Ruthless Ninja Assassin

It'd be best not to confuse them.

2011-04-08T15:02:00.000-05:00

Booya!

2008-09-17T17:10:00.003-05:00

A ninja does not justify himself. You will receive no explanation.

Happy December 5th! It's the Day Of The Ninja!

2007-12-05T19:20:00.000-05:00

"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!

#1 - RealUltimatePower.net

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.

A ninja Thanksgiving...

2007-11-28T12:11:00.000-05:00

Halloweenja

2007-10-10T13:31:00.000-05:00

It's gonna be a little slow around here for the month of October, my goodly ninja peeps. I'm doing a lot of work for that other website. But never fear, I'll be checking in occasionally with some more ninja treats, and maybe even a few tricks. Keep your eyes peeled.

White Trash Ninja Stick-Up

2007-09-28T11:44:00.001-05:00

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.

Police said the two women -- one with a dagger, and the other carrying the sword -- entered a Sunoco station in the 5600 block of Route 8 at about 3 a.m. According to police, the women tied up the clerk and robbed the store of cash, cigarettes and lottery tickets.

"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.

Rick Lekki said it was hard for him to believe that a robbery occurred across the street from his business, R and J's bar. "It's shocking. Things like that just don't happen out here. I just can't believe it happened," Lekki said.

Anyone with information is asked to contact police.

Ninjas Don't Fade Away

2007-08-23T17:53:00.000-05:00

by D.J. Kirkbride; art by "The Night Watchman"

Ninjas never fade quietly away
    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.

Back In Black

2007-08-21T19:07:00.000-05:00

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.

Eventually.

Finally, a place for my ninja homework...

2007-06-21T15:13:00.001-05:00

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.

Ugh...

2007-06-08T15:56:00.000-05:00

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.

Hungarian Sausage Loaf

2007-06-05T18:27:00.000-05:00

The recipe sounds really good, but it confuses me. Scroll down and read it again; its either unfinished or very poorly edited. Step 2 is the problem; do you combine the mushrooms, eggs and breadcrumbs together and use it as a crust for the sausage loaf, or do you combine all that stuff with the sausage and then form the whole mess into a loaf? MARY MOTHER OF GOD, SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!

In order to untangle this culinary mess I turned to our Hungarian Cuisine Correspondent, Szélső Fa. Her advice was this:

"As a practicing chef-at-home, housewife and mother of two I have the right to claim that you combine the things to cover the sausage - to make a crust, as you suggested over the sausage.

On the other hand, forming the whole bunch of ingredients into ONE SINGLE loaf does fit Hungarian gastronomy as well."

Do you see why she's my very favorite Hungarian of all time? She's so slippery. I love the way she claims confidently that the breadcrumbs are most definitely there to form a crust, but then she totally takes it all back with her next sentence, leaving me exactly where I was to begin with. This lady is slick; she should have been an ambassador. So still we don't know for sure how this is put together. There was no other choice. I had to know.

Unless you plan on making your own sausage, this recipe is very inexpensive and simple, and would be great to work on with kids who are of the helping age. The most labor intensive part of the job was dicing the mushrooms, which didn't really take that long considering I was doing it left handed with the wrong kind of knife on a paper plate on an over-crowded counter top while trying to take pictures with the other hand. I'm not a professional, folks.

Once I got the 'shrooms ready, I cooked 'em. I'd never bought fresh mushrooms before, let alone diced and sautéed them. Holy shit, these things smelled so good! I almost didn't have Hungarian Sausage Loaf because I was very sincerely tempted to just sauté a bunch of mushrooms for dinner. I knew when I was cooking these I was going to like the final product, just because they smelled so fantastic.

I have to report that Szélső Fa was wrong... and right. I told you, she's crafty. The point is, there are WAY too many bread crumbs to form a crust. It just wouldn't work, no matter how hard I tried. It was gonna have to be a loaf, and even then putting this many breadcrumbs into this amount of meat took a lot of kneading. A LOT. There were several times I was certain that there was no way it was all going to come together, but determination, true grit, and my manly piledrivin' fists of steel eventually pummeled the mass into a cohesive whole which I was able to shape into a loaf. I don't have pics of any of this because my hands were covered with smooshed up pork and raw eggs, and I thought it best not to touch my camera.

Ain't that purty? One teaspoon of paprika doesn't sound like a lot, but for a loaf this size its a ton. I thought about leaving some out, but I decided I follow the recipe to the letter and see how it turned out. Turns out its not too much after all; baking it really mellows the paprika and gives it a sort of smoky flavor, which was very nice.

If this were a kosher recipe, this would be the place where I would make an ill-advised Holocaust joke in poor taste. Guess I'll have to save it for my Hanukkah article.

You'll notice that I don't have any pictures of the final cooked loaf. That's because by the time it was done baking it smelled so good and I was so hungry that I looked at the loaf, thought about this article, and said "Fuck it" out loud to the empty kitchen. Hungarian Sausage Loaf is damn tasty, folks. The next time I make it I will experiment by upping the mushroom content to 1½ cups sautéed in 3 tablespoons of butter along with a quarter cup of finely diced onions and a half teaspoon of cracked black pepper, but really the recipe is just fine as is.

