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:


A very mean spirited Christmas

Happy New Year, everybody!

I hate to start my first post of the New Year on a negative note, but do you know the one thing I hate about this time year?

Is it the cold and overall shitty weather?

OK, do you know the 2 things I hate about this time of year? Shitty weather and the lack of Christmas Spirit. Everywhere I look I see people tearing down Christmas lights and throwing pine trees, mounds of fruitcake and other unwanted gifts into the trash. Plus, I keep getting disgusted looks thrown at me whenever I try to sing Christmas carols at people. Yes, I do end up throwing my colorful array of curse words into the lyrics, but that only enhances the songs.

Anyway, to quell this humbuggery, I’m going to write a post about my Christmas, and what is likely to become a yearly yuletide battle between my brother and myself.

Every year, my brother decides to fuck me by making my gift either really difficult to open or, like last year, giving me a list of clues that lead me around the house and onto the roof before I ultimately find my gift. Despite being one of the cleverest and therefore best, Christmas gift ideas ever. Therefore, I had to at least try to one up him this year. This post is going to detail how I did just that.

I used an entire roll of wrapping paper on his gift. It was 40 square feet, which means I wrapped his gift 40 times. Throughout the layers, I posted notes insulting him along the way. All in all, it took me several hours over 6 days to complete it.

Here were my supplies:

Pictured: wrapping paper, tape, paper cutter, scissors, sharpie, DVD of "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia," notes of insults, jamz, and hate.

Here is the finished project:

in all it's glory

And here are the notes:

Level 2-

Merry Christmas, Douchebag!

As I assume you noticed, your gift is still wrapped, even though you just pulled off the wrapping paper. There is an explanation for this. You suck as a person. Also, I wrapped your gift several times. I also hoped you noticed that I taped up the corners nice and tight for you so that it’s even harder for you to unwrap. And before you get any dumb ideas, don’t even bother trying to cut your way through the paper because 1. I’ll take the gift back 2. You may damage the gift and 3. I’ve hidden everything that I could think of that you could use to cut through the paper. Yes, you’re in this for the long haul. I guess you shouldn’t have made me climb up onto the roof for my gift last year, Huh?

Enjoy, ass skank!

Level 8-

I’m assuming you’ve been bitching this entire time so far. If you haven’t then this must be a personal record, you whiney prick.

Level 11-

Congratulations! You’ve reached the end. See, that wasn’t so bad after all. Here’s your gift. You’ve earned it…

Level 12-

Just kidding! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

Level 13-

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! What a dumbass! HA HA HA HA HA!

Level 14-

But seriously, I used an entire roll of wrapping paper on your gift, so you still got a ways to go.

Level 20-

Well a gift card to Cabela’s was supposed to go here, but I couldn’t find one in a grocery store, and the one I ordered online took too long to arrive for me to have it wrapped this deep. I might have it on me though. Ask me for it.

Level 21-

There, now you have part 1 of my gift to you, or, at the very least, an explanation as to why you don’t have part 1 of your gift. So, stop your goddamn complaining. And while we’re at it, by accepting the gift certificate to Cabela’s(or the promise of a Cabela’s gift card in your future), you promise to not shoot me with the gun you ultimately buy with it.

Level 26-

I was going to write these notes in quatrains like you did for the scavenger hunt last year, but I decided I didn’t want to waste any of my creativity on you.

Level 27-

Alright, I’ll do just one:

My name is Justin and I’m a smelly taint
I’m as loved as asbestos walls and lead paint
About me no one gives a fuck
But that’s because I really suck

You’re welcome.

Level 31-

I’m gonna go ahead and guess that you’ve said, “I hate you so bad,” at least 10 times to me so far. Well, I hate you too, you slimy twat. That’s the whole reason why I did this.

Level 37-

Sure, wrapping your gift this many times took up a lot of time that I would rather have used for sex, writing, or hunting man for sport, but wasting your time like this makes all of my time used well worth it.

Level 40-

OK, you’ve really reached the end this time. Was all of this necessary? No. Was your gift worth this much trouble? Probably not. But at least I wasted everyone’s time. Merry Christmas, cock fondler.

On the DVD-

P.S. I rubbed my balls on your gift.

And here is a video of my brother reading the first note. I would have recorded him reading them all, but I was way too busy laughing manically and unwrapping my own presents.

And here is a disorienting video of my brother and I wearing animatronic Christmas hats that our aunt got us:

What’s fun about these hats is that they’re incredibly annoying (my hat has the voice of an elf that has taken some meth. But not only that, if you stop it at the right moment, lit looks like my head has a huge boner.

This picture was taken close to the climax of the audio clip, if you know what I mean.

OK, well, that’s all I got for now. I will have something new year related next week, because I’ve decided that this year I’m going to do everything a week behind everyone else. Ha ha ha! I”m gonna have that market cornered!


Awesomesquad Assemble 3!: Attack of the Fashionista

Well, here we go again.

Wait, that isn’t the right tone for this blog. Let me try again.


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.

  1. My brother is gay. I mean, really gay. I mean, the posterchild of the gay stereotype. He seriously loves some huge black dong.
  2. The owner of my gym strangles babies.
  3. 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.
  4. The owner of my gym buys mail order brides just to sell them into the sex slave trade.
  5. My brother (the gay) stabs homeless people with syringes filled with AIDS.
  6. 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:

  1. 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.
  2. Genetic biologist-?????- someone willing to manipulate the teams genes to give them heightened reflexes, heightened senses, higher running speed, and more agility and stamina.
  3. 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.


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