I'm not Banksy

The holes in the cheese enhance the eating experience by giving you a tiny break while you are eating to enjoy the full flavor without getting overwhelmed by too much all at once

What if I told you it was the air in the croissant that you truly loved? air, but bread air A dense brick of croissant would be unmanageable and you’d never survive

Hot singles are in your area Stalking the endless night Unseeing eyes rolled back Lust in their veins Change in their pockets

Hot singles are patrolling your area Striking the fences checking For signs of weakness Lolling about, free of worries beside Hunger Ceaseless hunger

Hot singles are stalking your area Searing hot singles Burning unending They can smell your fear Like a cinnamon vanilla candle

Hot singles are in your area Hot singles have breached the walls Hot singles are in the streets Overrunning our defenses 

A sly smirk lingered on James Bond’s face as he slid the chips across the felt of the table. A £60000 bet, but also a chance to get the invite to Blofeld’s secret lair. His opponent, Blofeld’s right hand man, gazed wide-eyed at the pile of chips, while his beautiful mistress, Veracity Finkman held Bond’s gaze.

Bond also did not look away from her as he lifted his martini to his lips. With the first sip, a familiar taste caused bile to rise up in his throat. Choking back his disgust, he spat out the word: STIRRED!

He spun around in his chair and caught the passing waitress by the wrist. “I’m going to need to… speak… with your manager.”

“Of course, Mr. Bond.” The petite waitress said as she trotted off to retrieve the pit boss. James swiveled back to the table and glared at his improperly prepared drink. Veracity stared at him with hungry eyes while the henchman raised Bond’s bet by €100000. A small, obsequious man with a thin mustache appeared behind Bond.

“How can I help today sir?” The man asked.

“It’s this drink. Clearly prepared without a thought to my explicit instructions. Is that what you consider customer service here in Monaco?”

“Clearly not, sir. I’ll make this right immediately. And please accept my gift of this voucher, good for a complementary visit to our seafood buffet, valid before 4pm and after 8pm.”

“Thank you…” he studied the man’s name tag. “Maurice.” Bond slid the voucher into his jacket pocket and smirked, knowing he claimed another victory for the Crown.