Insufficient Stories by Patrick Alexander
James Bond ordered one of his stupid martinis, and everyone was really impressed. “Shaken, not stirred,” he said. “Add a large thin slice of lemon peel,” he said, and everyone dropped what they were doing to give him a round of applause for being so clever and sophisticated.
He reached for the drink and took a long sip. Satisfied, he gave the bartender an appreciative nod, then turned to his companion, Miss Cunty Vagina-name – a genius physicist and engineer, which explained the gravity-defying breasts.
“Well, my dear,” said Bond, “Why don’t you tell me all about…”
But he was interrupted by the bartender, who suddenly yelled, “I stirred it!”
It took Bond a moment to realise the man was addressing him. “Come again?”
“I stirred it, you stupid cocksucker!” the bartender explained. “You couldn’t tell the fucking difference, could you!? And what’s more,” he continued, his face flushed with mad delight, “I took a big shit in it!”
Bond inspected his martini. There was a long, brown, human turd taking up most of the glass; in fact hanging about three inches over the side, like a limp dick.
The room was silent. Bond couldn’t stand to look at his conspicuously polluted cocktail any longer, yet with all eyes upon him, he found he couldn’t move. Hours later, the lights were out and the building empty, and James Bond was still sitting at the bar, staring grimly at the rank mud-puddle in his glass. He must have left at some point, because the despicable shit-drinker was never seen again.