For the authentic Bond girl aroma—the sweet scent of money is unbeatable 007.
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It was one of those days when it seemed to James Bond that all life, as someone put it, was nothing but a heap of six to four against. He had just poured himself a contractually generous Belvedere vodka, [shaken not stirred] chased with a cool delicious Heineken™ [because all sophisticated international-playboy secret agents love fizzy kraut beer.] Sipping his delicious beverages, he realized that his eighty-five inch Sony® digital flat screen TV with high-contrast super-definition and picture in picture effects was on the fritz. Not to worry, he would have Q send over the Sony product placement boffins with a new one right away.
Bond turned to his Brazilian rosewood Gio Ponti desk rack, where his BOSE® surround-sound home theatre system with wireless XL30V5 speakers and Hideaway Acoustimass® module, incorporating TrueSpace® technology, was hammering out some Shirley Bassey-style tune. The song was unlistenably gruesome, penned by the latest Sony records flavor of the month hit-parade wannabe. The so-called tune was so bad it was even worse than Aha’s “The Living Daylights”. After lingering to run his fingers lovingly in close-up across several sumptuous consumer durables and cast an admiring glance across the semi-nude and still sleeping figure of Fanny Malarky—star player in the MI6 office typing pool, he remembered the Kohler™ rain-shower was still running.
Naturally, Bond’s bathroom routine was both rigorous, and extremely thorough, as marketeers had recognized the seven-figure product placement potential of such scenes and had rewritten the script accordingly.
After slipping on his Ralph Lauren silk boxers with 007 motif [Available in Harrods™ and other selected stores] He applied Mouse A Raiser shaving cream by Pour Hommes™ and pressed a hot towel to his face before unsheathing a twelve bladed Gillette Predator® razor by Proctor and Gamble™® [Multinational manufacturer of product ranges including: personal care, household cleaning, laundry detergents, prescription drugs and disposable nappies.]
Bond then utilized a generous squeeze of Greune nutrient complex natural revitalizing shampoo/conditioner containing D-panthenol and vitamin-B-complex polysorbate 80, a cleansing agent that contains natural herbs and exotic spices. He had no idea what this stuff was for; he used to get his shampoo in the dollar down discount store, but what the hell, corporate marketing had been shipping over this new shit by the truck-load—you can’t get better than free—can you?
Bond was a man who never used cologne on the face, as a Condé Nast beauty advertorial had advised against it. Instead he applied L’Oreal™ branded alcohol-free anti-bacterial toner, with a water moistened cotton ball to normalize his skin Ph levels— before applying emollient lotion and Gel Appaisant again by L’Oreal™ [“because he was worth it”.]
Bond: Shaken not stirred by commercialism. Can I get a Heineken with this barman?
Bond liked his knuckle-duster Rolex; but hadn’t worn it on screen since the mid 1970’s when a short-lived Seiko™ sponsorship deal precluded its use. Instead, he chose his “wrist close up” Omega Seamaster 300, because it was near the holiday season and would look good in glossy full page magazine adverts—providing an ideal, if somewhat expensive gift suggestion, for anyone too clueless to work out their xmas shopping ideas for themselves. [N. Peal Xmas sweaters, as worn by Daniel Craig available in the Foyer.]
Realizing the world would not save it’s self from megalomaniacal masterminds, Bond slipped in to a lightweight linen suit by Canali Milano, a cotton shirt by Ike Behar, a silk tie from the Bill Blass Collection, and cap-toed leather lace-ups from Brooks Brothers. He was about to head out the door, when he remembered he was being sponsored by Tom Ford Suits this season, so he rushed back to change. [Yes, the same Tom Ford who sells soap for $195 a pop.]
He had to hurry now; he had to fit in two car chases, a fist-fight and a dive off a snowy mountainside before lunch, not to mention a quick game of Baccarat at the Sheldon Adleson Casino Resort & Hotel™, Las Vegas. He entered the parking garage and a vicious dilemma hit him like an express train [an Amtrak grand-luxe™ American Orient train to be precise.] What car should he drive to day? Should he take the racy but yuppified Range Rover Sport SVR, or perhaps, the implausibly showy Jaguar C-X75 in douche-bag orange? Then there was his favorite, the latest Aston Martin DB10—he wanted to drive it wicked-bad. But ever since those bastards in North Korea had revealed those internal Sony emails showing he had written off $37million in Astons this year alone, those lizard-loving pricks at GEIKO™ had upped his insurance premiums to stratospheric levels. Maybe he would have to switch to State Farm®, or god forbid Triple A™. No, that was unthinkable. Those Whitehall bean-counters at MI6 would have to get on their Sony Experia 25’s and make calls. Maybe they should reconsider the $50million Samsung™ mobile phone deal?
Bond took a dry swallow of pure fear—using a non-Sony branded product on screen—the kind of crackerjack smart-phone that every nerd on the internet was laughing at? The humiliation would be…unthinkable… Still, $50 mil was $50 Mil…
To be continued next holiday season in: “James Bond, Sponsorship Is Not Enough. Crimezine thanks all relevant sponsors. Thanks also to Ian Fleming, and Brett Easton Ellis’ product placement classic, American Psycho.
Observe Mr. Bond, the latest lap gadget by Sony. Or/Is that the new Sony Laptop or are you just pleased to see me?