"No more "watch" Mr Bond, no more "keys" I'll take both your "shoes" if you please And your "belt". And your "Hat". And your oiled "cricket bat" Time to die. We are done with strip tease."
"And now into the chamber you go Where two quarts of nitro will blow As the cyanide gas, Whirling blades and ground glass Make an end to you Bond, don't you know?"
"Hahaha! There Bond lies burned and torn No escapes. No more jokes old and worn. Wait? What's this I see On his singed laund-ery? It's a tag. And it reads 'Jason Bourne'!"
"I'm off 'fore this "Bourne" chap comes round For he's not dead, just stunned I'll be bound And when he finds out Who did this, I've no doubt My Germanic bonce he will pound."
Take "The", [proper name] and a filler For the title of your Ludlum thriller. Then on to the plot Which is mostly rot With a secret, three spies, and a killer.
The chuck key was here, in the drill But the chuck's gone AWOL from the quill! Events now play Hob With my "ten minute job" Wasting time, adding cost, sapping will