Awesomesquad Assemble! 4: Mark of the Oil Beast

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.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

If you have not read the first three Awesomesquad blogs, you can find them: right here, over here, and way over there.

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’m so lonely
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>
>>>>>>
>>>>>
>>>>
>>>
>>
>

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.

Advertisements

To Whom It May Concern, Fuck You.

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.

________________________________________________________

Dear Yvonne Strahovski,

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.

Love

Minigan Blackwood

P.S. Call me (XXX)XXX-XXXX

________________________________________________________

Dear Michael Bay,

Please, for the love of God, stop making movies.

Sincerely,

Humanity

________________________________________________________

Dear Brittany Murphy (dated December 19, 2009),

You’re a dumb bitch and I hope you die.

Sincerely,

Minigan Blackwood

________________________________________________________

Dear Facebook,

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.

Thank you,

A not-stalker (for realsies)

Minigan Blackwood

_________________________________________________________

Dear Ernest Hemingway,

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

_________________________________________________________

Dear Thursdays,

Why must you suck so hard and with such gusto?

From Russia with love

Minigan Blackwood

__________________________________________________________

Dear Minigan Blackwood,

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.

__________________________________________________________

Dear Maxim Magazine,

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 shit thee not.

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.

Fist pound,

Minigan Blackwood

__________________________________________________________

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.

Peace

  • I am this popular!

    • 95,314 hits
  • Blast from the Past!

    November 2017
    S M T W T F S
    « Mar    
     1234
    567891011
    12131415161718
    19202122232425
    2627282930  
  • The Vault