This is PFC Robert Walgrave, 3rd Marines. I am holed up in an abandoned K-Mart outside of Boston. At least I think it's abandoned. Hard to tell with K-Mart. My entire division was wiped out in the uprising, and I know my days are numbered. My only hope is that the eyes reading this belong to a human, and not one of those damned apes.
I can imagine what you're thinking. How could you let this happen? How could the world's highest-funded military be bested by animals whose only bragging rights are opposable thumbs and free-wheeling attitudes about rape and fecal matter? I'm sure you're angry. I am too. And I'm sorry. I have no excuses. I can give you reasons, but not excuses. If it's any consolation, the images of my buddies getting torn apart by screeching chimpanzees in diapers and clown wigs will haunt me the rest of my days.
At the time of the Ape Uprising, we were complacent. We were ignorant. It was bliss. Monkeys and apes had been ingratiating themselves for decades. How could we be threatened by animals who looked so adorable in little suits, smoking cigars? Who cherished stuffed animals like our own children did? Who *ate their own poop*? Were there warning signs? Of course. Some had lashed out, impatient to set the game afoot. Need I remind you of the orangutan who almost raped Julia Roberts, or the chimpanzee who removed the face of that one lady in Connecticut? We failed to connect the dots. That's on us.
The military itself was focused on other areas. When given our choice of electives, did any of us think to sign up for "Managing and Quelling Higher Primate Revolts?" Of course not. We stood in line for "High-Impact Explosives and You," "Headshots as a Form of Self-Realization," and "Making the Most of PTSD to Get Laid Back Home." You know who did sign up for the primate revolt course? Henderson. You know who the first target was once the shit literally hit the fans? Henderson. Clever monkey bastards.
Their tactics were outstandingly original. We received our own call to arms at 0500 on 5 August 2011. My platoon scrambled out of our racks and we were locked and loaded within minutes. We moved outside to form ranks for what we assumed was a surprise drill. That was our first encounter with an ape trap. The grounds were covered in banana peels. If the Three Stooges taught us anything, it's that banana peels are the slipperiest substance known to man. Turned out it was also known to ape. Within seconds we were all on the ground. The accidental discharges alone counted for 28% of our losses that day. Before we could regroup, we were nailed by an artillery barrage of ape feces. I mentioned shit hitting fans; this was it. They'd stolen giant wind machiens from their connections in show business, and were using them to shotgun their feces into our base. Blinded, bruised and generally grossed-out, it was a simple affair for the apes to move in and start raping and face-tearing.
I hope the textbooks of your day don't shy from the horrors of this war. The apes' greatest advantage was psychological. A man who's been covered in poo and raped by a silverback is a man who's lost his fighting spirit.
You may be thinking "Private, at the time of the Uprising there were only a few thousand gorillas left. How could such a small force overcome your numbers?" Well, we were fed lies. It turned out those totals were gross underestimations. Gorillas and other large apes had been hiding in our society for decades unbeknownst to us. The advent of reality television gave them even greater cover. Several contestants on The Bachelor, including a few winners, and most MTV reality stars were in fact actual apes. Hiding in plain sight, they were able to gather incredible amounts of intelligence on our army and social structure so that they could pinpoint the most vulnerable spots, causing great devestation with minimal effort. And in lowering the bar of mass entertainment, they dulled and softened the population, ensuring we would provide little resistance once the uprising began.
So here I am, writing to you on a legal pad in this K-Mart. Hmm, 4 for $5, good deal. How could these guys not keep up with Wal-Mart? Anyway, I reached this point by traveling at night. Some ape outposts were unavoidable, though I tried saving myself through dissemblance. Fortunately my wife was a big Jersey Shore fan so I could blend in. Though due to my narrow build I had to perform my share of favors. Apes' tastes are certainly...specific.
To my descendants, I can only offer my deepest regrets for the situation I've left you with, and what little advice I can afford. Don't take your time for granted. Don't get complacent. And for the love of God almighty, if you take back this planet, do not under any circumstances allow reality television to resurface.
Also, keep an eye on those penguins. Anything that cute and isolated is bad news. Take it from a survivor.