Well this week has been a good week. It has been a tremendous week. I may even go so far as to say that this week has been a fantastic week. Not since August of 1999 has a week been so good as to make me want to literally dance with glee.
Rest assured though, my loyal soldiers, that I will not be dancing with glee as I am not a raging homosexual.
This week, though, has been tremendous. Not since August of 1995 (the release of ‘The Macarena’) have I experience a week of such unadulterated bliss. Joy runs through my veins like a soft and wet and sticky syrup making me feel altogether lovely and fluffy and wonderful.
One may find oneself asking as to the whyness of my soft and wet and sticky syrupy joy making me feel altogether lovely and fluffy and wonderful, and one would be in a recipient of glad tidings for asking such a handsome and sexy and well groomed question.
Let’s be candid here for a moment. This war is already won. There is no future in which Baron Von Schnitzel wins and takes over. He may believe that his forces have the ability to pull our shirts over our heads and go to town on our soft underbellies, but the reality of the situation is that the man is nothing more than a dried up piece of ham with a beard wrapped around it. He poses no actual threat to us. He’s just like that mole you have on your shoulder. You know it’s there, you know you should keep an eye on it; but if it gets too big you simply get your knife, drink a pint of brandy and carve the little blighter out.
He is nothing. A big nothing. But … then again … he is a big nothing with an army and nuclear missiles. So there’s that.
You see, my soldiers, this week has seen the unfolding of events that have tilted the scales of war even further in our favor and I will detail these events for you now:
1, The vending machines have been fixed.
A hungry army is a poor army. A thirsty army is a raspy army. An army without a machine that dispenses the used undergarments of school girls is obviously not Japanese.
For months our vending machines have not been operational. Sitting dormant throughout the trenches these hulking dispensers of treats have taunted us and stolen our loose change with the empty promise of delicious, life bring beverages in return. Finally, after countless strongly worded letters, a dozen partitions and the overenthusiastic kidnapping of a CEO’s daughter, the fine chaps from VENDING PTY LTD sent a technician who was shot in the head three times by the Baron’s forces before he entered. So, at the risk of further overenthusiastic kidnapping, VENDING PTY LTD sent another technician with a shiny helmet. Sadly, the helmet did nothing to protect the second technician from the land mine he stepped on. The third technician was flown in via helicopter. His body was never recovered. This went on for about a fortnight.
After thirteen technicians we finally had one reach our vending machine. He was battered and bruised and missing both his arms but somehow he was able to fix the machines before going into shock and dying. His last words were a mighty scream to the heavens: ‘THEY WEREN’T TURNED ON! THEY WEREN’T TURNED ON!’ If he had arms, he would have flung them in the air, I’ll bet.
So now we have vending machines that dispense water, soda, boiled sweets, crisps, Final Will & Testament packages and small firearms. Progress!
2. Warrant Officer Baxter Hollingsworth made brownies.
They were delicious and moist and poo to you with knobs on if you haven’t tried them yet because I ate the last one.
3. Baron Von schnitzel has shown his hand.
Remember the business a few weeks ago with the Clostridium botulinum cookies? For the uneducated: I hired two scientists, Akmehd Ray Bin Cameldeep and Svensson Von Christmasburger, to create new and exciting culinary dishes with minimal ingredients, using science, in an effort to hold off the ever groping hand of cannibalism as our numbers grew and rations thinned. As it turned out, I should have done a slightly more thorough background check as both men turned out to be agents of the Baron. They tried to poison us all and it was assumed, by a great many people, that I was dead. So I used this misinformation to my tactical advantage and released the following report:
Other than the 467 dead nameless, cannon fodder soldiers, this war has claimed its first casualty. Captain Douglas L Oakwood. Killed by the very scientists he hired to protect us and ensure our quality of life. Transcript of death follows:
Wow. This cookie looks delicious. What’s in it?
Science and flavour is in it. You eat now.
Gee. That’s not suspicious and therefore has answered all my questions appropriately. Nom nom nom.
Captain Oakwood nom nom nommed the cookie down, allowing Clostridium botulinum, which was baked into the cookies with the tender love and care of the world’s most illustrious pastry chef, to get into his belly.
Little known fact about Clostridium botulinum: it is the world’s deadliest bacteria.
