Well, I’m back after a lovely vacation and Christmas with mother down in California. Food was eaten, drinks were quaffed, I gained about five pounds, and my mother refrained from shooting me, seeing as she’d just put up new wall paper.
So good news all around.
Even the ninjas, clowns, and mimes have declared a cease-fire for the season, which is nice because I’m getting tired of dodging shuriken, exploding pies, and invisible bullets. At least with the invisible bullets, I can just pretend I have an invisible shield and they don’t work. If the mimes ever think of invisible Teflon bullets, I may be in trouble.
You might think that with all this that I’m happy and carefree, skipping about as it were, whistling a jaunty tune.
NOTE: I’m not really a skipping whistler guy. I’m more a shuffling mutterer.
You’d be wrong.
It’s the nutcrackers. I have about a dozen, given to me over the years by my mother. I honestly have no idea why. She just started buying them for me. I admit, they’re an improvement over the Barbie dolls, but still.
Where was I? Oh yes.
It’s just that I’ve been finding the nutcrackers in odd places lately. There was one in the cabinet where I keep my Captain Crunch. There was one on the counter in the bathroom. There was even one under the desk when I started writing this. So either I’ve been sleep moving nutcrackers or there’s something nefarious going on. And sometimes, I can feel their wooden eyes on me. I realize this sounds nuts, but I can’t imagilasdkloaasdha
Ha ha. I am making a thing that is of amusement. The nutcrackers are best. They make all things more good. I am very fine. All of my human parts are intact and doing correct. I must go. I must order many hundreds of bags of nuts. In shells.
Delicious shells.
Cheers,
Jason the Human
Showing posts with label ninja. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ninja. Show all posts
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
El Payaso: Part 5
The mime staggered, his hands going to his stomach. He veered first to the left, then to the right, staring at the imaginary blood on his hands. With a silent scream he slowly sunk to the floor, twitching a bit before growing still, his eyes still wide with shock and horror.
He then jumped back to his feet and charged us, shouting some sort of wordless mime battle cry. At which point the Dame shot him in the stomach and he did more or less the same thing he’d just done, save that he actually died.
I was in a corner with the Dame. I had a chair at the ready and was bludgeoning anyone who got to close, while she shot the occasional mime. All in all, it was a strangely quiet chaos.
The ninjas fought almost silently, save for the occasional yell. The mimes were true to form and made no sound, even as they took horrible injuries. The clowns were the noisiest, what with their beeping noses and air horns, but they too made relatively few sounds. If it weren’t for the fact that people were being strangled by their own intestines, you’d have thought it was a particularly strange bit of modern dance.
“All in all,” the Dame said, as she reloaded. “This isn’t too bad.”
A clown staggered by, a shuriken stuck in his forehead, but just when he managed to pull it out, a mime ran him through with an imaginary spear.
“Compared to what?” I asked, ducking as a balloon grenade exploded nearby. “We need to get out of here.”
“Why, it looks like the clowns are winning?”
It was true. The ninja reinforcements hit the mimes first and there was a great slaughter on both sides, ninja-tos and imaginary axes thudding into flesh, red blood mingling with the black and white. The clowns hit them both in a great charge of oversize shoes and dingy top hats.
“But look at the box.”
The box containing the gall bladder was imbedded in the wall from when a clown threw it through a ninja. It was starting to vibrate.
“Is that bad?”
“Relatively speaking: yes. If that gall bladder goes, it’ll take the whole building with it.”
“Then perhaps,” she said, as she took a shot at a ninja and missed. “We should leave?”
“I’d love to,” I said. “But there’s a small battle going on in front of us.”
“Then why don’t we use the exit door directly behind us?”
I turned and found that the exit door was indeed directly behind us. A spleen splattered against it as I looked. Thirty seconds later, we were well across the street. The Dame offered to get us both ice-cream, so I settled down to watch the battle.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the double scoop of Sticky Chewy Chocolate. “The gall bladder’s going to go any minute now.”
“Probably,” she said, as she nibbled at her single scoop of strawberry.
We watched in silence for a minute, wincing at the occasionally extra savage blow or ducking when a mime cut loose with an imaginary submachine gun.
