Secrets of the Ninja Part 1: The Basics

CHAPTER ONE PART ONE: THE BASICS OF NINJITSU

Welcome, I am he who shall not be named, but if you must then you shall name me MASTER, in all capital letters. I was looking at the internet recently and discovered how much garbage there is regarding the sacred Ninja tradition, it makes me want to rip your throat out and sautee it with some poisonous mushrooms and then feed it back to you while you are still alive.
What I hope to accomplish here is to crush and make weak all those who defile the name of NINJITSU. Gaiden? Shinobi? Turtles?! HA! CHILD'S PLAY-THINGS! Avatar the Last Airbender!? I hate that little Buddhist freak. Speaking of childs, do they not realize that Karate lessons are futile since they are still too young and pre-pubescent to inflict a killing blow on a human adult? HA HA HA! Scum! In my village children must till the rice with bare hands and sharpen the MASTER's blade with their tongues until the day comes when they are truly prepared to learn the necessary skills.
This is the only lesson you need. Every other book you own, destroy with fire. Destroy your loved ones also, their affection and care (and calling your cell phone asking you to pick up the dry cleaning) will only hinder your path to true invisibility.

Q: What is ninjitsu?

A: If you have to ask this question then it is likely that I have already climbed down your chimney and poked you in the eye with a hot coal poker thing. NEXT QUESTION!

Q: Are you wielding a ball-peen hammer in that photograph? If so, why? Is it a traditional ninja weapon?

A: Are you a traditional ninja weapon!? Listen, yes, I am, and no, it's not...but who's going to notice the difference whether they were killed by a huge sword or a plastic lunch fork. Dead is dead, and the hammer was there, so I used it. Get over it. If I were where you are now I would smash your face in with your keyboard and then strangle you with the mouse chord. If it's a wireless mouse then I'll blind you with the infrared light on the bottom. NEXT QUESTION!

Q: If I become a ninja will I be allowed to use guns?

A: Sure, why not, and while you're at it why not just fly around in an airplane and drop bombs on people like the loser from Aero Fighters 2...
My life is lonely and difficult, wah! Wah! Instead of tracking my prey for thousands of miles and then engaging him in a three hour duel like a real ninja I just fly around and drop bombs from the safety of my airplane, waaaahh!
In case you missed it I was being sarcastic. NO, YOU CANNOT USE A GUN! If you want to go duck hunting like a redneck then THIS IS NOT THE PROFESSION FOR YOU! Real life is NOT like Walker the Texas Ranger. 99.9% of the time you will shoot your enemy in the face given the option...so we strip you of that option and force you to think of all the creative ways in which you can end a life. You are totally missing the point of ninjitsu if you think it's "lonely and difficult", probably because you're confusing the ARMY and AIR FORCE with BEING A NINJA ON THE GROUND KILLING PEOPLE AND GETTING HOT BABES. At least HALF of a ninja's skills are employed in the evasion of groupies...HALF!!! And if there is one thing I have learned it is that HOT BABES will always choose the man in black with the blood soaked katana. While you're busy reloading your musket, I've already disappeared in a puff of smoke with all the babes. If there is one thing to remember, NINJA = ROCK STAR x 10. We are NOT Monks, Samurai or Jedi Knights. After the training is complete there is no, I repeat NO, self control or sacrifice involved.

Q: Is there a dress code for being a ninja?

A: YES, THERE IS A DRESS CODE! And NO you cannot dress up in your World of Warcraft cosplay or pretend to be a Ninja Pirate or Ninja Cowboy or Ninja Indian. Also, Ryu and Ken are not ninjas, and neither is Goku, or Naruto, or the Power Rangers (except for Tommy, he was neat) so STOP ASKING! The rules are very clear, many of which are taken advantage of and stretched to obscene limits by so-called "Ninjas" (Gaiden, I'm talking to you. Stop riding the fence, you're either a Ninja or a Samurai. PICK ONE!)

Different Ninja colors:
Here is what you need to know about the various colors: each one is assigned to certain levels of skill, and while you are of that particular skill you must viciously attack the other kinds of ninjas (as well as repel ambushes that occur at the most inconvenient times). In other words, we are in constant battle against rival ninja factions. Every color but your own = EVIL. THE ENEMY.
The Ninja Turtles would lead you to believe that there are also purple, orange and blue ninjas, but that is just silly. Have I ever mentioned how crazy I am for turtle meat?

