On hearing the news
On hearing the news that you buried another villain, another girl
On hearing the news that the man with the golden gun lies dead on the beach for bigger prey
On hearing the news that Pussy Galore is not the dead girl painted in gold
On hearing the news that you lost to the villain at cards and funded world terrorism
On hearing the news that your hand-to-hand combat skills don’t always save you
On hearing the news that you were bested by a girl with poisoned-toed shoes
On hearing the news that you very nearly killed your own boss at the villain’s behest
On hearing the news that the other assassin was a girl and you let her escape with her cello
On hearing the news that a pair of American gangsters nearly stole your diamonds and your life
On hearing the news that the girls you love don’t always love you back
If/Then Bond James
If/Then Bond, James, gambling with villains, girl, often in Jamaica where Bond was born…
If/Then Bond, James, saving the world and, sometimes, the girl. The villain, never…
If/Then Bond, James, cool, comfortable, no sign of gun under the dinner jacket…
If/Then Bond, James, black velvet splendor of the girl…
If/Then Bond, James, enough hot toast with the caviar…
If/Then Bond, James, angry at being given a woman to work with…
If/Then Bond, James, borrowed dresses on pretty girls…
If/Then Bond, James, job’s a confusing business…
If/Then Bond, James, is she in the villain’s employ…
If/Then Bond, James, 007 isn’t what he seems…
If/Then Bond, James, falling on the battlefield is a more honorable death…
If/Then Bond, James, the number of times 007’s death warrant has been signed…
If/Then Bond, James, where is 007’s loyalty to the crown…
If/Then Bond, James, hits a gunman right in his vanity…
If/Then Bond, James, scaredy cool cat talks back…
If/Then Bond, James, 007’s innate dislike for committing murder in cold blood…
If/Then Bond, James, M stands for murder…
If/Then Bond, James, 007 sleeps naked save for nothing…
If/Then Bond, James, 007 carries his gun in his teeth…
If/Then Bond, James, that’s some serious bush-whacking, 007…
If/Then Bond, James, thank you 007, CIA, for saving Jamaica from itself…
If/Then Bond, James, 007 sulks about Q’s assessment of his (007’s) gun…
Most likely to follow rules
Most likely to propose marriage
Most likely to kill villain with bare hands
Most likely to cheat death
Least likely to bend rules
Least likely to lie
Least likely to die
Most likely to tease villain
Least likely to tease girl
Most likely to eat breakfast
Most likely to smoke to excess
Least likely to drink to excess (prefers bourbon, champagne)
Most likely to transmit STDs
Least likely to fall ill
Most likely to fall in love
Most likely to fall apart (stress)
Most likely to feel pain
Most likely to hate peacetime (“the villains had all gone home”)
Most likely to be outgunned
Most likely to be “pimp[ed] for England”
Most likely to be tortured nearly to death by villain
Most likely to be villain’s pet
Least likely to stay single
Most likely to give chase (girl and villain)
Most likely to use speed with booze
Most likely to drink with boss (see previous line)
Most likely to wish for a quick death in event of torture
Least likely to go rogue
She could have a dry-cleaning bill. Receipts for auto repair. Testing for STDs.
She could have a daily horoscope, a short ton of ashtrays, enough Bourbon to outdrink God.
She could have a housekeeper, a dust pan, a California King.
She could have a sock drawer, monogrammed towels, and scented soaps.
She could have hot showers. Oil changes. Running shoes.
She could have sweaters. Condoms. A workout regimen.
She could have a coffee table, a drink cart, a game closet where she keeps the Scrabble.
She could have French sheets, crystal, and candlelight.
She could have more than one gun.
She could have more than one villain.
She could have more than one girl.
She could have regrets. A gun that jams. A lust for death.
She could have picnics. A scratchy wool throw for the sofa. Her own books, because she reads.
She could have book plans. She could meditate. She could be a yogi.
She could resign on principle.
She could dream.
What if you are sudden death in the Seychelles?
What if you are the underwater cave?
What if you are the villain’s luxury yacht, his plan to destroy the world with nuclear warheads?
What if you are the gangsters, the girl with the diamonds, the Kentucky bourbon and Branch water?
What if you are the gun you carry in the waistband of your trousers?
What if you are the pillow under which you grasp at your gun during sleep?
What if you are the poisonous centipede crawling gently up your groin?
What if you are the cello?
What if you are the Castle of Death, the green where you teed off with the villain?
What if you are the birds circling the villain’s hidden lair of the coast of Jamaica?
What if you are the losing hand without the Marshall Aid?
What if you are the villain with the heart on the wrong side of his chest, his operations on the wrong side of the law?
What if you are the villain’s top-secret clinic atop a Swedish mountain? What if you are the getaway skis?
What if you are the soul you watched escape the dead capungo’s body in Mexico?
What if you really do hate killing in cold blood? Isn’t that your job?