“You know,” said the Dame. “I feel like I should apologize.”
“For what? Shooting me in the leg?”
“No, for poisoning your ice-cream.”
I sighed. “Is this going to be a running theme with us?”
“Probably.”
And then I passed out.
I was home when I woke up. Nothing seemed out of place, save for the small card on my kitchen counter. It was white and had a picture of a harlequin on it. When I turned it upside down, it read ‘We’re not done yet.’
I sighed, tossed the card back onto the counter, and then went to see if any cartoons were on.
Cheers,
-Jason
He then jumped back to his feet and charged us, shouting some sort of wordless mime battle cry. At which point the Dame shot him in the stomach and he did more or less the same thing he’d just done, save that he actually died.
I was in a corner with the Dame. I had a chair at the ready and was bludgeoning anyone who got to close, while she shot the occasional mime. All in all, it was a strangely quiet chaos.
The ninjas fought almost silently, save for the occasional yell. The mimes were true to form and made no sound, even as they took horrible injuries. The clowns were the noisiest, what with their beeping noses and air horns, but they too made relatively few sounds. If it weren’t for the fact that people were being strangled by their own intestines, you’d have thought it was a particularly strange bit of modern dance.
“All in all,” the Dame said, as she reloaded. “This isn’t too bad.”
A clown staggered by, a shuriken stuck in his forehead, but just when he managed to pull it out, a mime ran him through with an imaginary spear.
“Compared to what?” I asked, ducking as a balloon grenade exploded nearby. “We need to get out of here.”
“Why, it looks like the clowns are winning?”
It was true. The ninja reinforcements hit the mimes first and there was a great slaughter on both sides, ninja-tos and imaginary axes thudding into flesh, red blood mingling with the black and white. The clowns hit them both in a great charge of oversize shoes and dingy top hats.
“But look at the box.”
The box containing the gall bladder was imbedded in the wall from when a clown threw it through a ninja. It was starting to vibrate.
“Is that bad?”
“Relatively speaking: yes. If that gall bladder goes, it’ll take the whole building with it.”
“Then perhaps,” she said, as she took a shot at a ninja and missed. “We should leave?”
“I’d love to,” I said. “But there’s a small battle going on in front of us.”
“Then why don’t we use the exit door directly behind us?”
I turned and found that the exit door was indeed directly behind us. A spleen splattered against it as I looked. Thirty seconds later, we were well across the street. The Dame offered to get us both ice-cream, so I settled down to watch the battle.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the double scoop of Sticky Chewy Chocolate. “The gall bladder’s going to go any minute now.”
“Probably,” she said, as she nibbled at her single scoop of strawberry.
We watched in silence for a minute, wincing at the occasionally extra savage blow or ducking when a mime cut loose with an imaginary submachine gun.
“You know,” said the Dame. “I feel like I should apologize.”
“For what? Shooting me in the leg?”
“No, for poisoning your ice-cream.”
I sighed. “Is this going to be a running theme with us?”
“Probably.”
And then I passed out.
I was home when I woke up. Nothing seemed out of place, save for the small card on my kitchen counter. It was white and had a picture of a harlequin on it. When I turned it upside down, it read ‘We’re not done yet.’
I sighed, tossed the card back onto the counter, and then went to see if any cartoons were on.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
El Payaso: Part 4
I couldn’t think of anything to say. We sat in silence, as the mariachi version of the 1812 Overture thundered out of the speakers on the wall. A tumbleweed rolled by. Someone across the street yelled “Yahtzee!” In all likelihood, somewhere on the planet a piano exploded.
“I don’t much care for mimes,” I finally said.
“Who does?”
“No,” I continued. “I really, really don’t like mimes.” I took a deep breath. “It all started back in pre-school. A mime came to visit the class.” As I spoke, the room defocused and the 1812 Overture began to fade. “It was supposed to be a regular day. A normal day. A happy day. We were going to make macaroni ducks. Then every-“
I jumped at the gunshot. The Dame was pointing her .38 in the air, a curl of smoke rising from the barrel. “I don’t have time for a full flashback,” she said. “Just give me the quick version.”
“The mime locked me in an invisible box and I cried.”
