James Bonds Dad.

Discussion in 'RR Greatest Threads' started by bigbaddog, Mar 17, 2007.

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  1. Now, as we all surely know, that epitomy of British Maleness - James Bond (Super-Spy, killer of the Empires enemies and complete Fanny-Magnet), is always being referred to as quote:Commander Bond:unquote so he's a member of the RN isn't he? After many minutes of research, I have discovered that James Bonds dad was also in the RN. He did his 22 years and left as a 3-badge Leading Hand and he too was a Secret Agent....of sorts. Now, James Bonds dad had many, many adventures but they were never known about - until now! Thanks to The "Freedom of Black-Cat this Dit" Act, official documents, recently discovered in an old Pussers filing cabinet on sale in a branch of Army & Navy Surplus just outside Milton Keynes, James Bonds dads adventures are now in the public domain. These stories were to be serialised and published in forthcoming issues of "Razzle-Readers Wives-Over 60's Edition" but they would not give me enough money, so I told 'em to "Go and take a flying f**k at a rolling doughnut", and decided to serialise them here for your delight and entertainment. All other paperback publishers sent me f**k off chits as well claiming that the "Average reader in the street" would not understand the humour. Ohh well.

    James Bonds dad in.......

    "THUNDERBOLLOX"

    "An absolute must-read...pinched all my fecking ideas for my next book!" Chris Ryan

    "Hard-Hitting, non-stop action-feast, full of mindless violence, gratituous sex and binge drinking!" Mother Theresa of Calcutta

    "A new thriller writer that kept telling me to F**k off!" The Paper Clip animation in Microsoft Word

    "The bestest best selling best seller that ever propped up my MFI home assembly wardrobe!" Agatha Christie

    "I have read the book....now buy some Credit Card Protection!" Gunnaaar Stromberrrgggsonn, Orange Call Centre, Reyjkavik, Iceland.