Once the bacteria got into the belly it went to work. Over the next three hours, Captain Oakwood’s stomach lining turned into lead, then a nameless gloop, then lead again, then ash, then mango jelly and then into fire – not metaphorical fire, ACTUAL FIRE. His stomach lining combusted and he proceeded to burn from the inside out until all that was left was a charred husk.
It wasn’t fun to watch. My kids were there. The murderous one is now playing with matches. I wager there’s only days before he sets the roof, the roof, the roof on fire and then gets no water and lets the mother (donkey noise) burn.
From the moment the cookie touched his lips he was doomed. Medical staff tried to save him but it was less than successful. Have you ever seen a paramedic try to resuscitate someone whose lungs have been burned away? It feeds the fire and makes it bigger. We don’t have a single paramedic with eyebrows now.
What was left of Captain Oakwood’s body was removed and donated to science. Science then said, ‘No thanks … you keep it’, and it was promptly dumped in the river.
Thus ends the heroic tale of Captain Oakwood.
NOT Captain Douglas L Oakwood
Do You Think They Bought It? Don’t Write That Part.
So my trap was set. Surely, Baron Von Schnitzel would hear of my death and act as though he were king of the world.
Unexpectedly, intelligence showed that his reactions were quite the opposite. He flapped about his quarters aimlessly, distraught, pondering his own existence and mindlessly stealing and launching nuclear weapons – like a big girl’s blouse.
After a week of waiting and watching, I finally intercepted orders for a nuclear strike on China. Using a phalanx of computer hobbits, I was able to trace the orders back to its POO. We rigged up our new Oakwood Satellite (patent pending) and were able to confirm this POO to be Baron Von Crybaby’s current hiding place.
Quite frankly, after viewing the Baron in his natural habitat and natural form, I can confirm that ignorance is indeed bliss. I saw a naked and dishevelled Baron wandering through the open air courtyards of his POO screaming at the sky, weeping uncontrollably, drinking flamboyant cocktails and kicking smaller animals in the face.
With a masterful flick of the wrist, I pressed the big red button and destroyed the nukes threatening to destroy China … again … a second time.
Okay … so he blew up China once before. I dropped the ball on that one but come on … it’s only China. They’re tenacious. It’ll grow back.
So my soldiers, to summarise, the vending machines are fixed, I ate brownies, and we know exactly where Baron Von Schnitzel is hiding. All the symptoms of a good week, I feel.
And to decorate this cake of joy with a cherry of cheer, I’ve found the Baron has allowed me to finally put Operation: LETHAL UREMIA into action.
Operation: LETHAL UREMIA is a top secret, secret mission I’ve secretly been planning, in secret, secretly for some time now. The operation itself involves placing a double agent inside the Baron’s headquarters. It is genius in its simplicity. Once inside, they are to immerse themselves within the ranks of the Hairless Chipmunks all the while reporting back to me on things like infantry movements, battle plans, sexual conquests and, most importantly, finding out how he got his Carbonara sauce so damned creamy.
The agent has been instructed to keep a low profile. The less people who know the double agent’s face, the better. Anonymity is the key. The second the agent’s identity is revealed, Operation: LETHAL UREMIA will be cancelled, all agents will be disavowed and all superiors will whistle, nonchalantly, when asked about it during our inevitable court martial.
So far, though, all things LETHAL UREMIA are looking good. Most recent communications indicate the agent has successfully infiltrated the POO and has had at least two friendly cups of Chinotto with Chipmunk #498.
Once we have gathered enough information from our agent we will plan our big push, our final attack, our last hurrah, and hopefully we will be able to burst the boil that is the Baron once and for all and we can all go back home.
Loyal soldiers. I thank you for your time. I would like to remind you all that I am a friendly Captain with an open door policy and I very rarely shoot people for asking me silly questions at inopportune moments. If any of you have any questions about this war, about Baron Von Schnitzel or about how I get my moustache looking so fantastic, please do not hesitate to ask through one of the many forms of communication available to us in the world of frighteningly intelligent computers. If I find out that you haven’t asked because you’re too scared or too intimidated I will have you shot or at least tickled until you wee
I Need To Wee. Don’t Write That Part Either.