Welcome to my blog. I write about our popculture... mostly. I also write posts where I terrorize celebrities, about how I kick ass, and how I might be a robot from the future. What I'm getting at here is that these are the ramblings of a madman.
Before we get started on this blog, I would like to publicly (kind of) wish Lady Caggiano to get well soon. She recently got into a serious car accident and had to be taken to the hospital. She is relatively OK; she broke her vagina-bones, but she seems pretty upbeat about not being dead, and she apparently enjoys peeing in a cup. To make her feel better, and to explain to all of you readers out there in internetland how she got into an accident, I decided to write a story around her harrowing tale:
The night was cold, wet. It was like that dead hooker that you had to bury in the rain on one autumn day. That is, it smelled kind of funky and it was still struggling a little. Damn corpses. Anyway, I got into my car, listened to the gentle growl emanate from under the hood as I turned the ignition. I didn’t want to head to Pataskala; I didn’t want to even leave my house, but damnit, Minigan guilt tripped me into leaving. “I really want to work on the TV show” he said. “I developed the characters a little more,” he said. What a cunt-stain. And I never use the word “cunt.” Not unless I am talking about him. I don’t even know why I haven’t stolen this TV show idea and put it together on my own. I guess I like the fact that he immediately includes me on his projects. It makes me feel wanted.
He wouldn't let me go. Oh God, he smelled horrible!
Anyway, my car awoke from its slumber, and The Killers began to blast through the speaker. I smiled. At least the trip over would be a good one. And I could probably just tune Minigan out the entire time. He’ll won’t notice; all he does is rant anyway. God, do I hate him. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I never met him. I am pretty sure everything would be nothing but double rainbows and sex without judgment.
Why he exists is impossible to know for sure, but my guess is that he meant to bring death and sorrow to everything good and beatuiful.
Despite the good feelings The Killers put me in, I still looked back at my apartment building with longing. I normally had this feeling that something terrible was going to happen when I go meet Minigan, but this was different: I felt that my life was more at stake this time. Shaking off those feelings of foreboding, I began my trek to P-town.
My instincts were correct. Unknown to me, Pataskala actually contains the gates to Hell. Which, in hindsight makes perfect sense, seeing as though Minigan lives there. Well, as I was driving towards that town, I saw this red glowing light. It was pulsating, and as I giggled at how funny the word “pulsating” is, some winged, naked, bald man landed on my windshield. Figuring I just hit another gay stereotype who came prancing out of one of the many gay bars that litter The Short North, i was tempted to just continue driving. Grumbling (my conscience got the best of me), I climbed out of the comfort of my car into the cold, dead hooker of a night to examine the damage done.
The man was as muscular as a gay (or as Minigan, the meatheaded douchebag) but he was incredibly ugly. There is no way a gay man is that ugly. I took a second look, hoping that it was Doug that I hit, but sadly, no. The winged man was ugly, but not Minigan ugly, or what I like to call “Dougly” on account of Minigan’s middle name being Doug. Also, although the man and Minigan both smell like pure evil, this man smelled like putrid flesh as well, whereas Minigan also reeks of Axe body spray. This dude lying in front of my car had a pig snout and a mouth full of brownish yellow fangs that pointed in different directions. The man’s skin tone was a sickly grey, and his bald, lumpy, and misshapen head sat on top of a long and oddly veiny neck . His leathery and taloned wings were bent awkwardly on the wet pavement. I began to wonder what man would wear leathery wings, and came to the conclusion that this guy had to be gay, but one of those rare fugly gay guys that show up every once and a while.
Fun Fact: Minigan can pass as an ugly gay guy.
I leaned over the assumed dead, assumed gay man’s body, wondering whether I should call the cops or roll him into the gutter like the rest of the hit pedestrians, when the man opened his black eyes. I do not mean that they were bruised, or that that his pupils were dilated, but that even the whites of his eyes were black. Sensing that I was looking at some really fucked up shit, I proceeded to get back into my car. I threw the man my insurance card at the man and apologized as I closed the door, but fugly dude let out an ear piercing screech- something that would have annoyed the shit out of a nazgul. The thing jumped onto the hood of my car, crumbling the metal like it was paper. He then punched through my windshield, but got his massive talon stuck in the tempered glass. I looked around in a panic, but the only thing at my disposal was a copy of “Twilight: Breaking Dawn” that Minigan gave me for my Birthday (which I threw into my car, never to think about again). The Stupid asshole; he knew that I hated Twilight. That’s when I remembered- that dumbass didn’t give me the book, “Twilight,” he gave me a hollowed out copy of “Twilight” with a vampire slaying kit inside. I lunged past the writhing demon hand and reached for the book. As my fingers clasped around the book, the monster’s fingers grabbed a fistful of my hair. My scalp burned as he thrashed me around the front of my car. Somehow, I was able to open the book and grab the Celtic (for some strange reason, vampires are from Eastern Europe after all) Crucifix. As best as I could, I beat the monster’s wrist with it. Hey- Don’t judge me, I was panicking. What would you have done? The stake Minigan made for me was as dull as one of his lame jokes. Anyway, to my surprise, the creature let out a angry cry, and let go of my hair. It’s long, grey, and taloned hand pulled out of my windshield.
Given the choice between saving Minigan's life and reading a Twilight novel, I would choose the Twilight novel before the person had time to complete the sentence.
At that moment, my foot instinctively pressed down on the accelerator, and my car lurched forward, throwing the winged man over the hood and back onto the pavement. I sped through town, dodging pedestians and other cars like a crazy person, all in an effort to get away from the thing that attacked me. I wasn’t even sure if I was going in the right direction (not that I really cared), I just wanted to get as far away from that monster as possible.
My mind slowly calmed and I found it drifting from the horrors of one monster to another: Minigan. I just knew that he would be sitting at the smoothie place, on his golden “Emperor of Awesome” throne he built for himself, shirtless and oiling up his abs, just waiting for me to show up so that he could put on his pathetic show of impotent masculinity. Part of me always hopes that he ignites the oil on his body during his traditional fire dance to the Thunder God. And, sadly, everytime he completes the ceremony unscathed, I die a little bit more inside.
I hate him and every single one of his 8 abs.
My mind grew tired of the image of Minigan aflame, so I began to take notice of where I was heading. I was on the freeway, headed East. Fuck. I was still headed towards Pataskala. And not only that, the throbbing glow (I giggled again) was now an even deeper shade of red and took up more of the sky. Something told me that I was going to have to deal with a lot of shit tonight.