    Chapter 1

    The Name is Bond - Knocker Bond.
    HMS THRUSTER was cruising serenely through the calm moonlit waters of the Mediterranean. Several Royal Fleet auxilliaries and quite a few NATO Naval Units made up Task Force 118118, and the major exercise they were all taking part in was coming to an end. Exercise "Monkey Spanker 55", had involved replenishments at sea, sub chasing, helicopter flying, missile shoots, gun actions, high speed manoeuvres and at least twenty Wardroom Cheese & Wine parties so Steward Bond had been a busy rating. He had (by his own reckoning) dished out thirty gallons of gin-based cocktails and had plated up at least a thousand cocktail sausages with pineapple on little sticks. Now, he sat in the Wardroom pantry of the Thruster, feet up on the table day-dreaming about the run ashore/piss-up in Gibraltar in four days time. At the same time, a communications rating was ascending the ladder to the bridge - a very important message clasped firmly in his hand. CAPTAINS EYES ONLY had been stamped in red on the envelope he carried. It must be important! The rating fumbled his way around the darkened bridge and accidentally stood on the Chief Yeomans sandalled feet. He awoke with a start and began Yelling, "CORPEN NINE ZERO....FORM LINE ASTERN...ROGER YOUR LAST!!"
    The Captain ordered him to "F***ing shut up" and the Yeoman promptly went back to sleep. The Radio Operator homed in on the Captains voice and handed him the envelope. Captain Quentin Bloodbath-Jones tore the envelope open and shone his Pussers Right-angle Red-light Torch on to the Signal. What he read - startled him.
    FROM: C in C FLEET TO: THRUSTER attn Captain ONLY
    IMPERATIVE YOU TRANSFER STEWARD BOND OFFICIAL NUMBER D007007
    TO RFA IN COMPANY IMMEDIATELY. ARRANGEMENTS FOR ONWARD TRANSFER OF RATING HAVE BEEN MADE BY SEPARATE SIGNAL. PASS CONTENTS OF THIS SIGNAL TO RATING PERSONALLY.
    SAY TO RATING QUOTE: BELGIUM IS A VERY INTERESTING COUNTRY: UNQUOTE. REPLY WILL BE QUOTE:ONLY IF YOU'RE DEAD: UNQUOTE
    THIS ORDER OVERRIDES ANY OTHER IN-FORCE OPERATIONAL COMMITTMENTS//
    The Captain folded the message and placed it in his pocket.
    "Officer of the Watch?!"
    "Sir!"
    "Going below for a while - you have the ship!"
    "Aye Aye sir - I have the ship!"
    The CO left the bridge and made his way to the Wardroom Pantry, still rankled by the cryptic message from High Command. Why go and see some Naval Butler personally for Christs Sake? I'm the bloody Captain! He should be doing my f***ing breakfast....whats going on here?". He arrived at the Wardroom Pantry and opened the door. The rating in question was there.....on watch, a large enamel mug of Oxtail Soup in one hand, a dog-eared copy of "Health and Efficiency" in the other, and something purple and obnoxious sticking out of the front of his pussers shorts.
    "Steward Bond!", hissed the Captain.
    "Sir!"
    The veins in the CO's forehead looked fit to explode but he managed to hang on to his composure.
    Bond leapt to his feet, the enamel mug of soup clattered to the deck. Turning his back momentarily on the CO he hastily fumbled with the protuberance before turning around and assuming a more respectful stance.
    "Errrr.....Belgium is a very interesting country....?", the Captain whispered.
    Knocker Bonds face cracked into a big shit-eating grin.
    "Only if yer dead skin....only if yer dead..."
    The Captain fished the message from his pocket and handed it to the grinning loon. Steward Bond read it once, rolled it up into a ball and started to eat it.
    "We had better get a f***ing shift on me old wingsy-bash!" he uttered, spraying little pieces of the Top Secret message from the sides of his mouth.
    "Off to me Mess to pack me f***ing grip - you'd better get this ship to f***ing Flying Stations skin 'cos I'm bleedin' required elsewhere!"
    The Captain suddenly realised he had said, "Right - Hands to Flying Stations - will make it so!" A tiny voice in his head tittered insanely.
    "Hang on! He's a f***ing Crumb-Brush! He was about to crack one off in the Wardroom Pantry and NOW he's the most important person on this ship!?"Knocker Bond reappeared at the Captains side. God! That was quick! He was now attired in his best number one suit and was clutching a very battered pussers grip. It was crammed to bursting point with items that made the Captains jaw drop. Several heavy calibre machine guns, a Samurai sword, two baseball bats and the Wardroom Pantry Cheese-cutter
    were in plain sight as was a pair of Steaming Boots marked "Property of Special Intelligence Service-Not for Nozzers". The usual assortment of nicks, socks and large tins of Brut talcum powder completed the bags contents. Knocker Bonds eyes narrowed into evil slits. He hauled himself up to his full height of five foot two and sucked in his vast beer-belly.
    "Seems my country needs me to kick some f***ers arse....again!", said he.
    Bond - Knocker Bond hurried aft, heading for the flight-deck, followed by his very confused Commanding Officer. A hundred miles away on the Island of Malta, a Jet-Black Helicopter was in the final preparations for take off.
    ================================================
     
    • Like Like x 3
  2. Brilliant! That will keep me laughing for days.
     
  3. Make that weeks!
     
  4. definitely got potential ... by the way what is 'Health and Eficiency' ?
    :oops:
     
  5. janner

    janner War Hero Book Reviewer

    H & E was the fore runner of the nudie mags of today, it had something to do with the nudist movement. Mind you all the interesting bits were air brushed out.

    My thanks to Nutty for providing me with this information
     
  6. When's the next installment? Brilliant!
     
  7. Excellent stuff bigbaddog and, yes, Bond was RNVR (RN Volunteer Reserve, which would be RNR these days), just like his creator Fleming (despite starting out as a pongo).

