🗺️ Setting the Scene:
Post–World War I. Australia — sunburned, stubborn, and drowning in unresolved tension. Veterans return home, only to find themselves in a new kind of hell:
Farms overrun. By emus.
Tens of thousands of them.
Tall. Flightless. Unbothered.
Marching through wheat fields like feathered anarchists.
Ruining fences. Mocking crops.
Not respecting authority.
And Australia? Still high on imperial swagger and gunpowder? Said: “We’ll show them who’s boss.”
They didn’t.
🔫 The Military Solution:
The government sends in actual soldiers. With actual machine guns. To fight the emus. As in: battle formations against birds.
Two soldiers. Two Lewis guns. 10,000 rounds of ammunition.
And absolutely no idea what they were dealing with.
🪩 The War Itself:
The emus? Didn’t line up. Didn’t charge. Didn’t play fair.
They split into squads. They zigzagged through gunfire. They used terrain.
They outmaneuvered trained soldiers.
They were fast. Organized. And worst of all — they didn’t care.
You shot at one flock? Another would flank you. You took out three? Seventeen more scattered like anarchist poetry across the outback.
It was less a war, more a series of humiliating kinks Australia didn’t know it had.
🧷 Kafkaesque Notes of Shame:
- Guns jammed.
- Birds escaped.
- Soldiers missed.
- At one point they mounted a gun on a truck — the recoil nearly broke the truck, and the emus still got away.
After weeks of failure, hundreds of rounds spent, and barely a handful of confirmed kills, Australia pulled out.
Defeated. Exposed. Feathered and shamed.
🪶 Moral of the Emu War:
Never underestimate an enemy with no fear, no shame, and better cardio.
And if your solution to “bird problem” is “deploy machine guns and hope they respect imperial authority,” you deserve everything the feathers bring.
Final Score:
- Emus: 1
- Australia: 0
- Kink Factor: 10 (humiliation play, denial, military degradation, public exposure)