Here we go, another week another installment of the running epic poem "007:GoldenPull," featuring all six of the Bond actors over the past five decades of James Bond films. We left off with Pierce Brosnan punching a button on his cell phone, and a subterranean rumble echoing up from beneath.
A rift opened up ahead in Moore's track.
He drove straight on through and ended up on his back.
Sean couldn't but chuckle, and pulled from his purse
A set of sharp spikes he then tossed with a curse:
"Here you are, Pierce my boy, with your perfect slick hair,
See how you do when your tires have no air!"
The spikes dug in, and with a terrible crunch,
Down went Pierce B. with his cuffs in a bunch.
Craig was just now on George's left flank,
With the other two back just one tractor-length.
Dalton reached under his chair with one hand,
And pulled a short lever, then got up to stand.
A missile launched up from his now-empty seat,
And homed right in on Sean Connery's tractor's heat.
Sean, still lithe despite increasing years,
Saw it all coming and jumped off without fear.
His tractor erupted in a ball of red flame,
and tumbling to safety he cursed Dalton's name.
With only three Bonds left in this cutthroat race,
More weight was added, to slow down the pace.
...TO BE CONTINUED...
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