    Can't think where you got a name like 'Knocker Bond'....bl**dy fantastic. Well done shippers!
     
  8. No wonder stewards led a charmed life.

    No savvy Orificer would dare upset the man prepared to chug in his breakfast!

    Good one!
     
  9. Brils...BZ...Roll on the next chapter :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :cool:
     
  10. Chapter 2 later today
    I hope its enjoyable
    One good bit of feedback cancels out thousands of bad 'uns!
     
  11. Go for it bigbaddog this story is as exciting... I cant tell that as I may have to kill youu!!!
     
  12. Don't say that, he'll do unspeakable things to your poridge :wink: :wink: :cool:
     
  13. Looking forward to it. I forward Ch 1 to a few shipmates and have been inundated with requests for Ch 2. I had to explain that I did not pen this mater and was waiting as eagerly as they were. All the best Dog

    :smile: :smile: :smile: :smile: :smile: :smile:
     
  14. BBD
    Absolutely cracking......I have sent it to people all around the world and the only two reactions have been "PMSL" and "More please".

    Can't wait for Ch.2.

    RM
     
  15. THUNDERBOLLOX

    Chapter 2 - FLIGHT TO GOZO

    The helicopter waiting to take off, was an American Mark 10 Super-Mega-Shitstorm-Black-Ace-Armageddon-Bitch-From-Hell-Fast-Attack Variant, (Those Americans just love to give military equipment ace macho names).
    It was on detachment from 666 KickAss Air Cavalry based in Fort Bragg, North Carolina, and now on loan to the 33rd Malta Dog Shoot Naval Air Squadron - but its operational control was back behind one of those thick old wooden doors of the offices of the Special Intelligence Service (S.I.S.) in London. The pilot of this high-tech, cutting-edge, state-of-the-art flying death bringer was a 24 year old Jamaican Navy Lieutenant called "Willy-Boy" Utterthwaite RJN. He was the love-child of union between his Jamaican-born mother, and a holidaymaker from Scunthorpe. "Willy-Boy", therefore, had a tendency to speak in the standard laid-back Jamaican way - but with a somewhat confusing hint of a broad Yorkshire dialect also.
    He gave his helicopter some more throttle, and depressed the transmit button of his radio.
    "CONTROL TOWER - THIS IS GANJA TWO ZERO.....ISS THA' REDDY FOR UZZ T'TEKK OFF THEN CHUCK?"
    "GANJA TWO ZERO-CONTROL...CLEARED TO DEPART...AND GOOD LUCK!"
    "Willy-Boy" hauled back on the cyclic,
    "THIS IS TOOOO ZEEERO MAN....REET! NO WURRIEZ MAN....AHHL SITHEE!"
    The chopper roared upwards into the night sky, altered course and headed out to its pre-arranged rendezvous, skimming dangerously low over the flat calm waters of the Med. Willy-Boy shut off his emergency radio and slotted a Bob Marley cassette into the player he had masking-taped to the control panel. He turned the volume up to maximum, flipped a big red switch marked "AUTOPILOT", put his feet up on the cockpit windscreen, lit a bloody enormous funny looking cigarette, closed his eyes and started singing "I shot the Sheriff" as loud as he could.

    RIGHT!
    SO WE HAVE AN AMERICAN MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR HELICOPTER, PILOTED BY A WEED-SMOKING JAMAICAN-YORKIE ON LOAN-DRAFT TO A MALTESE NAVAL AIR SQUADRON, CONTROLLED BY BLACK-HATS IN LONDON, ON ITS WAY TO PICK UP A LICENCED-TO-KILL SECRET AGENT, WHO IS ACTUALLY A WARDROOM STEWARD ON ONE OF HER MAJESTIES SHIPS.


    ...and its all true.

