They say that the pen is mightier than the sword. They say that wars are won with words, not weapons. I can’t say I really believe that but my Military Appointed therapist insists that I write down my thoughts during these troubling times. She says it will help me deal with the mental anguish that comes with war. She says that letting go and allowing my inner most thoughts to wash across the beauty of a blank canvas will soothe me and offer a therapeutic release from the atrocities that I judge myself for every day. But she burns scented candles and drinks green tea so what the hell does she know – god damn peace-loving hippies.
(Insert theme music)
Do we have theme music? We should. That’d be the perfect place for it.
(Insert awkward silence)
Well never mind.
War. Some say it’s a necessary evil. Some say it is the only thing separating us from the animals. Some say it is an atrocity for which we humans will be judged by God. I disagree. I love it. The cold sting of a Webley Mk VI pressed against your thigh. The warm rush of blood as that Webley fires in your trousers. The euphoric haze that engulfs you as you bleed out on the floor in your kitchen. The smell of burnt crumpets. Yes war is a wonderful thing. It’s not a necessary evil. It’s a necessary inevitability. It’s all science you see. Energy never ceases to be; it just converts to another form – as does power. As long as there is power to be had in this world, evil men will violently try to claim that power for themselves.
Power is a sought after commodity in this rapidly changing world and I have been charged with the task of protecting that power and by the whiskers on my chinny chin chin I will protect it with my life.
There have been many wars in our history. The Great War (aka World War I), World War II (aka Nazi-b-Gone), The Vietnam War (aka that War The Rolling Stones Did The Soundtrack For), The Gulf War (aka ‘Murica), The War On Terror (aka Bush bashing) and of course, who could forget the 100 Year War (aka Just Surrender Already). There has, however, never been a war as great as the war we fight now.
Now you may be thinking to yourself “You’re right! Our troops are doing us proud! Making Afghanistan a better place for young families to make a home and maybe buy a small catering business!” but you would be wrong. That war is nothing more than a few spoiled children playing with toy soldiers in a sandbox*.
*NOTE: The author would like it to be known that the term “sandbox” is in no way a mass generalisation implying that Afghanistan is a sand covered wasteland. I mean… if you think about it… it is a sand covered wasteland** but the author wants to make it really quite clear that it is not a racial slur.
**NOTE: the author of the most previous Author’s Note would like it to be known that he does not think Afghanistan is a sand covered wasteland. He would like to make it expressly clear that this expression was only used as a tool of what is commonly known as “humour”. In reality, the author of the most recent Author’s Note think’s Afghanistan is a moist and sticky Wonderland made entirely of soft taffy that is populated by Unicorns and midgets*** but he never went to school and is a bit of an idiot.
***NOTE: The author of the second Author’s note does not like midgets. He will be fired soon as one of his superiors at the office is a midget and there have been a few rather naughty comments.
No, ladies and gentleman this war will be the war to end all wars. For if this war is lost then all is lost. Our way of life is lost. No longer will you and your children be able to walk down the street in safety. No longer will clusters of teenagers be able to stand at train stations and intimidate other commuters freely. No longer will people be able to pick up cats and throw them at the floor knowing they will land on their adorable little feet. If we fail… if I fail… everything changes.
Adequately startled yet?
No? Then my efforts must be doubled.
“What war? Where is this war? When did it start? Why have I never heard of it? Who are you? And why are you sitting in my kitchen pantry covered in flour?”
These are all excellent questions.
This world wide war, that for copyright reasons I cannot call World War III, has been raging only for a few months now and has already seen the deaths of one hundred and thirteen good soldiers, twelve bad soldiers, two really bad soldiers, one guinea pig and rather nice brandy tumbler that got smashed only three days before retirement.
This war is ravaging its way across the world. So far I’ve lost my Mobile Command Units in Taiwan, Greenland and New Caledonia. Most distressing of all is the loss of Susan’s Crumpet and Cake Emporium during the Great Fire Fight of New Caledonia last month.
Never again shall my mouth be graced by the pleasure of Susan’s soft and succulent buns. Never again shall I spread my honey all over her crumpets. Never again shall I pop into her quarters to have a quick, cheeky nibble on her vegemite scroll.
So, you might well ask “Who are we fighting?” and well you might. Which menacing and shadowy figure threatens to meet us behind the bike sheds, pull down our trousers and then throw us into the girls’ locker room in the middle of winter? Who is it that wraps their cold clammy hands of evil around the thin and frail neck of freedom, squeezing every last inch of justice from it’s soon-to-be lifeless body.
Well I’m afraid it’s not a simple answer. The reality of this rather distressing situation is that we don’t know who is orchestrating these less-than-desirable attacks. I have the world’s finest intelligence operatives at my disposal and they have presented me with this list of possible people masterminding these attacks:
1. “Alessandro Mandrake"
An evil professor known for his obsession with all things Russian. I once asked him why he went by the handle “Alessandro” if he was obsessed with things of a Soviet nature. Enraged with my line of questioning, he cut out his own tongue, put it into a sandwich and ate it.
He’s mad and he’s evil but I don’t think this is his style.
2. "Gavin Turnball"
There doesn’t seem to be anything written here for Gavin – just the rather lacklustre name.
3. “Harry “not the effing wizard” Potter"
Born and Christened Harold M Potter, Harry is definitely not a wizard. Nor is he anything that could be confused as “infringing” on the intellectual property cultivated from a series of books about a sprightly young wizard and his ginger friend. But alas, that doesn’t stop the average punter saying “Harry Potter… ha… like the books” and Harry throwing the aforementioned average punter into a moving bus.
4. “Eggs. Sugar. Chips & Dip for the party tonight.
Well it seems as though my top intelligence operatives have decided to give up on the list of possible suspects and start a shopping list… and throw a party… that they didn’t invite me to.
So there you have it. A pointless list resulting in some of the world most highly decorated Intelligence Operatives being sent to the gallows to be hung, then shot, then hung again, then covered in soft cheeses and hung a third time. And all because they thought they were above inviting their Captain to a party.
I’m a fun loving kind of guy. I can get down and bogey. I can dance. I can dance. Everybody look at my pants!
There is, I suspect, one more question I feel may be swimming around the vast ocean that is your mind. Who am I?
Or rather who are you. But not you. You know who you are. I mean me. Who am I? I know who I am. But you don’t know who I am.
Who am I?
I am the man that is going to win this war. I am the man that is going to bring down boot of peace onto the unsuspecting head of misdoings and thrust the steel capped toe of justice into the testicles of nastiness.
I am Captain Douglas L Oakwood. I fight for your freedom. I fight for your rights. I fight for your crumpets.
I hope you, too, will join me in the fight.
Darker, Grittier, Rebootier