The next few minutes were relatively uneventful, the occasional zombie hoard pulling their victim out of a car, shadow creatures crumbling buildings like they were made of cards, sink holes forming in the middle of the road and spewing out thousands of little devil cherubs. You know, the things you normally see in Columbus Ohio. ( I am not even joking, these are all regular occurences here. If you are reading this and do not live in Ohio, keep it that way. Don’t even drive through Ohio. You will be putting yourself and your loved ones at risk.The fact that Minigan also lives within the Ohio borders is only a stronger argument of why you should never come here.) I approached my exit and sighed, knowing what horrors awaited me in the Over Latte Café. Unluckily for the world, but luckily for me, a two story tall shit monster formed at the exit. It wasn’t a solid shit either, it was closer to a thick diarehea shit. It moved around like it was the lava inside of the lamp. It didn’t have eyes so much as sunken pits where eyes supposed to go, but it did have teeth- giant fangs that looked eerily like corn. In fact, to me, it kind of looked like Minigan, probably because they are both huge pieces of shit. Anyway, I was kind of estatic at this new development. I cannot honestly say that it was the happiest I had ever been, since there was a giant shit monster lumbering towards me, but at least it wasn’t Minigan. Also, I remembered the comment I made about 300 words ago, and I let a short “ha” escape my lips.
Minigan thinks that this is what "Goth" looks like. Seriously, fuck this guy.
But due to this laugh, but mostly due to the giant shit monster stealing my attention, I was not paying full attention to the road or the car in front of me slamming on their breaks. Once I noticed that the car in front of me was getting larger at an alarming rate, I in turn slammed on mine, not noticing the slick patch of road that I was careening towards. I hit said patch of slick road, my wheels locked up, and I found my self spinning at an orgasmically terrifying rate. The world outside my car was a blur of reds, blacks, and greys as the world inside my car was filled with my terrified screams. As I was spinning, all I could think about was how I was going to die here on the highway, and it was going to be all Minigan’s fault. That son of a bitch, I thought, I’m gonna haunt the shit out of him. I skidded to a halt with the passenger side of my car only inches away from the person in front of me. I was about to take a sigh of relief when I looked out the driver’s side window and saw another car barreling towards me. I was paralized with fear, when I realized that it was going to hit me, and all that I was able to do was yell, “FUCK YOU MINIGAN!!!” The car hit my door. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Bones broke. Horns blared. Metallica started playing on the radio. I was in Hell. My nether-regions were in intense pain. I just knew I broke my lady bits. I ended up having to be taken to the hospital because my pelvic bone was broken in 2 places, and that is why I did not come to our meeting on Friday, Minigan.
Minigan- Seriously, that is your excuse?
Ashley- What, you don’t believe me?
Minigan- Of course I don’t. You had demons and shit monsters in it. How could you expect me to believe something like that? But I’m not angry about that. What I want to know is if you realized that you were talking shit on me in your inner-monologues when you told this story to me?
Ashley- What do you mean?
Minigan- I mean that you called my a cunt-stain, and said that you regularly hope I set myself on fire.
Ashley- Well then, I guess you won’t want these cookies I made you.
Minigan- Cookies!?!? FUCK YES I DO!!!
Ashely- [to herself] Ha, ha, men are so easy to trick.
I got him to be the women in this picture. He is sooo my bitch.
Ok, now that I am done sucking Ashley’s metaphorical dick, Let’s get onto this week’s blog!
BLOGGING!!!!!
Just kidding- I’m done. Peace everybody, and Ashley, FEEL BETTER!!!!
Before I get started, I would like to let Chris Thorn know that he does not need to waste those precious few moments he has left in his sad, decrepit life by reading my blog. Chris, since I am giving you the option to go, I do not want to hear any shit from you about me wasting your life. I hope you enjoy the time I am giving back to you and can only expect that you will use that time to facebook stalk me. Also, I would check my grammar, but fuck you.
The hallway was dark, quiet, and deserted. On one end, a group of leaders of the terrorist organization known as” Murderhorn,” gathered together. They pointed their AK-47s into the black, shooting at whatever movement they hallucinate. One of the men was attempting to pick the lock and break into the room closest to them. On the other end of the hallway, around the corner, a group of badasses armed to the teeth with custom weaponry was planning their next move. A black-haired man wearing guy liner, a pair of tight fitting jeans, and a leather vest was standing up against the wall next to a woman in full body armor. She has more firepower on her than a fireworks shop owner with a score to settle. The terrorists broke through the doors and rushed in, closing the doors behind them. The terrorists left behind a group of five heavily armed thugs to buy some time.
Our two mysterious figures concealed in the dark looked to the opposing wall, where two of their team members are also concealed. The man in the front, wearing a white cloak and a camelback hydration system(product placement), turned to the man behind him and said, “Everett, you blind them, and I will run up and fuck their shit up.” he then continued to the rest of the team, “Once I have them distracted, you three will run up and engage them. They will show no mercy, so don’t expect or give any.”
He crouched down and quickly, but silently moved forward. When he was almost within sight of the group guarding the door, a small cube flew through the air, over the head of the cloaked man, and towards the thugs. They watched as the cube fell into the middle of them and exploded into a flash of blinding white light. The men stumbled around for a second or two before regaining the use of their eyes. When they did, the man in the white cloak was standing perfectly still in the center of the circle the bad guys had formed. The armed thugs pointed their fully automatic guns at the cloaked individual and began to fire.
The cloaked man grabbed the barrel of one of the man’s guns, pulled it past him, and then grabbed onto the gun holder’s shoulder and firing hand from behind. The other thugs shot at the cloaked man, but the bullets merely hit their comrade. The cloaked man, used his human shield’s gun to shoot at the other thugs, taking out one of them. The other three members of the cloaked man’s team came forward and quickly dispatched of the remaining guards using their own style of combat. The woman using Tai Kwon Do, the man in the leather vest using magic(not the really gay magic, only the slightly gay kind), and Everett using wrist mounted flame throwers.
“OK,” Everett said with a breath of relief, “Now to get through the door.”
The man in the cloak looked to the woman and asked, “Would you mind doing the honor, Lady Caggiano?”
“Certainly,” Lady Caggiano stated as she walked up to the door. She landed one solid kick on the door knob, and the door exploded like something out of a Michael Bay movie, fire and all. The team ran through the gaping hole where the door used to be to see one terrorist, a woman in a black catsuit and wire rimmed glasses, standing guard at the door on the opposite end of the room, ready to kick some ass.
Sarah Palin?
The leader of the group took a sip from his camelback hydration system (product placement), and ran at the woman. The woman instinctively shot at him. The bullets, although making their mark, only slowed the progress of the man in the cloak slightly. By the time he reached her, she had shot her last bullet, and was frantically attempting to reload. One swift roundhouse kick from the cloaked man knocked the gun from her hand, out of her reach and unloaded. She was basically fucked at this point.
