Bond Villain Discourses - The Lounge Escapes.

Ah! Mister Bond! How nice of you to come by. I do hope my semi-robotic iguanas didn't give you too much trouble at the back door. Oh, of course they didn't. What was I thinking? A few battery-powered reptiles would barely slow down MI-6's top agent, would they? Please make yourself comfortable.

Please, have a seat. I assure you that you are going to be here for some time. For the rest of your life, say? What's that puzzled expression on the front of your head? Are you somehow unfamiliar with flat-pack furniture? It's the perfect storage solution for the villain on the go whose secret lairs are routinely and inconveniently exploded by pesky British spies. Tell me, Double-Oh Seven, where do you store all your books, in your hyperdimensional non-Euclidean nullspace? I believe I have an extra IKEA catalog on one of these shelves somewhere. Here, just let me turn around for a moment and find it for you.... Damn and blast! Where has he gone? Guards! Find Bond at once!

Ah! There you are, you naughty secret agent person! No, don't move. This dental drill is fully functional and partially rusty, I promise you. Don't believe me? Oh, I do hope you make me prove it, Mr. Bond. Well, what do you expect when you barge into my dentist's-office-waiting-room-themed chamber!? You really are a disrespectful fellow, Double-Oh-Seven, and not a little obtuse. I have half a mind to force you to tidy the couch's throw pillows at drillpoint, just to teach you a lesson. Oh, never mind that. I'll just grind your teeth to powder and have done with you, ha ha. But you'll never sit still for that. I'll have to drug you first. I have the evil respirator right here... no, wait, it's right he... oh, nertz. It must be in the other torture chamber. Honestly, would it be too much to ask to have two evil respirator masks? Hey, maybe it's behind the couch.... CURSES! Come back here!!!! Guards!!!!

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Aha! Found you! Such a slippery fellow, Mister Bond. How do you like my extra-verdant evil contemplation room? You'll notice the rug is very grass-like, and the diffused lighting is both soft and flattering to all skin types. I worked for years seeking the best lighting scheme for my skin type: combination skin with an oily t-zone, and I must say this room makes me feel both more sinister and less pouchy, especially of an afternoon. Please, have a seat on my minimalist sectional sofa-lounge. You will find the comfort quite astonishing. HAH! You have fallen into my little trap! Those plants are carnivorous weeping Madagascar vines! Vines, seize him! I said SEIZE HIM! Aww, mother FUCKER! Guards! Locate Bond immediately, and swap in the correct vines at once! These vines aren't carnivorous at all! Honestly, what do I pay you for?

Aaaaaah! Found you! My compliments to MI-6's cardiovascular training regimen, Double-Oh Seven. You are very quick through the stairwells. It shall, however, avail you nothing, for you see, you have only escaped the frying pan and fallen into the groovy fire! Welcome to my funkadelic conversation space. The stripes say "Race me", but the cushions say "What's your hurry?" Ah, I see you've noticed my cast iron menagerie. Yes, they're real, Mr. Bond. Or, they once were, but they displeased me. So it goes with those who try my patience. Let that be a lesson to the other Siberian cranes and cape hares. I will brook no argument from insolent fauna! But I digress. Where were we? We are not so different, you and I. Unlike the arrogant cape hare on the end table, you understand the realities of international crime, don't you Mr. Bond? May I offer you a black apple? Or do you prefer white? I grow them underground, so they are completely uncontaminated by sunlight. Here, let me simply bend down and get one for you from the apple bowl... SON WHO IS OF A BITCH! How did he do that? GUARDS, godammit!

AHA! At last you are weary, Mr. Bond! I must confess I'm a little winded myself. But in your torpor, you have made your final error! You have chosen to, how you say, "take a load off" in my own private Impossichair. That one corner of it seems to float without any visible means of support! Impossible, you say? This is only the beginning of what the Impossichair can do! For, you see, it is keyed to my unique DNA signature alone, and no other may sit in it. That "rug" on the floor? HAH! That's Sean Connery! The Impossichair exploded him all over the place! Please help yourself to a snifter of oxygen, because any second now, you're totally going to be blown up and stuff! Hahahahahahahahaa! Any sec... oh come on. Didn't my minions charge it? Useless fools! Where's the...? Ugh, micro USB cords. Worst frikkin' connector ever devised, am I right? Goddam little trapezoidal plug piece of shit that's never the right way up.... OH COME ON! Guards!!!! FIND BOND AT ONCE!!!!!

Basement Bars and Subterranean Lairs.

Ah! Good day , Mr. Bond! So nice of you to "drop in", heh heh heh heh heh heh huh huh huuuuuuhh. No, don't move. Yes, you have seen the ridiculously spindly pistol I have trained on you. It fires a tiny dart filled with a curare whose making is known only to me and the four corpses in the bellies of my crododiles Yes, those are the ones with the thinner noses. Alligators have broad snouts. But do not try to distract me with fascinating conversation of crocodillians. Please, have a drink.

