I should note, by the way, that 2004 was a lousy year for campaigning. But January always brings with it the seeds of hope, and I expect to make big strides, militia-wise, in the coming months.
You all may remember that November saw my advancing hordes held in check west of Tibet by the fleet-footed legions of the Crunch 'n' Munch Kid. I know, I know — he prefers to be called General Doom. And really, after the way his infantry routed my swordsmen along the walls of Katmandu, he probably gets to have me call him whatever he wants. But even twenty years after those commercials, it's hard to picture this bitter enemy of mine as anything other than a surly kindergartner grousing about the substandard snack food his mother chose for him. It's my belief that if General Doom's childhood had not been so fraught with disappointment, he would not have overstretched himself in the Mongolian steppes over Christmas and opened his supply lines to my raids.
And thank God for that: as beaten down as my Third Battalion was at that point in time, they were not fit to survive the winter on foraging alone. As it turns out, the plundered caramel corn and peanuts — I'm no psychoanalyst, "Crunch 'n' Munch," but I find your choice of rations to be
intriguing, to say the least — kept my scattered soldiers alive long enough for me to airlift them out.
Live to fight another day, I told myself, as I orchestrated a wholesale retreat that surrendered Yakutsk, Irkutsk, and Kamchatka to General Doom. It's always hard to hand over the land of your childhood, where you gamboled and played in those halcyon days of youth, before all of us got involved in the world domination business. But it's not like I haven't bugged out of Asia before: I've been beating my head against this wall three years running. As I boarded that helicopter and gave the go-sign, I said to myself over and over again,
Live to fight another day. These days that has become, regrettably, my mantra.
That other day is now, people — and I have my designs now on South America. Once you establish a position there, it's easy to defend, and you have naval access to the West Coast of Africa and North America. What's that, you say? Lead an advance through Panama? The first thing you learn in this business is that you
never lead more than a single battalion out onto an isthmus — unless it's part of a larger sneak attack, with a fleet of destroyers poised on either flank.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves here. We all know well that Bea Arthur's minions claim to have the entire continent in lockdown, but they're a fractious bunch — not terribly well-disciplined, and my agents have already infiltrated a number of their operational centers in Uruguay and Peru. The whisper campaign is in full force, and I predict a full-fledged mutiny against Brigadier Beatrice by the end of February. It will still be warm enough, at that time, for me to land paratroopers into Bolivia and move more substantial ground forces in from Patagonia in the south. We'll take Ms. Arthur by surprise, all right. She was always out of her league. Should have taken up macrame — or some other hobby where she couldn't hurt herself — after they canceled
Golden Girls. Joining the multilateral battle for world sovereignty is a big step. Anyone can get in the game, but you have to have the organizational skills, the resources and — dare I say it? — a certain amount of
cajones to
stay in the game.
As for you, General Crunch 'n' Munch, you'll be lucky to be holding the Ukraine come April. They say Gavin McCleod is cloning American Gladiators in his laboratory by the Black Sea. With these new battalions of genetically-proven warrior-primates at his beck and call, Captain Steubing finally has the land army to complement his considerable naval resources in the Mediterranean. I'll be content to hunker down in the Amazon Basin while you two bang your heads together in Central Asia.
The coming months will be interesting, indeed . . .