She did a backflip or two to get away from the cloaked man, and then set herself in a defensive position (which is not a sexual position, but more of a fighting one). All the while, making those weird noises that one usually associates with a white person doing karate.
The man in the cloak strode towards her and said, “I am not afraid to hit a woman.” He then produced his pole arm that for some reason was unnoticeable until just then, and buried its blade in her stomach.
She looked at him as if he had just insulted her and said, “But I can see Russia from my house!”
The cloaked man replied, “I don’t care,” and forced the woman off of his pole arm with his foot. She fell to a crumpled and very dead heap on the floor.
His teammates walked up from behind him, Lady Caggiano glaring at him.
“What,” he asked.
“You’re not afraid to hit a woman?” Lady Caggiano snapped.
“Holyshit, that was actually Sarah Palin!” The man in the leather vest exclaimed, staring at the dead woman on the floor.
“ But I didn’t hit her,” the cloaked man pointed out, “I penetrated her with my justice stick.”
“No, seriously guys, this is actually Sarah Palin. Thunder, you killed her!” The man in the leather vest continued.
Lady Caggiano replied hotly, “First of all, I really think it is a bad idea to make domestic abuse jokes to the people who we know control the media. And secondly, that sounded so dirty.”
“Ok, you two, calm down,” Everett stated, “We need to get through these doors and apprehend these terrorists.”
“Am I the only one who finds it weird that there was just a joke, not even 400 words ago that pointed out her resemblance to Sarah Palin, and it actually turns out to be Sarah Palin? What the fuck?” the man asked.
“Shut up, Criss,” Thunder snapped, “You’re breaking the fourth wall again. I don’t care if you are magic, stop doing that, it creeps us all out. Oh, and what did I fucking say about that hair? Put your Goddamn fedora back on.”
Seriously, you look like an asshole.
Criss Angel silently obeyed, and the group moved closed in on the door. On the other side, they heard the frantic whisperings of the remaining terrorists.
“C’mon,” Thunder commanded, “We need to defeat these douchebags and save their hostage so that we can get back to base and get wasted!” Thunder then raised his fist to the air, and called out, “KAPLAH!!!”
“KAPLAH!!!” the other team members called out in unison.
They all stepped away from the door and Everett raised his fist at the door. There was the sound of a faint click, and a grappling hook shot from the reel on the back of his hand and embedded itself in the double doors. With a slight jerk back from Everett, the doors were ripped from their frame and flew over the teams heads. The door was followed by a hail of gunfire. The grappling hook released its grip from the door and Everett and the rest of the team took cover.
Thunder looked over to Criss. “You got this?” he asked in a whisper.
Criss simply nodded, sat quietly with his eyes closed for a second, and then moved to the door way. He raised both of his arms, and started walking forward. The bullets aggressively flew at him, but every single one that hit him passed through without leaving so much as a bruise. With a flick of the wrist, the bullets’ trajectories shifted, and now orbited Criss. After moving a few feet closer to the shooters, he let both of his hands drop, and the bullet-satellites launched themselves at their former masters. The men dropped to the ground as lead-filled heaps of death. Criss turned to face his teammates, put a smirk on his face, and flicked them the devil horns.
“Oh, thank God you have arrived Awesomesquad!” a voice cried from the corner. A voice, which the entire group was disappointed to realize that belonged to a man and not an attractive brunette named Olivia Wilde. A blond man sporting a flesh colored beard and some soiled, expensive looking clothes came crawling out of a dark corner in a similar fashion to Gollum’s way of walking.
“Holy shit,” Criss cried out, “Is that Spencer Pratt?!?!”
what a douche
“Yea, I’m fucking Spencer Pratt,” the hostage snapped, “Who the fuck would I be, not the most important person on the face of the planet? Get with the game, retard.”
Lady Caggiano, whose mothering instinct suddenly kicked in, rushed over to the crawling douche-bag and asked, “Omigosh, are you OK?”
“Yea I’m fine,” Spencer replied, “They slapped me around and made me wear a dress, but other than that I’m ok”. “I am hungry though,” he continued, “Does anybody have anything to eat?” He looked at Lady Caggiano again, closer this time, and followed her form from her legs to her chest and back down again. “You got a nice set of legs on you, baby,” he added in what he thought was a seductive voice, “I wouldn’t mind chewing on them. PPPPPUUUUUURRRRRRRR!”
The look of caring melted from Lady Caggiano’s face, and she replied flatly, “Chew on this.” She raised her revolver, whom she calls “Ole Shooty Killy” and drove a bullet into Spencer’s brain. He drops back to the ground like the dead log that his personality has reflected for his entire life. “What?” She said as she looked to the rest of the group. That was not the feminist in me that did that, it was the part of me that hates Spencer Pratt, which is actually all of me.”
Thunder replied, “Hey, if we would have had the chance to kill him, we would have, so don’t sweat it.” He turned to the entire group as he continued, “See, this is why we had that catchy one-liner seminar. Good work, Lady Caggiano. Very catchy indeed.”
“Thank You, Thunder,I am pretty awesome, aren’t I?” Lady Caggiano replied. “But I think we should look around and see what these members of Murderhorn had with them,” she then suggested.
Thunder nodded, “Good idea, see if they have any cash on them. I like it.” The three men started to rummage through the pockets of the disceased, a flicker of greed in their eyes.”
“That’s not what I meant by seeing what they had with them,” Lady Caggiano said in a mildly disgusted voice, “but since you guys seem so intent on stealing from the dead, I CALL DIBS ON SPENCER PRATT’S WALLET!!!”
This call was met by groans from the three men, but groans quickly died and the four continued on. However, the groans resumed when Lady Caggiano pulled out $500 from the douchebag’s wallet. After several minutes, and collecting at least a thousand dollars worth of spoils, the group as a whole turned to a lone briefcase near one of the leader’s bodies. Thunder opened it, and its contents spilled to the floor. The papers, which all seemed to be important terroristy documents, shared a particular symbol on the top right corner of every page. Our group of heroes gasped unanimously, for they instantly recognized the symbol and the company it belonged to. They stared at the yellow and green symbol in amazement until the bottom of the briefcase, which Thunder was still holding, fell out, and revealed a digital clock counting down towards zero. 1:00, :59, :58…
The feeling that some serious shit was about to hit the fan dropped into Thunder’s stomach as he realized what it was. “BOMB! RUUUNNNNN!!!!”
The four teammates left the suitcase bomb and the crucial documents on the floor as the dashed out of the room and back through the other room and hallway. Thunder, who was bringing up the rear, grabbed one lone document with the symbol on it, lifted his wrist to right in front of his face, and commanded, “Jesse, get the Awesomeplane! started, and bring it around front. This place is going to blow!” :45, :44, :43…
A voice on the other end replied, “Ok, we will be waiting for you.”