“Good. The clowns appreciate enthusiasm.”
I shook my head. “I never said I was going to help.”
She smiled. “You think you have a choice?”
“After-school specials taught me that I always have a choice.”
The Dame leaned forward. “They lied.” She reached down to her purse and pulled it into her lap. “The clowns thought you might be reluctant,” she said, as she pulled out a small white box. “So they gave me this.” She placed the box on the table, turning the latch side towards me. There was a picture of a harlequin on the lid.
I flipped the top open. Inside was a small, grayish object. It looked kind of like a deflated sack. I flipped the top shut. “Very funny,” I said.
“No joke,” she responded. “You just assumed the gall bladder you found in the bathroom was yours. It wasn’t. This,” she said, tapping the box, “is.”
There was a noise from the kitchen, as if a can had fallen off a shelf. Neither the Dame nor I looked, as our gazes were locked on one another. Then a red balloon wafted out and over the counter. It slowly sank to the floor from a slow leak, flattening into a small red pool.
“You clowns play hard ball,” I finally said.
“Oh, I’m not a clown,” she responded. “I’m just an idiot who had an organ problem.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal,” I said.
“What could you possibly have that I’d want?”
“Well,” I began as I folded my napkin and put it on the table. “My guess is that our ninja waiter just took out a clown in the kitchen. Ninjas and clowns always travel in packs, so a fight is inevitable. On top of that, we haven’t seen a paper airplane in a few minutes, so that means the mimes are moving. And once the smell of blood hits the air, that gall bladder’s going to go ballistic. We’re about to be in the middle of a four-way ninja, clown, mime, gall bladder battle.”
The Dame froze, eyes going to the kitchen and back.
“What do you say? You want a partner for this dance or are you gonna try it solo?”
Tomorrow: The Finale!
“I don’t much care for mimes,” I finally said.
“Who does?”
“No,” I continued. “I really, really don’t like mimes.” I took a deep breath. “It all started back in pre-school. A mime came to visit the class.” As I spoke, the room defocused and the 1812 Overture began to fade. “It was supposed to be a regular day. A normal day. A happy day. We were going to make macaroni ducks. Then every-“
I jumped at the gunshot. The Dame was pointing her .38 in the air, a curl of smoke rising from the barrel. “I don’t have time for a full flashback,” she said. “Just give me the quick version.”
“The mime locked me in an invisible box and I cried.”
“Good. The clowns appreciate enthusiasm.”
I shook my head. “I never said I was going to help.”
She smiled. “You think you have a choice?”
“After-school specials taught me that I always have a choice.”
The Dame leaned forward. “They lied.” She reached down to her purse and pulled it into her lap. “The clowns thought you might be reluctant,” she said, as she pulled out a small white box. “So they gave me this.” She placed the box on the table, turning the latch side towards me. There was a picture of a harlequin on the lid.
I flipped the top open. Inside was a small, grayish object. It looked kind of like a deflated sack. I flipped the top shut. “Very funny,” I said.
“No joke,” she responded. “You just assumed the gall bladder you found in the bathroom was yours. It wasn’t. This,” she said, tapping the box, “is.”
There was a noise from the kitchen, as if a can had fallen off a shelf. Neither the Dame nor I looked, as our gazes were locked on one another. Then a red balloon wafted out and over the counter. It slowly sank to the floor from a slow leak, flattening into a small red pool.
“You clowns play hard ball,” I finally said.
“Oh, I’m not a clown,” she responded. “I’m just an idiot who had an organ problem.”
“Then I’ll make you a deal,” I said.
“What could you possibly have that I’d want?”
“Well,” I began as I folded my napkin and put it on the table. “My guess is that our ninja waiter just took out a clown in the kitchen. Ninjas and clowns always travel in packs, so a fight is inevitable. On top of that, we haven’t seen a paper airplane in a few minutes, so that means the mimes are moving. And once the smell of blood hits the air, that gall bladder’s going to go ballistic. We’re about to be in the middle of a four-way ninja, clown, mime, gall bladder battle.”
The Dame froze, eyes going to the kitchen and back.
“What do you say? You want a partner for this dance or are you gonna try it solo?”
