Much is being made of the release, at long last, of “No Time to Die,” Daniel Craig’s final outing as James Bond. For years, there’s been rampant speculation as to who will replace Craig in the iconic role. Who has the panache, the sex appeal, the body? Who can fill the shoes (and the Speedo) while still bringing something new?
Yes, me, a shrimp.
I know what you’re thinking: A shrimp, as Bond? Don’t make me laugh. But I’ve assembled what I believe is a compelling argument for why I’m not just the most exciting choice but the only choice for the next 007.
First off: “The name’s Prawnd, James Prawnd.” I think the franchise needs a bit of a kick in the pants, a departure from the self-serious doom and gloom of the last several installments. What better way to tell people that we’re doing things a little differently now than to cast a shrimp and rename the beloved spy?
Secondly—and because I know too much change might freak people out—I do have a British accent. Don’t believe me? Aluminium. My favourite colour is grey. Fancy a shag?
Which brings me to my third point: a huge part of the Bond franchise is the fact that 007 is constantly bedding gorgeous women. Have you ever seen a shrimp make love? I doubt it, but I bet now your interest is piqued.
Another shrimp fact you may not know: under our shells we’re all wearing tuxedos. Perfect for a “Goldfinger” homage! And there’s room under the tuxedo for a wetsuit, and then another tuxedo under that, in case people don’t get the “Goldfinger” reference the first time. And, of course, there’d be huge savings for the costume department, as my body is one-thousandth the size of any of the previous Bonds.
Here’s a fun idea: how about, instead of a martini, my Bond drinks shrimp cocktail? Just kidding, that would be fucking disgusting, and cannibalism. I’m fine with the martini.
Maybe one of the baddies has a shellfish allergy. He thinks he’s meeting a human MI6 officer, and then who strolls in but me, coolly smoking a cigarette, looking like sex on wheels (or on tiny shrimp legs) in my Savile Row suit. “What’s this? I thought I was meant to have a showdown with 007!” the bad guy protests. “I’m shrimply thrilled to see you,” I reply. “Shellfishly, I want you dead.” Then I rub myself on his tongue and he goes into anaphylactic shock.
Something like that—I’m not volunteering to write the whole script. I’m just saying that there should be shrimp puns.
I know that this casting could be controversial. Luckily for any skeptics, the average lifespan of a shrimp is only one to six years. So, who knows? Maybe I’ll be like George Lazenby and do only one film. If people are really angry about my portrayal of Bond, I promise here and now that they can serve me as an hors d’oeuvre at the première party.