The group picked up their pace, and lept over the dead bodies of all of the thugs they killed. As Thunder lept over one body, its hand reached up and attached itself to his ankle, bringing the leader crashing to the earth with an “AAARRRGGGGHHHH!”:22, :21…
His teammates stopped to help him, but Thunder cried, “Just go!”
With a slight hesitation,the group once again ran for their lives towards the exit. The man who was by all accounts not dead, climbed on top of Thunder, pinning Thunder’s hands against the floor, pulled out his Baretta and aimed it at our hero’s head. “Prepare to die, you bloody wanker.” The man said in a British accent (duh). :15, :14…
Just as the man was about to pull the trigger, Thunder was able to free one of his hands as grabbed a hold of the gun and moved it away from his skull. Thunder pushed the British terrorist off of his person, and was back on his feat in a flash. The terrorist ran at the cloaked man while shooting like a deranged lunatic. Thunder then whipped out his Justice Stick again (all dick jokes aside, where the fuck does he hide that thing?) and stabbed the man in the heart. “Fuck you, your taxes, and your tea, you goddamn Brit,” Thunder growled as he twisted The Justice stick and pushed again, forcing the blade out of the man’s back. He then made a jerking motion back to remove the pole arm from the once-thought-to-be-dead-but-now-actually-dead man and once again sprinted to the exit.:05, :04…
Meanwhile, Everett, Criss, and Lady Caggiano climbed aboard the Awesomeplane! out of breath, and worried of what has become of their cloaked leader. Everett, climbed into the cockpit and called, “Minigan is still in there, we can’t leave yet!”
“I’ll give him as much time as I can, but that place is about to blow, and we have to be airborne when that happens, or else we are going to sink with the rest of this island!”
Meanwhile, back inside the building, thunder was racing towards the exit. He quickly turned the corner and saw the open door. He ran at the door, faster than even he thought was possible, while all noises were drowned out by the rushing of his blood to his brain. :02, :01, :00. He did, however, hear the explosion. Thunder sprinted harder. He feared to look back, but it didn’t matter; the the light of fireball rushing down the hallway was enough of an indication of what was behind him. He burst through the door to see the Awesomeplane! about to leave his ass behind. “What the Fuck?!?!” he cried out, still running at it.
Suddenly, the door to the aircraft opened, and his team members beckoned him in. [picture this next bit occurring in slow motion for maximum effect] Pumping his legs with all he’s got, Thunder launched himself off the edge of the concrete platform just at the said platform exploded. The shockwave from the explosion pushed Thunder enough so that he flew straight into the cabin of the Awesomeplane!. [end slow motion]
“Blamo!” Lady Caggiano exclaimed as she helped Thunder to his feet.
“It’s good to see you make it out of there in one piece, Minigan,” Emily Kohlberg, the team psychologist, affirmed happily, “the party would have sucked tonight if we would have had to make it a vigil.”
“I’m glad to hear I didn’t ruin the party,” Thunder said jokingly, “It’s just too bad that Jimmy was so busy spending time with his girlfriend that he couldn’t join this team and be a part of this awesomeness.”
“Good work team,” a familiar voice eminated from the onboard TV.
“Thank’s Spottswoode,” Thunder said, “Sadly, we could not save the hostage.
“Who was it?” Emily asked.
Ashley replied, “Spencer Pratt.”
“Oh,” Spottswoode interjected, “So you killed him. That’s fine; I would have done the same.”
“We kind of figured that the world would be better off without him,” Thunder stated,”We did, however, learn something new about who funds Murderhorn while we were in there.” Thunder showed Emily and The camera feeding to Spottswoode the symbol on the upper right hand corner of the document he retrieved.
“Oh my God,” Spottswoode uttered, “We have a serious situation on our hands if that company is funding Murderhorn, but lets worry about that after the party.”
The entire group agreed, and proceeded on their way back to their base, making jokes about Jimmy Kohlberg all the while.
Well, see if I let you into my superhero club now, Jimmy. Fucking dick.
Outside the window, the Island that housed the Murderhorn organization sank down to the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, probably causing more damage to the already beaten ecosystem.
Anyway, as with my other Awesomesquad Assemble! posts, I am going to update you on our progress. First off, I would like to say that I contacted many of the people that I want in my group, but I do not know personally. Only one had replied, but his reply was a “yes” so fuck yea! The problem is that he is a public figure (kinda), so we needed to figure out how to get him completely out of the public eye. Sadly, the only possible way to do this was to ruin his name. Seeing that this was the only option, and he was surprisingly into this whole “superhero team” idea, he agreed to go through with it. I had him cheat on his wife, get caught, and let the media have a field day. Now, you may be saying to yourself that that is counterproductive if I want him to be out of the public eye, but I disagree. I call this tactic the “John Gosslin Ditch.” What it does is makes the person who does it despicable in the eyes of the public. For a while, the couple will be featured on the cover of every shitty gossip magazine in every grocery store, but eventually the media will only focus on the victim (aka the spouse) and the person who committed it will fall into obscurity, only to be brought up in passing. So far, my man has done an excellent job at employing the John Gosslin Ditch. I would like to applaud Jesse James in his determination, and in his desire to not break Sandra Bullock’s heart by being tortured and murdered, but instead by committing adultery. Kudos to you, good sir; your ancestors would be proud.
Pictured- American Hero
Secondly, I have acquired our headquarters! Seeing as though this blog is public, It would be unwise of me to tell you the location or post a picture of it, but then again, I did just specifically state that Jesse James is in my group, so fuck it.
Tada!
There is an industrial complex near my house, and one of them is sitting there, empty and ready to be sold. Once I figure out who is going to be the rich person who funds everything, I will have him acquire it. Then, we can get under way constructing the super secret tunnel that runs from our base to my house. That will make things convenient for me if no one else. It also adds the theme of trying to protect the ones you love, but you bring them closer to the danger. If you don’t know what I am talking about, it is the reason Peter Parker bitches out of getting in MJ’s pants at the end of the first Spiderman movie
I have begun work on creating the symbol for the group. I have an idea in mind, but I still need to draw it up first. Next time I update, I hope to have some of the choices up for some type of voting process. Yay Democracy!
Next item of business: new members. I actually only have one new member this time and he is going to be my genetic engineer. I work with the man at the WS, so not only do I know that he is smart, I also know that he is a good writer and a fairly decent worker. The person I am talking about is (of course) Sean McCormick! (Sorry Bill and Terry)
He even comes with his own costume and laser gun!
