The Ninja Mitzvah: Part 2

Okay, here's Part 2 of the Ninja Mitvah. You should probably read Part 1 and Part 3 of the Ninja Mitzvah to acquaint yourself with the rest of the story.

Well, the Ninja Mitzvah went well. A fun time was had by all and everyone made it out with the same amount of fingers and toes that they came in with. Who could ask for more than that? After the ceremony, following our family’s tradition, we infiltrated a rival clan’s celebration and killed everyone who refused to support the Meiji Emperor’s appointment to the Japanese throne. Most of the people at the wedding had no idea what we were talking about so we killed them too. At first the bride and groom were upset, but when they realized that we had decapitated the guy who owned the catering hall and that they wouldn’t have to pay the balance of their bill, they invited us to sit down and have dinner with them. Since there were many dead guests, there were plenty of entrees to go around. You had a choice of herb crusted chicken or filet mignon. Good times!

Back to the story:

On the way down to the event, I had some blogworthy events. I got to drive the Ninja Heavy Armoured Assault Vehicle (“NHAAV”). I wasn’t used to it. The windows are small and it’s got more blind spots than Bush’s Iraq strategy, but it’s awesome to drive. Within the first 45 minutes, I almost got into an accident on the highway, but the NHAAV is so powerful that I didn’t even care. I felt invincible. I felt like I could take any lane I wanted and people would have to just get out my way because my NHAAV would demolish their little hybrid Toyotas, I felt like, well, like one of those assholes who drives a hummer…and I liked it. I think I could get used to being an asshole. Now I know how my brother feels 24 hours a day. I began to think about correlation and causation. Maybe people didn't drive giant SUVs because they are assholes, maybe they are assholes because they drive big SUVs. I asked my Dad how he liked driving the NHAAV.

Ninja: Did you ever run anyone over in this thing?

Dad: No…not yet. Heh heh heh. Don’t put that in your blog.

Ninja: Okay I won’t.

Oh man, look at this grill. This thing would be invincible in a zombie attack. You almost want the undead to rise up and roam the earth just so that you could show them you are not one to be fcuked with.










On the way down, I also saw a car on the side of the highway that was literally on fire. The woman ran out of her car and people were stopping to help her. I tried to get my dad to stop the NHAAV.

Ninja: Oh man! That car’s on fire, quick pull over!

Dad: Are you gonna try to help her?

Ninja: No! I wanna take a picture for my blog!

Unfortunately, Dad didn’t want to stop and by the time I got my camera out of my bookbag, we were passed the scene. Here is a picture that Mysterygirl drew to give you an idea.

I described what happened and she sent me this pic. I forgot to specify that the people were wearing clothes so she, apparently, drew them naked (but thankfully not anatomically correct, because this is a family blog). In her defense, I guess I didn't say that weren't naked, but (other than people in New Jersey) what kind of mental defective drives down the highway naked?


The ceremony itself was pretty interesting. I'd been to a few Bar/Bat Mitzvah parties when I was a kid, but never to the actual event. I got to phonetically sing in Hebrew, how cool is that? Shabat Shalom, bitchez!

Because photography is not allowed in a Temple, I was told by some of my Jewish relatives to get as many shots off as possible before the rabbi stops me, then plead catholic ignorance at the sacrilege I was committing. This didn’t seem plausible to me, because you’re probably not allowed to take pictures in Catholic Church either (actually, you’re not allowed to do much of anything in Catholic church except wallow in your own guilt). But I did it, and I immortalized my cousins’ transformation from boys to men.

At the Bar Mitzvah party, there were the usual jokes about the incongruity of their chronigical age with their being considered men. In the jewish faith, doing a bar mitzvah marks your transition from a boy to a man. Since I'm not jewish I became a man when I hunted and killed a bear using nothing but a compass, a bow and arrow and a loin cloth. Embarrassingly, I don't know how to use a bow and arrow, so when confronted by the bear I had to think of some other way to kill him. So I took off my loin cloth, and when the bear was distracted by staring at my junk (it was a female bear), I threw the compass at it's head and killed it.

Since my cousins are now adults, as their attorney I have advised them not to mention this ceremony if they are caught with a with over a kilo and the judge is considering charging them as adults. I have also sent a retainer to the Playaz to establish a legal defense fund for them.

After the event, I spent some time hanging out with my friend Double Down’s little sister, who is now semi-semi-famous. Apparently, she was in some commercial which is on TV in NYC every five minutes. She plays “Mairsol” a girl from Puerto Rrrrrrrico who is married to Russ, from North Dakota. This unlikely pairing required them to get a phone service with a long-distance plan that would allow them to call his redneck family in North Dakota and her racistly stereotypical Latin family in Puerto Rico for the same basic calling rate, with unlimited night and weekend calling. It’s for some Cable company in NYC which I’m not familiar with. (when I lived in NY, it sucked so bad that we didn’t even have cable…okay, I made that up, we did have cable, but it still sucked),

Anyway, it turns out that she is also a veejay on MTV. And she's living in sin with some semi-famous Latin music singer who's got a record deal with Sony. You can here some of his stuff here.


The reception was out of this world. I’ve seen a lot of weddings that were nowhere near as extravagant as this. It cost as much as my sister paid for her first house in Florida. I didn't take a picture of all the cool stuff, but this I had to immortalize:




The ice sculpture is something else, but those birds and the heart are carved out of a watermelon. Right now there is some guy in Long Island going to bars and talking to chicks and when they ask what he does for a living, he says "I make watermelon birds." Wow.



And here are the monogram thingies at the tables.


I didn't take a pic of all the food (because I'm not a loon) but this was interesting. Look at the chocolate covered strawberry. They used white and dark chocolate to make it look like a tuxedo. A little chocolate tuxedo.



I'll post the family pics next time because there are a lot of them and I suck with pictures. I know what you're thinking. I shouldn't have done Part 3 before Part 2, because now what will I call the post with pictures. That's a good question. We'll either call it Ninja Mitzvah Part 2.5 or maybe we'll call it the Appendix. Sort of like the reference section of a book, except with pictures of good looking people instead of the names of books.

Truth is stranger than fiction

There are things that one is never too young to learn. Among those, are fixing stuff and killing people. I bought my nephew toy power tools because he's already four, so he's old enough to tackle some rudimentary home improvement projects.



"Okay, I'll make you a shed, but I'm a union carpenter, so I gotta overcharge you, even though you're family."






I have fond memories of going hunting with my grandfather in Argentina when I was a little five year old. I remember when he killed an animal and ritualistically rubbed some blood on my cheeks to honor the occasion. I cried when he did it. But not because it's terrifying to a five year old to watch an adult kill something in front of you and wipe his bloody hands on your face. I was five, but even then I was too much of a man to cry for no reason like that. I was crying because, I, like, uhhh, pulled a muscle when I was uhhh, working on a transmission or something. What?

Anyway, I used to think that five years old is kinda young to teach a child how to kill something, but apparently I was a late bloomer. There's a guy in Illinois who got his son, Bubba (no, I'm not making this up) a license to own a gun. Bubba is 10 months old, by the way. You can read about it Here.

I have no idea if li'l Bubba can fix stuff around the house, but if he can handle a gun at 10 months old, I think that makes him an honorary ninja.

