Secret Life Story of the Joshua Tree tortoise, lost and sad

The tortoise waited before I sat down in my Chesterfield chair with a glass of Macallan 60. Gripping a Cuban cigar in its paw, the reptile started its story, and boy was it good, I mean the Macallan!

‘I am Prince,’ were its first words.

‘Formerly known as The Artist?’ I enquired.

‘No, just Prince. I learnt this vital piece of information from my birth certificate, as I never saw my parents.’

‘Not even right after being born?’

The tortoise shook its head:

‘My mother abandoned me before my birth, so I didn’t have the chance of making her acquaintance. First she considered donating me to medical research right after giving birth, but after careful consideration she decided to give me away before I was born.’

My disappointment was growing: its life story sounded neither sad nor lost, let alone secret. By contrast however, this thing got lucky even before its birth, spared from being donated to medical research! How ungrateful it was towards its parents!

‘I was the only unborn child in that orphanage, so it didn’t take long for the Secret Service to hear about me. As we know from the movies, orphans always make the best recruits. Angry young men with nothing to loose. But with me they got something much more dangerous than just a hostile orphan. I was recruited while unborn.’

I began to understand where all the Deadliest Sacred Shaolin Buddhist Martial Art Shit came from.

‘So I became the most lethal unborn child in the world. Two months before birth, I got a licence to kill. I had my first kill at minus 30.’

‘Celsius? Must have been somewhere in Siberia.’

‘Minus 30 days before being born,’ the reptile answered, sipping on its Macallan 60. ‘It’s a professional term.’

The Joshua Tree tortoise first kill at minus 30

The Joshua Tree tortoise first kill at minus 30

‘Are you born now, at very this moment in time?’ I asked purely out of curiosity.

‘It’s a state secret,’ the tortoise answered, ‘which I’m not allowed to disclose till my possible death plus 150 years. That’s of course if I’m born and / or will ever be born. Sorry, my friend.’

‘No problem, just checking.’

‘It was I who killed Hitler,’ the reptile told me with the slightest tinge of pride.

‘Hitler like in Adolf Hitler?’ I replied. ‘You saved the world, my little reptile friend.’

‘I know, but thanks anyway. I’ve got skills,’ the tortoise continued.

‘I can tell,’ I said after pouring myself another shot of Macallan 60.

‘I can parachute without a parachute. I can fly without a plane. I can swim without swimming.’

‘Hold it right there,’ I looked it straight in the eyes. ‘So you’re commander James Bond?’

The reptile sighed with the deepest sorrow I’ve ever encountered in my life. I didn’t even know such soul-racking sorrow could exist on our planet.

‘Oh boy, you are! I see it in your eyes.’

‘That fucked-up Fleming drugged me to extract the secret stuff, and put it in his trivial novels. By the way, he was the first to die the most horrible, excruciating and uncomfortable, as well as humiliating death on Earth from A Touch of Seven Words. M stripped me off the «double O» status, and then I said good-bye to MI6.’

’M’s dead.’

‘How do you know?’ the reptile looked surprised.

’Killed in action. I watched «Skyfall».’

The Joshua Tree tortoise first kill at minus 30

The Joshua Tree tortoise first kill at minus 30

‘Poor thing. Rest in peace, my former comrade,’ the creature sighed. ‘Anyway, after quitting, I lost everything. My social status, my Aston Martins, my money. And as known, loosing the money means loosing the woman. It’s inevitable, like gravitation. She married this pervert pedophile banker. Nothing personal, she said last time I saw her, just business. And then she antikissed me.’

‘How’s that? What does it mean: «antikissed»?’

‘You know, like a pretty girl kisses a frog whereupon it turns into a handsome Prince?’

‘I’ve studied this topic extensively some time ago.’

‘Antikissing someone does the opposite.’

‘My God!’ I cried, appalled and horrified. ‘So this bitch turned you from a handsome Prince into an ugly, shitty desert tortoise?’

‘Spot on, my highly intelligent friend,’ the tortoise confirmed. ‘Ugly, shitty desert tortoise with deadliest skills on Earth. Happy to die for a friend, ready to kill for a friend. One lean mean killing machine.’

I knocked back my Scotch. ‘One lean mean killing machine’, that’s exactly who I am, and that’s precisely the friend I need right now, as I head towards Las Vegas to free my kidnaped love and exterminate the scumbags, who are holding my beauty. One by one. With lots and lots of excessive violence.

TO BE CONTINUED

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