This is the much-anticipated second installment of the epic poem for which I have, after many nights of restless sleep, created a title. From henceforth we shall refer to it as "007: GoldenPull." I know it's not all that original, but it certainly carries a Bondish sort of feeling with it, and although I already said all that about "henceforth..." and whatever, I am still totally free to change it according to my whim and pleasure.
So, tractor pull fans and Bond fans alike, I encourage you to read on. And, in the case that you are neither a fan of the sport nor the man, you may still find some level of diversion in a fleeting reading.
And so, here we go again:
George just blushed and leaned back in his seat.
The least of the Bonds, Craig sure had him beat.
"Look at old Georgie!" jeered a wrinkly old Moore.
"His acting made Bond look a joke and a bore!"
"Is he even a Brit?" wondered Dalton aloud.
"Even Craig's more likely to do us all proud!"
Sean and Pierce both revved up their tractors,
And agreed that poor Georgie wasn't even a factor.
With engines all started and pounding quite keenly,
The Bonds all held aloft a fresh Vodka martini.
"Shaken, not stirred," Sean cried over the noise,
"If you never said that, you weren't Bond, boys!"
Craig whipped around and said back man-to-man,
"They all love me, old timer, 'does it look like I give a damn?'"
As he yelled, a gun fired, meaning to start the event,
Six Bonds and six tractors lurched forward, hell-bent.
Maniacal laughs sounded from the crazed crowd,
But next to George L. noone sounded so loud.
"I'll prove it right here, in the mud and the heat!
I'm just as Bond as you all, and you all will I beat!"
Though the other five laughed, each had to admit
That George was sure leading, if by only a bit.
With clothes getting dirty and pistons a-driving,
Pierce brushed his hair back and got to conniving.
He pulled out his cell phone and touched a red button.
A loud thump sounded up from the ground all a -sudden.
...TO BE CONTINUED...
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