Progress Report and Abandoned Blogsperiments

I'm going to be posting less over the summer because

1. it's nice out and blogging requires me to stay inside;
2. I'm making some house progress, but I need pics to show you and posting pics is hard, even with a MacBook, if you're as technologically ignorant as me;
3. I have a job interview in NYC that I'm prepping for and if that job comes through, I may take it and quit blogging completely, so it might be good to cut down on it little by little;
   
4. I'm busy with stuff that I don't blog about.
   

But...I will try to post once a week for the time being. To fill you in on future happenings on this site:

1. Part 2 of the Ninja Mitzvah is almost finished. It's some of my finest work, which isn't saying much. You'll laugh, you'll cry...it will be like when Father Murphy had that tickle fight with you and the altar boys and decided to make it "shirts vs. skins" and things got weird all of a sudden.
   
2. I'll post some pics of the Kitchen Cabinets so far and the structural issue I need to address before I go further. Farther? Ummm, before I proceed.
   
3. I pick up the Tux on Wednesday, so I'll try to take pics and show you people. It's getting alterations now, so I don't know if it will require more than one fitting.
4. I signed up for that Donald Trump "way to wealth" seminar, after watching the annoying infomercials. I don't plan on buying more real estate (or his program), but I figured it would be cool to meet The Donald, and then make inappropriate cliche'd jokes about his hair, and his fondness for eastern european models that are half his age on my blog. The seminar is next week.
   

In the meantime: when I was bored with this blog I thought of doing a few features (blog experiments) and see how they go. Ultimately, I abandoned them all because I'm too lazy, errr, busy to do them, but here are the abandoned blogsperiments and plausible excuses as to why I didn't go through with them. If someone else wants to do them I don't mind, as long as you give me credit. And by credit, I mean cash.



Blogebrity Impersonator: In this experiment, I was going to guest post on certain “in character” blogs as the person who’s writing the blog. For instance, I guest post on your blog, pretending to be you.

Why I decided against it: There were a few character driven blogs or blogs that had a Schtick that I wanted to guest post on (like El Guapo or Jordan Baker’s Friday Q&A), but the one celebrity impersonation that I think I would’ve been best at, The Anonymous Lawyer, turned it down. So without that blog, I decided against it. If I went ahead with it, it would like going to Florence and not being overcharged to see Michaelangelo’s David. It would be like going to a strip club and not being told “if you touch my breasticles again I’m gonna break your fingers.” You sorta need the defining experience to pull it off. Anyway, if you 'd like for me to do it, send Anonymous Lawyer some nasty emails until he agrees, then buy his book on Amazon, to make it up to him.



Celebrity Interviews: I thought some celebrity interviews would be a good way to eventually get Judy Greer or Rachel McHottie to call me. Since I don’t know any famous people, I figured I would call up other bloggers I know and have them answer my questions by pretending to be the celebrity and using only information contained in Wikipedia.

Why I decided against it: I dunno. It seems like a lot of work. Who would I get to do the interviews? What if I didn’t like the answers? What if the blogger wanted to be some other celebrity. For instance, who would want to be Rosie O’Donnel, even if it was only make believe. Plus, if I did it on the phone I’d have to write it down, if I did it by email, I couldn’t ask follow up questions. IM, maybe?



Figuring out Women: Since several women have told me that if you want to understand women you should watch Sex and The City, and since it’s on in reruns every day, I figured I would watch it everyday for a month and discuss my thoughts on the show like once a week or something.

Why I decided against it: I watched the show for a week and a half, then I started getting stomach pains. When I went to the emergency room, the doctor told me that I was growing an ovary and that I should never watch SATC again. He said I was extremely lucky that they caught it before it was irreversible. If I had watched Grey’s Anatomy instead, I would have grown a uterus, which is incurable. So luckily I watched the show that has the chick with the horse face instead.


This Blog Writes Itself: In an homage to the retired Diet Coke of Evil, I was gonna have people make suggestions about what I should write about, and then I would write about it. For instance, some one could say “tell us about the first time you ever tried alcohol” I would write about the time I was in High School at a house party and a cute girl wanted to do a shot of vodka with me (I had never even tried beer before that). And how I tried to down it like I’d seen in the movies, but the vodka burned my mouth and I spit it out all over her Madonna-inspired hoochie wear. You know, stuff like that.

Why I decided against it: Felt too much like a Meme, which I don’t really do.



More Posts About Celebrities that I want to Nail: Although there are entire fan websites that do nothing but post pics and discussion about Judy Greer and Rachel McAdams, oops, McHottie, there are at least 8 other hotties on my Top 10 List of Celebrities that I would leave my future wife for. (Technically, I have 15 girls in my top 10 list, but I’m a lawyer so I can get away with stuff like that). So I thought about posting stuff about the other celebrities that I’m not-so-secretly in love with and why I want to nail them above everyone except 14 other women in the universe.

Why I decided against it: Eh? Do you really care about why I’d rather nail Eva Green than Angelina Jolie?

Audience Participation

Okay, I need some audience participation from the people in DC. I need to buy a Tuxedo sometime in the next couple of weeks. Now, read that carefully, I need to BUY a tuxedo, not rent one. I won't wear someone else's pants. EVER. There are three things that you should never rent or buy used:

1. Bubble gum;
2. hypodermic needles;
   
3. things that go on your crotch.
   

So what I need from you people is a place that sells tuxedos. I went to one tuxedo place--the one on P Street next to my tanning salon (stop laughing, you know you go there too)--and the guy showed me the rentable tuxedos, but the ones that you can buy only exist in the sample books. And I'm not spending that kind of money on something that I can't try on first. I also tried that JPress place on L Street. But they only had one tuxedo. ONE Tuxedo!!!

Now, I know that some people look like douchebags, no matter what they are wearing.

Yes, I'm talking about you, Ryan Gossling. And since you're dating Rachel McHottie, who is second only to Judy Greer in my affections, this won't be the last time you are mocked on my blog. So get used to it, asshat.

Anyway, some people look like douchebags no matter what they wear, but I am not one of those douchebags....errr, people. I want a tux that makes me look good.


So here's what I'm looking for:

A nice classic tuxedo. Nothing funky

Not like this tool is wearing.






Something like this maybe:





But nothing that makes me look like a pussy.




In terms of price, something midrange. (like $600-$900) I don't need an Armani Tux, but I don't want a cheap one either. It should be something that I could wear again (although I probably won't).

So do you know of any places in DC/MD/VA that match that description?

Blog Day of Mourning

Today, Friday May 4th, my ex is getting married. So this will be an official blog day of mourning on my site. Of all my exes, she is probably the one who would've made the best wife.

It's kind of ironic that when we were dating I couldn't remember our anniversary or her birthday, but I remembered the day she is marrying someone else. But life if full of little ironies like that. It's ironic that people tell me I should have more common sense, but common sense is the thing that tells you that the earth is flat. It's ironic that the Jehova's Witnesses tell me that I should find Jesus, but when I found him, he said "tag...you're it!" It's ironic that we have the best university system in the world, but we elect a functional illiterate to lead us.

Today is also the day a friend is making a life-altering decision. I won't say more about it, but I'll discuss it over drinks and dinner tonight with my friend and few others and although I think my friend's mind is made up, at least we can discuss it over a less erudite and more vulgar version of the Algonquin Round Table.