Yes, you see I have a bar concealed in an ordinary armoire, where you may expect to find mundane plates and cups, and perhaps a tureen. I have servants for such things. I much prefer my armoire-bar. Quite elegant, don't you think? What? You think the rules of propriety dictate that one must only have a bar in the basement? Mr. Bond, I am not a savage, regardless of what your MI-6 handlers may tell you. Oh, wait. We're out of cherries. Let me just open the fridge and... Damn it! Where did he go? Guards!

Aha! There you are. You have found my elegant and inviting other bar and combination fondue station. I find that some mornings I cannot face another day of fighting good until I have had my fondue. Can I interest you in a monkey brain dipped in melted cheese? I assure you it is quite breathtaking. Yes, the drink to accompany such a sweet meat is a Chinese Whisper. One part rice wine. one part lychee juice. Pour over crushed ice. Fill with soda. Wait. The lychee juice is empty. I'll be right... No! Wait! Seize him! GUARDS!

Ah! Mr. Bond, you are quite the curious guest, but we cannot have you scampering about my compound unguarded. Welcome to the basement. So you see, I DO have a basement bar after all. Yes, that's right. I am the savage they told you about. Unfortunately, you won't be able to tell anyone about the location of my secret paisley basement bar's location, for you are about to die. Say goodbye to my little red donkey, Mr. Bond. He will be the last knickknack you ever talk to. Yes. That particular paisley looks familiar, doesn't it? I made it out of the pant suit that your accomplice, Tiffany Case will wear in your upcoming adventure about diamonds. Yes, that's right! I have a time machine! It's called a Fruit Madrid. Two parts grenadine. One part Chartreuse. A pinch of salt. A fresh mint. I think I will have a sip right now. Mmmmmm. *thud*

That was very clever of you to slip a knockout tablet into my Fruit Madrid, Mr. Bond, but you'll be sad to know that such toxins have a reduced effect on me due to my solid gold artery filters. yes, those were a little painful going in, but poison is an occupational hazard, you see. Never mind that. Your knowledge of my secret Brady Bunch rec-room bar must not escape this rec-room. I'm glad I keep a syringe of deadly viper venom in this cleverly concealed wall cabinet, along with a selection of fine soda-pops and gooseberry cookies. No, wait. This isn't the viper venom. This is the aqueous humor of a giraffe: useful for an entirely different type of murder. How did this get - Mr. Bond!!! Halt! The son who is of a bitch! GUARDS!!!

Jeez, Mr. Bond! Why do you not keep still? Aha! You found my mini-pub. A little taste of home, I bet you were thinking. You see that it is complete with amusing figurines of Dickensian characters, and a miniature one of those funny horns they blow at fox hunts. Enjoy this last taste of home, Mr. Bond, because in a moment you will taste hot lead - what??? Where has he-? I didn't even look away that time!!! GUAAAARRRRDS!

There you are! You are one slippery fish, Mr. Bond. It is fitting that I find you near my rough-hewn corner basement bar that is very like being in the hold of a ship, don't you think? I always say that if it feels as though the ship is rocking, it is probably the evil grog one has drunk, and not actually the wave action of any body of water, because we are, in reality, underground. It's wordy, I know. I should probably have one of my minions pare it down a little, to fit on a coaster. I have some more clever quips on some coasters back here. Let me see where I left them. I - HEY! Consternation and malediction! He has gone away! GUARDS! Find him, you slowcoaches! Find him at once! Damnation, I need a drink.

Velvetex - Welcome, Mr. Bond.

Ah, Mister Bond! I see you have recovered from the sleepy-time drug that my henchmen shot you with. Your Q-branch didn't prepare you for everything, did they? It's a curare of my own formulation, containing Yoo-Hoo and color-safe Fab. Please, sit down on my luxurious Velvetex chair, with your feet on my luxurious, thick carpet. Yes, of course, it's wall-to-wall. My life of "crime", as you put it, does have its rewards. Mum, hmm hmm hmm hmm ha ha hah! Sit. And don't try the carpet shuffle trick on me. My Nehru suit is grounded.

I said SIT! Very good. You might as well enjoy your last few moments on Earth, Mr. Bond. Please enjoy my Velvetex drawing room and salutational chamber. Are you surprised that I know your real name? Don't forget you introduced yourself when you snuck into my vestibule by knocking on the door, which could barely be heard for its soft and luxurious Velvetex covering. But I digress. yes, when you told me your name, I wrote it down in my Evil Notebook, which is Velvetex, by the way. And so is my evil pen. I see you are impressed by my brand of espionage. Can I offer you a drink? I assure you, the mini bar is quite safe. I will kill you, Mr. Bond, but not with a drink. Extra ice, perhaps?

You can clink your ice cubes as loudly as you want, Mr. Bond. Your colleagues in MI6 cannot hear you, for you see, the walls are Velvetex, too. It dampens sound reflections, but not the actual volume of noises because only mass can suppress the transmission of sound waves through structural members and have you looked into what actual soundproofing costs? And they call me evil.

