A Letter to Make My Brother’s Time in Basic Training Hell

As many of you probably don’t know, my older brother decided to be a hero for once and join the Army. It’s his dream to find and capture Osama Bin Laden. My family and I don’t have it in us to tell him that Bin Laden is already dead. How exactly do you tell someone that the person he wants to find has been dead for almost two years? Where is your goddamn internet meme for that one, Internet? Do I have to do everything on here?

OK, so I'm not that good at making memes. Sorry.

OK, so I’m not that good at making memes. Sorry.

But that’s all beside the point. My brother is now in basic training, and he had even sent us a letter detailing his life in boot camp. In summary: it blows. Other than the normal shittyness that preparing your mind and body to become a trained combat soldier, he managed to split his head open… on a flat screen TV. Holy shit. Before I go any further, I would like to point out that I love my brother and I support him and all of the stupid things he does, but Jesus Christ in a clown wig, a TV?! How do you even do something like that during basic training? Was it thrown at him because he was acting like an idiot?

So after the headache I received from reading his letter had subsided, it was time for me to write one back to him. But there is one big rule: I cannot write anything that would give his commanding officers ammunition to make his life a living hell. You see, in basic training, the CO’s use any display of individuality against the recruits. If you wear a t-shirt with a logo on it on your first day, they will make that day suck for you. Or, if someone sends you a letter or a package, the CO’s will open it and use whatever is in the letter/ package to make your life harder. That means that you can only send packages with necessities (toothbrush, deodorant, underwear), and that your letters cannot contain any information that could be embarrassing. That doesn’t fly with me, because just about everything I write is embarrassing to at least one member of my family.

Plus, I am also that kind of dick that is told not to do something, but then does it out of pure defiance of authority. It’s my personality quirk that makes me a loveable character. However, I really don’t want to make my brother’s life that much more awful while he’s there (he has to come back sometime), and I really don’t feel like getting my ass kicked by him. So instead, I wrote a delightfully shitbox crazy letter to him and decided to post it here instead. This way, I’m still saying terrible things that could get him in trouble, but unless his CO’s are fans of my blog (which is hopeful but not likely) he won’t be tortured for it. Here is the letter:

(I would like you all to know that everything in the letter below is completely fabricated. Each sentence is an outright lie that should only be laughed at and then dismissed, not taken for fact. Nothing in this letter is true. You wouldn’t believe the problems I’ve had with that in the past.)

Dear brother, Justy-wustykins,

How’s that weird rash on your groin? I hope you remembered to bring your ointment. And how’s basic training? I hope you’ve managed to keep your crying to a minimum of once a day, and if not you’ve at least found a quiet secluded place where you and all the other criers can go to weep like children and not be found. I only hope you don’t ruin the hiding spot for the others, because you are such a loud crier. I do have to admit, though, I am impressed that you didn’t go to the infirmary after cutting your head open (on a fucking TV, really?). I can only imagine the wailing your vocal cords managed to produce after that. I’m going to assume that your CO’s had to pull you by your ankles out from under your bed. I hope my little Justy-wustykins is feeling better from it though.

As for the training itself, how’s that going? Have they taught you how to fire a gun without dropping it and shrieking like a little girl? And while we’re on the subject of your feverish lady shrieks, how are your night terrors? I hope they aren’t so frequent that your bunkmates want to smother you with your pillow. Just remember: before you go to bed think of happy things, and never, ever picture a porcelain bear holding a knife or a murder of ravens removing your internal organs through a gash in your stomach. Also try not to imagine the billions and billions of germs that are on every surface you touch every day. They give you your worst night terrors, and despite the fact that this is a silly phobia, those germs are real and they are out to get you. They’re even in your bed!

As for things here, life is pretty normal. I managed to trick the native population of a small island off the coast of the Philippines that I was a god. I then had them construct a 50 foot long laying statue of me and then had them bury it for my reincarnation. So far, that’s the fifth time I’ve pulled off that stunt, and each time, they actually go through with it! Hopefully, centuries from now, archeologists all across the world will find these buried statues and wonder who was this mythical Wolf King, Minigan Blackwood, and how did he get so many different cultures to worship him.

In unrelated news, Mom and dad and everyone else are doing fine. Just living their ordinary, boring lives.

Before I go, I want tell you something that I know I don’t say often, if ever. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of how you’ve taken up this cause for our nation, I’m proud of your willingness to sacrifice your comfort to help defeat our vile enemies and return our nation to its former glory. And the training you are putting yourself through for our cause will be crucial in tearing down their godless regime. Just think about it. Every trick you learn, every weapon you know how to operate, every maneuver you memorize will ultimately be another tool for us to destroy the lumbering giant of a civilization. Our enemy will never see such an attack coming.  This plan is brilliance in its most true, weaponized form. Your work in the US army is also our God’s work. Praise be to his name.

Anyway, That’s all the news I have for you now, Justy-wustykins. I hope this letter found you not in a piss soaked, muddy, weeping heap of an excuse for a man, but I know deep down that the odds are not in my favor for that one.

Praise Allah.



Your brother, Minigan Muhammad Blackwood: Wolf King

P.S. Along with this letter you should have received a package. In it is various dildos from your extensive collection. I know how much you must miss them. And don’t worry- your favorite, Mr. Squeakers, was the first one I added to the box. You’re welcome.

Alright folks, I have one more thing to share with you this week. Last week, my friend Jeremiah and I submitted a video to Cracked.com’s Shot Clock Video Challenge. The rules were that the video had to be no longer than 30 seconds long, shot on a smart phone, and reference one of the teams in this year’s March Madness tournament. Unfortunately, we did not make it into the final four, which means that our video wouldn’t be featured on Cracked for a chance to win a Canon T3I video camera to shoot videos with. I still want to share my video with the world, however, so my blog will have to do. Here it is, 20 seconds of pure hilarity:


  1. I guess you’ve never seen the autopsy photos. Tupac isn’t just dead, he’s VERY dead.

    • That was a joke. I was mocking the idea of Bin Laden being alive by comparing it to another person that everyone knows is dead, but theorists still say is alive. Thanks for ruining the joke, jerk.

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