Fogo de Owwwwwww

I participated in an eating contest at Fogo de Chao.

For those you that don’t know, Fogo de Chao is an upscale restaurant with all you can eat barbecue meat. I know that sounds like an Oxymoron but it’s true. The way it works is that you have a coaster on you table with a red side and a green side. If the green side is showing, people come around with slabs of meat on a spit and keep putting it on your plate until you give up and turn your disc to the red side. If the green side is up, the meat keeps coming until you turn that disc over or you die. If you die, they call an ambulance and throw a few pieces in a doggy bag for you to take to the morgue. They don’t mess around at Fogo, baby.

My friend Dirty Dave was visiting and I decided to challenge him to an eating contest to make up for the drinking contest I lost to him in 2000. The fabled Pre St. Patty’s day drinking contest was between me, Dave, U-Boat, Shamus McIrish and Fat Kid Who’s Name I forget.

Dirty Dave was sure his drinking prowess was unmatched. He had some advantages in his favor. He weighed about 30 lbs more than U-boat, or McIrish, (50 lbs more than me) and he’s from a rednecky place where people marry their cousins and start drinking when they’re still in diapers (which in this place, means when they are 10).

Now here’s some random facts about U-Boat. He’s from germany and his real name is Adelbert, but we call him U-Boat because we know it offends him. Actually, I think he’s exaggerating about how offensive he finds it, because it’s common knowledge that Germans love it when you make WWII jokes at their expense.

So FKWNIF dropped out after nine beers, even though he was the heaviest of all of us. I don’t buy his B.S. story that he “had a couple before he got there’. I tapped out at 12 beers and could barely stand. McIrish downed an impressive 15 beers, then threw up outside. He was just trying to get some air, but the beer had other ideas. U-Boat and Dave were up to 16 beers when the place closed and they agreed to continue the contest the next day (St. Patty’s Day).

U-Boat calls in at noon and is ready to start drinking again. Dave was so hungover, that he couldn’t even get up to walk his dog, and as a result, he ended up sleeping next to dog poop all night. He said “no mas” and conceded defeat. Victory for the Nazis…errr, I mean Germans.

Because I’m competitive, the fact that I came in fourth in a drinking contest has bothered me for the last 7 years. I couldn’t beat Dave at drinking, but I thought I might be able to beat him at eating. I put on about 20 lbs from stress eating when I thought I was gonna die, so I’m closer to his weight now. I’m also a pretty good eater. I ate 2.5 jumbo pizza slices once in Adams Morgan without breaking a sweat (it would’ve been 3 but the cabbie said I couldn’t bring food in the car).

The rules were simple, we each had to eat exactly what the other person ate, and the first person to flip his disc from green to red would lose.

I was holding my own against Dave, but I was clearly nearing full stomach capacity and that fat bastard was still going strong. Just when I was about to give up because I couldn’t eat anymore, I got a sign from the heavens: Filet Mignon wrapped in bacon.

Filet Mignon wrapped in Bacon!?! Now, I’ve told you before about how much I love bacon. Oh sweet, sweet bacon. If bacon was a girl, she would be sooooo hot. Now, Filet Mignon tastes awesome on it’s own, but there’s only two things I can think of that could possibly improve how enjoyable it is:

• 1) covering it in Heroin;
• 2) wrapping it in bacon.

Anything tastes good wrapped in Bacon. FACT! In fact, even if you wrapped an olive in bacon, I would think about eating it (although at the last minute I would probably come to my senses and eat the bacon and throw away the olive).

Eventually, Dave won the eating contest. After a while I couldn’t eat any more…even for bacon. I tried a few tricks (like covering the meat in Chimmichurri sauce when my body started to rebel at eating more proteins), but in the end, Dave was just too much of a fat bastard and sometimes a determined will is no match for a fat stomach. I think Sun Tzu said that.

The next day we went out drinking with him, Tiny, and a few girls. Eventually, it got late and Dave, me and Tiny ended up at a dive bar in G’Town.

Now I’ve seen Dirty Dave and Tiny do some questionable things* in the past, but that night I saw a rare display of chivalry. There was a young chick who was so drunk she could barely stand and four creepy arab guys were trying to drag her out of the club and probably date rape her. Tiny (who was a Division I wrestler with Dirty Dave) pulled the girl away and saved her. The creepy guys started yelling at DD and Tiny. They didn’t know I was with DD and Tiny, so I moved behind the creeps so that if one of them took a swing I would hit him from behind with my beer bottle. What? Oh, like you’ve never done that?

Luckily, after some yelling, and “we’ll be waiting for you outside” threats, the creepy guys left without me having to break a beer bottle against the back of their heads. It was almost a full bottle so it would’ve been a shame to waste it. Tiny and Dave then carried her up the stairs and put her in a cab and gave the cabbie $10 to drive her home. Just when I thought I didn’t know who these guys were, Tiny said to Dave “I think she liked you…you should’ve asked to squeeze her tit before she left.” Yep, that’s Tiny.

Then I started getting text messages from my friend who was at Wonderland and wanted me to meet her and some other people out. I couldn’t get Dave and Tiny to go, so I left them there and drove over.

Friend was out with a cougar who was on a date with a guy that was, literally, barely old enough to drink. Friend told me not mention how old the Cougar is. She said the Cougar met the kid online and he didn’t know she was 12 years older than him. Apparently, the kid was legally blind or brain damaged. Because he thought a track suit was acceptable to wear on a first date, I’m assuming he was brain damaged. There were, it turns out, a couple of bloggers there too, but I haven’t seen them mention this night yet, so I’ll let them remain anonymous (yes, I’m talking to you, Cougar).

Anyway, I’m tired of typing, so THE END.

Coming Soon: Part 2 of the Ninja Mitzvah story.

*I’ve mentioned before how Dirty Dave will “teabag” an unattended drink, but I’ve got a few Tiny stories that make that look tame. I'll keep them to myself since this is a PG-13 blog, and because I don't want to get my ass kicked.

Greenspan Still a Moron: Housing Thoughts

Whenever someone tells me I'm wrong about something, I usually assume they are morons, and I'm usually right. When I bought the Ninja Fortress, I anticipated a housing correction because of the stupid things that Greenspan was doing to the ecomony, but I thought that I was getting a good enough deal (and that the neighborhood was developing fast enough) that I would still do okay. The Washington Post has article Here about the housing situation proves I'm right about him.


Sales of previously owned homes in March fell 8.4 percent from February, the group reported. It was the largest one-month drop since sales plummeted 12.6 percent in January 1989, when the country was in a housing recession. It was also 11.3 percent below the number of units sold in March 2006.

Not surprisingly, industry shill David Lereah attributed the decline to "bad weather". Where did you go to college again, David? The housing bubble Greenspan created got people greedy about real estate. They saw other people make LOTS of money for doing nothing and figured "if it's raining gravy, why I am standing here with a fork" and they bought houses they didn't intend to own so they could sell them a few months later and double their money.

I actually met Alan Greenspan once, but I was in celebrity shock so I didn't tell him what I thought about the job he was doing.

Friend: Holy sh1t, man, we just shook Greenspan's hand. Alan Fcuking Greenspan, man!

Me: Yeah...but I forgot to call him an asshole.