Level ONE and TWO: Black Ninja and American Ninja

Your basic level one black ninjas are the biggest pieces of scum on earth. They are the Tito Jacksons of the ninja world...blubbering, dime-a-dozen idiots who couldn't sneak into a starbucks for a latte. Notice how easily and submissively he is being beaten down by the American ninja, truly pathetic. Yes, I know, black ninjas are the most "iconic" of all ninjas, but that's only because they are SEEN the most. I kill literally HUNDREDS of black ninjas throughout the day without even realizing it, they're like flies on a windshield. Total scum.
Notable blacks include: the "ninjas" from Mortal Kombat, if they can even be called that...freaks.

Next on the food chain is the American Ninja. With greater financial backing and a nuclear arsenal to cover up any mistakes that may occur during ninja-ing, this ninja pulls slightly higher rank than the traditional black ninja. In other words, they're just as crappy as black ninjas and I could kick them in the face I hate them so much...and always with the moral angle on everything, "Waaah! I have to avenge this, waaaah! I need to right this wrong." Etc, etc. Seriously, do we ALWAYS need a legitimate reason to kill things? Idiots.
Notable stupid American Ninjas include: Chuck Norris, Bruce Wayne, Snakeyes, Cole, Joe.


Next are red ninjas, the commie bastards of ninjadom. These flamboyant killers take pride in being the most annoying they can possibly be. EVERYWHERE, all the time, it's red ninjas here, red ninjas there! They appear from nowhere no matter where you go. I'm at the grocery store and, look, hey, it's a red ninja in the produce isle. Of course you just kill them all and go about your day but it is very frustrating. The most you can do for some peace and quite is either; hire some Mexican ninjas to keep a lookout at your apartment, or set a trap using tacos. It is a well known fact that red ninjas are cuckoo for hardshell tacos. And the costumes...garbage! The only time they provide effective cover is if you're working in a cranberry bog or flying through a bloodstorm of your own creation. But that probably means you've already killed half the town's population already, so it's a little late by that point.
Very few of this type of ninja are found in popular culture, mostly because they suck. There's Strider Hiryu with his stupid spiky hair and then there's Elektra, except she's a woman...and women ninjas are laughable at best. HA HA HA! Well, Cho's Granny in Revenge of the Ninja held her own pretty well until Braden shoved a sword through the wall and, by result, through her spleen. HA! Only women and red ninjas hide in walls.
On a related note, wasn't it really great (for a black ninja) when Cho beats up the Village People on the children's playground. Yes, great scene. It would have been better if a few of the kiddies had by-accidents.

Thirdly we have the white ninja, the most holy and magnificent of ninja warriors, of which I happen to be. Like a pure, elegant snowflake we glide silently and then attack with the viciousness of a snow monkey. So precise is our methodology that we rarely have to remove stains from our death shrouds. Even the victims will likely not show any signs of trauma though their major organs be missing...most of the time they don't even know they were struck until the top of their skull slides off into their bowl of Cheerios.
Famous white ninjas: Me, Storm Shadow, Raiden, Master Splinter, Gandalf.

And finally we have the elusive nude ninjas who, even more-so than white, have fully transcended the need for physical concealment. Steven Seagal is rumoured to be one but it is hard to know who and where since White ninjas on the cusp of nudehood are rarely (if ever) heard from again.

That is all for today's lesson. Thanks for all the stupid questions. You were a pathetic student. You learn nothing...scum! Next week I will give some practical tips for stalking women as well as answer the question: do we have a license to kill? No, but when has that stopped us before.

