Chipmunks,

Captain Douglas L Oakwood is dead. 

That was easy. A little bit too easy. I expected more. Perhaps a final shootout at the Alright Corral, filled with slow motion action, muted real life sounds and a beautiful soundtrack over the top, highlighting the unnecessary act of war. Or a sword fight between him and myself, sparks flying off our blades, somersaulting over various barricades, until at last, I stab him. OR we wrestle, me bare-chested, muscles gleaning with oil, him wearing a homoerotic chainmail vest, nipples still present. Punching, clawing, groping, grasping eventually ending by the Captain dying as I penetrate his torso with a huge steam pipe. I would then make some ‘steam’ related pun and go on my way.  Or a classic ROCK BATTLE. We would circle each other in the Rock Battle arena, rocks in our hands. They could be igneous rocks, sedimentary rocks or the good old-fashioned metamorphic rocks, it wouldn’t matter, but eventually I would bash his head in with my rock of choice, and once again a ‘rock’ related pun would be in order. 

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Alas, it was not to be. In the end it was a simply cookie that killed the Captain and as they say, that is how the cookie crumbles. Maybe I should put the puns aside and give more details. 

I sent two of my best Double Agents, Achmed Ray Bin Cameldeep and Svensson Von Christmasburger to find the Captain’s base, disguise themselves as scientists and poison the whole Head Quarters with a batch of Clostridium Botulinum cookies. They succeeded, the Captain is dead… and the worst thing is I don’t know how to feel about it. 

(Insert the Baron wiping a tear from his eye)

Chipmunks… can I be honest with you? The truth is that the Captain and I have a history. I know, at this point some of you are shocked, some of you will be gasping loudly, others will be slapping your cheek while your jaws will be hitting the ground, others will have simply dropped dead… either from surprise or by eating Clostridium Botulinum cookies, I couldn’t tell. However, the fact remains. We do have a history and well, even though at this point my enemy is dead, he was once my friend.

Let me explain. Before I became Baron Von Schnitzel, I was known as Herbertó “Herbie” Fueñtes, a young Spaniard in the Spanish Armed Forces. It was the winter of ’81 and Spain had just established a democratic society. This caused unrest in the SAF, violence erupted throughout Spain, unemployment rose, food shortage began and my Army amigos and I truly believed that democracy was not the answer to these problems. So, with a shout of “Largo vive la revolución!” two hundred soldiers, including myself picked up our sub machine guns and stormed the Congress of Deputies of the Spanish Parliament. 

Shortly after we burst into the room, tripped over untied shoelaces, fired a few accidental shots and captured the necessary hostages, the news spread like wildfire. The media went crazy and details of our coup had reached international ears. Margaret “Prune face” Thatcher, then Prime Minister of the UK called our coup a terrorist act. Us! Terrorists! I tell you Chipmunks, during my life I have been stabbed, shot and on several occasions have been kicked very firmly in the balls. But being called a “terrorist”, well THAT really hurt. I was fighting for the Spanish people, for what was right. I mean, after all what was Democracy but Capitalism in disguise? To be called a terrorist by a very ugly woman was galling. In one sentence, Margaret Thatcher had condemned us as bad guys and with a flick of her wrinkled wrist, she issued British Forces to assist the Democratic party regain control. 

We had everything going for us, we had the weapons, we had the tanks, we had the hostages but we didn’t have the balls. Upon hearing that the British had become involved, our leader, Lieutenant-Colonel Antonio Tejero, surrendered. 

That dickless wonder. 

All were shocked that he had given up. All we could do was put down our guns and await the trials and imprisonment that were sure to follow. We stood outside, arms in the air, squinting at the rising sun, when the Leader of the British forces approached us, a 2nd Lieutenant named Douglas L Oakwood. Although a young officer, his steely blue-grey eyes showed experience and there was a firm jut to his jaw. His soldiers started to restrain and relocate their new prisoners to await trial but when a young Corporal went to zip-tie my hands, 2nd Lieutenant Oakwood stopped him and simply said, “I’ll take care of this one”. I was placed in the Lieutenant’s car and after his officer duties were conducted, he drove me to a small cabin located in the Spanish mountains. 