Tomorrow: The Finale!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
El Payaso: Part 3
The Dame’s right eyebrow went up by a fraction of an inch. “Really?”
“’yep.”
“How can you be sure?”
“How many Tex-Mex-Chinese placed do you know serve sake at the correct temperature?”
“Good point.” She frowned. “This could be a problem.”
“Oh, goody,” I said, leaning back in my chair. Yet another paper airplane wafted by. This one said ‘I’m walking against the wind.’ “So, back to my original question: what does the clown mafia want?”
The Dame took a deep breath. “Let me be frank. The clown mafia is in trouble. A war’s coming and they’re not sure they can handle it.”
“How big a war, Frank?”
There was a muffled ‘bang’ from under the table. “That was a just a warning,” she said. “Any more stupid jokes and you can kiss a kneecap goodbye.”
“That wasn’t a warning,” I said. I was particularly proud of how evenly I managed to say it.
“What do you mean?”
“You winged me.”
The Dame looked under the table and then straightened up. “Perhaps a band-aid?”
I shook my head. “I just need to say a bad word and put pressure on it.” I pressed my other calf against the new flesh wound. “Crap. My dad was corpsman,” I said by way of explanation. “Anyway, Fr- nice lady, who could scare the clowns.”
She leaned close. “There’s only one group that’d scare them this bad: mimes.”
Tomorrow: Part 4
“’yep.”
“How can you be sure?”
“How many Tex-Mex-Chinese placed do you know serve sake at the correct temperature?”
“Good point.” She frowned. “This could be a problem.”
“Oh, goody,” I said, leaning back in my chair. Yet another paper airplane wafted by. This one said ‘I’m walking against the wind.’ “So, back to my original question: what does the clown mafia want?”
The Dame took a deep breath. “Let me be frank. The clown mafia is in trouble. A war’s coming and they’re not sure they can handle it.”
“How big a war, Frank?”
There was a muffled ‘bang’ from under the table. “That was a just a warning,” she said. “Any more stupid jokes and you can kiss a kneecap goodbye.”
“That wasn’t a warning,” I said. I was particularly proud of how evenly I managed to say it.
“What do you mean?”
“You winged me.”
The Dame looked under the table and then straightened up. “Perhaps a band-aid?”
I shook my head. “I just need to say a bad word and put pressure on it.” I pressed my other calf against the new flesh wound. “Crap. My dad was corpsman,” I said by way of explanation. “Anyway, Fr- nice lady, who could scare the clowns.”
She leaned close. “There’s only one group that’d scare them this bad: mimes.”
Tomorrow: Part 4
Thursday, October 21, 2010
El Payaso: Part 2
“It’s complicated,” she said, as she motioned to the waiter.
He shambled over, feet scraping loudly on the tile floor. He was a big man, in a Hawaiian shirt and a white apron. A Mariner’s ball cap was pulled low over his eyes and he barely looked at us.
“May I take your order?”
“Tofu and cheese enchilada for the lady. I’ll take a lunch size of the stir fry chicken fajitas.”
“Tofu and cheese enchilada and a stir fry chicken fajitas,” he repeated. “Anything to drink?”
“Water’s fine for me,” said the Dame.
“I’ll take a sake,” I said.
“Your order will be right out.” He shuffled away. Another paper airplane sailed past, embedding itself into the wall by the bathroom. ‘Help, I am in a box’ was written on the side. I ignored it.
“Well,” I said, tossing a tortilla chip into my mouth, missing, and having to fish it out of my shirt. “What do the Rubber Noses want?”
The Dame frowned. “You shouldn’t call them that. People that call them that have accidents.”
“What do they do? Beat them to death with rubber noses?”
“Actually, yes. Assuming the rubber nose is attached to a crowbar.”
The waiter shuffled over and placed my white bottle of sake down, along with a matching cup. He bowed slightly as he shuffled away.
“Big sake fan?” the Dame asked.
“Can’t stand the stuff,” I said, as I poured some out and stuck my finger in it.
“And what are you doing?”
“Checking the temperature.” I wiped my finger off. “Did you happen to bring a gun?”
“My .38 is actually pointed at you under the table.”
“Good, ‘cause our waiter’s a ninja.”