No, soft surfaces can only reduce sound reflexion, and do nothing to actually silence a room, but your ice clinks of distress cannot be reflected to your potential saviors in London, I assure you. Do your worst. The wallpaper is quite acoustical.

Ah, I see you have noticed my other walls. They are variously decorated with Velvetex also, for continued luxuriousness around the room. With such Velvetex wall coverings, I find it necessary to shout "silence!" much less often.

I see you're admiring my wall thing. Yes, it is brown, and some kind of leaf-shaped art or whatever. I bought it at the church rummage sale. Tower Records was throwing it away when they tore down their paraphernalia room. I find that it puts me in mind of early Yes albums in that I can't tell what it actually is, but leaves me with a defocused sense of spaciness and nonspecific narrative allegory that - Mr Bond!

Guards! Bond has slipped away! Curse my soft and luxurious Velvetex carpeting! His footsteps could hardly be detected as he made good his improvised escape plan while I waxed rhapsodic about my wall thing and it's comparison to early yes music!

You win this time Mister Bond, but you'll be back! I have lemon squares! LEMON SQUAAAARES!

Kentile Mosaic Solid Vinyl Tile - Dinner before death.

Ah! Mister Bond! I see you are awake, after your little nap. So sorry if you have a headache. The gas we used on you is a particularly noxious blend of Inexpensive Avon cologne that comes in a bottle shaped like a cowboy boot and Windex. It's very effective against MI6 agents, but you'll also find that middle aged women in hip huggers will be very drawn to you until the scent fades away. Won't you please come into my kitchen? I have fooled you. It is not a mosaic floor. It is Kentile Mosaic Solid Vinyl Tile!

I see you're impressed by the internationalness of my little fortress. No, you're not on a veranda in Spain. You're indoors! That's right! Those railings are mostly cosmetic, but they keep my servants from falling off the breakfast daiz. Shall we sit? Fatua, bring Mister Bond a Kayo. It will be his last.

You are very troublesome, Double Oh Seven. While you were killing my guards and upsetting my giraffes, you knocked over several cans of paint that I had set aside for touching up my brickwork. What shall I do now, when the tea trolley chips the corner of my wall? Perhaps in England they make due with exposed brick, but here in Glencoe we demand color!

Speaking of color, you may notice the stripe of orange on the floor, indicating the minimum safe distance you may stand from my walls. Also notice that near the hearth oven, that distance is slightly greater. It would be such a shame if you were to fall into the oven, or the dishwasher, or hear the easy sounds of Sergio Mendez on my newly miniaturized hi-fi set. Sergio is not for you!

Would you care for some terrier? No? That is well, because it is not terrier all. You see how easily I deceive you. It is a baby kangaroo. It tastes exactly like veal, but at merely thrice times two the cost. I can do this because my international smuggling ring is so successful, Mister Bond. And, so it shall remain, once I dispose of your corpse in the In-Sink-Erator. It is over there, in the sink on the island countertop, which is filled with my collection of seasoning shakers and plastic fruit, near my wall of precious copper pots and pans which must never be used -

Blast! Where has he gone!?

Guards! Retrieve Mister Bond and bring him to me! The man who does gets an extra big bowl of Quisp, but not too much! I need my guards to be lean! He must not reveal the secrets of my decor to MI6!

Click for big.

Kentile Glendura - Breakfast, Mr Bond?

Ah! Double Oh Seven. I'm so glad you could join me for a light breakfast... before I disjoint you for a light break, fast!

I can tell by the look on your face that you enjoyed my little pun. I do so like to entertain my most uninvited guests before I dispose of them. And, I like to feed them strange futuristic foods, as well. Would you care for a "pop-tart", Mr. Bond? I think you'll find the filling most "straw-buried". Nya hah hah.

Yes, those are real plants, Mr. Bond. You may not have seen their like before. I hand-picked them and had them imported at great expense from a shop in Evanston. That's right. Evanston! What? You didn't know my reach extended so far? I think you'll find you underestimated me once again, Mr. Bond.

Please, sit down with me on the breakfast plinth and let us dicuss matters of global import. I think you'll find it's quite escape-proof. The steel railings are waist high, so don't bother trying to step over them. You cannot escape your grapefruit and Captain Crunch. You might as well accept your fate. I think you'll find the tartness of the grapefruit is excruciating when eaten with super-sweet Captain Crunch. You should have thought of that before you circumvented my security measures and killed so many of my guards!

I noticed that my men left you in a weakened state, and as a result you were dragging your feet as you entered. It's no use. My floors are Kentile Glendura, so they're quite scuff-resistant. Do your worst, Mr. Bond. The luxurious vinyl beauty will last for years.

Oh, but I see your coffee has grown cold from our dialogue, rich with subtext. I'll freshen your cup, just as soon as I turn around and reach for the coffee pot here on the stove, which you'll notice, is... Blast! Where's he gone? Guards! Find him!

You may have escaped for now, Double Oh Seven, but when I find you, I'll make you eat toast and jam soon after brushing your teeth. You'll no doubt be paralyzed by the clashing flavors and drop your toast upside down on my floor. No matter. It's Kentile Glendura.