65 Proof (69 page)

“One hundred and seventeen.”

“Did you get the one that flew behind the TV?”

“Yes I did.”

“Check to make sure.”

“I am sure.”

Debbi clenched her teeth. “Are you sassing back?”

Gnerlok checked behind the TV again.

“None of my progeny reside behind the TV,” he said.

“
Your
progeny? Don’t you mean
our
progeny? I’m the one that did all the work.”

Debbi approached the bed and picked up one of the kids.
Her
kids. It looked like a crawfish, complete with lobster claws and a tail. But its tiny face was almost human.

“They’re kind of cute. What do they eat?”

“They are supposed to feast on your rotting corpse until they are large enough to dominate —”

Debbi grabbed Gnerlok by the eye stalk once again, squeezing out a stream of tears.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Spaceman. All this talk of taking over the world, it ends right now. Got it?”

“But I’ve traveled for billions —”

Debbie yanked. Gnerlok screamed.

“Enough! You’re a father now. You have responsibilities. I hope you have a damn good job, because diapers alone are going to cost a fortune.”

“My job is to dominate —” Gnerlok cast his free eye, fearfully, at Debbi. “I mean — I currently have no means of employment.”

“But you’re rich, right? Where did you get that big roll of money?”

Gnerlok mumbled something.

“Speak up, Mr. Spaceman, or I’ll tie these eye things into a big bow on your ugly head.”

“A scratch-and-win lottery ticket.”

Debbi scowled. “So that’s how it is. You come up to me all slick, flashing your cash like you’re a real player. Then you knock me up, and you don’t even have a job. Do you at least have a place to live?”

“I arrived on this planet only two earth hours ago, and have not had a chance to establish a permanent residence.”

Debbi sighed.
Ugly, hung like a Chihuahua,
and
a homeless deadbeat.

“How about a car? No! Wait! A space ship! You’ve got a space ship, right?”

Gnerlok glanced, one-eyed, at the floor.

“When I landed, a group of three disaffected youths assaulted me and absconded with my interstellar vessel.”

Welcome to LA.

Debbi needed to think, and she mentioned as much.

“While you are thinking, could you please release my —”

“I got it! My brother-in-law works for a furniture place. I bet he can get you a job in upholstery. But first, we have to go to City Hall and get married.”

“Married? But I am not ready for marriage. I still require a few more years to play the field.”

“Should have thought of that before you started mating with earth women. This is your responsibility, Yoda. And you’re not weaseling out of it.”

Debbi released Gnerlok’s eye and turned her attention to the kids on the bed. A feeling of pure joy welled up in her chest, a place she hadn’t had much feeling since getting the implants.

“Hello, my darlings. I’m Mama.”

“Mama!” several of them cried.

“Yes. Mama. And this is your homeless deadbeat father. He’s going to do good by you, or else your Uncle Joey will break his knees. Say hello to your children, Hubbie.”

“Hello, children.” Gnerlok frowned and gave them a half-hearted wave.

“Tracy! Jerry! Don’t eat your brother! Daddy will get you some food.” Debbi jabbed a finger at Gnerlok’s chest. “There’s a pizza place down the street. Get an extra large with anchovies. I bet they’ll like anchovies.”

“Anchovies,” Gnerlok repeated.

“And I’m starving too. Get me a meatball sandwich. And move your alien butt, or I’m picking up the phone and calling the CIA. I’m sure they’d love to hear about your plans to dominate the world.”

“Yes, earth-woman.”

Gnerlok slunk out the door.

Debbi sat on the bed and tickled little Alphonse under the chin. He giggled.

So did Debbi.

She’d always put her faith in the stars. And for good reason, it turned out.

“You know what, kids?” Debbi’s eyes became moist. “I think we can make this work. We can be a big, happy family.”

And if it gets too weird,
Debbi decided
, I can always make a big pot of gumbo and eat the little buggers.

“Come to Mama, my delicious little babies. When your father gets home we’re going house hunting. We’re going to get a nice, big place in Beverly Hills.”

With an extra large stove,
Debbi decided.

Just in case.

Written for the essay collection James Bond in the 21
^st
Century. I had a lot of fun with this, being a Bond fan for practically my whole life. Plus, it gave me the opportunity to simply string jokes together, rather than deal with a plot or characters.

I
f your first exposure to James Bond happened before the age of nine, you probably fell in love with the series for one reason: The Gadgets.

The women were hot, but you wouldn’t care about that for a few more years. James Bond was tough and could fight, but so could those short guys on UHF’s Samurai Saturday, and they had the added appeal of speaking without their lips matching their words. Global politics, espionage, and undercover infiltrations still aren’t interesting, years later.

No, the thing that made your pre-pubescent brain scream with unrestrained joy was all the cool stuff Bond picked up in Q Section. You wanted the grappling hook pistol, and the pen filled with acid, and the laser watch, and the hand-held suction cups for climbing walls, and the wrist dart gun, and the rappelling cummerbund—even though you had no idea what a cummerbund was.

But now that you’re all grown up, do the gadgets still have the same appeal? Do you still wish you could run to the nearest Wal-Mart and buy an electric razor that can deliver a close shave plus sweep your room for electronic listening devices?

This practical guide will look at some of best of Bond’s gadgets, and offer valuable buying advice to those interested in plunking down their hard earned dollars for spy gear.