If someone offered to loan me money so that I could buy a million dollar yacht, I wouldn't take them up on it because I have no business owning a million dollar yacht. So just because Greenspan made it possible for banks to offer lots of people enough money to buy homes that they couldn't afford, doesn't mean they should take him up on it either. After all, Alan's not the one who's gotta make the mortgage payments.

Greenspan created an artificial boom that made people feel like things were okay, but it has to be paid for eventually. It's like buying things on your credit credit card. You FEEL like you are doing okay because you have all this new stuff in your house, but then the bill comes and you're screwed. You can't make people richer by printing more money.* If you could, the government would just gear up the printing presses and send everyone a check for a million dollars? There are lots of millionaires in Turkey, unfortunately a million turkish dollars is worth about $0.18. And you don't know what disgusting is until you've seen a Turkish Toilet.

Unfortunately, Alan burned the dinner and now we all have to eat it. The drop in housing prices will mean people in the housing sector will get laid off. Greenspan is making great money on the lecture circuit though, so as long as his parachute opens, he doesn't care.

A lot of people who bought houses they couldn't afford, but figured they would sell them to a bigger sucker in 6 months will go into foreclosure and the banks will get burned and will be hesitant to make new loans. We'll be paying for his foolishness with higher interest rates.

I hate to say I told you so, Alan, but you suck!

*See the www,mises.org website on my sidebar for information on the Austrian Business Cycle Theory (for which Hayek won the Nobel Prize in Economics), which proves this point empirically.

YouTubey Goodness

In lieu of a real post, here's some random video entertainment from the net, that is work safe. I think of all the dumb marketing ideas by real estate developers, this is the dumbest. I found out about it from Boston Gal's website.

Here is a series of clips that were used as an internet marketing ploy by a homebuilder. It’s really odd. It features a plotline about their target buyer (a young urban professional who can afford a luxury condo, but isn’t really looking to buy one). The plot goes like this: girl breaks up with slacker boyfriend and moves in with flaming gay male friend. Meets metrosexual guy in building who they can’t decide is gay or straight. Girl discovers that he’s straight, and does what any single hetero gal in her shoes would do. She spends half a million dollars to buy a condo in his building in the hopes that it will get him to like her. Any girl can start going to the gym and highlighting her hair, but guys like it when a girl goes the extra mile and buys a condo in their building. It’s sorta sweet in a psycho hose beast kinda way.







Here is a clip that has three of my favorite things: Jennifer Love Hewitt; sweet, sweet breasticles; and Hanes underwear. I don’t have to explain why I love Jennifer Love Hewitt and her sweet, sweet breasticles, but a few words about Hanes are in order. As you may know from my investing site, Hanesbrands is my second largest position in the Ninja portfolio (after Smith and Wesson). I had hoped to get a 30% return in about a year, then sell it. It’s up more than 30% in 5 months, plus they are launching new products like this Comfort Soft bra and they just signed a contract with a big retailer who will carry their products in several thousand stores. $ $ $ Cha Ching $ $ $ So on behalf of my fortune, I encourage you all to wear Hanesbrands bras and panties (which includes Wonderbra, Playtex, Barely There and Just My Size). If you are working out, be sure to only wear Champion Brand sweats (also by Hanesbrands). Also, if I have stared at your sweet, sweet breasticles recently, I was “researching” this stock. I loooooove me some research.



Here is a video on How to Break Up. It’s educational as well as funny.




And here is a video that I found with some Northern Eagle Claw Kung Fu on it. It has some demonstrations of Grandmaster Shum doing some Wu Style Tai Chi self defense on it too. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Tai Chi, there are three kinds. Wu style, and the other two kinds, which are practiced by wimps. I think part of the reason that Tai Chi is so deadly is that it's practiced in slow motion by old people. I think, in combat, it's really demoralizing to your opponent if they get their ass kicked by an old man who is moving in slow motion, so it makes people unwilling to even fight you.

Back soon with a real post soon, hopefully.

Joining the Boycott

Velvet is a good friend. In the past she’s helped me paint my house, loaned me deviant porn (that she thinks she’s getting back), and told me when I was wearing clothes that were too close to the euro/gay line. So I won’t be attending the Happy Hour. Getting back at people by posting their real names and phone numbers on a website is not cool. So I won’t go to a Happy Hour with people who think that’s okay. And if you are thinking of going to a Happy Hour and revealing your identity to people who are so careless about safeguarding it, then lots of luck to you.

FREE PLUG: DC LINDY EXCHANGE

For those of you in the area looking for something to do this weekend, check out the DC Lindy Exchange. If you're wondering what that is, I'll pretend to know what I'm talking about. It's where swing dancers from all over come to DC to dance with the locals and trade moves. There will be events all day & night Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Some are free, some are not. Some have live bands, some have DJs. Anyway, you can find out more from the website. I plan on trying to go to a couple of events. If you see me there you can shake my hand if you're a guy or dance with me if you're a girl. You'll recognize me by my incredible swing dance moves that look suspiciously like salsa moves that are done to a different rhythm. Also, I'll be dressed in black and killing people between dances. See you there.

Random Thoughts on Housing and Shooting Yourself in the Face With Powertools

This is one of those times when I'll post something timely that is actually useful. Don't get used to it because I don't do it too often. Usually, if you if you learn something from here it will be despite my efforts, not because of it.

Here is an interesting article on housing in the NY Times. It makes the point that when house prices are really, really high, sometimes it makes more sense to rent rather than buy. I think they should've printed this 5 years ago. A lot of the problems that we are having in the real estate market would've been avoided if people kept in mind that buying is better than renting, but not if you buy at any price that would've been considered insane a few years ago. It sorta reminds me of the dot com era when a company with nothing but a website, like eToys (which never made any money) stock was selling at a price that made it worth more than twice as much as Toys R Us (which had billions in sales, lots of real stores and which actually turned a profit every year).

The article caught my eye because they mentioned Hollywood Florida, where my Dad used to live. He ended up selling his house about a year ago for what I thought was an outrageous price. A price that I can only attribute to the unrealistic expectations of buyers in the real estate market, or to heavy drug use.

Speaking of heavy drug use, here is another article that caught my eye in the news. It seems that nailgun injuries are up 200% from 5 years ago, mostly due to weekend warriors buying nailguns and shooting themselves with it. Now, I have a compressor and nailgun that I bought, so I find this particularly interesting. Especially since the nailgun has a safety that makes it unlikely that you could ever unintentionally hurt yourself unless you are really, really, careless or do something really, really stupid like the guy who shot himself in the face with his nailgun. I hope to be using my nailgun this weekend when I do some work in the MacGuyver kitchen, so I 'll keep this article in mind if I am tempted to see if my nailgun is working by holding it up to my face and pulling the trigger.

In other news, I've avoided mentioning dating in this blog because I want to keep this blog focussed on ninjas and toilets. But since I found out that I am not going to die, I started dating again. I don't think I want to turn this into a dating blog because only chicks write dating blogs, and I don't have a uterus (although I was worried that I might have grown one when I was forced to watch an episode and a half of Grey's Anatomy). But I have some thoughts on it. Anyway, a prominent chick dating blogger said she would publish my screeds on dating if I sent them to her. Should I do that and tell you where it is? Or do you people want to read it here? I don't want to set up another blog for dating because I already have a second blog and it's too much work (although my Investing Site kicks ass, if I do say so myself), but I don't want this site to be a random collection of eclectic things that don't match. If you want that, you can just go to my grandmother's living room and look at her curio cabinet. Anyway, so do you internets want me to post stuff about it here, or on another site.