Hungarian Sausage Loaf is dense. I don't know who Cutco was planning on feeding back in 1961, but this makes WAY more than four servings. Since pork sausage is mainly considered a breakfast food here in the States, and since I had plenty left over, I decided to make a breakfast out of it the next morning. I fried two eggs, a hash brown patty, and used the rest of the mushrooms to cover the slice of nuked loaf. Serve with a tall glass of OJ and a pat of salted butter melted over the loaf. Phenomenal.

I also made a second loaf, only instead of pork sausage I used goetta. For you poor, poor pitiful people who don't know what goetta is, its a very mild German sausage made with pork, beef, oats, sunshine, baby smiles, the laughter of children, and the love and blessings of all the holiest of holy people whom have ever lived, all mashed up in a solid gold meat grinder, and packaged by the highest choir of angels, who seal each and every roll with a divine kiss. It is quite simply the best meat product ever made by human beings, and it is very popular here in the greater Cincinnati area. I thought, being the food of whatever god or gods you might believe in, it would be almost guaranteed to bring the loaf to new heights, but no. The flavor of the goetta is too delicate, and it gets lost in the flavor of the breadcrumbs and buttered mushrooms. You're better off sticking with the stronger flavor of pork sausage. Its good eats.

For Szélső Fa

2007-05-15T19:05:00.000-05:00

20th CENTURY WIENERS

2007-05-10T15:39:00.000-05:00

Although decidedly non-ninja, check out this amazingly wonderful piece of 60s weirdness. The night before Easter a lot of my family ended up at my aunt and uncle's house in Indiana. My aunt makes a legendary goulash which, in my 31 years on this planet and despite my endlessly hearing about how amazing it is, I have somehow never got to try. I sense a conspiracy. Anyway, she chose the night before Easter to reveal her big secret to us: the goulash recipe in question was not handed down from her Germano- Austrio-Slavic ancestors as we had all assumed, but rather came from a cookbook she had conned from a traveling kitchen knife salesman in the early 60s.

In retrospect, the truth is actually a much cooler story than the handed-down thing. Apparently this guy had been told that my aunt and uncle were newlyweds, and he waited for my uncle to be gone from the house before making his move on what I can only presume he thought would be a financially inexperienced new housewife. But like I said, my aunt has Germano-Austrio-Slavic ancestry. That's gypsy blood, people. You can't con a gypsy. That's like trying to outrun a Kenyan, or out-long-divide a Japanese guy, or out-sexist a 1960s traveling kitchen knife salesman, or out-bigot an overweight pretend ninja web author from Kentucky. It just can't be done.

The gypsies are a savvy people, and in an instant my aunt was onto him like a shark smelling chum in the water. That poor, dumb bastard never stood a chance. He promised all sorts of fantastic deals and confusingly worded installment plans, and my aunt just nodded and acted more and more interested until, convinced she was hooked, he started offering free stuff just for "thinking it over." BAM! She had him. He left her with a few free things, not the least of which was the 1961 Cutco Cook Book: Meat and Poultry Cookery, Volume One by Margaret Mitchell. Of course, when he returned the next day, she was strangely uninterested in the knives, but she thanked him kindly for all the free gifts, and from that day forth my uncle has enjoyed the benefits of marrying a clever woman in the form of endless meals of heavenly goulash. Or so I've heard. I've never actually been allowed to eat any. Did I mention this? Not that I'm bitter.

Anyway, my aunt pointed out that she had never had any interest in making anything from this cook book other than the goulash, which is evidenced by the fact that the goulash pages are well worn and ingredient splattered from years of use, while all the other pages are pristine. I reasoned that if something as good as the goulash came from this book, then it might contain other treasures as well, and was therefore definitely worth investigating. It didn't take long to find what I was looking for. It was like being down in The Well Of Souls with Sallah and opening the ancient Egyptian crypt that housed... 20th Century Wieners.

I shit you not, I thought I was going to piss myself when I saw this. 20th Century Wieners. How in the hell did they think that name up? After I laughed myself into a frenzy, I passed it around and let the fam get a kick out of it. That night I stopped by and picked up the ingredients, and come Easter we dined on 20th Century Wieners. They're okay, I guess, but I don't like tomatoes that much. Everyone else seemed to love them, 'cause they were gone in no time. So here's the recipe for all the world to enjoy. Bon appétit!

Sorry about the lack of content...

2007-05-10T10:44:00.000-05:00

Thanks for your patience, guys. This little ninja's been busy. TOO busy. But I promise there will be a very ninja update on Friday evening at the latest. My workload should have greatly decreased by then. Ninja pinkie swear!

Happy Weekend!

