Greetings loyal members of Oakwood’s Army.
My heart is filled with a warm, viscous, jelly-like substance that one can only be called pride as I see more and more people joining our cause every day. I’m surrounded by a plethora of new faces and I am filled with joy.
Like an infectious disease that not even Dustin Hoffman can stop, news of our battles are circulating the globe as the average Joe Nobody is told that even he can pick up a weapon and fight against the tyranny of Baron Von Schnitzel.
Sadly, though, as my army grows in numbers I can’t help but find myself concerned for the safety and well being of my soldiers. I now have a lot of mouths to feed and unfortunately the powers that be only provide a small budget for Oakwood’s Army. They feel that there are more important things to spend taxpayer money on. I’ve said to them on more than one occasion “what good are public schools if they teach nothing but turban maintenance and camel cultivation?”
Alas, the Top Brass have denied all my requests for more supplies. So as our ranks swell our rations thin.
I can only pray that the nancy-boy pen-pushers will see our proud army fighting the good fight and think “Gee, that army is fighting the good fight, we better up their supply budget before any more of then turn to cannibals”
Regretfully, this is not an uncommon practice in the military. On more than one occasion I’ve seen entire platoons eat themselves when rations ran scarce.
The worst case I ever encountered was in the 90’s in Alaska.
Snow Wars: A New Slope
The Snow Wars were the worst cluster of confrontations to ever slide across the slippery and unforgiving ice shelves of Alaska. It all started on Sunday 29th September 1996 at about 2pm. In the USA, children every went absolutely bananas at the release of the Nintendo 64 while their parents stabbed each other trying to buy them. In Houston Texas, residents look to each other and ask, “who the hell was that girl?” as Alanis Morisette brings her first US tour to a close. In Australia, the locals of the small town of Armadale all walk around a little more concussed than usual as they clean up after their worst hailstorm in history. In Russia, however, Boris Yeltsin thought to himself “I might have a little snifter of Vodka” and that he did. Three days later, Yeltsin woke up in Alaska, naked and surrounded by thirteen dead baby seals and the Alaskan mayor’s daughter… who was also naked… and dead… like the baby seals.
Well as you can probably guess, the Alaskan Government went absolutely bananas. They thought it to be an act of war and promptly unleashed the full force of the Alaskan Army. Unfortunately, the full force of the Alaskan Army was no more than a small midget called Kevin who had the land’s most pointed spear and Yeltsin was able to hold him off, still naked, with nothing more than a firm outstretched arm.
So the Alaskan’s called my company in. Little Johnny Ice Jacket was in a pickle and he needed good ol’ Uncle Tommy Firepower to come and get him unstuck.
We had guns. We had bigger guns. We had soldiers, ninjas, ninja-soldiers and soldier-ninjas. We had tanks. We had grenades. We had tanks that shot grenades and we had grenades that deployed miniature tanks upon detonation. I once heard that we also had tanks that shot grenades that deployed tanks that shot grenades that deployed tanks that shot grenades that deployed tanks that shot grenades that deployed bees. Although I’m fairly sure this was just a rumor… sure would be amazing if it were true though.
We came in, guns blazing, then Yeltsin followed suit. For months our battle raged. We pushed the line, the Yeltsin’s men pushed back. Back and forth and back and forth. It was a stalemate.
Eventually, word got back to the Top Brass at HQ that this whole battle had come about because of some dead seals and we received the following telegram.
THIRTEEN DEAD SEALS AND WE GO TO WAR. STOP.
ALL A BIT SILLY REALLY. STOP.
WILL BE CUTTING OFF SUPPLIES. STOP.
WASTE OF TAXPAYER MONEY TO FUND SUCH A SILLY WAR. STOP.
SEND MY LOVE TO YELTSIN. STOP.
HUGS AND KISSES. STOP.
FIELD MARSHAL MATHERS. STOP.
I never liked Field Marshall Mathers. He was too slim and very shady.
