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*James Bond Triptych

L-Plates:

(007 theme plays. Bond [without a gun] runs on after a man and, after a struggle, kills him then removes the body. M walks on with a clipboard)

M: Very good Bond, excellent technique there. You checked your blind spots well, good use of peripherals, and first-rate corpse disposal.

 

Bond: Thanks, M….

 

M: Now just the rest of your 120 practice kills and you’ll get your provisional license to kill.

 

Bond: 120? Last year it was only 50!

 

M: Yes, the rules are rather more strict now, I'm afraid. 120 supervised practice kills, including at least twenty at night, and in various weather conditions.

 

Bond: You mean to tell me that last year I would already have my Licence to Kill, but this year there are more than double the requirements? And you have to watch me kill 120 people?

 

M: Well, since I’m an accredited instructor, ten kills under my supervision are worth three kills each. But the rest you’ll have to do with your parents.

 

Bond: But I'm an orphan.

 

M: Be that as it may, MI6 must maintain a high standard. We can’t just hand out licenses to kill to anyone.

 

Bond: All I had to do to get this learner licence is take a multiple choice quiz. It only set me back 40 quid.

 

M: Look, it’s no good whining about it James, you have to put in the kills or you can’t work for us. But don’t worry, before you know it you’ll get your provisional licence, and then you're free. Oh, except no killing between 11pm and 4am, no guns above calibre .90, oh, and, no drinking and homicide…

 

Bond: Oh, come on!

 

M: Rules are rules James. And you forgot your plates again.

 

Bond: What?

(M sticks an L-Plate on Bond)

Lights Down

 

 

 

Puns:

(007 theme plays. James Bond runs onstage, just as before, this time holding a gun.)

Bond: I hope you backed up your hard drive – because you're about to get ... erased.

(Bond shoots into the wings. Thud is heard.)

(M walks on, holding the same clipboard.)

M: [writing] Terrible James, just terrible. I'm going to have to deduct marks if you keep on like this.

 

Bond: What? Why? He's dead isn't he?

 

M: Your ... 'puns', if that is what you'd call them, are all over the place. They don't even make sense. If you want your Licence to kill, you’re going to have to do better than that. (Some related pun to previous assassination). Say you’re in the Arctic and you kill an arms dealer?

 

Bond: Ice doing business with you.

 

M: James, you're a highly-respected government assassin, not a poorly written comic book supervillain. What about if you shot a femme fatale Soviet spy and her Southern American henchman?

Bond: "One for the lady and one more for the road-eo"?

 

M: (Grimaces) Well, remind me never to put you in that position. How about if you came across a spy planning to sell enriched uranium to Iran, then killed him with a trombone that’s also a grenade launcher and dumped his body in the Ocean?

 

Bond: It’s time to face the music---try fission out of that lake.

 

M: See, that’s better. What about killing a Scottish man on a cliff? (Bond shoots the spy, he/she fall to the ground).


Bond: I'll have my Scotch on the rocks.


M: Oh no, a North Korean spy. (Bond shoots the spy, he/she fall to the ground).

 

Bond: Looks like your career is over. 


M: And when you sleep with a woman and then forget to call her?


Bond: I... apologise?


M: That's right, James, you apologise, (pause) you sex pest.




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