2007-04-30T10:51:00.001-05:00

AskANinja.com and MythBusters, two of my very favorite things in the world, have joined in an unholy coupling, spawning this video! Is it the greatest thing in the world? No, not really. So much potential, and yet the whole time it feels like its building toward something great that just never materializes. You can tell the MythBusters aren't really into it. But my boy The Ninja brought his A-game. 'Cause he's a ninja, see. And that's how we roll.

2007-04-23T16:09:00.000-05:00

You Too Can Be A T-Shirt Ninja

2007-04-04T11:12:00.000-05:00

Click the pic to get a full sized view of the do-it-yourself ninja goodness. Then click the logo below and go to NinjaBurger.com. Place an order as thanks to them for hosting the t-shirt ninja instructions. Maybe then they will let you live. Maybe.

Sick Chris & The Plastic Magnet Ninja Warriors

2007-03-30T11:45:00.000-05:00

That'd be a great name for a band, wouldn't it?

I've been out of commission for the last few days. I've been trying to get over a ~~nagging chest cold~~ fire-damaged lung caused by breathing the spores of the mystical white phosphor lotus I got while ~~playing with my cousin's baby~~ battling a rabid Yeti sorcerer to the death in the Himalayas.

After a week, the problem had failed to clear itself up, so I went to ~~the doctor~~ an ancient Hopi shaman and spirit guide. He gave me a ~~solid steroid inhalant~~ sacred medicine bag and powdered snakeskin to kill whatever it was the ~~baby~~ Yeti did to me. Monday night I was lying in bed and I inhaled the powder and held my breath to let it coat my lungs, per the instructions on the box. Both the doc and the instructions made it VERY clear that you're not supposed to swallow this stuff for whatever reason, so I stood up and headed to the bathroom to wash the powder out of my mouth, still holding my breath. I made it very nearly six feet when I succumbed to the shaman's ancient spirit magic ~~fainted like a dainty Southern belle.~~

I remember reaching out for the wall to steady myself because I knew I was stumbling, but I don't recall any sensation of being off balance or dizzy. Everything was completely black by the time my ass hit the floor, badly bruising my tail bone. I remember thinking "I sat down too hard" like it was in a dream. I knew for sure I was in pain, but I couldn't feel the pain. I was just vaguely aware of it. It was a very detached sensation; very cool, but hard to describe.

tkJNyQfAprY

I was completely out before my head hit the floor, but I know for certain it hit the floor with no small amount of speed. Had I been conscious for that, I probably wouldn't look back on this whole experience and think it was nearly as interesting and fun as I do now. I'm not a doctor or anything, but judging by the severity of the recurring intense headaches, I'd have to estimate my skull made contact with the hardwood at roughly Mach 7.

The first thing I remember on waking up was the sensation that I was coming out of the most peaceful, serene sleep I'd ever had. It was amazing. I've seen people who look like they're disoriented when waking up, but that's not really the way I was feeling. I was confused, mind you, and I couldn't figure out for the life of me why I was laying on the floor, but it was a pleasant, curious confusion, not a frightening one. It would be a while before I remembered everything leading up to the blackout, but I wasn't physically disoriented or unable to focus. On the contrary, I was absolutely clearheaded and perfectly relaxed. It was an almost unnatural calmness. It was zen, to put a label on it, and it was wonderful. If I knew how to wake up feeling like that every morning, I'd never have a bad day again. It was quite possibly the best feeling I've ever experienced.

The first thing I saw upon waking was my wedding ring. It is a titanium ring, a very well made replica of Brigman's titanium wedding ring from The Abyss. If you haven't seen that movie, then stop reading this right now, and go watch it. It's superb sci-fi. Ed Harris's character Brigman cannot let go of his wedding ring, nor his love for his estranged wife, both of which which save his life during the course of the film. The Abyss is one of the best films I have ever seen, one of the top five sci-fi films ever made. But this is not a review of The Abyss.

My ring was a natural thing to focus on, as it was a shiny, silver object resting against the dark wood background of the floor and door. It took a while for this to register as unusual, but when it did, I remember thinking, "How did my wedding ring get on the floor?" I usually keep it on top of a bookshelf with a watch my dad gave me. I got up, noting the numbness in my ass and the back of my head where my tail bone and skull would be screaming at me in the morning. I picked up the ring to put it back where it belonged, but I couldn't. The bookshelf wasn't there anymore.

I either knocked it over on my way down, or tried to grab it and pulled it down with me. I don't know how it happened, because, like I said, I was out before my head hit the floor. In either case, the bookshelf was down, and everything on it was scattered throughout the room. Honestly, I could've dropped a lit stick of dynamite behind the damn thing and made less of a mess. Stuff was everywhere. It was a bookcase full of computer equipment and vintage video game consoles and cartridges; a lot of stuff I'm probably not going to be able to replace if its broken. That would probably have bothered me any other time... scratch that: that usually would have pissed me off at myself to no end, and I would have berated myself for days for my own clumsiness and stupidity. But I was still in that state of supreme preternatural serenity, and I didn't mind. Not all all. I didn't mind anything. I was at one with the universe. Ohhhmm...