Next week: Part 3!
He shambled over, feet scraping loudly on the tile floor. He was a big man, in a Hawaiian shirt and a white apron. A Mariner’s ball cap was pulled low over his eyes and he barely looked at us.
“May I take your order?”
“Tofu and cheese enchilada for the lady. I’ll take a lunch size of the stir fry chicken fajitas.”
“Tofu and cheese enchilada and a stir fry chicken fajitas,” he repeated. “Anything to drink?”
“Water’s fine for me,” said the Dame.
“I’ll take a sake,” I said.
“Your order will be right out.” He shuffled away. Another paper airplane sailed past, embedding itself into the wall by the bathroom. ‘Help, I am in a box’ was written on the side. I ignored it.
“Well,” I said, tossing a tortilla chip into my mouth, missing, and having to fish it out of my shirt. “What do the Rubber Noses want?”
The Dame frowned. “You shouldn’t call them that. People that call them that have accidents.”
“What do they do? Beat them to death with rubber noses?”
“Actually, yes. Assuming the rubber nose is attached to a crowbar.”
The waiter shuffled over and placed my white bottle of sake down, along with a matching cup. He bowed slightly as he shuffled away.
“Big sake fan?” the Dame asked.
“Can’t stand the stuff,” I said, as I poured some out and stuck my finger in it.
“And what are you doing?”
“Checking the temperature.” I wiped my finger off. “Did you happen to bring a gun?”
“My .38 is actually pointed at you under the table.”
“Good, ‘cause our waiter’s a ninja.”
Next week: Part 3!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Very Very Not Warm
A strange thing happened this morning. I walked outside, humming a happy tune, fully prepared to go to work and be a productive member of the team. However, as I was locking my door, I noticed something odd.
It was very, very not warm.
“Huh,” I said to myself. “It’s a bit unlike hot.” I then realized that there were icicles already forming on my hair. A closer investigation revealed that it was not just icicles, but a solid layer of ice. In fact, my whole body was covered in a thick layer of the stuff and was rapidly turning blue.
I then made two important discoveries:
1. I had forgotten to towel off after my shower
2. I had forgotten not only pants, but my shirt as well
Moving was becoming difficult, so it took a moment for me to get the key back into the lock and unlock the door. As it swung open, I then noticed a ninja above my doorway, ninja-to ready to decapitate me. Or rather, he had been ready to decapitate me, as he’d frozen solid to the wall, his black ninja garb proving insufficient against the intense un-heat that the night had produced.
So, being the friendly sort that I am, I snapped him off and carried him inside. I set him by the heater and then sat down next to him to get the worse of the ice off. He twitched a bit as he thawed out and I checked on him periodically as I toweled off and put actual clothes on.
It turns out his name is Taro, which is like the Japanese version of ‘John’ or possibly ‘Humperdink.’ I give him full credit, as he did try to stab me when he had thawed out enough. I was prepared for this, though, and merely stepped out of the way because he hadn’t realized that in my haste to get him inside, I accidentally broken most of his toes off. This caused his lunge to fall far short and send him crashing into the carpet.
We then had a nice little chat about ninja duties and obligations, the idea of creating ‘goretex’ ninja garb, and lastly, how useful toes are when you suddenly don’t have any. However, I still had to go to work, so I asked Taro to let himself out and left for work (though he did politely remind me to put my shoes back on).
Anyway, it is incredibly the reverse of sweltering in the Seattle area and I made a new, albeit toeless friend. I’ll make sure to grab his toes when they finally fall off, as I’m sure he’d appreciate having them back.
Cheers,
-Jason
It was very, very not warm.
“Huh,” I said to myself. “It’s a bit unlike hot.” I then realized that there were icicles already forming on my hair. A closer investigation revealed that it was not just icicles, but a solid layer of ice. In fact, my whole body was covered in a thick layer of the stuff and was rapidly turning blue.
I then made two important discoveries:
1. I had forgotten to towel off after my shower
2. I had forgotten not only pants, but my shirt as well
Moving was becoming difficult, so it took a moment for me to get the key back into the lock and unlock the door. As it swung open, I then noticed a ninja above my doorway, ninja-to ready to decapitate me. Or rather, he had been ready to decapitate me, as he’d frozen solid to the wall, his black ninja garb proving insufficient against the intense un-heat that the night had produced.