Thoughts on Big Whiskey & the Groo Grux King

Ever since the meltdown that ensued in the aftermath of the abandoned Lillywhite Sessions the Dave Matthews Band has managed to avoid the fade into total irrelevance suffered by many of their 90's pop counterparts. Due in part to their ongoing enthusiasm for live performance and their ability to give birth to new songs and allow them grow over the course of a tour. My biggest gripe in recent years, however, is seeing them come up with some genuinely interesting tunes (Loving Wings, Sugar Will, Good, Good Time) that seem to fade quickly into the memories of all but the hardcore fans, rarely seeing the light of a recording studio. Somewhere from tour's end to the studio the band feels inclined only to start fresh and give themselves another motivation for touring... As opposed to collecting and sorting out their newly budding works. It started with Everyday and since then Dave seems to have been looking for a way to keep the band relevant and interesting for not only himself but for his band mates. Trying new producers, new sounds, trying to give something new to the fans. Trying to balance a whole plethora of expectations and keep a good thing going without worrying about creating a masterpiece.
And so, reconciling the need for a fresh approach started to become the band's mantra. A preoccupation that resulted in mediocre albums, compounded by 2005's paper thin Stand Up. An album that sounds like a band trying to have fun, but who have become too lazy to write songs that are actually fun.
Fast forward to 2009 after the unfortunate death of saxophonist LeRoi Moore. Death is always some sort of a catalyst for art but I find conjecturing about it's relevance as a means to success distasteful. It is a powerful agent of change, needless to say, and represents a major signpost and moment of reflection for any long-lived group. And, I believe, what happened next would either signify the group's death or it's rebirth, rarely ever is there an in-between.
Because I used to consider myself a fan I felt at least a little compelled to check out their next project and give it a fair yea or nay. Even with the jaded attitude that comes from two or three albums worth of downhill disappointment (and its effect on my first listening) I have to admit it wasn't difficult at all to allow myself to be absorbed by the mood of this album. Where with Stand Up and Busted Stuff I was either grasping desperately for something to love or trying to remember why a song was good. With Big Whiskey I'm able (for the first time in a long time) to sit and enjoy the flow of the overall work. You can tell that the band is finally relaxed and making natural decisions in their songwriting.
Dave says this is their best album. Clearly that isn't the case. Before These Crowded Streets is untouchable, a once-in-a-lifetime sort of album that captures the entire group at their pinnacle. That's not to take away from what they've done here though. Big Whiskey is a return, of sorts, to renewed interest...at the very least. Maybe not in the same ballpark as the original three but certainly a step up from the bottom of the barrel they've been scraping the last few studio outings. Some of the issues that I believe keep this material short of excellence are; the lazily authored lyrical content (nothing new as far as Dave is concerned but it's probably better if he just keeps mumbling like he used to), their inclination toward attention deficient pop stylings that often forgo the subtle in favor of the "jam". And finally, the "official" exclusion of Boyd Tinsley who hasn't been relevant to a Dave Matthews Band album since 2000 and all but disappears here, leaving us with the Dave Matthews Trio. It's not the same Band anymore and it's certainly not the same understated Tim Reynolds either. No longer can we as fans fantasize about reclaiming the glory days of the "old sound" because it's gone. What they have found, fortunately, is a new magic that they can call their own. One that might be enough to light their creative fires for the forseeable future.

Dave Matthews Band Big Whiskey & Groo Grux King: 7.875/10

This isn't a Stick-Up, It's a Freak Out

After looking over my current bank statement I began thinking about the exciting possibility of robbing a bank. It seemed only natural I thought to go directly to the source. But I wanted to steer clear of the boring and predictable armed robbery route so I decided to try something that was crazy, but not so crazy that a jury of my peers would send me to the gas chamber of secrets...
After weighing several options... such as; a reverse pyramid scheme, something involving a hot air balloon and or gyrocopter, asking nicely while gradually increasing in desperation, and a plan to turn every employee into an accomplice by blackmailing them with photos I would doctor on MS Paint...I finally decided on constructing an elaborate heist based on a good old-fashioned, P-Funk freak out. Activities that are normally mundane such as following yellow brick roads and touring candy factories are often turned into freak fests when they're combined with certain "elements", and by elements I mean drugs...and the exploitation of those suffering from their effects by subjecting them to jarring contrasts of happy and surreal. So, why not wield that power in a way that's beneficial to me.
Here's the plan, as read by the formerly deceased Vincent Price:

The foulest stench is in the air
The funk of forty thousand years
And grizzly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom

Yes. I just copied that from Thriller. Anyway, cowering in anticipation and be-wonderment the bank denizens will gasp and clutch their children as the glass doors dramatically open; revealing I (sporting a cane and top hat) and four or five midgets emerging from the purple haze. Tip-toeing at first, sneaking through the shroud of smoke to the sound of rattling change and printed receipts. Stepping in time with my gun-wielding Munchkins, and Oompas and Ewoks until the famous bass line of Pink Floyd's Money starts in.
Thump, bum-ba-dum...
In perfect synchronous terror we skip and prance two by two among the bystanders with money bags outstretched. Without a word the helpless and awestruck victims drop their valuables inside while the ghoulish parade continues before their eyes. Midgets appear from drawers and handbags and suddenly the room is flooded with bizarre creatures from all rings of hell. Here the come jesters, 1, 2, 3...Plasticine porters with looking glass ties...crystal blue persuasion...incense and peppermints...fire walk with me! The walls begin to melt...goo-goo-ga-choo.
Meanwhile I begin to recite Wonka's wonderous boat ride speech.
"I'm high on the drugs!" screams an elderly woman as she throws herself out the nearest window.
And still, not a single word of protest or ultimatum given, because even the bravest of men do not want their linens soiled by the greasy hands of a gnome. The security guard stands poised inches away from the alarm but is frozen, and may never recover, and may never testify. For he knows that:

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting,
For fear of little men.

It's that simple! And then off I scamper with a briefcase full of loot to catch the next flight to Ooomp-Loompa Land.