Sean is unfortunately focusing his work on seaweed or some strange shit, so if he would alter our genes, we would look something like this:
Dudes, I think that weed was bad. I'm totally tripping balls.
-which I still have not decided whether this would be a good or a bad thing. Anyway, he would need to go through some extensive training before he would be allowed to modify anyone in Awesomesquad, but I think that our heightened reflexes/ heat vision would be well worth the wait. And with Danica McKellar looking at his equations, we can be sure that his math will be done correctly. See, there IS a good reason to have a math genius on the team.
I would love to see her lowest common denominator.
I have also decided on who is going to be the boxing instructer! After careful deliberation, and after weighing the pros and the cons of each candidate, I have decided that the title goes to…
I forget what I was talking about. Fuck. Oh yea, that’s right, the fighting coach. Yea, the person who has that spot is Damien Walters. If that name sounds familiar to you, it is because you have probably read my Awesomesquad blogs before. He is also my gymnastics instructor. If you are wondering why I would let a gymnast also teach me how to fight, you are sane. I would have never chosen him as my fight coach if it wasn’t for this picture:
That is Mr. Walters in the Kickass costume. He was a stuntman in it. But not only was he the stuntman, he was also the assistant fight coordinator for the movie. That’s badass, and it makes him worthy of the second position. I also chose him because neither my brother nor the owner of my gym has mentioned the Awesomesquad blog posts to me other than when my brother accepted the challenge. And I am pretty sure that he has forgotten all about it since then. So yea, fuck those guys. Besides, one less team member means one less paycheck and one less person that could be shot/ killed/ captured/ tortured/ go rogue. A more elite team is probably in our best interest.
So as it stands, here who is in my team so far:
Me- Leader
Ashley Caggiano- Second in Command
Damien Walters- Gymnastics/ boxing trainer
Everett Bradford- Weapons tech
Criss Angel- Magician
Derren Brown- Mind hacker
DMZ-computer hacker
Jesse James- Vehicle builder
Emily Kohlberg- Psychologist
Sean McCormick- Genetic Biologist
Danica McKellar- Math Nerd
This asian dude- Ninja/ covert ops
That’s 11 people so far, but I still need the medic and the rich person to fund everything, so I still cannot complete this group and make sure everything is up and running yet. This disturbs me because our Rouges gallery is growing with every blog post. Our latest villain is the most diabolical yet. He rose to power of a major corporation specifically to make that company bring about the end of days. His soul purpose is to destroy America. He also wants Al Gore to feel the pain of unfathomable sadness, but Hell, we all want that now and again.
The man I speak of gets his power from the tears of environmentalists and from the blood of manatees. Currently, he resides in his volcano lair off the cost of Haiti, where his earthquake machine undoubtedly caused the devastation in that country earlier this year. He enjoys destroying the environment, raising the price of oil, and going on boat rides. The man I am talking about is Tony Hayward of BP.
The son of a bitch
As of this moment, he looks like your normal, everyday, British prick. But with his current power, and his minions who work for the U.S. Government (Texas Representative Joe Barton is still sucking Hayward’s dick), Hayward is quite possibly unstoppable. I have calculated that if his power continues to go unchecked, he could morph into a monster the likes of which have never been seen. Here is my estimate of what he is going to look like this time next year if no one stops him:
God help us
That shoddy photo-shopping is accurate; he will become a sentient mud-beast with shape shifting abilities. He must be brought down. This also means that the symbol on the upper right hand corner of the papers in the briefcase was… Oh my God
For now, I am calling all of the members who have already accepted my offer to join Awesomesquad to actually assemble so that we can defeat this monster. We even have Cracked.com behind us on this one. That basically gives us the go ahead to do something.
Give peace a chance, but only after you have exhausted all of the ways you can fight a war.
Lately, I have been having the urge to tell people off in letter form, and instead of actually writing these letters, getting lawsuits, and eventually getting thrown into a Turkish Prison (again), I am just going to post them to my blog.
I would love to count the ways in which I love you, but every time I do, I always lose count, and have to look for a towel to clean myself up. So no, not today. Today I want to talk to you about your place in our society. Yes, I know you are Australian, despite what your last name is, and I have moved passed that. To be quite honest, I have never seen any human being as good looking as you come from Australia or most counties for that matter. The fact that you are born in Australia almost redeems Mother Nature for all of those fucked up critters that live on that crazy, topsy tervy, continent of yours. Seriously though, what the fuck is up with the bugs there?
JESUS WEB-SLINGING CHRIST!!!
Before your fine, Arian ass came along, I had no clue what Australia was. When it was brought up in conversation, I just assumed that it was some kind of new, carbonated beverage, or a type of burrito concoction from Taco Bell. But then, you proved that TV hot is still really hot. I only watched an episode or two from the first season of Chuck, and even though I did not think too highly of the show at the time, I saw you in that corset and pigtails- while you put up a front as a bratwurst peddler as a cover for your super sexy spy persona, and I fell in love. Kinda.
I watch the show regularly, partly because I enjoy the show, but mostly because you are smoking hot, and that show is the only place I can find you. This brings me to the point of this letter. I think you should guest star on the hit Television show “House.” I have the perfect story arc for you too: You are Dr. Remy (13)’s new girlfriend. You will do all of the standard lesbian girlfriend stuff. I have no clue as to what that is, but I assume it has something to do with changing tires and feeding the cats.
I know that the gratuitous sex scenes may be uncomfortable, especially because they will be broadcasted on national television, but I for one think this will be a great opportunity for you. For one, you will be able to add a new character to resume (or whatever the fuck actors have) Not only that, this could show fans, critics, and talent agents your acting range. Also, think about what this could mean in terms of awards. If you play Remy’s lover well, you or the entire show could get nominated for or even win an Emmy. It hits on that whole gay equality crap we’ve been hearing so much about.
I guess what I am trying to say is that I want you to make out with Olivia Wilde.
I am not sure if you know this about me, but I do not like stalking my friends. Or, at least I didn’t, until you forced me to. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I can log off of you, but you know my weakness. You know that deep down, I like knowing that I make people laugh and that I like getting attention for doing so. So you make sure that I am notified whenever someone likes my status or if a friend comments on one of my pictures. You know that I feel validated when they do, and when they don’t I get obsessive, and I start trying to figure out why they are not paying attention to me. Here’s what happens:
“What? Ashley Caggiano did not like any of my motivational posters? The BITCH!!! Did she even look at them? Let’s have a look at her profile… Wait a goddamn minute, She has 166 friends that her attention could be focused on instead of it being focused on me! What the fuck is this about?!?! Facebook, tell me these people’s names and what town they live in. While you’re at it, make my status say, “Doug has got some anger issues, a knife, a list of names, and a reason. Try and stop him, Trashley.”