(by the way, this will be general dating stuff, I won't mention specific incidents because it's disrespectful).

Random Stuff about Easter, Passover and Heart Disease

I'll step out of character for a minute to tell you people to check out this NY Times Article on Heart Disease. (free registration required). And if anyone has a history of heart disease in your family, please get yourself checked out.

Back to randomness:

Easter came and went with no big deal. In honor of the Baby Jeebus, today I will eat a chocolate bunny in silent solemnity. A chocolate bunny that I was too lazy to get out of my car on Sunday because it was cold out.

Also, Happy Passover to our Jewish readers. As many of you are aware, although I'm Catholic, I observe Passover because it's a holiday that is sacred to the Ninja. Thousands of years ago, the Lord sent his ninja, the angel of death, to kill the first born child of every egyptian in the middle of the night. All I have to say about that is: MAD SKILLZ!

And finally, I'll start posting some pics fo the progress in the MacGuyver kitchen hopefully this week (which means probably next week).

The Ninja Mitzvah: Part 3

Okay, if you're wondering what the hell happened to Part 2, it's still in the works because it's got a lot of pics and me working a computer is like George Bush trying to do calculus. Anyway, so assume I told you about the actual event and reception and I'm on my way home.

The night before, The Bensonhurst Kid and his wife come up to Long Island (pronounced "Lawwhng-EYE-lind") to show me their new baby. It was a really cute poopy factory, let me tell you. The Bensonhurst Kid and I have been friends since we were about 14, so it was good to see him again and especially good to see his new baby. He had been married before and his pregnant wife died in the Twin Towers on 9/11, so it messed him up pretty bad after that. But he's a fighter (I mean that literally, he was a kickboxer) and he doesn't go down no matter how hard you hit him. So it's good to see him back like his old self again. Anyway, I won't post a pic of him out of respect for his privacy.

Monday morning I decided to stay a while in manhattan and catch the last Amtrak back to DC (the train costs more than flying, but it's worth it). I was going to meet my friend Double Down, a blogger who said she had a blog crush on me, and my imaginary girlfriend (who works with the Bensonhurst kid and has a real life non-blog crush on me).

Double Down works at a big investment bank. I have a LOT of good stories about when we were growing up, but I won't mention them on here because they make me look as bad as they do him. But I will say that if I ever have kids, I will make them play little league soccer on the same team that I did. I don't know what it was about that team, but most of the kids who played on it are doing pretty well (except for the one who died). There's a doctor, a lawyer (me), an investment banker, an executive at a drug company and a few others.

Here's a pic of me and Double Down at his desk, where he is a very big deal. His office has many leather-bound books and smells of rich mahogany, if you know what I mean. He showed me his trading desk, which has 4 computer screens going at the same time. Luckily it's at work. At home, I think with four computer screens and a T1 line you could overdose on p0rn, if you're not careful, but whatever.


Anyway, we met at a bar near Double Down's offices. I arranged to meet him, blogger and Imaginary girlfriend all at the same time. This was interesting since none of them knew each other beforehand. It was either gonna’ be lot of fun, or a blurb in the crime section of the NY Post. (“mediocre lawyer and prominent banker beaten to death by irate internet dates”). It was fun though. There were many jokes made, and lots of double entendres were bandied about without any drinks or pepper spray in my face. We met at an Irish bar which refined the art of fried cuisine to some disturbing heights. I didn't know what my imaginary girlfriend looked like, but she was pretty cute. She was a Brazilian girl, who in the US would be considered a light skinned black girl, or a dark skinned latina. I'm only saying that to give you people an idea of what she looked like. Because I'm not prejudiced I don't even notice skin color when I talk to people...only breast size. Hers were nice, after I got her to take her coat off, I started picturing what they would look like in Carnaval. Niiiice. She was pretty impressed with Double Down's ability to speak Portuguese (he lived in Brazil for a couple of years on business). At first I thought someone else was her because before she arrived, she was on the phone telling me that she couldn't find the place, when another girl walked in front of the window who also talking on the phone and looking around like she was lost.

Ninja: what do you mean you can't find it? You just walked right past it, I'm looking right at you.

Girl: No you're not. What do I look like?

Ninja: You're an angry Chinese woman in your late 30s.

Girl: Uhhhh...what?

Ninja: Oh, excuse me...."Asian".

After a while, the Girl who Blogs, came in. And I have to say, she was a cutie. She was tiiiiny. Less than 5' tall (she wouldn't say how much less) and she talks like she blogs, which is a good thing because I like her blog. If I lived in NY and she had bad taste in men, I would definitely date her. Anyway, she gave me a shout out on the Dr. Blogsteins radio talk show the other day. After several drinks and appetizers soaked in trans fats, we left for the evening. I made it back to the train station with 10 minutes to spare and caught the 10:05 train. If I had missed that one, the next train to DC left at 3am, and that would leave me 5 hours with nothing to do except talk to the homeless people in Penn Station about conspiracy theories. I had a book with me that I bought for the train, which quite frankly sucked, so I probably would prefer talking to homeless people or Tranny Hookers (Hi Porter Goss!!!) than finish that book.

Anyway, I'm back now, and I'm making some progress on the ninja fortress. Next week I'll also start back at the gym and stop eating crappy food. I was eating like a fat girl sitting home from the prom for the past couple of months because, well, I thought I might die, so I didn't think it really mattered. But now I'm planning on getting back in shape. Technically, I'm in shape now, but I'd like to be in a shape that doesn't resemble a barrel.


Looking at this pic you can kinda tell that I put on some weight since November. I am no longer at 10% body fat, but I don't want to know the new percentage because it doesn't really matter. I'm not a fatass, but I look forward to getting back to fighting weight.

Normal

Yesterday I had one of the greatest days in my life. I had a complete stranger tell me that I was normal. That may sound like nothing, but the complete stranger was a cardiologist so the fact that he said I was normal was better than winning the lottery. For the past couple of months I've put on a few pounds and several grey hairs worrying about the results of a sonogram that I had done on my heart. Readers of my blog will remember that a few months ago I was bragging about the results of some special tests I had done. I also mentioned that the technician did a sonogram of my heart and told me that they would mail the test to a cardiologist who would mail me back the results. I got the results back on Valentine's Day. The irony of getting a letter on Valentine's Day that said I could potentially die of a broken heart was not lost on me.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. If the worst thing you could do to a paranoid person is follow them around with black helicopters, the worst thing you could do to a hypochondriac is to tell them that there is something wrong with them; something fatal. After I had a physical, I scheduled an appointment with a cardiologist. The referring doc said it was "probably nothing" but not to exercise in the meantime...just in case. I wanted to be reassured, but I wasn't. It's like when the police tell you that you're not a suspect, but that you shouldn't leave town. The doctor said the results had "TDS" or Technically Difficult Study written on them, meaning it was difficult for them to get a good picture of my heart, which might be why something looked abnormal to them. Shit. "Abnormal". I get freaked out even typing that word.

