by Lisa Mitchell, OMS II
Good evening, everyone. I must say I'm surprised to find myself and you- us, really- in this position. You see, last week I was a captain in the accounts receivable unit and now...wow. This is not the way I imagined the big promotion would happen. As many of you know, since last month the position of commander of the Allied Forces has been conferred upon the last person standing nearest to the previous general when he kicks the bucket. (I was sitting, but he spat blood on me and I think that counts.) You know, if any of you are feeling ambitious...haha. Just kidding. I'm sleeping with one eye open these days. For real, I have no eyelid on the right under this patch.
What's that? Oh yes, battle plans. I have some.
It is such a privilege to be the commander of the last 26 people alive during the zombie apocalypse! I wish I could say that our deeds will be recorded and celebrated by future generations, but I'm not at all certain that we will have those or that they will even be literate if we do. That brings me to our plan: we need to reproduce. And fast. First woman to get pregnant can have the world's last can of spam. So if you could all find time to have sex in between zombie slayings tonight, that would be great. That's pretty much it. So get out there and kill some zombies! And have sex. Please have sex.
Morituri te salutant! Go humans!
Written in response to the prompt "write a general's speech to the troops"
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