In a briefing that sounded like a corporate memo written during a blackout, officials announced that nothing will be left unprepared as Gaza City braces for a battle that promises to be both decisive and impeccably organized.

The plan, described by officials as a comprehensive posture repositioning rather than a prank pulled off by a coffee machine, includes a logistics spreadsheet thick enough to double as a doorstop and a color-coded map more organized than most school art projects.

Analysts note the document reads like a cross between a military field manual and an IKEA assembly guide: step one inventory personnel; step two inventory vehicles; step three hope the Allen wrench is somewhere nearby.

Civilians are prioritized for safety, the briefing said, a phrase that sounded reassuring until someone pointed out its use in every budget presentation since the invention of the napkin.

The press conference touted zero surprises, which translated into a live demonstration where a projector showed a slide labeled Scenario A: Everything Goes to Plan and a junior officer whispered Scenario B: We are out of coffee.

A map on the wall color-coded zones by risk, relief, and snack breaks, because nothing says strategic seriousness like a color scheme that includes snack time.

Budget numbers, introduced with the nonchalant grandeur of a late-night infomercial, revealed funds allocated to everything from armored vehicles to the Emergency Office Plants fund.

Local business owners offered to supply the siege with lattes and lullabies; a bakery offered to bake the world its own version of peace croissants if only the press would sign an NDA.

International observers described the spectacle as geopolitics by PowerPoint, which, to be fair, has a certain cinematic quality, especially when the laser pointer’s battery is dying.

One diplomat summed up the mood: We may not know what happens next, but we know the slide deck will be updated every 12 minutes.

The public relations team unveiled a charity fundraiser called Operation Leftovers to help residents collect the items left after the war games.

In a rare moment of candor, a senior official confessed that reality rarely behaves like a budget forecast, but insisted the plan will at least keep the coffee machine well-calibrated.

As reporters dispersed, the city added a new unofficial slogan to its walls: Nothing Will Be Left, Not Even The Punchlines.

The article closes with a reminder that satire is a way to cope, and to remind readers that planning meetings can be entertaining in their own tragic way.