After worrying that I, literally, might die, the word "normal" has never sounded so good to me. After another sonogram, which involved a hot nurse (no, really, really hot) rubbing gel on my macho ninja chest, and a stress test which involved me running on a treadmill while being hooked up to more wires than the back of my computer, the results were: NORMAL. Although the other tests I took before all said that I was exceptional in every way--Ninja-esque, in fact. I was ecstatic that I was "normal;" more than ecstatic in fact. The man with more degrees than a thermometer and a strange accent said I was normal. THANK YOU, GOD!!!

The Ninja Mitzvah: Part 1

Well, I'm outta' town for the weekend. I'm in NY for a Bar Mitzvah (oh vey!). I know what you're thinking: Jewish Ninjas? Well, yes. Let's not forget the Taga Ninja Clan's 42nd grandmaster was Abraham Hirohito. He made two of the greatest contributions to the dark art of the shadow warrior.



Firstable, The ninja throwing star. Few people are aware that Abraham crafted the first throwing star out of a star of David. Legend has it that several ninja masters were invited over for a Passover dinner and one of the Shinobi inadvertently insulted his wife's Matzoh Ball soup. This particular ninja's command of the yiddish language was not what it should be and when he said he had to pee, he used the wrong verb in yiddish and inadvertently said the soup tastes like pee. Abraham grabbed the nearest table ornament, A star of David, and killed him. The eldest ninja grandmaster saw this remarkable feat and proclaimed that all Ninja warriors should begin using throwing stars as weapons. He also proclaimed that if anyone had to go to the bathroom, they should really, really, hold it 'till they get home.



He also came up with the idea of wearing black. Before him, ninja's would wear a uniform disguised to look like whatever they were hiding near. So if they were in the forest, the would wear a uniform that looked like a tree. If they were infiltrating a castle, they wore a uniform that looked like bricks and mortar. Abraham, using his connections in the Japanese Garment district, was able to get several hundred hasidic outfits (wholesale, no less!) and passed them out as gifts to his ninja friends during chanukah (the "c" is silent, just like a ninja...coincidence?).

So from then on, the ninjas started wearing black and throwing ninja stars...the end.




Before I left, I walked the 2 blocks from my office and attended the first couple hours of a Blogger Happy Hour. I saw BettyJoan (who it turns out I have some things in common with), Arjewtino (an Argentinian Jew who's probably related to me by marriage or incest), I66 (who's part asian, but I'm afraid to ask if he's a ninja, because the only way to be sure if someone is a ninja is to have them kill you), LemonGloria (who seems to have a girl on girl blog crush on someone I know...wow, that's hot), Martin (who I suspect may be part of the Matrix), Across the River (who I'm sure was disappointed by how un-ninja like my shirt was), and someone who recognized me, but looks totally different from the last time I saw her. She quit blogging because of a stalker, started a new blog, made herself look even hotter than before and said to me "hey ninja, don't you remember me? I used to be [blank] but I stopped blogging when I thought someone was going to kill me to vent their pent up rage and sexual impotence. I write under the name [new blank] now." There were some other people there I talked to who I'm sure I'm forgetting. If you're a girl and I forgot to mention you, then please passively aggressively complain about it to your girlfriends of anyone else before you finally tell me how hurt you were. Then I'll pretend I don't know what you're talking about; will reluctantly admit I was wrong; and buy you flowers and apologize for it while secretly resenting you for making me apologize for something that was unintentional. If you're guy and are upset that I forgot to mention you, then stop being such a wussy. Seriously, Chief, do your ovaries hurt when you cry?

Anyway, after my family is done driving me crazy, I'l be back in DC. I'm planning on making a pitstop in NYC where I'll try to meetup with 3 people before i leave. My childhood friend, the Bensonhurst Kid, my imaginary girlfriend (who works with BK and has a real life non-blog crush on me) and a blogger who I've been wanting to meet for a while. I'll report back next week.

More Actual Work

Okay, so I got some actual work done on the MacGuyver Kitchen this weekend. On the plus side, I don't have the MacGuyver sink and diswasher any more. On the minus side is that I don't have any sink or dishwasher (or sink) and I won't have one till I finish the kitchen. I guess that's one way to motivate myself.

I do have some actual pictures of it, but I didn't load them into my beautiful MacBook yet, so in the meantime, I'll just have to brag about some previous work that I did, but haven't bragged about yet. This way, I can justify having taken a picture of it in the first place. It's not enough that I actually do something constructive around my house, I need to brag about it endlessly, otherwise what's the point? If a tree falls in the woods and I can't film it and show it to hippie to make him cry, then why bother chopping it down in the first place?


So before I fired the contractor, he didn't finish up the drywall in the kitchen.

Here is where the drywall meets the glass door in the MacGuyver kitchen. Even if you don't know anything about construction, you can probably tell that it's not finished because you wouldn't buy a house if the doorway looked like that. You would pull your Real Estate agent to the side and say "what's with that doorway?" And he would tell you that the owner never bothered to fix it because he doesn't have a blog.





The first thing I had to do was add corner bead to the unfinished corners. This wasn't difficult at all, except for the fact that buying it involves a trip to Home Depot, which is about as enjoyable as a visit to a fat-fingered proctologist.














So I put the corner bead all around the doorway, then I proceeded to use joint compound (also known as drywall mud or lucifer's spit...okay I made that up) to finish up the edges.














So I finished it up, then sanded it. Mudding is fun, because it's like playing with frosting, but sanding it afterwards sux, so I hired a day laborer to do that and the rest of the sanding. That way I can use my time more constructively (get it?) by doing things like laying out the kitchen, blogging, or pretending to "supervise".

The Plan

I’m going to try to make some progress on the Ninja fortress over the weekend. I know I've said that before but this time I mean it. I bought some kitchen cabinets from IKEA. And I’m working like a Hebrew slave to put them together. Who knew I could fit a whole kitchen into the Ninja Lite-Armoured Assault Vehicle? They are starting to look niiiice, but who knew that anyone besides the Chinese actually manufacture stuff. Slovakia? These cabinets were made by Slovakians? Are those the communists of the Al Qaaeda? No matter, the cabinets will look good. I have to make a trip back to IKEA tonight because they sold me a few of the cabinets in wrong sizes (and there is a big difference between two 30" cabinets and two 12" cabinets...I don't think I have enough caulk to hide the discrepancy).

In other news, my new laptop kicks ass, so I should be able to upload pics again using my camera, instead of taking ghetto pics with my cell phone. If anyone thinks that Apple isn't the greatest invention since free internet p0rn, you have no idea what the hell you are talking about.

Anyway, this is the beginning of the end of the MacGuyver Kitchen.

In other news, I did not win the Best DC Blog by the Sexiest Hetero Male Blogger. It went to someone else. I think ballot stuffing may have been involved, but I'm not going to waste time worrying about it. My mother already confirmed that I'm the handsomest boy on earth. So even though the modelling agencies think she is seriously in need of some new glasses, I'll take her word for it because she has no reason to lie.

In still other news. Go HERE and vote for the Best DC Blog by a Real Writer. But if you do, you should vote for my friend Velvet, who helped me pick out (and load!) the cabinets, and also gave me some invaluable material for my next post. I don't think I'm winning the contest, so I don't want to Nader anyone's chances of winning the election.