Why am I shirtless?
See what happens when you give me access to the personal details of peoples’ lives? People die. And it’s not even like I want to know that personal information. You are a part of the internet. The last thing people should do is be incredibly open about their lives on you. For one, No one gives a shit. They may act like they do, but they don’t. And secondly, who knows what person is facebook stalking you. That homeless guy down the street could be your facebook stalker (He could have a laptop, you don’t know).
I guess what this all boils down to is: I respect my friends enough that I don’t want to know every last little detail about their day. They deserve some time that I am not breathing down their neck, and they cannot have that when I am commenting on and liking all of their shit.
I know that you are dead and all, in fact that is why I am writing. It’s not that I think you faked your death; I know that you died. I am writing to you because of the manner that you died.
See, everyone sees you as a badass because you wrote stories about war. Stories that you actually lived (Kind of). You were in WWI, and went to Spain as a reporter for the Spanish Civil War. Towards the end of your life, you spent most of your days in Cuba, getting drunk and fishing for sharks or some shit.
But how you died… it was so unmanly. So unmanly, in fact, that I have no choice but to revoke your badass club membership. I am sure that this news upsets you, especially because John Wayne is still in, and everyone knows that he was gay. But he didn’t kill himself. He died probably due to an overload of awesome (or possibly dick. It’s one of those two.) and his head exploded. He is still missed. You however, moved to Idaho, and shot yourself with a shotgun.
I don’t know what is more disturbing: that you killed yourself with a shotgun, or that you willingly moved to Idaho. I understand that you were mentally ill, but still does not explain the move. Not even crazy people want to move to Idaho. Maybe you did not know how much of a shit hole Idaho is, and once you moved there, you could not live with the fact that such a terrible place existed, do you offed yourself.
I’m sorry- let me get back to my point. You killed yourself. That is the second most unmanly way to die. No matter how you kill yourself (you don’t want to know the least manly way to die, but I will say that it involves an electric motor, some anal beads, a pair of ice skates, and a unicorn.), if you kill yourself, you lose over half of your badass points that you have earned throughout your life. And there’s nothing you can do to bring them back-because you’re dead. What the fuck are you going to do?
And to be honest, “For Whom The Bell Tolls” is almost impossible to read if you are not being forced to read it.
Sincerely
Minigan Blackwood
Leader of the Awesomesquad, and Chairman to the Council of Badassery
I am sorry to tell you that I only suck with gusto for you, and that is only because you make me suck with gusto. I am not a particularly difficult day of the week to get along with, but you force the worst out of me. I think you do it because you hate yourself. I think you need some counseling; I am worried about you. Or, maybe I am not a difficult day at all, and you are just a bitch. I’m just saying…
With a hatred that scares the piss out of the Devil,
Thursdays
P.S. will you do me a favor and tell Monday to fuck off. He has become way to egomaniacal lately. Thank you.
Before I go into my complaint, I would first like to thank you for destroying the fond memories of my childhood is the sexiest way possible. Let me explain. I recently got your latest issue (February 2010) and I was thrilled/ a little disturbed to see Amanda Bines stripping on the cover. This is not the first time that you did something like this. You also have had the likes of:
Hiliary Duff,
Avril Lavigne,
Sarah Michelle Gellar,
And Marge Simpson
I am not sure why you feel the need to force my innocent crushes into a full state of gorilla lust, but thank you all the same.
But that is not why I am writing this. Actually, I am writing this for almost the exact opposite reason. Basically I am tired of seeing half naked dudes in your magazine. I understand that those are the ads and the message that they want to convey is “You will get laid by using our product!” and I cannot blame them. However, I will say this: Do you know what appeals to men more than half naked men? Half naked women. I know, I was shocked when I found out too, but it’s true. It is a scientific fact that every living man, no exception, loves titties. [citation needed] Seeing as though you are a magazine that focuses on how hot female celebrities are, you already know this. What I do not understand is why do you sell your ad space to companies whose adds do not have some hot topless chick being objectified in them. Do they pay more? Is it because you want your readers to look at the specimans that you supply, or is it some kind of social experiment that you are trying to conduct?
In any case, stop. When I look at your magazine, I look at a few things, the jokes, the workout tips, the tips for meeting women, and the pictures of all of the women posing in lingere. Not, I say, NOT the Abercrombie boys playing a homoerotic game of rugby. If I wanted to look at a magazine just to see a bunch of shirtless dudes, I would buy a gay porn magazine, like…umm… I don’t know, Penis Quarterly?
All I am really asking for is a better boobs to boys ratio.
Ok, Blogs over. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Seriously, this is not a physical place. There is no place for you to stay. How would we accommodate you? Also, we’ve got a monster truck rally that needs to start setting up in 20 minutes. So, yea… Get the fuck out.
Well, I should be writing a paper for my contemporary poetry class, or reading for my rhetorical grammar class, but fuck that noise. I’ll just talk to you guys. So, how have you been? That’s good. I did see the game. Two words: Amazing amazing. Yea I know that was just one word written twice. Don’t question it. No, it’s not that big of a deal. Who is really going to care? Everyone else is laughing, why can’t you. Ok, Ok we’ll talk about this when we get home. I said we’ll talk about this when we get home. Why must you insist upon making a scene in front of my friends. This is why we are never invited to any parties. [I grab a beer.] Because, I need to drink when I’m around you, because you are intolerable. I’m sorry- that was harsh and I didn’t mean it. No, don’t cry, I’m sorry. It’s just the beer and you nagging me about writing a word twice pushed me over the edge. Oh great, people are starting to stare. DON’T TELL PEOPLE THAT I THINK YOU’RE FAT! [turning to everyone else] I don’t think (your name) is fat. I never said anything like that; I just said that (s)he is intolerable. [turning back to you] Great, now I’m the bad guy! Well, since I’m the bad guy you can walk the fuck home.
[I get up and storm out of where ever the fuck we are (internet?) I drunkenly put my key in the ignition. The tires of my car screech like a banshee on the rag as I peel away from the curb. I’m flying down the interstate, listening to one of my CDs I made with the most depressing songs on my iPod. The song Stan by Eminem comes on. In true ironic (keep the word ironic in there if you don’t know what ironic means, if you do, use the term “coincidental” instead) fashon, I lose control of my car and go through the guard rails of an overpass. The sound of crushing metal and my screams are all I can hear as my car lands upside down. I stop screaming once I realize I’m not dead. I let out a short laugh as I unbuckle my seatbelt. “It’s gonna take more than that for god to kill me,” I say. The car then explodes into a fireball large enough to catch trees twenty feet away on fire (my car runs on napalm). After a few seconds after the blast, I climb out of the mangled chunk of scrap metal that once used to be my car, raise my middle finger to the midnight sky, and head the rest of the way home on foot.]
fuck you, sky
-Wow, what does it say about me if that is the imaginary relationship I think up?
