- Brianna: You're in deep with me mister.
- Andrew: No, Ma’am. It is YOU who is in deep.
- I have just received word from my scouts that my victory has been ensured. They report that your first brigade has surrendered subsequent to suffering heavy losses. The desert, especially in the areas near Rawlins and Rock Springs, is not especially conducive for Ewok travel, as it turns out. It was like shooting eyes in a fish bowl, as they say.
- This isn’t to say there wasn’t valiant fighting. I lost many of my best men to your beastly, though diminutive warriors. I truly regret “messing” with you. However, this is a war you will not win.
- Though your, uh, midget bears have beaten my men back to a great extent in the mountainous and wooded regions between Laramie and Fort Collins, my courageous troopers with decidedly average sized legs and insulated white plastic armor complete with blaster shielding and breath enhancers have managed to take the high ground and are fortifying their position. For a great while my commanders were at a loss as to where all the hanging vines and tree bridges were coming from as all the trees in the area are not deciduous. Clearly the use of your resources in establishing these strategic implements was unwise---stumpy legs and arms are poorly suited for tree climbing and snow treading. My forces have taken over your tree dwellings and are taking potshots at all your fuzzy E.T.s.
- We have captured your only general and are holding him hostage in the depths of the Ames Monument. The Battle of the Bore between Cheyenne and Pine Bluffs was arduous, though indeed, your forces never had a chance. While tall grass partially hid your mass of ursa minor it seems that the local residents are much less afraid to shoot pumpkin-headed, demon-eyed creatures encroaching on their land than masked men wielding laseriffic weapons. The remains of your force were few. We sold them to the gentry for breeding/hunting purposes though I’m not actually sure how Ewoks reproduce.
- By the time you receive this letter, my first and third battalions will have marched south from their positions near Rawlins and Cheyenne, respectively. What’s left of your pathetic army will be crushed like a turd forcing its way between obese butt cheeks being squeezed together by a toilet too small.
- It’s too late for surrender. Do not expect mercy. Though adorable and fluffy, I have ordered my troopers to take no prisoners. I have arranged for my diplomats to escort you to neutral ground where we will consider reparations. Do not expect mercy.
- Love,
- Andrew
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