17 September 2008
05 December 2007
"The most honorable and terrible Ruthless Ninja Assassin-san has come to kill us all, and there is nothing we can do about it except for prepare our women and children as best we can by providing them with clean black silk upon which they may to be drying their imminent bitter tears of mourning, inconsolable regret, and everlasting sorrow." - literal Japanese translation
I loves me some ninjas. Seriously, dude, I don't care what form they take, be it toys or movies or comics or whatever - ninjas just rule all over your shit. WITH REAL ULTIMATE POWER. It all started back in the 80s when ninjas hit American youth with a flying serpent snap to our hearts, minds, and piggy banks. I was hooked instantly. As a matter of fact, I can remember every little thing as if it happened only 20 years ago...
I was dragged along shopping with Ma Sci-Fi on one of her marathon efforts to single-handedly support the American economy by buying every last fucking thing we would ever need for the rest of our lives all in one day. We were exiting our local Zayre's, and that's when I saw him. A black-masked, death-fisted ninja warrior staring at me from behind the glass of a 25¢ prize machine. This thing was loaded with sweet ninja treasure; yin-yang medallions, little silver aluminum shuriken, little black aluminum shuriken, little brass plated aluminum shuriken, big yin-yang shuriken with holes drilled in them, you name it. But I didn't care about any of that - I wanted what HE was selling. The big daddy prize. The one you know there's only one of in all those little plastic prize wombs. The Maltese fucking Falcon of the Prize Machine... a giant sheet of holographic foil ninja stickers.
FUCK YES!!! You have to understand, this wasn't some shitty little strip of paper stickers. It was a fucking NOTEBOOK SIZED SHEET OF LETHAL HOLOGRAM NINJA KILLING MAGIC FROM THE ORIENTAL DEMON REALM OF DEATH AND FIRE!! Even as an adult I can't pass up bragging to my friends about something like scoring a giant sheet of reflective ninja stickers for a quarter; as a kid, making a find like this had me feeling like Indiana Jones himself should call me up and kiss my fat white ass for unearthing something so awesome. Ma Sci-Fi was never much into letting me or Frog Boy play those little prize games with her own money, which was kind of shitty and hateful in retrospect, because she never went anywhere without fucking $78 in change in that giant, thousand-pocketed black duffel bag she called a purse. No less than 100,000 bazillion times have I seen her pull fistfuls of receipts and tissues out of that thing, and EVERY SINGLE TIME, all manner of silver coinage would rain out of the wads of paper, scattering all over the coffee table and the floor, mocking Frog Boy and I, forcing us to remember all the times she refused to let us play Shinobi because she "didn't have any change." I think that was also the day I learned the word 'bitch.'
I knew I wasn't going to get those stickers. First of all, she was never going to let me anywhere near that machine, and even if she did, she would never let me have any cash for it. And if, by some fluke of the normal functioning of the cosmos, she were to look at me and remember how much she loved me before I reached that age where parents start to become uncomfortable with their own children because of the questions they ask and the things they remember, and in that moment of motherly weakness she were to let me have some small piece of her shoulder slung dragon hoard, I would only get one shot.
It was never gonna happen. I'd have to completely empty that damn thing to get those stickers. Before I turned into the adult who now doubts if a sticker sheet that big could ever be folded enough to fit in one of those little plastic bubbles, the child me was thoroughly convinced that somewhere, someone had made god damn sure there was at least one set of beautiful, sticky ninja goodness in that machine. Whatever organization or entity in the universe which was responsible for making sure everything was fair and equitable was on top of that shit, and woe be it unto he who falsely advertised. No, those stickers were in there, hiding. Like a ninja. And one measly quarter wasn't going to find them.
I didn't say a word. I would wait, biding my time, holding back my newly found ninja love until the perfect opportunity presented itself. And then would I strike. Already, I was becoming ninja.
Like most things as a kid, I was faithfully passionate about those stickers until roughly 14 seconds after they were out of my direct line of sight, at which point I completely forgot that there was a store called Zayre's and that I had ever heard of ninjas. But the marketing psychics had heard the siren call of my brief but white hot ninja passion, and the next time I left my house, the powers that be had ensured that my love was rekindled and everlasting, and they achieved this blanketing every single square inch of North America with totally radical ninja flavor. And best of all, IT WAS ALL FOR SALE.