Anywhat-the-fuck-ever, for my blog this week, I would like to talk to you kind folk about Jimmy “Jew Killer” Kohlberg.
Now Many of you (Lady Caggiano) maybe wondering why Jibbles got to be the focus of an entire blog before you, and you would be right to question it, but it’s my blog so fuck you. I’m writing about Jimmy. I actually feel that I have not done Jimmy proper justice in my blogs. I have mentioned him in one- maybe two of my blogs now, but he and I have a much stronger relationship than what I made it seem. It is on par with Ashley’s and my relationship, except I mention her in just about every one of my blogs.
Here are some of the facts you should know about Mr. Kohlberg:
He is a man
He is white, but he’s black on the inside
He is my coworker at Geagle
He is one of my best friends
He works out- probably more than I do
He is straight
He will remind you that he is straight any time he complements you
He likes-nay- loves the sauce, and has tried just about every type of booze that is out there
He was born on May 20th, which coincidentally enough, is the same day my best friend from PA was born, except one year later.
He loves my motivational posters and is the main force behind why I still make them
He is a genuinely good person, also a pervert, but a good person none the less
He would make a great English major if he only liked to write
He somehow manipulated me into going out of my way to make sure he reads these blogs.
Jimmy, simply put, is awesome, and not just because he probably describes me to other people as a god of some sort. He is one of those friends I can regularly count on. He is usually the person I go to when I need relationship advice, and he gives me that much needed “please tell me I’m funny” attention that I ask for constantly.
One of the best things about being friends with Jimmy, however, is the conversations we tend to have on facebook or via text message. Here is one of the more recent ones. It is not our funniest, but we did a good job of covering all the topics that we usually hit during one of our conversations.
i do, I’ve actually been meaning to listen to the cd again, but smashley made me copies of the killers albums I don’t have so I’ve been listening to them
shes good. youll get some awesome chick. you deserve it
Doug 11:39pm
hell yea I do!
there is this girl at the place i go tanning at she is very cute, and friendly
i am not sure if she’s interested though
also, i kind of forgot about this because i was very drunk at the time, but some of the girls i was at that party with want to fix me up with girls they know
In ten years, when I have a severe God Complex, we can all look back and say “So, this is where it all started. Thanks a lot Jimmy. You Douchebag.”
But seriously, he fills the “Doug is awesome” quota before anyone else has a chance to. If you don’t believe me, look back up at the conversation. He calls me he-man. He-fucking-Man! (that sounded both gay and like bad English) My brother and sister have to work overtime on deflating my ego while I am friends with Jimmy.
this picture is 100% accurate
That conversation basically sums up most of the conversations between Jimmy and I. They usually have the elements of Music, girls, how awesome I am, promises that jimmy is not gay, how drunk jimmy is, work at Geagle, and my motivational posters.
Speaking of motivational posters, Jimmy loves them so much that he likes it when I make fun of him via the posters. With that in mind, Here are the ones of Jimmy:
Wait, that isn’t the right tone for this blog. Let me try again.
JESUS-DRADLE-SPINNING CHRIST, ANOTHER AWESOMESQUAD BLOG!!!!! EVERYONE GET DRUNK AND PARTAAAY!!!
Woo! Doug wrote another blog!!!
[clears throat] That’s better. I am particularly happy about this blog, since I haven’t updated ya’ll since September on this topic. Here is a refresher: I have decided to create my own superhero team, and I have been scouring the interwebz for suitable people. Here is my list of people so far and their job:
Me: Leader/ something I will discuss later in this blog.
Ashley Caggiano: Second in Command/ Jane of all trades
Everett Bradford: Weapons Technician
Jessie James: Mechanic/ Vehicle Builder
Criss Angel: Mindfreak. More commonly known as WITCH! BURN HIM!!
Damien Walters: Gymnastic Trainer
My brother or the owner of my gym: boxing instructor (I will update this too)
Derren Brown: Mentalist aka less cool Criss Angel
GMZ: Hacker
Emily Kohlberg: Psychologist
If you want a full description of why I picked these people, and who our nemesises (what the fuck is the plural form of “nemesis?) are, look at the first two. they are here and here
Before I go into the updates, I would like to congratulate Lady Caggiano for being promoted to the Second in command in my team. Ashley, I would say that you owe me oral now, but that would constitute sexual harassment, and even my team cannot avoid those lawsuits. Instead, I will make the idea of oral optional. Congratulations again.
For the first update, I am going to talk about the name. If you remember, I hadn’t come up with a name for my group, so I left it up to you guys. Unfortunatly, I forgot that no one really gives a shit about me (otherwise you would post a comment) and you left me hanging. After a while, I realized that I had already come up with a pants-shittingly fantastic name for the group. Yes, the group name is “Team Anal Rape and Murder Our Enemies.” TARAMOE for short. I can hear it now, a bunch of pissed off Muslims in some shithole of a country that is in the Middle East (Originally, I thought the Middle East was a burger joint for the longest time. I just found out yesterday what it really is). They are shooting at things with no regard for human life, civility, or even ammo rationing. But suddenly, the winds pick up. A thundering roar comes down from the sky like a meteor. They begin to piss themselves with fear.
“Derka, Derka, TARAMOE derka, derka!” They cry out.
A kick ass Plane designed by Jessie James shoots two rocket powered chainsaws at the enemy’s machine gun turrets. They explode with such huge fireballs that even Michael Bay would think it’s over the top. As the Plane is hovering (yea, my plane can hover, What of it?) over the group of terrified terrorists, the bottom hatch opens up. Lady Caggiano rappels down a rope while firing off an AK-47 with one hand. She is followed by Everett Bradford, who is shooting flames out of his one hand, electricity out of his other, and wielding a sword with his other. I fall straight to the ground, about forty feet. I am wearing a cloak similar to the one in Assassin’s Creed. My brother and/ or the owner of my gym throw down my pole arm, or what I like to call “My justice stick.” I reach up and snatch it out of the air. My partially conceled face smirks ominously, and I tap a keg of whoopass on the terrorists.
like this, only 1573 times more badass
The boxing instructor, and Damien Walters repel down to the desert floor, but you shouldn’t be looking at them; you should be focused on how awesome I am being. Shit, you missed it! I just stabbed a guy with my justice stick (wow did that sound gay) it went straight through him and caught another baddie between the ribs, puncturing his right lung. I pull it out, spin it around while it makes that cool “whoosh” noise, and beat the faith out of another guy right before I send my palm at an upwards angle towards his nose. The cartilage pierces his skull and enters his brain. He is dead before he hits the ground.