And lastly, sometimes I read something in the paper and just say WOW. Sometimes I have idiotic ideas (like buying the ninja fortress) but usually I run the ideas past someone before I do it. But there is some guy in Minnesota who really, really, needs to run his idea by other people first. See, he was arrested today for cutting off the head of a dog and mailing it to the owner in a gift box with valentine candy. When the cops asked him why he did it, he said he wanted her to go out with him. The original story is HERE. Now I don't know what this guy was thinking, but if you want to get a girl to out with you, maybe killing her dog and mailing the head to her in a box isn't the best way to go.

Crazy: I really like Crystal, but she won't go out with me? I told her I had tickets to a Modest Mouse concert and she turned me down.

Friend: Modest Mouse? First of all, they suck. I wouldn't go to a Modest Mouse concert with you either, even if I was gay and you weren't crazy. See if she likes the Shins or maybe an Eminem concert?

Crazy: I dunno' those tickets are hard to get. What if mailed her some romantic chocolates in a nice box, with a card?

Friend: Yeah, that's a good idea. The card is nice touch.

Crazy: What if I throw a severed dog's head in there. You know, her dog. You think that's a bit much?

Friend: I dunno. Sometimes less is more...you don't want to come off as too eager. Chicks don't like that.

Crazy: Start with a cat's head maybe?

Friend: Or...just stick with the Chocolates and maybe a Red House Painters CD maybe some Deep Banana Blackout?

Important Announcement

Well, I have been upset this past week because it turns out that I am not the winner of the $370 million lottery. Not only that, but I am $50 poorer as a result of that stupid game. I may have to take drastic steps.

Moving on

In what I swear is completely unrelated news, I have an announcement to make: I, Home Improvement Ninja, am the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby. Yes, you read that right, it’s me. I know the timing is suspicious, but it has nothing to do with the lottery. I would’ve made this announcement even if I had won.

The only reason I haven’t come forward until now is that I thought I might get hit up for child support payments by that gold-digging coke head...may she rest in peace. But now that she’s dead, I think I should step up and claim custody of my kid (or at least my pro-rata portion of it). I know that some of you are thinking "how could you have made it with Anna Nicole Smith without the paparazzi finding out." First of all, let me say that it's pretty easy to have sex with Anna Nicole Smith. I think it's harder to get NCAA playoff tickets than it is to get into Anna Nicole's pants. But even though making it with Anna Nicole is like making it with a glass of warm water, I won't speak badly of her since she is the mother of my beachhouse...errr, baby. I said baby; I meant baby and I said baby, okay.

Anyway, since l am a lawyer and respected member of the legal community, a paternity test won't be necessary. I will agree to a maternity test to determine if Anna Nicole Smith was the biological mother, but a paternity test would be ridiculous. If ninja sperm was in that uterus in a fight to death with sperm from a photographer, an old man, and a washed up lawyer who cries on TV (yes, I saw you Howard K. Stern) and is therefore not a real man, the results are obvious. The ninja sperm killed the other sperm, impregnated Anna Nicole, hid out for nine months, then killed her from the inside out. That's why the autopsy has taken nearly a month. Ninja sperm can hide from a medical examiner like a Bush appointee hides from a subpoena.

I understand that there is a $400 million inheritance that she will have and, as her father, I’ll make sure it stays safe until she reaches her 60th birthday, at which point I’ll turn every penny of it over to her (after deducting fees and expenses, of course).

And Judy Greer, if you’re reading this, I hope you are moved by a single father’s love for his insanely wealthy illegitimate daughter. I plan on posting pics of me and whats-her-face on here so that when you see it, you will think that I am all sensitive and shit and will want to go out with me…or at least modify the restraining order from 500 feet to 50 feet. If you did, I would stand exactly 51 feet outside your window (again) with a boombox and play Peter Gabriel’s “in your eyes” while wearing an ill-fitting trench coat like that ugly, skinny white kid in that Say Anything movie.

In other news, someone who I hope is Judy Greer, Rachel McHottie or the hotness that is Jamie has nominated me for Best DC Blog by the Sexiest DC Hetero Male. I don't understand what the contest is all about, but you should vote for me because if I manage to get laid from this contest, that's gotta be a good thing. Also, I think if I win this contest, it will negate the results of the infamous "Gay or European Sweater" poll.

Christmas Part 3: The Severed Pig Head

Okay, here is the final Christmas post that I have been promising. I was in Florida visiting the ninja clan and getting new material for my blog and my therapist. My family was in rare form. Old feuds were rekindled, and new feuds were ignited...good times.

Anyway, my sister had bought a new house, 5 bedrooms, and I, my brother and dad were enlisted as free labor to do some stuff on it before she moved in. I didn't take many pictures, so that won't be discussed right now. The only thing that I will mention is that my younger half brother is completely useless when it comes to home improvement. He did nothing for the entire time when we were there, and when he finally did something (carrying a tool up the stairs), he dropped it, damaged the Pergo floor and made an extra hour of work for me and the ninja dad. Nice work, Sparky!!! Even my sister is better at home improvement than he is, and she has a uterus. I hope that the home improvement gene kicks in eventually because I would hate to think that a male who shares my genetic material is not a real man.

I know that some of the laydeez reading this are thinking that you don't have to know how to fix stuff to be a real man because their husbands can't fix things. But the only reason they think that is that they have never made it with a guy who can lay hardwood flooring. Jus' sayin'.

Anyway, between fixing stuff and getting dragged into family feuds, I went Christmas shopping. I found some interest things in the sunshine state, even if I didn't buy it. Like:



Chocolate tools!!! Very cool, but the last thing I would want to see is anything to do with Home Improvement.









Games!!! Holy crap. This was at Target and was selling for only a couple of hundred bucks on clearance. If it was in DC I would've bought it. It had four classic video games in the same machine like Defender Robotron and Joust. My nephew laughed when he saw this because, compared to PS2 and some of the other new games which look like you are in a movie, the graphics suck, but this is part of my childhood. Part of my fcuked up, wasted childhood. I remember hearing that Stephen Spielberg had his own Tempest video game in his house and thinking that I would like to be rich enough someday to have a video game machine in my own house. And ironically, now, I am rich enough to have a video game machine in my own house. Maybe when I'm done with the ninja fortress I'll buy one of these these. You can get 5 of them for the price of a decent MacBook. I could have my own friggin' arcade...where all the games are free...Swwwweeeeeeeeeet!!!!

There were other interesting things at Target. For instance, you can get the entire Friends sitcom on DVD for $200. I know what you are thinking: "why would you pay $200 for something that is not even funny. " I wondered that also. But apparently some people like that show. "Could they BE any dumber?" And by buying the DVDs, they don't have to watch the episodes for free on TV. They can watch them anytime of the day or night. Apparently, if you think Friends is funny, you have a lot of time on your hands because none of your real friends will want to hang out with you.

So in my searching, I found the perfect gift for my nephew "Day Day". I found this little play tool chest and little battery-operated circular saw with little safety goggles (safety first!!!) because you are never too young too learn to fix stuff, or to be a real man...which is basically the same thing.

Day Day with the play circular saw. If he didn't have a sippy cup in his mouth, all you girls reading this would be All Up Ons, even thought he's not even old enough to unhook your bra.






