In accordance with this thread*
of tributes for the fallen dead,
I have a word to say in grief
for one whose life was all too brief.
The subject was a denizen
of James Bond movie number ten,
in which she was girl friday for
Karl Stromberg, lunatic du jour.
The circumstances of her death,
the scene in which she last draws breath,
begins in Stromberg's dining room -
that posh refectory of doom.
Said villain is receiving two
distinguished academics who
of late, for their financial backer,
built a nuclear u-boat tracker.
Says Stromberg to his doomed assistant,
who is seated at the distant
reaches of the dining table,
"leave us" so that he is able
with the doc and prof to seal
in privacy their business deal.
In accordance with his wish she
leaves, although there's something fishy:
as she gets into the lift,
his webbed hands to a keypad shift.
A bell dings with the closing doors.
Next level, marine carnivores!
Stromberg, with a dour frown,
then hits a button and, ensuite
a trapdoor opens 'neath her feet,
through which she falls and plummets down
a sort of one-way habitrail.
She screams, but it's to no avail.
Stromberg then, with evil glee,
reveals a monitor so he,
Professor M and Doctor B,
can watch the carnage on TV.
Into the pool of sharks goes she.
In vain are her attempts to flee.
In a trice the fish are on her.
Clearly, this PA's a goner.
Before they really go to town,
the Botticelli slides back down -
shielding from our flinching eyes
the PAs sickening demise.
Markovitz and Bechmann we
forgive if they look jittery
as THEY approach the fateful lift.
Will they also get short shrift?
No, it seems they'll be okay,
as now their chopper's underway.
But wait! now Stromberg's reaching for
another button - they're no more.
And of the dear, departed aide,
is any further mention made?
When next seen, it's clear that she's
not half the girl she used to be.
Through James Bond's eyes we see her hand,
at rest upon the golden sand
in one of Stromberg's very, uh...
elaborate aquaria.
We ask ourselves, what was the sin
that made the villain do her in?
She stole the tracker plans, you see,
prepared by eggheads M and B,
and sent them winging on their way
to the Mujaba Club where they
were destined to be auctioned off
to any highest-bidding toff.
For this then was she "put away".
Talk about your severance pay!
What lesson can we apprehend
from this, our sister's hapless end?
When navigating villains' lairs,
best play it safe and take the stairs.
*This poem was originally posted in the "bereavement" thread on commanderbond.net.