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Robber Rabbit : The Scaryduck Brain Dump



Wednesday, March 31, 2004


Hobbies of the rich and famous

No.2: Wanking into hats: Secret Agent James Bond answers your questions.

Greetings to red hot hat action fans everywhere! My name is Bond, James Bond - secret agent, international playboy and holder of the coveted double-o prefix, here to answer any questions you may have on the much-maligned pastime of wanking into hats. But did you know that status as 007 is not just an excuse to go round shooting bad guys and saving the world? Oh no! I'm also licenced to kill kittens, and the ninja skill of wanking into hats is invaluable in a high-pressure profession such as mine.

Who knows when you'll need a quick one off the wrist? You could be on the verge of destroying a secret underwater base that's going to unleash killer bees on an unsuspecting population, but you won't get the job done with bollocks like beach balls. My advice at a time like this is to cut the throat of the nearest hapless henchman, swipe his hat and knock one out into the smooth, warm lining crying out "Moneypenny! Moneypenny! Moneypenny, rub them harder!" under your breath. Then, with your man-fat happily crystallising in the discarded chapeau, you're free to save the world.

"Is this legal?" Absolutely, it's in the Geneva Convention, or something. I am, however, banned from Royal Ascot for ever.

"What about the dangers?" Naturally, there's nothing more embarrassing about getting yourself caught whilst enjoying a quick hand shandy, especially by heavily-armed goons who have not been introduced to the secret art of hat wanking. Kill them, I say and finish the job. There's nothing more satisfying for an agent in the field to shut their eyes and imagine M's firm hand guiding him to explosive millinary climax.

"What kind of hat is best?" I'm a 'live and let live' sort of guy (really!), and find any headgear is suitable for masturbatory delight. However, I do find that a naval officer's cap really gets me going, and I am the proud owner of a tricorn once worn by Admiral Nelson (slightly soiled).

"I'm a girl, what do you suggest?" If you consider yourself utterly wank-hattable, then myself, 008 and a couple of Victorian toppers in a ski chalet. Next question.

"What about socks?" You pervert.

"You're nicked Sonny Jim, would you mind stepping into the van?" I say, Officer, that's a nice helmet you're wearing.


Bonus Footage from the latest Bond epic "The Spy who wanked into my hat"

SCENE: MOUNTAINSIDE, SMALL AIR POCKET UNDER AVALANCHE CAUSED BY THE FINAL, FATAL EXPLOSION THAT HAS DESTROYED SPECTRE'S ALPINE LAIR. BOND AND NORMA SNOCKERS ARE TRAPPED, THEIR BODIES PRESSED TIGHTLY TOGETHER.

Bond: Your hat! Give me your hat!

Snockers: You have a plan?

Bond: Not exactly

FX: (Sound of manual egg-beater whisking furiously) Fapfapfapfapfapfap!

Snockers: My hero!

SCENE: MI6 HEADQUARTERS, A DARKENED CONTROL ROOM. M, Q, THE PRIME MINISTER AND SEVERAL TECHNICIANS ARE LOOKING AT A SCREEN WHICH IS COVERED IN STATIC

Q: Just getting a signal now, M.

THE PICTURE CLEARS. BOND CAN BE SEEN WANKING INTO A HAT. HE IS JUST IN THE VINEGAR STROKES, HIS FACE A GRIMACE OF ORGASMIC DELIGHT.

M (shocked): 0 0 7!

Prime Minister (confused): What's this? What's going on?

Q (matter-of-factly): He appears to be having a quick one off the wrist, Prime Minister.

PAN ONTO SCREEN, BOND WINKS AT CAMERA

LAUGHTER

FADE

THE END

Bonus bonus footage - Bond gets his girl

M has sent me to "protect" TV superstar Judy Finnegan from the forces of SMERSH - Smert Spionem- Death to Spies!

She'd be lying, comatose and semi-naked, in her dressing room, several empty gin bottles scattered about, betraying the cause of her lack of consciousness.

I slip through the door, unnoticed by husband Richard, who is away meddling with the production assistant's pert little buttocks; and there, on the table is the object of my desires: the hat.

Oh hat! Hat! Glorious hat! It is plain, unspectacular, but obviously the headwear of Britain's best known buxom tv presenting drunkard. In a trice, I dump my load into the warm lining, but to my disgust, I think of Fern Brittan at the last minute.

Judy comes to, slurs something about "bloody Richard and his hair gel" and bowks rich, brown vomit all over the floor.

I am in rapture.


posted by Alistair Coleman at 8:55 AM



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