A View to a Wallet
As we know all too well, it can be hard to get attention on the internet. But tacking a James Bond fan fiction in front of everything you write is the blogging equivalent of driving a snowmobile down a mountain with one hand while using the other hand to shoot the bad guys who are chasing you in faster snowmobiles until you drive off a cliff and unfurl your Union Jack parachute while they all crash and explode on the rocks below.
In other words, it’s risky.
Onlyknives.com was recently graced with [a post on a do-it-yourself knife wallet, introduced by a 400 word vignette starring Mr. Bond himself. The funniest part is how much it reminds us of actual ad copy. Didn’t we see this on an Amiga poster somewhere?
Named “A Quantum of Mini-Tools,” the story chronicles Bond’s love for his Slimline Wallet and the raw sensual magnetism of said wallet. We would have preferred “The Wallet Who Loved Me” or “The Man with the Golden Wallet,” but nobody’s perfect.
The full manuscript:
This was the part Bond enjoyed the most — feeling the warmth of the evening’s first martini (shaken, not stirred), back to the corner, turning his mind to the pursuit of more pleasurable endeavors.
And yet, there were a few points of business to attend to first. Pulling out his handmade, leather slimline pocket-knife wallet, he tucked away the computer virus signature on micro-USB stick into one of the wallet’s narrow, secure and snug pockets.
As he opened the wallet, Bond noticed that his razor-sharp mini-knife still had a nick and a spot of blood on it. A swipe with his cocktail napkin and quick touch-up with the file he always carried did the trick and his thoughts returned to the smoky room.
James leaned back, clipping the tip of a vintage cuban cigar with his slimline scissors, as the barmaid arrived at his side. She was attractive no doubt, Bond thought as he sized her up with just a glance. “A bit pedestrian, perhaps, but you never know” he figured as he accepted her offer of a refill.
“Got a pen?” she intoned, her voice full of confidence laced with just a touch of anticipation. Indeed he did — it fit neatly between the toothpick and tweezers in yet another narrow but functional wallet pocket. He slid it across the table and watched as she took her time scrawling out something on his blood-tinged napkin. Too long for just a phone number, he thought, curiosity piqued. When she finally pushed it back across the table to him, he was intrigued to see if there was more to this barkeep than just a sultry voice and an appreciation of fine Italian leather.
“Does the wallet make the man?” he read, which brought just the hint of a smile to his lips. Perhaps she wasn’t so simple after all.
He let the moment linger, sure of his response and yet waiting for the timing to be just right. “Yes, in fact it does. I’m what you might call a minimalist survivalist,” he finally spoke, hoping to tease her mind just a touch, perhaps to throw her off guard a bit — that always helped to unveil any hidden agendas.
“And it looks good in your trousers,” she shot back without missing a beat.
That brought a full smile to his lips, as he opened his pocket-knife wallet, pulled out his sawed-off specially-modded hotel room key and placed it on the table. This would be a relaxing evening after all.