Seriously, there was a time when ninjas were ubiquitous. You couldn't go anywhere without seeing some form of ninja product. Usually cheap and disposable, this crap was shoved at male children of the '80s from every angle, and we fucking LOVED it. It was like all American boys my age had sworn a secret, unspoken oath that we would, within our lifetimes, ensure that ninjas replaced Jesus as the thing we dressed up to worship at church on Sundays. And we WORKED that shit, girlfriend. Ninjas were king, and if you didn't like it, then you better watch out on the playground, because one of your classmates was going to do his best to put a cheap aluminum throwing star through your fucking eye. Let that be a lesson to you. You do not fuck with the ninja. I never stopped loving ninjas, even after it became socially unwise to admit it. Like a ninja, I had to blend in with those around me, waiting until ninjas were cool again. Waiting... like a ninja. And now ninjas are BACK!
Because ninjas by definition are sneaky as fuck, I do not know when they made their big return. It happened without my knowing, which is so awesomely ninja it almost makes my eyes bleed. All of a sudden, ninjas are just everywhere. That's how they do it; one second you're convinced you're completely alone, the next second you are surrounded by ninjas, but not really, 'cause what you don't know is that they're all the same ninja, and he's using his mystical ninja illusion powders to confuse your senses and render you helpless. I don't know where I was going with this paragraph, but I think it sort of proves my point, which I'm pretty sure was that ninjas are all of a sudden the brand new hotness, again, and you'd better get the hell on the ninja bandwagon with all quickness before you take a flying death dragon razor-punch to the spine. Yeah, that was my point.
So here's the deal: In celebration of December 5th, Day Of The Ninja, this will be the first of what I intend to be many IS IT NINJA? articles in which I will review sundry ninja and ninja-related things. My goal is simple: I will determine whether they are worthy of the name 'ninja.' I am, for those of you whom are not ninja enough to keep pace, using the word ninja in its adjective form; something must have an inherently ninja-like quality as well as be completely kick-ass sweet to be called ninja. There is no scale, and there is no subtle grading system; either something is ninja or it is not. If something sucks, it is not ninja. If something is totally righteous and incredibly awesome, but still not chock full of silent, powerful, lethal ninja goodness, then it is not ninja. That's how it works. And if you don't like it, then you are not ninja. You are a non-ninja, a nonja. And you'd best fucking keep it on the DL, because if a ninja hears a nonja like you running your mouth about anything at all, he will totally kill your ass. 'Cause he's a ninja and that's how we roll. Got it? Good. Let's kick this pig!
You know before when I said I wasn't sure when ninjas made their big return? Well, I think I've figured it out. As near as I can tell, ninja-mania was rekindled by Robert Hamburger and his totally sweet webpage Real Ultimate Power. Its a place to read about how ninjas are totally awesome and flip out all the time, and they don't even care! Is it ninja? Do you really have to ask? FUCK YES, ITS NINJA. Now go buy his book... or else.
#2 - AskANinja.com
If Real Ultimate Power rekindled the locomotive that is the current worldwide ninja frenzy, then Ask A Ninja is the musclebound coal man who keeps shoveling in the fuel. It's just The Ninja answering your questions, all day, every day, taking time out of his killin' to give you a higher nijucation. This site is totally ninja. Listen as he tells a tale from the ancient scrolls:
Okay, that's all you get for today. I know, I know, its a real short list. Hell, its only two entries. I don't even think that technically qualifies as a list at all. But damn, Gina, I gots shit to do.
10 October 2007
28 September 2007
Female 'Ninjas' Rob Richland Gas Station With Sword, Dagger
September 22, 2007
RICHLAND TOWNSHIP, Pa. -- Police said two women dressed as ninjas were responsible for the hold-up of a Richland Township gas station Saturday morning using a samurai sword.
"They were all covered in black and carrying swords, so it did appear that they were dressed like ninjas," said Chief Robert Amman of the Northern Regional Police Department. "Swords, daggers could be used to seriously harm victims, so this is a very serious crime." Police said the clerk was not harmed and is OK. No arrests have been made and no suspects have been identified.