"I don't care; I'm still free. You can't take the sky from me..."

Anyway, the next morning I was sore all over, and my ass and head were apparently engaged in a contest to see which would be the first to make me cry. Going to work was not an option, not for someone who's job is sitting at a desk (on my throbbing assbone) and wearing a headset talking to idiot callers with grating voices (while my head tried to make itself explode from the inside). Not gonna happen. Tuesday was a haze of trying not to sleep because I heard that was bad after a head injury, and then passing out on the couch anyway because it felt so good. That, and about 14 solid hours of Deep Space Nine. It was a very good day, at least the parts I remember.

I feel much better now. Actually I felt much better on Wednesday, and I could've come to work the past two days, but fuck that. My HR department counts sick days in "instances." Three days of being sick still counts as one "instance," as long as they're taken consecutively and for the same reason. Four would be pushing it, but I knew I could get away with three days off, so I took them. Three days for the price of one; at these prices, you'd be crazy not to. Anyway, I needed a break, and falling down and busting your head is an excellent reason to be childish and self indulgent. I spent all of Tuesday and most of Wednesday resting, and Wednesday night I felt decent enough to leave the house for the first time since the blackout. I took my cousin H-Bomb out and we got liquored up beyond belief. Thursday was spent recuperating, plus it was payday, so my bank account was magically refilled with funds. All in all, not a shabby week.

So that's the "Sick Chris" part of the article. But what about the rest of it? Well, since I've been away from the PC for a few days, so I've got nothing prepared article-wise. So I'm resurrecting this piece from my 2006 post-Christmas wrap-up. Why? 'Cause it's been too damn long since I posted any ninja love, and I'm not waiting any longer. So here's some flashback ninja goodness, Mag•Warriors style. Seacrest out.

:::

These are Mag•Warriors, and they hold the distinction of being the only action figures I own powerful enough to demagnetize the debit card I bought them with. The idea behind Mag•Warriors is that each figure's arms, legs, and head is held on by a magnet, allowing for much more poseability than a normal hinge or ball joint, and also allowing kids to more easily tear these little guys apart and mix-and-match their pieces to create weird new Frankenstein ninjas. Their feet and hands are also interchangeable... in theory.

In reality the ball joints at the wrists and ankles are just too tight to make swapping them out something you'd be willing to do during playtime. These things come disassembled, and it took all the strength I had in my fingers to put their hands and feet in the sockets. Afterward my hands hurt for a solid hour. I can't imagine a kid being able to do this. And as far as swapping them out again... forget it. On the off chance I could manage to remove one of these extremities, my fingers would be hurting too much to push it back into a different joint. These damned ninjas have got my arthritis acting up again. Quick, one of you grandkids go get Pappy his pills. I'm having a spell.

This label was stuck prominently on every Mag•Warriors package. Gee, I wonder why they were on clearance...

I thought I was buying three different figures, but when I got home I realized I had grabbed one samurai Balesword and two ninja Hirotengu. That's cool, though, because there's no such thing as too many ninjas. Ninjas, REAL NINJAS, are totally awesome and have REAL Ultimate Power and they flip out ALL THE TIME AND GO CRAZY as hell and they don't even care. These guys are cool; and by cool, I mean totally sweet.

Hirotengu, fearless ninja guardian... of my windowsill.

I only took pictures of Hirotengu, which was stupid because Balesword is a cooler looking figure. Hirotengu is better than Balesword overall, though, because he's a ninja and because he has more accessories. Together my new Mag•Warriors totaled about $13 after tax, which I'm guessing was a huge markdown from their original prices. Even at cheapo retailers like Big Lots, comparable magnetic action figures usually start at about $7 each, so god knows how high these were marked before they went on clearance. As cool as they are, their playability and features make them worth no more than five bucks tops, so I'm not surprised they weren't selling.

Note to toy manufacturers: kids aren't collectors. Stop marketing every toy line like its the Cabbage Patch Kids. Unless you've got the next Tickle Me Elmo on your hands, your overpriced plastic ain't gonna move. Cut the foil-boxed, overpackaged, numbered edition price gouging crap, and make with the affordable toys. Nobody's going to buy a no name action figure for nine dollars when they can get a G.I. Joe for three. Yo, Joe!

Chris reveals a ninja secret!

2007-03-16T14:51:00.000-05:00

I don't do this often, but its a holiday weekend, so just click the pic and I'll show you an ancient ninja technique that will allow even the most novice combatant to rip a guy's nuts off. Happy St. Patrick's Day to ye!

Bunch of random crap...

2007-03-08T18:01:00.000-05:00

First, I just found this amusing:

Second, my cousin H-Bomb and myself decided to see The Number 23 last Friday. We hit the bar first, where I drank my dinner and got incredibly fucked up. As soon as I sat down in the theatre I passed out on her shoulder. I can’t tell you anything about the movie. All I remember was Jim Carrey doing a lot of addition, and the vague feeling that the movie was annoying. After waking me up several times because I was snoring, she decided we should leave. I’d feel bad about ruining the evening, but, as we all know, I don’t have a soul.

