Monday, 8 February 2010

I Was a Cunning Foetus

Whilst growing inside my mother, I decided to hatch a plan

What my parents didn’t know, was that I had been conceived by MI5, as part of a secret scam

When mother and father were busy getting drunk and jiggy to Marvin Gaye,

The British Special Intelligence had implanted their very own ‘spy child’ into mother without her knowing, clever eh?

I was a hybrid of two highly skilled professionals, MI5 took the sperm of James Bond and the eggs of Wonder-Woman,

Little did my parents know, they had their very own Wonder-Bond growing inside my mum,

Or vunder-bund to the Germans, the enemy, the vermin,

I kept a tiny periscope wedged into mothers belly button, it helped me keep an eye on the outside world,

I took notes everyday as soon as I grew hands, jotting down every movement and footsteps I heard,

The very essence of being a secret agent is being invisible, MI5 thought what’s more invisible than being unborn?

The first Special Agent Foetus working for the government, living in an embryo, internally forlorn,

Eventually the day of reckoning came, 10 hours in labour and I would finally reign,

Everyone was there in the hospital room, father, grandma, Auntie Sue, Tom Cruise,

For a while no-one noticed that I looked nothing like my parents, they didn’t even notice that I came out wearing a beret,

My first few missions as a spy were not easy, especially when I ended up mistakenly arresting Mariah Carey,

But the MI5 were proud, their genius idea had turned me into the first genetically modified spy,

Egg-bound from day one, the perfect special agent, well apart from when I fall over, I cry

The family are proud, they take photos then scratch my face out for security reasons,

No-one asks questions, not even about my oddly shaped lesions,

There’s one on my knee, shaped like Jeremy Beadles claw,

The other kids laugh, but when I shoot my pencil sharpener laser at them, ha!, not anymore,

I wonder what my mission will be tomorrow, and whose Aston martin I’ll have to borrow,

Will it be another impossible one like pinning diarrhoea to the wall?

Or chasing Russian baddies in a push-bike with stabilisers?

Impossible when they’re on motorbikes with blacked out visors,

It’s not easy being the Special Agent foetus,

But it beats writing letters to that terrorist Father Christmas.

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