Prepare yourselves, my soldiers. Prepare yourselves for victory. 

This report comes to you live from Isla de la Cabeza del Mono Secreto, a small island off the coast of Spain where we intend to plunge the knife of victory into the soft, unsuspecting underbelly of evil. I am currently sitting in my red leather Chesterfield armchair, smoking the finest of fine pipe tobacco and sipping a delicate brandy from a mug. I’ll say that again. Sipping a delicate brandy FROM A MUG. So as you can see, for the good of my people, I’m roughing it. 

I will bring you all up to speed. 

As you have read in my most recent battle report, approximately a fortnight ago I intercepted a nuclear attack. This flying, radioactive nugget of terror was shot straight from the Baron’s headquarters and was threatening to destroy what was left of China. 

This presented me with a promising opportunity. 

In war one must know one’s enemy. For if one does not know one’s enemy, one might as well attempt to defeat his enemy by breaking wind in a pillowcase and putting it over his mother’s head. It’s just not going to work. As luck would have it, I, Captain Douglas L Oakwood, know my enemy better than my mother knows the smell of a fresh fart trapped in Egyptian cotton. 

When I heard that Baron Von Schnitzel had stolen Nuclear Missiles from North Korea I knew that he would bring them back to his POO for the trademark Baron Von Schnitzel Seven Point Check. Check One: inspect the casing for dings, dents, abrasions, graffiti and human fluid stains. Check Two: ensure all radioactive and nuclear material tastes correct and hasn’t gone sour sitting in the sun. Check Three through to Six: make love to the warhead. A beautiful dance betwixt man and missile. Check Seven: inspect the casing for dings, dents, abrasions, graffiti and human fluid stains again. Once the missiles pass the checks, they are readied for deployment. 

When these turds of terror were destroyed it was a safe assumption that they were deployed directly from the Baron’s personal POO.

So I sent my elite clean-up crew, Kevin & Kevin, to collect what was left of them. 

‘Kevin & Kevin?’ you may be asking. Well I’ll be honest: I ask myself that same question every day. These six men approached me some years back now, wearing the finest matching tweed jackets, with the proposal of setting up a covert ops cleanup crew. Their sole task would be to recover hard-to-acquire items and make unpleasant happenstances simply disappear. 

And that they did. 

To prove their skill they shot me in the leg, three times, and left me to slowly bleed out and die. When I woke up, it was three years earlier and I was lying in a comfortable bed with all six of them standing around me, wearing matching tennis tunics, and nodding smugly. No scars. No regrets.

They left. Three years later they entered my office wearing matching tweed jackets and proposed setting up a covert black ops cleanup crew. Their sole task would be to recover hard-to-acquire items and make unwanted happenstances simply disappear. 

And that they did.

To prove their skill they … well I’m not sure what they did … but I hired them then and there, no questions asked. They introduced themselves as Keven & Kevin and I never dug any deeper for every time the thoughtful notion danced across my mind a dull ache in my leg made me think better of it.

Sometimes I get headaches. Sometimes I fall asleep on the toilet but wake up in the bath. I get nervous when they’re around. But never mind that now … 

So Kevin & Kevin collected the remaining rubble and bought it back to the base where it was analysed by my phalanx of Computer Hobbits. I spared no expense on this. I pulled out all the stops and got my best men on it. Sam, Merry, Bilbo, Frodo, both of the Gandalfs, Eyebrows, the dwarf and the little goblin man with the jewelry fixation. 

Now I don’t know much about computers – in fact I wrote my first ever battle report on the underside of a concrete slab thinking it to be an iPad – but the self-proclaimed Fellowship of the Ping’ told me they reversed the polarity something something something which allowed them to track something something something with a bucket of fried noodles something something something Star Trek Star Wars Battlestar Galactica giving us the exact location of the Baron’s hideout. 

Isla de la Cabeza del Mono Secreto – The Island of the Secret Monkey Head.

What step was next to take? Simple. Leave the comfortable dwellings of our New Caledonian Headquarters and covertly set up camp on the island. 

On arrival, we familiarized ourselves with the lay of the land and located Baron Von Schnitzel’s POO. 

And that is why I’m drinking brandy from a mug like a common peasant.

We intend to stay here on Isla de la Cabeza del Mono Secreto for a few more weeks before we attack the Baron. I feel that it would be foolish to rush in, guns blazing. We need to be patient and bide our time. Formulate a really ’triffic plan and execute it with precise precision. 

Before I bid you all a fond fare-thee-well I have one more piece of news.  Operation LETHAL UREMIA was a raging homosexual! I mean success. Operation LETHAL UREMIA was a raging success. Our double agent managed to integrate herself so well into the Baron’s ranks that she was promoted twice before her first Chipmunk Breakfast. 

In fact, after only a week she was promoted to second-in-command of the entire Hairless Chipmunk Army. Delightful. 

However, shortly after promotion things got a little too hairy (excuse the pun) and she requested immediate extraction and I graciously obliged. The agent is currently on her way back to New Caledonia as we speak for debriefing and delousing.

I suppose I can now reveal the identity of our double agent. The mission is over and there is no longer a security risk. The agent was none other than Sergeant Amelia Luther. You may remember Sgt Luther as the attractive, full bodied brunette who dwells within our trenches. I, on the other hand, know her as the integral cog in the giant robotic spider of peace that sprays its sticky white web of righteousness all over the face of ne’er-do-wells and miscreants. 

In fact, I received an email from her, containing important information about the Baron’s set up, just before starting my battle report. I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. Well, no time like the present I suppose. We shall read it all together. 

Operative: Sergeant Amelia Luther
Location: Isla de la Cabeza del Mono Secreto
Objective: Gather intel from behind enemy lines. 

Greetings, my Captain. 
I am pleased to report that the mission was a raging homosexual. Bugger. 
I am pleased to report that the mission was a raging success. 

I infiltrated the Baron’s headquarters and ranks with a surprising amount of ease. The Baron was being, as you’ve so handsomely put it, a big girl, and was too busy weeping, then touching himself, then weeping some more, to notice a new and unregistered soldier drifting freely through his ranks. 

For three long weeks I passed through the halls of the Baron’s POO. Three lonely weeks. I missed my cot in the trenches. The scent of a well maintained and oiled rifle. The radioactive glow of the New Caledonian sunset. But most of all, Sir, I missed my Captain. 

Oh my. 

I got through the long and lonely nights by casting my mind back to happier times. Remember that night in May? You took me out to New Caledonia’s finest eatery? We drank, we danced, we dined. Then you took me back to your quarters and fu---

Not important … Skip ahead … Skip ahead … 

---upside down  and with the garden hose firmly shoved---

Keep going …

---covered in marmalade---

Little bit more … 

---gasmed all over the place. 

That will do. 

It was memories, such as these, that got me through. 

After a few cunning maneuvers, taught to me by a very dashing and manly Captain, I was able to assert myself at the pinnacle of the Chipmunk Hierarchy. I stood next to the enemy, so close I could see the salt on his cheeks.

But things went south. 

The Baron became very friendly. On more than one occasion he awarded me superfluous medals just so he could pin them to my chest. 


On more than one occasion he insisted on being present during ‘morning ablutions’ so that he could confirm that my chipmunk was hairless. 

I’m going to kill him. 

I decided to make the call for extraction after I discovered he was hiding his COCK in his pocket. He pulled it out and wedged his COCK between my breasts. He then suggested that I get breast surgery that would allow him to slip his COCK in and have me manipulate his COCK and blow white Christmas everywhere. 

I should explain that the Baron’s COCK is a device that---

I’m going to kill him. I’M GOING TO BLOODY KILL HIM!