In other news... I got a ticket two weeks ago for running a stop sign, which I didn't do. As many of you may recall, I've been pulled over dozens of times, and each time I was guilty as hell, but this time I really didn't do it. I've been pretty pissed about it, mostly because of the cop's shitty attitude, and I decided to fight the ticket instead of just paying it. Went to court this morning, sat there with a LOT of drunks and one amazingly hot-ass 24 year old girl from Indiana who got a DUI with a 2.1 blood alcohol level. How is she not dead? And where can I find her that drunk again and take advantage of the situation? Oh, wait, I know where; under house arrest in Indiana.

But that's beside the point. The point is I've never fought a ticket before, nor have I ever been to court, so I went in not knowing what to expect. If you've never been to the Campbell County, KY District Court before either, here's how it goes: take every stupid, angry, unwashed drunk you've ever seen on Cops, set them all in a room full of church pews FAR earlier than they're used to being conscious, add a dash of old fart prosecuting attorney with a shitty attitude, plus one - and I'm not kidding here at all - totally awesome judge, and let the circus begin.

I don't know jack shit about the letter of the law, but it was fairly clear that the judge was fucking INCREDIBLE at her job. She was laughing with the defendants, she would poke fun at herself when she made a mistake, she was patient, she was extremely fair, and she was completely unafraid to lay the hammer down when someone pushed her or the law too far. She was just like Harry Stone, but without all the rubber chickens and Mel Tormé. When hot-ass Elizabeth from Indiana gave her flak about her sentence, Judge said, in a much kinder, more motherly tone than these words would suggest, "You know what? I don't think you're taking this seriously. I think some jail time will straighten that out. And you're arguing with me. I don't suppose you understand how bad an idea that is at this point." I think she was just trying to scare her, which worked, because Liz freaked. She was terrified of going to jail, and eventually the judge reduced it to house arrest. I'm sure everyone totally saw it coming, but it was still a good show.

Sometime later the mean old bastard prosecutor, who I'm sure yells at kids to stay off his lawn and keeps any baseballs that land in his yard, was convinced he was going to save the world by preventing a guy who was driving on a suspended license from ever doing it again. Judge was kindly, patiently spelling out to the tard in question exactly what he had to do to prevent from fucking his life up any further, when Coot Jenkins, District Attorney pipes up with "He's got five priors for driving without a license! I'd bet anything he's just going to walk out of here and do it again!" It sounded like he was taking the whole thing personally. The judge pointed out, and this is when I became her biggest fan, that society would not be bettered by depriving this man of his means to get to work and thereby hold a job, and that the court was there to provide solutions to problems. And that's when ol' Coot fuckin' snapped.

"SOMETIMES YOU CAN'T SOLVE! SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO PUNISH!" It was fantastic. My jaw dropped. It was exactly like being on the set of a comic book movie when the superstar villain makes his angriest tirade. A thing of wonder. The judge looked at him, and calmly, with as much smart-ass as you could possibly cram into four little words, said, "Well, today we're solving." The courtroom broke up at that; even the people who were bound for jail were laughing at his hateful old ass. The crusty old ~~prospector~~ prosecutor just slumped in his chair, defeated, angry, and embarrassed. I might go to court more often just to watch shit like this do down. It was kind of fun.

Just like on Cops, the people there were incredibly, amazingly incapable of shutting the fuck up. The judge said to the court no fewer than four times in the two hours I was there "You are being recorded. If you keep talking, you WILL incriminate yourselves." But they just kept going. Six people that I recall talked themselves into a harsher punishment after she had already given them a more lenient sentence. What was even worse is that the old codger of a prosecutor wasn't aware of half the shit these people had on their records until they pointed it out, because he was too busy sitting there practicing his scowl. These dumb bastards weren't being interrogated, they were just straight up telling on themselves. It was like I was sitting in the confessional at an all Down Syndrome mass. It was unreal.

When the judge called my name I was feeling pretty good. I had my arguments and evidence all lined up in my mind, I was happily free of any prior convictions for anything at all, and I was supremely confident that I could achieve the relatively simple goal of recognizing when I was winning, and then ceasing all speech. She asked me how I plead, I said, "Not guilty," and that's when my world collapsed. She said, "Okay then, we'll hold this over for a bench trial. We'll get the officer in question in here and we'll see what they have to say."

WHAT THE FUCK?? All the muliple DUI offenders, shoplifters, check bouncers, freebasers, wifebeaters, and illegal Mexican drunkards who plead 'not guilty' got to go right then! Why not me?! You're going to let these fucking degenerates walk, while I, whose huge crime against society which I didn't even commit was running a fucking stop sign, have to come back and sit through all this shit again?! Jesus. Mother. Fucking. Christ.

