And this was how John and John, who had once been, if not friends than at least non-murderous acquaintances who were polite to each other, became enemies.  Over the subsequent aeons, they would have many encounters.  John developed the flagella, while John learned to synthesize poison.  When John figured out how to use his cilia to sweep food towards him, John learned how to engulf his clones and allow them to live inside him like symbiotes.  I shan't bore you, however, with details on every single one of their encounters, as it would take much too long.  Down thru countless ages their feud raged, with many different episodes in many different places.  There is no need to dwell over the details of the time John grew teeth and John had to protect himself by secreting a hard shell around his soft body, or that time that John grew claws and was just about to finally get his long hated rival, only to lose him when the fellow had the temerity to grow legs, leap onto land and run away laughing, or that time where John snuck up on John and smashed him over the head with the thigh bone of the ass and John shot him with a bow and arrow in retaliation, or the time when John figured out how to use gun powder, and blew John's arm off with a cannonball, or that time that John remembered how John blew of his arm with a cannon and built a cruise missile which he sent around to the other side of the world where it seared his hated rival's leg clean off. 

Eventually, the two sensibly agreed to divide the entire world into two equal halves between them, one half for one John and the other half for the other.  For decades the two jealously eyed each other from behind the line of demarcation, watching the other's movements, sent spies to gather information about their intentions, built satellite networks to listen to each others phone conversations.  Tensions grew.  Finally, by the time the the peace was broken by a border incident, they were ready.  Accusations were made, diplomats sent, tables pounded.  War was imminent.

"General Warbot!  Make your report," John said, pacing back and forth in his office, his robotic arm reaching beneath the enormous officer's hat that sat on his crown to scratch his pate.

"Great Leader," Warbot said, clanging his metal fist against his head in a salute.  John made a mental note to himself to reprogram the aging command unit to get it to stop doing that.  It was undignified.  "We have reports that the enemy's forces are massed on our border, and are preparing to attack us.  Worse yet, they are preparing to unleash a new and unbeatable weapon upon us."

"What? The treachery. Continue."

"We have received information that General Killdroid is overseeing a thorough going upgrade of their army.  They have learned how to network their troops' minds together so that they act as a single individual.  A million man formation can be networked together and become a single, coordinated war machine.   The internal dissension, rivalries and jealousies vanish, and the troops then work together perfectly. What's worse, the more minds are joined together, the smarter the unified individual becomes!  Why, a million units joined together becomes a greater genius than has ever existed in the history of the world!" 

"Interesting."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Warbot?"

"I'm confused how you can be so calm.  This new army is a foe to be feared."

"The reason I am calm," John said, sitting down and turning back and forth in his swivel chair, "is because I have one more ace up my sleeve.  John is very clever, but not clever enough.  I too have a secret military program designed to link the minds of soldiers up with each other.  It is an experimental technology, still in testing.  I had intended to run it through some training exercises, but now it looks like we will have to test it in battle."

John pushed a button on his desk, his anticipation so great it was making his robot arm nearly tremble, sending Gargantius plan into full emergency implementation.  The Grand Army was assembled on a plain.  Great wheelbarrows full of plugs and sockets were brought out of storage.  John, his chest covered with a thick carpet of medals, stood on a hill overseeing the operation.  Once the plugs and sockets were installed, he pulled out his bullhorn...or tried to pull out his bullhorn.  The mechanical hand he had built for himself to replace the one that scoundrel John had taken with his cannonball was acting strangely.  Instead of obeying him, the unruly contraption had taken to plucking medals off of his chest and hurling them at his staff officers.

"Sir," said the Chief of Staff of the Air force; a big bronze medal molded into the shape of a clenched fist hurled into his head, making a hollow ringing noise, "We are ready to begin.  Just give the order."
 
John, meanwhile, had managed to force his rebellious limb to drop limply at his side. 

"Warbot!" he bellowed, handing the grizzled old soldier the bullhorn, "hold this."

Warbot held the bullhorn to the Great Leader's mouth.

"Close ranks!"

The order given, the soldiers moved into formation, their plugs and sockets hooked up and the separate minds of the soldiers merged. 

"Excellent!" John said, saluting his staff, or at least trying to salute them, as the hand, once again disobeying him, had instead reached up and pulled down his officer's cap over his eyes. 

The great war machine set into motion, a million individuals moving in perfect harmony with each other, great colored banners flapping in the wind, burnished metal gleaming.  John rode upon a palanquin carried by four jetpack equipped robots, dictating his memoirs to a recorder droid as he flew through the air.  By the time the sun was just about to set, the army had reached an enormous valley bisected into two equal halves by the line of demarcation, its motions being mirrored by the opposing revolutionized force.  As the sun went down, two opponents set down for the night on their respective sides of the valley, preparing for the great battle.  John, having taken up a position high up on a cliff wall from which the entire valley could be seen, spied the encampment on the opposing cliff wall on the other side of the valley with binoculars.  He knew that John had taken up his position there with General Killdroid and his staff officers.  John wrung his metal fist at his sworn enemy, vowing his bloody revenge.