So, being the friendly sort that I am, I snapped him off and carried him inside. I set him by the heater and then sat down next to him to get the worse of the ice off. He twitched a bit as he thawed out and I checked on him periodically as I toweled off and put actual clothes on.
It turns out his name is Taro, which is like the Japanese version of ‘John’ or possibly ‘Humperdink.’ I give him full credit, as he did try to stab me when he had thawed out enough. I was prepared for this, though, and merely stepped out of the way because he hadn’t realized that in my haste to get him inside, I accidentally broken most of his toes off. This caused his lunge to fall far short and send him crashing into the carpet.
We then had a nice little chat about ninja duties and obligations, the idea of creating ‘goretex’ ninja garb, and lastly, how useful toes are when you suddenly don’t have any. However, I still had to go to work, so I asked Taro to let himself out and left for work (though he did politely remind me to put my shoes back on).
Anyway, it is incredibly the reverse of sweltering in the Seattle area and I made a new, albeit toeless friend. I’ll make sure to grab his toes when they finally fall off, as I’m sure he’d appreciate having them back.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Why Did I Do That?
So, I turned on my computer, went off to clean some ninja blood off the porch (I found a tooth!), and then came back to check my mail and do all the usual things.
However, when I clicked on the 'Start' button, instead of clicking on the 'Outlook' button, I instead hit the 'Turn Off Computer' button and then 'Shut-Down.'
I then looked at my computer and said 'Why the hell are you shutting down.' I paused for a moment as I realized I'd told it to and then said 'Why the hell did I do that?'
Obviously, I managed to turn the computer back on, but 'wow.'
The scary thing is that they let me drive a car. On the road. By myself.
In other news, our site is still messed up. Leigh is handling it, but somehow, some bit got wired to some other bit and now, after working fine for several years, it decided to go 'kablooey.' We have people working on it and we should (hopefully) be able to update again soon.
Look for a new episode of Art the Wanderer on Monday and the usual blogs throughout the week.
Now to put that ninja tooth under the pillow. Hopefully, the tooth-fairy won't care that it isn't actually mine.
Cheers,
-Jason
However, when I clicked on the 'Start' button, instead of clicking on the 'Outlook' button, I instead hit the 'Turn Off Computer' button and then 'Shut-Down.'
I then looked at my computer and said 'Why the hell are you shutting down.' I paused for a moment as I realized I'd told it to and then said 'Why the hell did I do that?'
Obviously, I managed to turn the computer back on, but 'wow.'
The scary thing is that they let me drive a car. On the road. By myself.
In other news, our site is still messed up. Leigh is handling it, but somehow, some bit got wired to some other bit and now, after working fine for several years, it decided to go 'kablooey.' We have people working on it and we should (hopefully) be able to update again soon.
Look for a new episode of Art the Wanderer on Monday and the usual blogs throughout the week.
Now to put that ninja tooth under the pillow. Hopefully, the tooth-fairy won't care that it isn't actually mine.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Men in Masks With Knives
Picture this. Youre walking home late one night and decide to take a shortcut through a dark alley. As you trudge down the darkened path, you begin to grow nervous. Your pulse quickens and you soon flinch at every noise. All of a sudden, a shape looms before you. You freeze, your hands clench and your breath quickens, as adrenaline floods through your system. The shape moves, revealing itself to be a rental cat, also on its way home after a hard day.
You relax, even smile to yourself, and then realize, someone is behind you. You whirl and see a man in a mask with a knife. You have only a mere fraction of a second to decide: is it a surgeon or a ninja?
Your life will depend on the answer.
Surgeons and ninjas, much like zombies and robots, are amazingly similar:
Both wear masks
Both are trained to use knives
Both smell of lilac
Both wear form-fitting, monochromatic outfits
Both have devoted years to learning their craft
Both have taken solemn oaths to fulfill their duty
But while a ninja will chop you into pieces, a surgeon will put you back together. They are two sides of the same coin, one yin to the others yang, salt and pepper, ebony and ivory, marshmallow and bbq sauce, rock and paper (it works if you ignore scissors).
