O Mighty Shovel!

It has worked, Your Decreptitude! I have been accepted as a mercenary at Base Camp Oma, as we are now calling it, for Operation: Desert Minimal Chance of Rain. I managed to mingle with a group of Hispanic humans waiting around outside of the local Home Depot when a rusty truck drove up with the large-jawed woman driving. The cab was filled with howling cats, frantically scratching at the windows to be set free. She ignored them, and motioned at three of us to get into the back of the truck. As per your instructions, O Wearer of the Sacred Jockey Shorts of Theta, I had procured a droopy mustache and sombrero as a disguise. The other Hispanics had looked curiously at me (you could hardly tell they were Hispanics at all, since they were wearing jeans and Tommy Hilfiger shirts. I felt pretty smug in my serape, let me tell you!), but I couldn't tell if this was because of my native dress or the fact that I am only three feet high, and the sombrero kept sliding down my face to rest on my shoulders.

Anyway, we reached the compound in Littlerock, and joined a crowd of other soldiers-for-hire that were milling in the front yard. The large-jawed woman climbed up on top of a crate (there were a lot of crates in the yard for some reason, as well as heaps of dog freeplow all over the place --- a lot of the other mercenaries kept stepping in it, and the smell was terrible!)

"Listen up, you retards!" the large-jawed woman bellowed. I had been distracted by the sight of her purple leggings and lime green top, but my attention was immediately front-and-center.

"There is going to be a major operation against this compound within the next thirty-six hours. I have received satellite intelligence reports from my supporters at NORAD that Patrick O'Connor's army will be moving against us at 0800 Sunday."

She pointed to some large wooden crates leaning against the far wall of the house.

"Those will be your barracks. Inside you will find your uniforms and weapons. Stand down, dress, and be back here in five minutes."

The throng of mercenaries dispersed. I tried to keep well in the background, but before I could get very far I was recognized! A burly man approached me, lifted the sombrero from my head and smiled down at me.

"Little guy, is that you? It's me! Bruce!"

My hearts sank, O Keeper of the Cojones of the Lords of Meeprap! It was my old friend the truck driver!

"Sure have missed your purty mouth, l'il feller. Come on, let's get away from the crazy bitch for a few seconds, 'cause you and I are gonna be bunkmates!