The night was uneventful.  There were rumors about secret communiques traveling back and forth between the two opposing forces.  However, when signals intelligence managed to intercept these messages, they turned out to be of no military value whatsoever.  One intercept, for instance, turned out to be a sequence of sonnets about flowers.  Another message was a philosophical critique of the notion of ontology as first philosophy stuffed full of such terms as "being-for-itself", and "being-in-itself".  Still another was a discourse on the taxonomy of land snails, wherein the shapes and colors of their respective shell patterns were described, compared and submitted to highly refined esthetic appreciation. 

"What the devil is this?" John said, still bleary-eyed from his restless night of pacing and vowing revenge.  The report made no sense whatsoever. 

"Sir, I think we should call off the operation immediately.  Something very strange is happening," General Warbot said. 

"Nothing is being called off," John barked, throwing the report aside and giving the order to advance.   He was so close and nothing would stop him now.  In the valley, the two forces moving towards each other were about to meet at a spot in the center of the valley which happened to coincide exactly with the line of demarcation.   In the distance, he could see John and his general getting on their flying palanquin. 

"Warbot!  On the palanquin," he announced,  "We are going to parley."

So it was that the two leaders, accompanied by their seconds, confronted each other in the air above the valley on the eve of battle. 

"So John, I see that you've imitated me again," the other John sneered, walking back and forth, limping on his prosthetic leg, "You really are a brilliant mimic.  That is the best that can be hoped for from a second order mind."

"Don't you dare stand there with that ridiculous bag of bolts and say that I stole from you, especially when it is so clear that it was your spies that found out about my program and copied it.  Down to the last detail."

"We'll see about that," the other John sniffed.  The two eyed each other warily,  so focused on his opposite that neither even looked at the progress of the battle below. 

"General Killdroid!" John said, his eyes still fixed.  "Report!  Are we winning?"

"I don't know," Killdroid said.  The question was in fact moot, for the actual fighting had not yet begun.  Instead, below them, the two armies were engaged in rapt philosophical dialogue on the topic of agape and brotherhood.  It was not at all clear who was winning.

"What's happening down there!" both Johns said in unison, then looked at each other. 

"Warbot!  Activate satellite uplink!  I want you to take control of the situation."

"Killdroid!  Beat them to it.  Now, while they're busy philosophizing, we can deliver the coup de grace!"
        
No sooner had both generals activated the link, their identities were subsumed in the collective consciousness of their respective armies and they lost all interest in fighting.  John asked Killbot what was happening, and was answered with a philosophical disquisition on the meaning of "happening", that is to say what it meant within the frame of event versus substance metaphysics.  Frustrated past endurance, John pushed the philosophizing robot off the palanquin, and watched it hurtling, never pausing in its erudite discourse the whole time, into the valley below. 

Now alone together (the other John having pushed his robot general into the valley as well), the two Leaders stood facing  each other.

"Admit it.  You planned this, didn't you!"

"What are you talking about!  Anyone can plainly see that this is all your doing!"

"Pardon me," a voice interrupted.  It was a very strange sounding voice, as it was a composite composed of many, many different voices speaking in unison.  John and John looked down to find that their armies were now addressing them.  Patiently, in the simplest, clearest and most irrefutable terms possible, the great multitude of voices, speaking as one, explained to the two leaders that their ancient conflict was futile and could not continue. 

"My Gosh," John said, metal hand to his chin, "You know, I've never thought of it like that before."

"Me neither," said the other John, who took his cap off.  "Clearly I have been wasting my time."

"Oh yes," John agreed, most heartily.  "From now on I will love all of my fellow creatures as if they were myself."

Far beneath them, the tiny figures of Warbot and Killdroid could be seen picking flowers together.

"As will I," John said, earnestly, "I daresay that there is not a single creature in the world who loves all things as much as I do."

"Wait a minute," the other said, "Look who loves everybody all of a sudden.  Weren't you looking to conquer the world a minute ago?"

"I was.  What of it?  You're not suggesting that you love everybody more than I do?"

"That's precisely what I'm suggesting!"

"Charlatan!"

"Petit bourgeois!"

And with that, the two Johns charged at each other, leaping off of their respective palanquins, colliding in midair and falling to their deaths in a ditch in the valley below, screaming and beating and cursing each other all the way and kicking up an enormous dust cloud in their wake.  Out of the ditch, through the haze of the dust cloud, a mechanical foot jumped, and began hopping down the road.  Once the cloud began to clear, a disembodied metallic hand also became visible, crawling out of the ditch by its fingertips.

"Come, Warbot, and look at these splendid land snails," Killdroid said.  "Aren't they beautiful?"

And they were.