The following is an op-ed written by a member of the US Army currently deployed to the southern part of Helmand, Afghanistan.

Oh great! I thought as the lieutenant dropped four huge boxes by the front hatch of our Quonset hut. Finally, some goddamn fresh Cope and maybe a Hustler. This wasn’t the first time we’d gotten care packages from the States; hell, we’ve been here for eight months now.

Problem is though, 95% of the stuff we get is horse shit we don’t need. Sure enough, as the flaps are torn open, it’s the St. Stephen’s fuckin’ Catholic Church emporium of hand sanitizer, socks, raisins and Sports Illustrated.

God almighty, I can just picture 200-year-old Ethel with her blue hair and stink-ass White Diamonds perfume, idling down the road in her ’88 Buick Le Sabre, fawning over how much “the boys will get a kick out of these packages.”

Fuck you, Ethel.

You don’t know shit, and you might as well ship this garbage to a Cub Scout troop. Problem is, even those smelly little pre-pubescent snot-flickers would tell you to stick it all up your wrinkled ass.

Look, don’t get me wrong, I love me some honey roasted peanuts and cherry flavored Kool-Aid packs, and we all know full well baby wipes are the real deal. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a fifty pack of microwave popcorn?

Think, Ethel! Even one is useless.

This is what needs to happen, Ethel: You take the box you packed and dump it in the alley, the dumpster, the basement next to your Knots Landing beta tapes; it doesn’t matter.

Now march that thing over to the nearest all-purpose liquor store, and jam it with the necessities. I’m talking unfiltered fuckin’ Pall Malls and long-cut Cope. I want Jameson, E&J, Absinthe — all of it.

Hell, I’d drink a fuckin’ case of Zima if they still made the shit. Finally, Ethel, the last set of tits I saw were the saggy man boobs on one of the fat-ass cooks coming out of the shower. There are blue balls as far as the eye can see, and this shirtless, no-shame-having son of a bitch was just letting them flap while waddling back to his hooch. Jesus Christ, man, people are eating!

Step up, Ethel!

Get behind the cause and do your part! Don’t just support us, arm us. I’m not going to say we’re losing control of things over here, but your bankrupt support sure as shit ain’t helping. Send nudes!