God forbid I was going to argue with her - I'd seen the unhappy ending to that little fairy tale - and there was no way I was going to back down and change my plea after spending all damn morning there. So now I have to fucking go back next month. Sure its a hassle, but I made my decision and I'm sticking to it. Besides, it'll be a fun story when I get to tell you all about the time I called a cop a liar in court for not doing her job.

Stay tuned for Part Two of 'The Case Of That One Time Chris Got Pulled Over By The Heinous White Trash Gutterslut Cop Bitch From Beyond Hell.'

Just for Anniina

2007-03-06T16:16:00.000-05:00

This is me rocking.

"On The Turning Away"

2007-03-02T15:05:00.000-05:00

I usually try to keep things lighthearted because, let's face it, if I wanted to whine on the internet, there's already a long line of people who've beaten me to the punch. But I can't talk to my friends about this, because I'm sure they already know and have discussed it ad nauseum, and the confirmation of that will piss me right the fuck off. So instead I'm going to whine to the entire digital world.

In that spirit, here's a bit of maudlin personal info that's gonna bring everyone down: I'm lonely. I don't mean lonely as in 'There's no one around today', I mean lonely as in feelings of extreme isolation and questioning if I'm ever going to be really happy again. The experts say probably not. I had a pretty bad car wreck a few years ago which I walked away from without a scratch. Its occurred to me lately that its possible that wasn't for the best. I was enjoying a high point in my life at the time, and I could've gone out feeling on top. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Here's a tale you've heard before, and, surprise surprise, it involves a woman. We've been friends for a long time, blah blah blah, I like her, she doesn't like me, old story, old story, I swallow my feelings for a long time because I know she doesn't feel the same, over a year later my feelings for her are stronger then ever, it's killing me not to tell her, eventually I tell her everything and come on WAY too strong, and, she confirms she doesn't feel the same, which is the inevitable hammer blow to the heart I spent over a year being a big pussy trying to avoid. Now that I've established myself as any number of the ridiculous, whiny vagina-men you've seen on popular sitcoms, you can probably understand her disinterest.

Here's the part I wasn't expecting; she's still wants to be my friend. I thought for sure that was off the table, because I knew I was coming on too strong. I've come to realize that holding in love is like holding in a fart; the longer you keep it in, the louder and less pleasant its going to be on the way out, especially for those around you. But sometimes you gotta fart, and damn the consequences. So it is with unspoken love. God, I'll never understand why Hallmark didn't hire me.

Anyway, a bunch of us get together every Wednesday night, and just a couple of hours beforehand, I find out that, not only does she have a new guy - AND WHEN THE FUCK DID THAT HAPPEN? - but he'll be there tonight. I immediately crashed. What had already been a bad week professionally and financially took a sharp turn straight into absolute shit personally as well. I was snappy with people the rest of the day. When I got out of work, I noticed it was taking me a long time to get to my car. I realized it was because I was taking little, slow baby steps, like I was on my way to my own execution. I was unconsciously avoiding seeing her with anybody else.

When I got there, things were just as bad as they could get. His name is "Brian", which I think we can all agree is most certainly the shittiest name in the world. He's a nice guy, which infuriated me, because I wanted really badly to genuinely dislike him for good reasons. She's been seeing him for a while and hasn't said anything; their body language made that pretty clear. She had some of his laundry she had done. She's comfortable enough around him to dress down and go without makeup, which I've only ever seen her do with her friends. It could be that I'm reading far too much from very little exposure to them, but it looked to me like they have one of those very relaxed, easy going relationships, which I know from experience are the very best kind of all, because they're full of adoration and trust. That's exactly the kind I thought she and I could have. That was loads of fun to see.

She talked directly to me a lot more than she usually does. I suspect, because she is not a moron, that she knew I was bothered and was trying to gauge my mood. I played it cool, because I'm a guy, and that's the first lesson in the guy manual: "Play it cool, especially when its not." She talked to me comfortably and at length, which she rarely ever does for whatever reason, and we had a great conversation, and I was witty and charming, and the room loved me. Seriously, I was on my game that night. But every time something clever came out of my mouth, what that old primordial male wiring in my head was really saying is "Why the fuck is your arm around her? Why is your hand on her knee? Don't come around and feel free to touch her like you've known her for years, fucknut, because you haven't. This is my pack and my territory, and you're acting a little too comfortable in it for my taste. I'm twice your size, and I've been cataloging your vulnerable spots since I laid eyes on you. Don't push your fucking luck, jackass; this is thin ice."

I don't say these things, of course. But every cell in my body feels them. Why doesn't she find me suitable? Am I too old? Probably. She dates young. I'm four years her senior, and he's three years younger than her. Is it because I've let myself get fat? Yes. Women are attracted to healthy looking men, just like men are attracted to healthy looking women. Is it because of this, or that, or a litany of other reasons that keep hammering inside my head, screaming out "She doesn't love you. She will never love you. You are not good enough"? If I knew that, I wouldn't be writing this, would I?