Somewhere in the background, Damien Walters is doing back flips or some strange shit. By this point, the battle has moved away from him, so he just looks like some random dude doing flips and shit in the desert.
The last terrorists still alive run away screaming like little girly-men which is insulting to women because Lady Caggiano kicked some fucking ass during this battle. You didn’t notice because you were too focused on me.
“I scream to our fleeing enemies, “Derka, Derka Muhammad Jihad, jihad derka TARAMOE, Bitches,” which roughly translates to “ You just got fucking pwned by TARAMOE, bitches!”
We then head home for debriefing and our traditional celebratory hooker run.
Oh, and actually I lied. The name of the group is Awesomesquad; TARAMOE was my second choice.
Anyway, update #2: my position in the team.
Recently I have rediscovered a rare gift that I have. I was at a party; I was a little drunk, and we were playing “are you smarter than a fifth grader?” my team won because I answered a question before my mind could doubt myself. The question was “what happens to light when it moves through water or glass?” I blurted out, “It moves slower.” I was fucking right. And since I am technically sober right now, I can assure you that I still doubt my answer.
This brings me to my contribution to the team. As long as I remain a little drunk, I gain amazing abilities. I don’t mean I gain confidence; I mean that I become good at things I am not normally good at. It happens all the time: darts, pool, Pictionary, Are you smarter than a fifth grader, driving. I become very talented at these things when I am half way to hammered. Now, for me to function, I will need to have alcohol with me at all times during an excursion, but I have figured out a solution to this. That solution is Tucker Max Death Mix. It is one bottle of Everclear, one quart of Gatorade, and one Redbull in a camelback hydration system.
my awesomesquad brand awesomepotion!
So for that story I just fucked your mind with, you should have seen me take sips in between fighting each terrorist.
Update #3: boxing instructor
I still haven’t picked one yet, mainly because they suck and haven’t been fighting for that spot. My brother said he would train to punch someone so hard that they threw up, but he hasn’t, and I don’t think the owner has even read any of the Awesome Squad! Posts, so he doesn’t have a fucking clue as to what’s going on.
But I still want one of them to be the boxing instructor, so I am just going to commit some heinous liable on both of them. Maybe this will get them off of their lazy asses and fight for that spot, Goddamn it.
My brother is gay. I mean, really gay. I mean, the posterchild of the gay stereotype. He seriously loves some huge black dong.
The owner of my gym strangles babies.
My brother (who is really gay) takes shits on cop cars. He then proceeded to spread the poo all over the hood of the car-using his face.
The owner of my gym buys mail order brides just to sell them into the sex slave trade.
My brother (the gay) stabs homeless people with syringes filled with AIDS.
The owner of my gym hates America. He pisses on the flag regularly.
If you are wondering if I am afraid that they will kick my ass when they read this, I am not, because those twunts won’t read it. And if they do, DO SOMETHING ABOUT WHAT I SAID, BITCHES. *
*please don’t kill me.
However, Misty did give me a good alternate. So now Benny “The Jet” Urquidez is in the running.
Update #4: New Members!
I know that my group is getting kind of big, but these next few people are important. I still have people that need to be added, but I don’t know who they are yet, but I’ll get to that later. Here are the newest additions:
This dude: Ninja/ covert ops
I have no clue who this guy is. Let’s just call him “Series of Japanese Symbols.” Hey, that’s less offensive than my original ideas “Kung Pow Chicken,” or “Engrish.” Of course, I doubt he has an extensive knowledge of breaking and entering, but I also think he is a for realsies ninja, so he probably does. And if he doesn’t I’m sure there is a website for that kind of stuff.
Danica McKellar: Mathmatician/ spy
Yes it does. Don't lie.
Everyone knows that whatever you are taught in Math classes growing up is only useful until you reach college, and then it depends on your major. At least that’s what the Math Professors want you to think; the truth is that no one uses trigonometry in real life. But, That show Numb3rs has got me convinced that people who are Mathsy are capable of solving any crime with the magic of mathematics, and using numbers as letters. 80085. See, I just solved like fifty crimes right now, simply by spelling boobs with numbers.
And if you are wondering why I chose Danica McKellar to be in my team, it is because she is a Math genius.
I would like to convert her fractions into decimals
She as written two books about math :Math Doesn’t Suck and Kiss My Math. Both of which encourage middle school girls to learn Math.
She also coauthored a scientific paper (dealing with some boring math shit) with a fellow student and a professor. The result of the paper is the Chase-McKellar-Winn Theorem.
If you’re wondering how a mathematician can be a spy, look at this picture.
This is Danica when she was younger. Does she look more familiar? If you ever saw an episode of The Wonder Years, she should. That’s right, Winnie from the Wonder Years is a Math genius. And a damn fine one to boot. She doesn’t do a lot of acting now, but who can blame her? She had to kiss Fred Savage in the pilot episode of The Wonder Years! That would effectively end any woman’s love for acting.The fact that she is not a lesbian now is nothing short of a miracle. Plus the fact that she kissed Fred Savage and did not run away screaming is a testament to her acting ability.
These are the remaining positions that still need to be filled:
Rich person who funds everything-?????- he will need to buy the tools needed to build Everett’s weapons and Jessie’s vehicles, the abandoned warehouse that we will convert into our super-secret HQ, the gym equipment for the gymnastic area and the boxing area, and whatever magic cards, top hats, trick coins, etc. that Criss and Derren will need.
Genetic biologist-?????- someone willing to manipulate the teams genes to give them heightened reflexes, heightened senses, higher running speed, and more agility and stamina.
Medic- ?????- someone who can tend to our wounds. I can handle some of the minor stuff, but it would be necessary to have a professional in the team in case shit goes down.
Update #5: the Villian
I had always been suspicious of this villian, but I just thought that the person was too strange for my taste. I did not sense any evil coming from this, that is, until I saw this video.
Now this video was a little subtle, but the point it was trying to convey is that Lady Gaga has a penis. But then I saw this picture.
I see plenty of hooha, but no gaga
I think this settles the debate about If Lady Gaga is a lady, or if she has a gaga. This did invoke more questions from me, however. I did some researching, and I discovered that Lady Gaga is actually an alien that wants to enslave the Human race. I was able to aquire a picture of Lady Gaga in her true form. Brace yourselves.
Actually, this is less terrifying than what she looks like normally.
Sadly, Lady Caggiano loves Lady Gaga, so this will cause some major conflicts to arise amongst the group. But eventually good will win out, and Ashley will fight against Gaga.
Ramblings of a Madman 