he an international spy? And what had happened to Spectre? It was all Arab terrorists and Pirates.
“Fuck off, ya bloody Paki lover!”
“I’ll have a Vesper. Shaken not stirred.” He paid for the drink and took a sip. Nasty. Back to pints after this.
He worked his James Bond magic on a few more of the ladies with the same result. Ended up chatting with some old drunks at the bar. Must be under deep cover.
He got thrown out of the bar for fighting. At least he still knew his martial arts.
He staggered home. Threw up.