Do not make war.
Make peace.
Do not drop bombs of fire-
but bombs of flower-
power—
exploding as seeds of hypergrowth man-eating plantfiends genetically engineered to devour all extant animal life on their planet!!
until only the winds move.
What beauty then:
What peace.
Blossom, by No Quarter Corporation (“Arms Without Mercy, Victory Without End”), designed by Gucci.
Conquer… in style.
“That last part said in a whisper,” the ad man said, finishing his pitch and waiting for the reaction from the generals.
One of them stirred. “Weaponized nature. I like that,” he said.
“Women love flowers,” said another.
The ad man smiled. “Imagine, gentlemen. Valentine’s Day. You’ve all been married awhile. What do you get for that most-special woman in your life, for the woman you’ve already gotten everything for?” Pause for dramatic effect. “A holocaust! A depopulated planet—just for the two of you!”
“For a mistress too,” added an officer.
“Yesss,” hissed the ad man, winking. “Perhaps even more for a mistress.”
“And that’s in addition to the military applications. No more messy invasions. No more casualties.” He shuddered. “I hate dealing with the families of the dead. They’re so puffy and red and wet, you can’t understand half the things they’re saying because of all the sobbing.”
“It’s good for the man-eating flower industry.”
“Plus it’s ‘eco friendly’. Organic. People love that environmental tree hugger shit.”
“So, gentlemen, do we have a deal?” asked the ad man.
The generals looked at one another.
They nodded.
A few hours later, having finally made it back to his hotel room, the ad man thought, It’s funny: they never ask what happens to the flowers afterwards. Shrugging, he took off the horribly itchy human suit he’d been wearing all day, letting it drop to the bathroom floor like fabric into a pool of blood, and stretched out his aching stem, petals, before sliding into the tub for a nice and relaxing shower and watering. Oh, well. All the easier for us.