We, the great Dekology of Villains, have finally captured James Bond, and we have, at last, all of us finally had the chance to explain our villainous plans to the only man truly capable of understanding them: Mr. Jame Bond of the British Secret Service.
…who appears to be dead.
….has anyone kept track of how LONG we’ve spent explaining our plans to Mr. Bond?
He has 6 days growth of facial hair and looks like he hasn’t eaten in a week.
WHAT THE HELL GOOD IS IT TO DROP HIM INTO OUR UNIQUE RADIATION HELL, WHICH WE SHALL INFLICT ON ALL HUMANS IF THEY DON’T OBEY OUR DEMANDS, IF WE FORGOT TO FEED HIM FIRST AND HE’S ALREADY DEAD.
Drop a corpse into your death machine? Not. The. Same. Thing.
Did NOBODY feed the man? Not even once?
I’m sure he asked. Let me guess. Scrambled eggs and sausage? Yep. Which of you was going to tell the cook?
We don’t HAVE a cook? We use delivery apps? We’re terrible supervillains. We have no class.
Tell you what.
You blokes loan me fifty pounds for a cab back to Basingstoke, and you can interrogate Bond ALL you want. You can even insist on whatever song you want. Go for it.
Is it a deal? It is? Great. You’ve only got 40 pounds on you? Don’t worry. I’m going to run outside with a gas mask on just in case. Keep the rest. See you later!
Hey, is Bond moving? No, that’s just the wind.
Okay, YOUR evil plot was brilliant. I just wanted to shoot him in the head, I’m out.
Good luck, guys. I hope he runs out of ammo soon.
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