23 August 2007
by D.J. Kirkbride; art by "The Night Watchman"
into the calm night.
For the strong, proud, badass ninja that just
doesn’t seem alright.
While ninjas are quite silent assassins
and pass unnoticed,
They ain’t wanna get all feeble and old.
That’s shit, truth be told.
Ninjas live really big, exciting lives,
though in the shadows.
But they are people with people’s needs and
live it up like ho’s.
Ain’t no way a ninja would fade away
when it’s his last day.
Like Jon Bon Jovi
ninjas go down in a blaze of glory.
21 August 2007
It has been exactly forty years to the day that I posted my last message on this blog. Why the delay? I'm not a ninja who likes to rush himself. If I've got something to say, I deliberate. I take pause. I reflect and find the perfect choice of words. Perhaps I take a few months off to kill them what needs killin'. In the end, I do it because I care. I care about YOU.
I'm not just gonna get on here and post some pointless update. Not gonna put up some cool looking picture that'll hopefully make you forget that I've not given you any ninja goodness in two damn months.
No, that's not what YOU need. You came here looking for ninja info, links to interesting ninja information, news on the latest and greatest ninja movies, comics, and literature, and by god, that's what you're gonna get.
21 June 2007
Nothing screams "Hey, look, I've got a ninja folder!" louder than a guy who's screaming "Hey, look, I've got a ninja folder!" into a microphone plugged into a professional concert amplifier and output through a Cold War era air-raid siren speaker array. But if something were to be able to scream that as loudly, it would be actually owning a ninja folder for real. Well, color me a screamer, baby, 'cause I gots me a ninja folder! HELL YEAH!!
Not only is this a totally sweet folder, but its a great gift for the indecisive ninja. Like all ninja, the one on the cover of the ninja folder is a lot more than meets the eye. He's a spinner, allowing you to flick his feet and spin him until his powerful ninja magic has shown him the best course of action for your particular circumstance. Lets face it, as a ninja, you've got a lot of options at your disposal in any given situation. But sometimes you just don't feel like making up your mind. Well now you don't have to. The ninja folder knows the path you should walk, and unlike parents or television or religion, the ninja spinner cares enough to to tell you in a very specific manner exactly what you should do. And it is never, ever wrong.
"Silence Opponent" is my favorite option, by the way. So sinister, yet so wise. The other ninja out there will back me up on this. Its almost always the way to go.
The inside flaps, which help you hold your otherwise willy-nilly ninja papers neatly in place, also offer much helpful ninja advice. The left flap, pictured above, offers advice to any hapless non-ninja who may come across the folder, while the right flap, below, offers a multitude of information for ninjlings*, much of which is considered required knowledge by the ancient council of ninja masters. Click the pic for a larger, more readable view.
* - A ninjling is a pre-ninja. Use of the word ninjling is understood to imply a ninja who is very young and not yet fully capable of the full range of adult ninja lethality. Most ninjlings are three to six years old as measured in the Earth realm, and only the rarest of ninjlings are able to battle and defeat more than 25 well trained heavily armed human warriors at once without injury. Most ninjlings are born to ninja parents, others are created via training or black demon magic, while some ninjlings are actually hatched from rare and treasured ninja eggs. Not a lot of people know that.
08 June 2007
My cousin H-Bomb and I went out last night and got plowed on syrupy girl drinks and Cuervo shots. Still too much poison in my bloodstream for me to think straight. We're going out tonight to do it again. I'm too old to drink like she does. I can't afford the lost brain cells. I'll be mentally retarded after this girl is through with me.
What a night, though. Finally met H-Bomb's friend Heather, who is easily one of the ten sexiest women I have ever met in my life. Seriously, my dick woke me up this morning to talk about her, and even after our long, heartfelt man-to-hand discussion, we're both still obsessed. Before the night was through I'd seen her panties at least three times, felt her tits and ass so many times I can't remember, played with her gorgeous nipples, and had a blast hanging out with her boyfriend, who made me promise I'd party with them again after we did a double shot of some god awful scotch that burned so bad on the way down I thought maybe I'd accidentally swallowed a lit caution flare. It was that kind of night. God knows what's in store for this evening. I'll try to have a new article for you on Monday if I'm still alive.
See you on the other side, Ray.