My friend Mark, whom I love very much despite what you'll read in the next paragraph, is the one I want least to get his hands on this info. That's why I haven't told any of my friends about this blog. I immerse myself in everything I do, and I'm very open about pretty much everything under the sun with my friends and family. But not this blog. This one's just for me.

As for Mark, I see him more than any of my other friends. More than most of my family. But I don't talk to him about stuff like this, ever. Mark is like a French prick; he thinks everyone's emotional suffering is funny except his own, which he laments and bemoans like it the fucking Apocalypse. Its one of those awful personal qualities in a friend that you loathe, but have to decide to look past because you want to remain friends, so I ignore it. Except when its directed at me, then I unleash a gout of rage at him you would swear came straight from the demonic blowhole of Moby Dick himself. Its a balance we've struck. You may think this sounds like a fucked up friendship, but I think if you'll examine the relationships you have with your friends, you have something similar. We all do.

Anyway, the reason I bring him up is that a while back she and I were starting to get closer as friends; having little in-jokes, sticking up for each other in conversations, holding conversations together off to the side while other people were having conversations around us, you know the drill. Mark is gay and was clearly worried that if she were to get closer to me he would lose her as his fag-hag. So he did everything he could to sabotage it. It was very overt, and others even commented on it. He did everything he could to damage me getting close to her. Now that he's in a relationship, he has no further need for her services, mind you, so its okay if she's got a guy now. It just wasn't okay then. And despite that I don't know for certain if he knows or ever knew how much I like her, I'm not sure I'm ever going to forgive him for that, for what its worth. Its not worth much. Occasionally, though, I see his behavior and I understand why society looks down on gay men and stereotypes them they way they have. Its because they've earned it.

So what's the deal with the video? Simple; its the loneliest song I've ever heard, and it keeps running through my head. You know, because I'm a cliche of a human being. How pathetic am I? I swear I sometimes have to reach down and feel my testicles to be sure they're still there.

When it comes down to it, I guess I'm just writing a confession, as stupid as that sounds. I'm getting it off my chest. I've screwed up my life, I'm alone, and now I'm horribly lonely, and its getting unbearable. I had the most perfect woman for me imaginable and I fucked it up. Now, after a very long time, I finally found someone I could feel something for again, and I fucked that up, too. And I feel even worse because I've watched the girl that I'd be good with being good with someone else. I fucked up with her in so many ways I bet I couldn't even remember them all if I had to. Its like Led Zeppelin says, "Oh, its nobody's fault but mine."

I really don't have any sort of hope for some miraculous bright future. I don't believe in miracles. What this all boils down to is that I'm screaming a very selfish "I'm sorry" with all these words I'm typing, hoping in some small way to feel better for it, but, seriously, folks, that's just a lie I'm telling myself. There is no magic happiness pill. I feel bad, and that's probably not going to change. There's no one out there to grant me any kind of forgiveness I could believe in, and even if there were, what good would it do me? None.

I really thought writing this would help me feel better, but it hasn't. This has begun to feel self indulgent and childish, and that's making me feel worse. Seeing as I've nothing more to add anyway, I'll end it here. Everybody have a good weekend.

Chris reviews Ghost Rider

2007-02-28T15:41:00.000-05:00

I'll be honest; I wasn't expecting much. Nicolas Cage as a fiery motorcycle demon who wreaks vengeance upon the wicked? I'm not buying it. Then again, the movie couldn't possibly have been as bad as the trailer made it out to be. To tell you the truth, I really didn't know what to expect. So what's the real scoop? Click the pic to check out my review. And if you're good, maybe I'll even let you see Eva Mendes's nipples. You're welcome.

How Well Do You Know Me?

2007-02-19T15:59:00.000-05:00

In order to capitalize on the absolute glut of do-it-yourself quizzes available nowadays, I decided to find out

How Well Do You Know Chris?

Just click the link, then head on back and tell me how you did.

UPDATE: You know what? DON'T take my quiz. ChatterBean is not a good quiz system, and my readers deserve better. You hear that, ChatterBean? YOU SUCK!!

Mophia Asks A Ninja

2007-02-15T12:59:00.000-05:00

Mophia recently asked about me: "I don't suppose he's related to the Ninja of 'Ask A Ninja' fame?"

Well, first of all Mophia, thanks for your question, although I would really rather you had asked it here instead of there. All the love in the world to Mischievous Muse, but I can use all the traffic I can get, you know.

I mean, its not like I'm not trying my best, but there's only so many hours in a day, and between all the killing, and trying to maintain The Sci-Fi Guys as a television AND internet franchise, and then going home and trying to squeeze in ten damn minutes of peaceful sleep at night after sharpening all my ninja weapons in preparation for more killing the next day, I'm kind of pressed for time. I'm on the clock, dude, and I don't have all the time in the world to go searching every inch of cyberspace just to answer all the questions people aren't considerate enough to just ask me to my face. I mean, throw me a bone, man! I'm only a struggling freakin' ninja over here!

