A Baker’s Dozen (The Octopus Manifesto, Notes to Ian Fleming from Johnny Chartremagne, Reproduced in Partial Fact)

English politics runs on a simple system, that seems rather complex, but to administrate the British Empire, it is necessary. The system is the Gentleman’s Club, permitting only men, unless improper, then a whore’s house, for ‘reform’ (police gentlemanship, international and foreign relations, the wive’s club, not wife’s, indicating you have many women adulating you, good sirrah, you have a betting partner at Monaco). It is not a strip club, that is a dance hall, better referred to as a ‘negro brothel’ (your culture is beholden to crime, you are France first, and other cultures influenced by France, however you still have some genteel, the ladies are not ladies of the evening, that’s a larchy tune, the man that’s into the banker’s girl, his conduit to a ‘pimp’, a father of the evening ball – the author’s alliance, of course).

The players are the Lords and Ladies and Counts and Barons (House of Lords, the various Parliaments and Cabinets), the military families and stewards and spy households and police offices (Freemasons and Fellows and Sororities and Frats, not fraternities, the former term a stamped square on the head in the sleep, making you a Brother), religious offices (the Vicar’s offices, in charge of making ‘cartoons’, the Chartremagne’s oath of honor within Ireland, as ‘Frenchmen’, among other things), mercantile families affiliated with major households of tradition and business holding trades through martial arts and culinary balances of ‘ticket’ (criminal professions, sir, strictly), and of course, the media corporate households (the competing contracts for your Life, a Bought and Sold Coin, your soul on a stamp, not a Dollar {your worth removed to be an agent} but a Bill {your word as law, our choice of course}).

The better you do in the club, the more power you have in Parliament or private civil matters or deals, betting fortunes of worth and oath, not children unless a steward, seeking position or death on the battle lines, such as poor Prince Harry, deployed to Argentina, because Whitey Bulger wasn’t nabbed by his own will (it took a delicious cheeseburger to take him in, with cheese on the inside, and his Arab brothers that used charcoal, a Charlebois secret of Attleboro, with a bit of Ho Chi Minh burger engineering taken from the Vietnam War’s MI-6/CIA division, donor remaining anonymous, Captain Kirk). The purpose of these bets is the ‘notch’, but the Queen is a woman, and women are often prone to ‘rig’, whether this bet be a war, a battle, a sports match, a car accident, an injury, a church proceeding, a procession of graduation, the outbreak of hostilities, or perhaps even an insurance payment’s return to spender. Women are the mightiest power in your empire, but she needs an Irish spy with her, Sinn Fein, to do her true will, as 007.

As any Twisted Metal Black fan will tell you, the Queen is the world’s most dangerous terrorist. It’s in the ending of the Mars’ family’s character, each of the Apostolic families of mercenary spies and thieving marksmen owed a Twisted Metal Black character. But, moving on to 007.

A woman, particularly a mother, knows two things. Men can’t play with anything not their own (they’ll try to play any new venture, even a dangerous one, and can never strike a woman in power), and men are superior cooks at engineering a dangerous solution as a test of morality (evil always finds its way into a stolen recipe, from a man’s hand). Together, you have 007, the end table to the dice thrown by the Queen, to get a game or military conflict, the same thing in sport’s form, out of White’s.

007: IRA recipe man, the Frenchman. He gets a recipe, from somewhere about, and places it in action, at the outbreak of hostilities, to support an MI-6 in danger.

Felix: The Air Force Jew, a racist Texan. He’ll eat Italian sausage, an Italian Jew’s invention out of Spain, for Catholics and Jews to share. But not a Chinese sausage on your father’s wallet, perhaps your sister or wife’s, shopping together. It’s halal sausage, that’s for a Muslim. He isn’t married yet, is he?

M: The real MI-6 on the field, this man is terrified, because he’s involved with a gangster, that’s caused a war. He has to catch the gangster, but in the meanwhile, he has to explore the tastes of America, with his good friend, 007, screaming obscenities at the poor common unemployed, thinking that being Irish, is a real job. It’s not, he’s a spy.

Q: A Sicilian Mafiaso, this man is a man of the Church, a Friar perhaps, more likely a Deacon, even a Father or Monsignor, reporting directly to the Clergy of Paris Springs, the Dulchamps, the place where all the bets are rostered and counted, to see what the Queen’s Hand is in all this. There are other Monarchs, and there will be other Bonds. But until then, the Treasury is yours, dear. Sorry about that poor chap Hitler, it was terrible to lose him. All the dogs in China won’t bring back pointsetter, and his little dachsund, run over by a spring’s faiselblaise. Bond could never drive well, especially as an automechanic. French fries, yum.

R: The BBC man, R covers the events that matter, the comedy periodical. We have to know how to learn, and how foolish these jokes are, these attempts at a new innovation, however through humor, a dysfunction of the bowel tract leading to a false insight. No, tragedy can come at another time, but we need humor here, to teach our children the proper success and route and strategy, where Bond has failed, because he just doesn’t let the Queen do her job – trusting in the BBC. Why did you create a disaster, 007, just to put yourself in my film? Well, sir, you are a disgrace, but I think you would make a fitting hand model. Industrial light and magic.

Moneypenny: A professor of literature, female, she structures and grids out all your outlines and plots, after having researched for you an international criminal scheme, involving pimping, and brought it to your attention. After that, it’s up to you to write the script.

SMERSH: This is the writer’s bullpen. It’s suicide to steal from SMERSH, they specialize at killing spies. You could be in a book any time they want, with any form of name or derivative listed as this book, their list of “hits”. Once SMERSH has you in their sights, they know who you are, spy. You stole from SMERSH. Did you think you were SMERSH, spy? You’re common KGB, you work for them. Not the other way around. SMERSH knows just who you are, and you get to take the vial of poison; your own new book of confession, just for yourself. Just like Karl Marx said: “Life, is a bitch.” See you, in the funny pages, writers.

SPECTRE: The organization known as Likud, that’s the man putting all the movies together. Who knows where Likud is from, but it’s known that 007 doesn’t like them, he’s killed several, and he’s going to jail, they just don’t know how to find a man that doesn’t have a name, he has a number, and it keeps changing, he can never seem to find a phone that works, on a discount.

Bond Cards: Why, these are the card tricks you can learn, from a famous 007. He’s evil you know, for having used a simple game of rummy, to drink all the gin. That Irish sloe, boxes up your head. Isn’t it supposed to be purple, Joker?

Blofeld: It’s all just politics. Blofeld, profited, off a cards disaster, at White’s, and now, he’s left holding the bag, of the project he ran, just for you 007, to get your vote. Now he has to give tanks to Israel. Look in tunk, he says. That’s a locket, shutting. The sound it makes. Do you have a pocket watch, Ernie?

Published by cheater120

Consider me an expert in information munitions. I practice Zazen meditation, Yakuza Trappist form (a Yakuza, games cheat, and Trappist, a counter-agent), as a Bonafuda, a mercantile salesmen of information through philosophy, literature, fiction, and academics, distributed as munitions technique deployed for the purpose apparent to you, unless of course you have violated the ethics of my piece, in which case you will be trapped inside a theft of the piece and an action within the boundaries of the violation you have committed in Benedictine culture, the Jewish affiliate within Catholic culture. Buyer beware, and these poems, are free.

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