Never the less, orders were orders, so we packed up our trenches and made out way to the Alaskan border. Unfortunately, the Ruskies had caught wind of our plan to leave and when we got to the border they were waiting for us. They never attacked, just held the line. We were trapped. We could not leave.
After the first week, rations ran out so we turned to seal meat. After the third week, the seals cottoned on to us and began retaliating. They fashioned weapons and started attacking us if we came to close to their homes and taverns. All the while, the Ruskies stood, at the border, taunting us, with Yeltsin standing at the front, still naked, waving his waggle wand.
We were weak and cold and our spirit had been broken.
At the beginning of week four the cannibalism started.
Private Baxter Hollingsworth was the first to have a little nibble. I woke up one night with him gnawing on my toes. At first I thought this to be a rather forward sexual advance, but when he bit my toe clean off my foot, I knew it was something a little more pressing than a simple waft of homosexuality.
The days went on and everyone was just eating each other as if it were nothing. Thompson cut off and ate Jenkins’ leg. Metcalfe killed and sautéed Anderson with a hint of wild parsley. Major Winchester even went so far as to invite me round to his trench for a Peterson Cordon Bleu, followed by Sweet & Sour Simpson with Banofee Bartholomew for pudding! All served with his self-proclaimed “world famous” Oakwood Wine.
The wine was my urine.
He’d been stealing my urine.
As delicious as it all was, we were losing too many men to gourmet murder. It had to stop and we needed to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.
A few nukes later and it was bye-bye Alaska and hello sleepless nights in a comfortable bed trying to forget that I drank my own wee.
So to ensure the safety and culinary satisfaction of my ever growing army, I have hired two scientists to stay here with us, at the barracks, and create new and wonderful foods out of ingredients and materials that can be found simply lying on the ground using the magic and wizardry of SCIENCE! I want my troops to be healthy and strong when Baron Von Schnitzel eventually pops his ugly head out from the excrement-covered rock he’s been hiding under.
The two scientists are named Achmed Ray Bin Cameldeep and Svensson Von Christmasburger. Make them feel welcome with a smile and a friendly greeting. You can’t miss them. They’re the two men in white lab coats with absolutely no body hair. They have assured me that it is because of science. I can’t pretend to understand science so I trust it’s all legitimate.
In fact, tonight there will be a feast in the mess tent to celebrate their arrival. Achmed and Svensson have prepared the food themselves. Seven courses of delicious food created by science. I’m told the food prepared will be simply to die for.
Now onto more pressing matters.
Baron Von Schnitzel. Has anyone found him yet? No they bloody well haven’t. He is playing “the slippery eel” and he is winning. We need to find him and cut the head right off his eel as quickly as possible before he hatches some sort of eel based plan in which he fills the world’s water supplies with live eels and… we all end up drinking eel excrement or something.
In an effort to find Baron Von Schnitzel I have also hired one of the worlds most decorated and revered trackers. The true backstory of this man is a mystery. They say that at the age of six months, he was left to die in a cave in Africa. A pack of hungry hyenas found him and tried to eat him but he snapped three of their necks. After that, they respected him and raised him as one of their own, teaching him how to stalk, hunt and kill his prey. At the age of sixteen, he left the cave and started selling his skills to the man with the chunkiest coin purse. He is said to be responsible for the Kennedy assassination, the death of Michael Jackson and has found Elvis Presley, alive and well, on more than one occasion. If he can’t find Baron Von Schnitzel then nobody can.
(Insert a loyal infantryman whispering in the Captain’s ear)
Well it seems nobody can. I’ve just been informed that my world-class tracker has been killed by a group of street youths, who stabbed and stole his shoes.
Well that is a letdown. Most disappointing. I was really banking on that working.
Well… forget it then. I’m done for the night. I am going to join Achmed and Svensson at the feast.
I’m told the first course is a New Caledonian delicacy. Clostridium Botulinum cookies.
Bring on the feast!
Almost Jesus (Turning Water Into Urine And Urine Into Wine)