But to answer your question, no, I am NOT related to him. He and I were friends back in ninja grad school, but we had a bit of a falling out, I'm afraid. Its taken me a long time to forgive him for what he did, but now that I'm older and more mature, I realize that I did play a role in the incident, and its only right that I shoulder some of the blame. Once again I offer my most sincere apologies to the Spanish government and the citizens of that great nation, in particular the residents of Cando in Galicia. All I can say is that it was an accident, and if we'd known what would happen we would never have gone through with it. On behalf of him, myself, and all ninja everywhere, we're really sorry.

Thanks for the question, Mophia. I look forward to stealing someone else's ideas and using them to make myself look creative again soon!

My X-Valentine

2007-02-14T16:13:00.000-05:00

Every year on Valentine's Day, I reflect back on all the people and places I've visited over the past year, and all the hapless foes whom I have unleashed my relentless ninja wrath upon. Invariably, on this holiday of togetherness, I feel only a distant sense of melancholy and regret. The ninja life is a good life, but its a lonely life.

Whenever Feb 14 rolls around, I inevitably think about the one woman I love most in the world, the one woman who, along with that whiney, jackass partner of hers that she's just soooo crazy about - WHATEVER - almost figured out my secret identity. I'm speaking, of course, of FBI Special Agent Dana Scully.

We had a brief but white-hot affair until we were forced by circumstances to part ways; her work took her to Washington D.C. and mine to the Hidden Shadow Temple of the Forbidden Scrolls, deep within the fiery, magical Demon Ninja Realm. We decided rather than go through the heartbreak of a long-distance relationship that we would be adult about things and agree to see other people. She got involved with that Fox guy; last I heard she was having some alien's baby. I, as you all know, got involved with a beautiful fire demon who is the half-blooded daughter of a mystical rune-casting Finnish noblewoman and a powerful Norse dragon.

Although my love for [name deleted at the request of the owner of the breasts] grows more powerful with every grope of her wonderful boobies, I still have a soft spot in my heart for my Dana. I can't bring myself to throw out all the pictures of us together. And so, on this day of love, I'm going to share our pictures with the world in the hope that the gesture may allow me to begin the healing process, and help me learn to let go.

Since I'm a ninja, you won't see me in these pictures. That's how you know I'm there.

Gettin' ninjiggy widdit.

2007-02-08T12:06:00.000-05:00

What song have you been currently listening to that you're keeping on the downlow? I'm talking about omething you're really digging, but you wouldn't want your friends to catch you listening to it.

Mine is the live version of "Sad Songs (Say So Much)" by Elton John and Bryan Adams. It was recorded in 2000, and it totally rocks. Elton plays this great roadhouse piano and the tempo is much faster than the original recording. It reminds me a lot of "Let It Bleed" by my boys, The Rolling Stones. It's a great track, except when Elton sings, 'cause you can't understand a damn thing he says. But the band is phenomenal, and Bryan Adams sounds great (where has he been since that song for The Three Musketeers?).

Anyway, I am addicted to this song, and I've listened to it at least three times a day for the past two weeks. Fortunately, being a ninja is essentially the same as being a supernatural shadow wraith, only with a better fashion sense and cooler swords, so no one's gonna catch me listening to something that might damage my rep. As a matter of fact, since you read this, you're probably going to have to die. Nothing personal.

Okay, I showed you mine. Now you show me yours. And remember that you don't have long to live, so you might want to hurry up and post while you can.

“That’s right, woodchuck-chuckers, -- it’s Groundhog Day!”

2007-02-02T18:52:00.000-05:00

Okay, campers, rise and shine, and don't forget your booties 'cause it's cold out there today. It's cold out there every day; what is this, Miami Beach? Not hardly! And you know you can expect hazardous travel later today with that, you know, that, uh, that blizzard thing. The National Weather Service is calling for a "big blizzard thing!" Yes, they are. But you know, there's another reason why today is especially exciting. The big question on everybody's lips, their chapped lips: do ya think Phil is gonna come out and see his shadow? Punxsutawney Phil! That's right, woodchuck chuckers, it's Groundhog Day! And to celebrate Groundhog Day in the best way we possibly can, The Sci-Fi Guys give to you our SALUTE TO TIME LOOPS!

This Is A Test Of The Mail-To Blogging System

2007-02-01T20:18:00.001-05:00

If you can read this, then I've set my blog up correctly, and I can just email updates to it. If you cannot, then I am wasting my time by typing all this.

THIS IS A TEST. WE REPEAT, THIS IS ONLY A TEST. HAD THIS BEEN AN ACTUAL POSTING, I WOULD HAVE COME UP WITH SOMETHING COOLER THAN THIS TO USE AS CONTENT. THIS CONCLUDES THIS TEST OF THE MAIL-TO BLOGGING SYSTEM. THANK YOU.

Where you at?

2007-01-30T18:40:00.000-05:00

Show a ninja some love and add yourself to the map below.

I know you're out there...

2007-01-26T14:23:00.000-05:00

Let me hear ya holla back, yo.