Tagged: cartoons

Mole Season

Dear Planet Earth,

We found a couple mole people wandering around a serene stretch of wood defiantly calling itself Seola Park. They were just walking, like two humans on a casual stroll. They clutched their large rifles as though they were carrying something as harmless as groceries. A bright sun, clear sky, and song of sparrows framed the scene.

Private Karter, now Corporal Karter, gave me the binoculars to get a closer look. The glowing red eyes from their masks, at one time a menacing image that implied something demonic, now looked ridiculous — almost comical — from our safe vantage point 200 yards away.

“Be vewy, vewy quiet,” he said behind the lens of an M24 sniper rifle. “I’m hunting mole men. Heh heh heh heh heh.”

I was supposed to be Karter’s spotter, but I have my suspicions that he knew even less than I did about what that meant.

He fired, and the resounding noise forced me to bury my head in my arms. I readjusted myself in time to see one of the mole men down for the count as his comrade darted his head erratically in all directions. Karter opened and closed the barrel, and an empty cartridge landed in the grass beside us. He fired again. I was able to withstand the piercing sound this time and see the lone invader fly a few feet before landing in a puddle of red.

A morbid silence filled the air within seconds. Karter stood up, stretched out his arms and legs, and smiled like he just heard a clever Chuck Norris joke.

“That calls for a beer.”


Shopping Trip

Dear Planet Earth,

We’ll be leaving soon. Half of us, anyway. A resistance formed among the resistance, only instead of fighting against the invading mole people, they led a coup against General Talpa and his remaining soldiers.

“Coup” might be a bit of a stretch, but the point is, a group of us civilians are determined to raid the nearest shopping center for food and other supplies, and the military isn’t having any of it. Talpa offered to lend some weapons and five soldiers to help us, but remained steadfast in his belief that we should stay at the library until we know more about the enemy’s deadly drill snake, namely if it’s far, far away.

I was able to share a couple words with him this morning. He said he wouldn’t try to stop me from going, just to be safe and take it easy on my leg. I’ve been walking around fairly normal now, even without the cane. I tried doing some sprints when no one was around and only fell on my face like an antagonistic cartoon character three times.

I’m just excited to finally get out of here. I might even score a gun and kill some mole men if I’m lucky. It can’t be harder than playing Call of Duty, right?

El Barto Was Here

Dear Planet Earth,

The rumor is Talpa’s back from his super secret mission and we’ll be heading out tomorrow onto Fort Some-Dead-War-Hero’s-Name. It can’t come soon enough, if you ask me. Things just got a lot more tense here since someone spray painted a bunch of cars with the message “DIE MOLE MEN” over and over.

With only a handful of kids among us, all eyes are on the angsty teen who disrespects old women and consistently asks to help kill mole men.

Of course, it wasn’t me. My respect for punctuation is too deep to forget a comma after “DIE,” though I won’t try to plead my case to my compatriots. The majority of survivors from invasions of mole people, and I include myself in this, like to hold on to the last vestiges of common decency they have afforded to them, silently berating those who have slipped into the tempting trap of organized anarchy — despite how washable said spray paint is or how much they may agree with the spirit of said message.

I’m getting enough dirty looks to know that I probably won’t be allowed to drive one of the minivans tomorrow.

You Have Died of Dysentery

Dear Planet Earth,

It’s been a crazy few days. We crossed over into California, chased by mole men for two days before they seemed to give up and turned around. They were using some kind of weird vehicle we hadn’t seen before, something Fred Flintstone might use if he was into steampunk.

One of the trucks broke down on Friday, so we had to fit all those people and equipment in the other ones. A tiny old woman sat on my lap for an entire day, and I tried my best not to learn anything about her in order to keep the awkwardness to a minimal level.

We didn’t see any other groups or signs of humans besides the countless abandoned cars littering the roads. No one could give me a convincing answer as to why we couldn’t just take some of those cars and find another place for Grandma’s bony butt.

We lost two oxen and I was sick with typhoid. That was a joke, by the way. An Oregon Trail joke.

We just set up camp here at a used car lot, which is about half as fun as it sounds. We’re going to try to sleep in the lobby, but it’s probably just as spacious back on the trucks.

I haven’t seen Talpa around, so I’m not sure what our next moves are. It’s good to stretch the legs out — or just leg — and I was able to juice up my computer pretty quickly. When we’re back on the road, I’m going to see if the troops will let me use those power generators, which I didn’t see them use at all before.

Arriba, Arriba

Dear Planet Earth,

If I didn’t feel like enough of a baby-like invalid before, learning how to walk definitely sealed the deal.

I started my physical therapy today with Dr. Brooke, who as it turns out, isn’t even a doctor. No joke, he dropped out of medical school halfway through to start a chain of Mexican restaurants with his brother. But that’s a rant for another day.

He’s had me walking up and down the hallway for the past five hours. I’d tell you that I’m moving at a snail’s pace, but that would be offensive to decent snails everywhere. However, my unfathomably slow gait still makes me feel like I’m running a marathon. With pins in my leg. With Tabasco sauce marinating those pins.

To make matters worse, they’re cutting back on my painkillers now, too. If only I could summon some of that adrenaline from yesterday, I know I’d be the unholy love child of Usain Bolt and Speedy Gonzales.


Dear Planet Earth,

I’m feeling less overwhelmingly depressed today. The pain is still there, throbbing with its own distinctive pulse, but I’m learning to ignore it.

Thank God or Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster that someone found this new netbook for me. I’ve been able to distract myself with cartoons and cat videos on YouTube. It’s no morphine, but I’ll take it.

One of the nurses said General Talpa and the rest of my merry band of mole men killers are on their way back here to regroup. I’m excited to find out what’s going on out there, if they know any more about our future masters and how to stop them.

I’m excited and apprehensive. And slightly abandoned. And did I mention in unbelievable pain?


Dear Planet Earth,

It was an uneventful couple of days if you don’t count the homeless army slowly amassing outside the base’s perimeter.

I’ve been spending a lot of time catching up on cartoons on YouTube. I’d been surprised that people weren’t uploading their own news reports about what going on, until someone here pointed out to me the now obvious fact that since the media blackout started, no one’s been able to upload any new content to the site. Regardless, YouTube remains an unfathomably large library of our culture to the point of October 23, 2011.

A couple hours ago I heard some screaming going on, and when I poked my head outside, I could see a group of soldiers forcing someone into my former interrogation cell. I caught Lieutenant Christiansen walking past and asked him what was up.

“We caught one,” he said. He let it sit like that, and gave me a smile and a wink before following the others into the tent.

“One.” It echoed in my head and formed a dozen different images I would have considered fiction before October 23, 2011.

It still echoes. I don’t whether to think they grabbed one of the homeless mercenaries or if there’s an actual living, breathing extraterrestrial 20 yards away from me right now.

Judging by how easy it was to get Christiansen to spill some beans, I’m sure I can get the full story from Eimer when I see him next. Until then, I still have plenty of cartoons to keep me busy.