I once knew a guy named James Bond. It was about 40 years ago. I had a part-time job as a security guard, and James Bond was a lieutenant in the guard company. He was the spittin' image of Barney Fife - about 5'2", maybe 100 lbs, dumber than a box of rocks, but extremely cocky. He carried a S&W model 64, a .38 special revolver with a 4" barrel. He was too stupid to follow normal, reasonable safety procedures, was prone to waving it around. Once he pointed it at me, and when I looked down the barrel, it had little pieces of plaster in it, lotsa dust, and would probably self-destruct if he ever tried to fire it. He had a habit of sneaking up on a guard at oh dark hundred in the morning to try to catch the guard loafing. One time I saw him coming, and hid close to where he was sneaking into the building. As he came thru the window, I pointed my S&W model 24 (a .44 special) at his face and yelled, "Halt halt halt". The pee was running down his leg and he was shaking like his wife's vibrator. Then he chewed me out for scaring him. A few months later he got feisty with a truck driver, and the driver turned him into a black and blue zombie for a few days.