The one thing, however, that both hate above all, is being mistaken for the other. The ninja will simply cut out your heart and show it to you, but the surgeon will tell everyone at the country club that you cried like a girl.
How can I tell the difference, you may ask? There are no hard-and-fast rules, but I will make something up.
Surgeons generally carry much smaller knives than ninjas. This works well, unless you happen to get a ninja whos really secure in his masculinity.
Ninjas tend to be Japanese. If its a white guy, hes probably a surgeon. This is of no help if hes a surgeon of Asian descent, however.
Surgeons tend to wear much more colorful outfits. If hes dressed head-to-toe in lime green or his outfit has a floral pattern, chances are hes a surgeon. However, many modern ninjas have ditched the traditional black outfits in favor of more colorful garb. If hes in bright pink, your guess is as good as mine.
Armed with this knowledge, you have a good chance to correctly identify the masked man and forestall a disemboweling or some vicious gossip.
If you think its a ninja, say: Ohio! Watashi-wa, shobosha-desu!
Literal translation: Good morning! I am a fire truck!
The ninja will laugh and probably only mutilate you a little before vanishing in a puff of smoke.
If you think its a surgeon, say: I wanted to be a doctor, but just didnt have the patience!
Literal translation: I wanted to be a doctor, but just didnt have the patience!
The surgeon will give a tired laugh, as he has heard the joke a billion times and roll his eyes as he continues on to his Mercedes.
Armed with this knowledge, you can safely wander through dark alleys, reasonably certain your life and reputation will remain intact.
Warning: wandering through dark alleys is dangerous. You could trip, fall on a rusty nail, and get lockjaw. We are totally not responsible if that happens.
Cheers,
-Jason
You relax, even smile to yourself, and then realize, someone is behind you. You whirl and see a man in a mask with a knife. You have only a mere fraction of a second to decide: is it a surgeon or a ninja?
Your life will depend on the answer.
Surgeons and ninjas, much like zombies and robots, are amazingly similar:
Both wear masks
Both are trained to use knives
Both smell of lilac
Both wear form-fitting, monochromatic outfits
Both have devoted years to learning their craft
Both have taken solemn oaths to fulfill their duty
But while a ninja will chop you into pieces, a surgeon will put you back together. They are two sides of the same coin, one yin to the others yang, salt and pepper, ebony and ivory, marshmallow and bbq sauce, rock and paper (it works if you ignore scissors).
The one thing, however, that both hate above all, is being mistaken for the other. The ninja will simply cut out your heart and show it to you, but the surgeon will tell everyone at the country club that you cried like a girl.
How can I tell the difference, you may ask? There are no hard-and-fast rules, but I will make something up.
Surgeons generally carry much smaller knives than ninjas. This works well, unless you happen to get a ninja whos really secure in his masculinity.
Ninjas tend to be Japanese. If its a white guy, hes probably a surgeon. This is of no help if hes a surgeon of Asian descent, however.
Surgeons tend to wear much more colorful outfits. If hes dressed head-to-toe in lime green or his outfit has a floral pattern, chances are hes a surgeon. However, many modern ninjas have ditched the traditional black outfits in favor of more colorful garb. If hes in bright pink, your guess is as good as mine.
Armed with this knowledge, you have a good chance to correctly identify the masked man and forestall a disemboweling or some vicious gossip.
If you think its a ninja, say: Ohio! Watashi-wa, shobosha-desu!
Literal translation: Good morning! I am a fire truck!
The ninja will laugh and probably only mutilate you a little before vanishing in a puff of smoke.
If you think its a surgeon, say: I wanted to be a doctor, but just didnt have the patience!
Literal translation: I wanted to be a doctor, but just didnt have the patience!
The surgeon will give a tired laugh, as he has heard the joke a billion times and roll his eyes as he continues on to his Mercedes.
Armed with this knowledge, you can safely wander through dark alleys, reasonably certain your life and reputation will remain intact.
Warning: wandering through dark alleys is dangerous. You could trip, fall on a rusty nail, and get lockjaw. We are totally not responsible if that happens.
Cheers,
-Jason
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