Such happy times! I’ll be honest, Chipmunks. I could not say why Doug saved me, but save me he did and we spent many years in that cabin. He would teach me English and I would teach him how to fight Grizzly bears. Doug would outline the rules of Chess and introduced me to a good ol’ cup of tea while I would make my famous Seafood Paella and hand feed him olives. We would both sit on the porch, smoking fine tobacco, sipping on a fine whisky and gazing out at the picturesque Mountain View. Doug would twirl my chest hair with his finger while I would stroke his rosy nipples and admire at how soft his man breast was. I was complete. But somewhere along the way, it all changed. Chess became boring, Doug started to complain about the taste of olives, I became disgusted at his feet, he complained about my stench and I started to mix whiskey with coke, much to his horror. Then one day, Doug was out and I decided to amend the slight disagreements we were having by cooking my Seafood Paella. I spent hours cooking and when it was finally done, I laid it on the table, with candles and our best cutlery. Doug walked though the door, without a hello and sat down at the table. Then he did something, something that you should never ever do to a Wog. He opened a can of tuna, dumped it unceremoniously on the Paella and then proceeded to drown it with BBQ sauce. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. All those hours cooking, ensuring all that taste was in the food, once served not needing a single condiment, a single grain of salt, a single spice added and here was this Anglo-Saxon piece of (PROFOUND WORD DELETED) destroying all my hard work.

It was all too much.

I screamed. He stared back with emotionless eyes. I cried. He sniffed in disdain. I screamed again. He threw down his napkin and announced he was leaving. I asked why, he wouldn’t answer. I begged him, pleaded him, I pulled down his trousers and said I loved him. Doug stopped moving for the door. He looked at me with surprise. “I could not love you” he said “You’re way to hairy” and with that last scornful remark, he walked out of my life. 

In the days that followed, I was a wreck. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t stand the hair that had cursed my body. I shaved it all off and when it grew it back; I ripped it out with my teeth. But it would not stop growing and he would never come back. 

I left the cabin, wandered aimlessly and fed on the local wildlife and vegetation. I became a wild man, my beard long and rugged. I travelled many countries. From Spain, to Portugal, to Egypt, Eastern Europe, Italy, Switzerland, countries passed me like a freight train. I had no direction, no meaning to life until I found myself in Germany. 

I had just taken acid and was swimming in the Rhine, shouting at the top of my voice that I had played Guess Who with Robert Downey Jr. just the night before and he had shown me his man cave when a strong, yet firm hand dragged me out of the water and slapped some sense in me. I struggled, and looked in defiance at the face that had pulled me from river. A moustachioed man stared back. He said his name was Baron Von Strudel. I said I didn’t care, to leave me alone, to let me die. He didn’t and took me to his Castle deep within the mountains. He took care of me, feed me and started my training.

You see the Baron was from a very long line of Barons going back to the dark ages. A secret brotherhood who are preparing to change the political and intellectual face of Europe, to destroy and topple governments, to create chaos and rebirth the world from its ashes as well as promote and encourage competitive play of Croquet. 

I had a purpose in life, a reason to live. 

And that’s why I’m here today. Now that Captain Douglas L Oakwood is dead, it… it should be easy… but, well I didn’t think… I mean… I thought… I knew people would die… I just didn’t think… that Doug would die…

(Insert Chipmunk #9432 asking for orders)

Orders? Well… I guess we should blow up something… shouldn’t we? 

(Insert Chipmunk #9432 nodding)

Ok blow up China. We’ll need some nukes first. Steal some from North Korea, blow up China and then we’ll invade. I’m…going to my room. I need…some time to think. 

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Friendless and alone

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