    Far out at sea, Knocker Bond was pacing the flight-deck of HMS THRUSTER, chain-smoking duty-frees. He flicked the remains of his 13th cigarette into the luminous wake astern of the ship. Captain Bloodbath was standing in the open hangar, muttering quietly to himself.
    "Steward Bond? A trained Secret Agent? Licenced to Kill? He can't even polish the Wardroom Silver collection properly!" He was still ranting under his breath as Knocker approached him.
    "I know me old son - I know", said Knocker, reading the Captains thoughts.
    "You lot thought I wuz just anuvver loafin' always adrift in-the-shite Jack-me-tickler-tin piss 'ead!!"
    The Captain was about to reply, but Knocker held up a hand and continued to enlighten his CO.
    "Bin an Operative in the f***in' S.I.S. as long as I've bin in the RN fer fu**s sake....'cos kickin' arse, killin' people and shaggin' fit birds is a lot more fun than mustering knives, forks and f***ing spoons!"
    Knocker was momentarily silent.
    "Ohh - and by the way mate...."
    Captain Bloodbaths face contorted into yet another puzzled expression.
    "The name is Bond......Smudge Bond!"
    "Wha-a-ttt?"
    "I'M F***ING UNDERCOVER NOW MATEY!"

    The Shitstorm Helo zoomed across the bows of HMS THRUSTER at 300 miles an hour, Reggae music pounded out of Will-Boys Super-Bass Loudspeakers, fixed in the passenger compartment, and great clouds of ganja smoke streamed, Red Arrow style out of the open passenger door. The 'copter circled back and made its approach towards the stern of the ship.
    "O---kaaaaayyy den man", said Willy-boy as he expertly brought the machine into a hover above the flight deck.
    "TIME T'LAND THIS FECKIN ELLYCOOPTER ME OWLD FLOWER!"
    Twenty feet up, he shut off the engines. The machine stopped flying and thudded into the deck. Silence.
    Then....
    Willy-Boy Utterthwaite poked his head out of the cockpit window. The flying helmet he was attempting to wear was cellotaped to his dreadlocks, some foot-and-a-half above the actual top of his head, and it was wobbling precariously on its temporary perch. He shouted towards the two men who had taken cover in the hangar.
    "Heyyy youz fellas there....Taxi for Knocker Bond...bye 'eck!"
    Smudge (nee Knocker) Bond sprinted towards the waiting helicopter, Pussers grip strapped across his back. He vaulted effortlessly into the passenger compartment, sat down and strapped himself in.
    "The Name's Bond.....Smudge Bond.."
    Willy-Boy fired up the engines.
    "Yeah man...whatever - just hang there and chill man and I get you to your briefing in Gozo.....Awreet me owld bucket o' Whippet Spew?"
    Smudge Bond pulled his cap over his face.
    "Just gizza shake when we get there - okay?"
    The chopper took off, and Willy-Boy pulled a handful of snack-food from a pocket in his flying suit.
    "Chicken Jerky man?"
    "No ta"
    "Some Caribbean fried Mango Crisps then man?"
    "Not 'ungry!"
    Willy-Boy held aloft a load of wobbling, slimy vile smelling white stuff.
    "Okay man...'Ad this tripe posted to me from me Uncle in Wigan...Reet neece wi' onions!"
    "F***ing Shurrup...fly this bastard and shake me when we get there okay?!"
    Willy fell silent, and flew hell for leather towards Gozo.
    On the THRUSTER meanwhile, Captain Bloodbath had entered the Wardroom and was necking Jack Daniels, direct from the bottle. He turned over temporary command to the First Lieutenant and locked himself in his cabin for a week.
    To this day, no one knows why.
     
    • Like Like x 1
  16. "I'M F***ING UNDERCOVER NOW MATEY!"


    Superb!
     
  17. F*****g ace BBD, Terry Pratchet eat your heart out :grin: :grin: :grin: :cool:
     
  18. Looking forward to part 3!!!
     
  19. When do we get chapter 3 then ?
     

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