Anyway, during the Christmas dinner at the Ninja family home is where the problem started. we had a big whole roasted suckling pig ("lechon") that was made for the occasion. But Day Day was freaked out by the head. So, since he hadn't suffered any childhood trauma yet, I thought it was time for him to know what it's like in the ninja clan. So I told him that it wouldn't hurt him and when he got close to it, I made the jowels move and made it fake-bark.


Okay here is a picture of the Pig's Head. Needless to say the kid was freaked and started crying. So I did what anyone in my family would've done to me if they were closest to the pig and I was his age: I grabbed the pigs head and started chasing him around the house with it and making barking noises. The kid was screaming like teen girl at a Ricky Martin concert.



Then my sister flips out on me, for no reason. No reason at all!!!

Sis: You asshole. Now the kid is gonna grow up fcuked up!

Ninja: So what, that's what therapy's for!

Sis: Not everyone in our family needs therapy.

Ninja: Ummm, did you grow up in the same family I did?

The kid was grabbing my sister's leg and bawling in a very un-ninja like fashion. My sister tried to make him feel better so she grabbed a cake knife and fake-stabbed me to death in front of him. (oh yeah, tell me again we don't all need therapy).

The Murder Weapon











So I took a dive and pretended to die.

Ninja: See, Day Day, that's the message of Christmas...that if someone messes with your family, you cut them. That's the gift of the baby Jeebus.

Sis: Ummm....yeah...who want's cake? Anyone?

So anyway, that's the story of how I chased my nephew around the house with a severed pigs head. Like I said, it's not as disturbing as it sounds. In fact, compared to stuff in my childhood, this is really pretty mild. If that kid ends up in Catholic School like I did, they will mess up his mind so bad that he won't even remember this. So I probably did him a favor...somehow.

My First MEME...Six Weird Things

Well, I was tagged by Reya recently. I usually don’t do Memes because I find most of them to be banal and there is already enough unoriginal content on my site (about 90%) without my having to add to it. But this one is not bad “List Six Weird Things About Yourself”. There are plenty of weird things about me (ask anyone). Like the fact that I only read magazines from back to front. (that doesn’t count as number one). Asking me for six weird things about myself is like asking Warren Buffett for six dollars, so I figure I can do that without much effort. The only hard part is narrowing it down to six, but making it six that don’t make me look really, really weird. Anyway, since Reya was one of the first bloggers to link to me, I think she should be rewarded for her foresight, like someone who bought internet stocks in the early 90s, or the guy who lied and told Billy Joel that chicks dig guys who play the piano. Anyway:



Six Weird Things About Me*

1. I don’t eat olives. Ever. E-V-E-R! If I was ever stuck on an island where the only food source was olives, I wouldn’t starve to death, but only because I would probably kill myself to avoid starvation long before I ever ate that first olive. If I was stuck on island with other people and olives, I would feed them olives to fatten them up, then resort to cannibalism, then kill myself when the human food ran out. Because I’m such a fan of irony, I would probably use the olives to kill myself. Like, if there were cans of olives, I would tie a few unopened cans to a rope and beat myself in the face with it until I died. Or, if it was a bunch of jars of olives, I would break the glass and use the broken pieces to kill myself by slitting my wrists and at the moment before my demise I would find a giant rock and scrawl, in my own blood:

“Olives: not a fan.”

Or, in the ultimate irony, eating the glass. Yes, I would rather eat broken glass than eat olives; I feel that strongly about it.

There are only a handful of other foods that I won’t eat (they are: coconuts, raw tomatoes, cucumbers, capers and milk). But if I was on a deserted island, I wouldn’t be militant about not eating them. If there were other people on the island with me, I would probably make jokes about our food predicament like. “you people are lucky that the crate that washed ashore contained canned tomatoes instead of olives, because if it hadn’t I’d have killed you by now…hahahahaha…I’m just kidding….or am I?” but in the end, I would eat it.

2. I don’t watch sports on TV. Even the big events, like the Super Bowl. Up until few days before the Super Bowl, when my friend, Lord of the Rings, invited me to a Super Bowl party, I didn’t even know (or care) who was playing. I really don’t understand the flabby old guys who are into sports and wear team jerseys and brag about how “we” are going to the championship this year. As if they have anything to do with the outcome. Whether they cheer for “their” team, the opponents, or didn’t watch at all, the outcome would still be the same. It’s all very primitive, like the cavemen who wore wolf skins and danced around the fire to try to absorb the power of the animal spirit; to re-unite with the god head. These jock wanabees wear the jerseys in front of the TV (the campfire) as if the success of their team will empower them to a greatness that has eluded them during a lifetime of drinking beer and complaining from a barstool. I used to work with one of these sad sacks who played minor league baseball for a couple of years and used to brag about how good he was. I still feel guilty about the day I knocked him down a peg.

Has been: Cal Ripkin played baseball until he was in his forties, I’m only forty one. I can still play.

Ninja: Yeah, but the Yankees didn’t want you when you were twenty, what makes you think they’ll take you when you’re forty one.

You could almost hear the sound of his heart breaking.


It’s not that I’m un-athletic; in High School I played soccer (division champs, thankyouverymuch) and I used to do martial arts (and have a few trophies to show for it). But I don’t dig watching other people play sports. I don’t watch people eat food or fix their cars for entertainment, so why would watch them play sports? The only thing it’s acceptable to watch, without participating in, is sex. Porn is, well, porn, after all.


3. I’m very attracted to neurotic girls. (think Meg Ryan, Winona Ryder, Sandra Bullock, Keira Knightley etc.). I think that’s why I have such a crush on Judy Greer. She’s as neurotic as you can possibly get without being actually crazy. There’s a fine line between neurotic and crazy, and Judy Greer has her toes right on the line and is leaning way over.

Contrast this with Angelina Jolie who is so far over the neurotic/crazy line that she can’t even see the line from where she’s standing. It’s not that I don’t find Angelina Jolie attractive, believe me I do, but I don’t think I could date Angelina long term because I don’t think I’d be able to learn to sleep with one eye open. And if you are sleeping in the same bed with someone who used to wear a vial of her lover’s blood around her neck and had a weird (incestuous looking) relationship with brother, then you better learn to sleep with one eye open or you might wake up in a pool of your own blood with your severed genitals lying next to the TV remote and Angelina screaming “I TOLD you I wanted to watch Grey’s Anatomy, you fcuker!!!”.

Before you think I’m nuts, I should mention that I’m not really as in love with Judy Greer as I pretend to be on this blog. Although if Judy ever reads this, I want her to know that I lied in the previous sentence and that I will still marry her, if she’ll have me (and as long as she doesn’t believe in pre-nuptial agreements, or will marry me in a jurisdiction that doesn’t enforce them). Also, if you’re still reading this, Judy, I really liked your performance in What Women Want, as well as your nude scene in What Planet are You From. I think you should’ve gotten an Oscar for that role in What Women Want and whatever award they give for nude scenes (the Woody?) for that other one.



4. There are things that I won’t tell my therapist because I’m afraid she’ll judge me. I guess I would feel worse about this if I didn’t have an unlimited supply of other things to talk about with her. If there’s ever an uncomfortable silence, I can just bring up any one of hundreds of childhood incidents to fill up the time. I guess that’s the bright side of growing up in such a dysfunctional family, you really get you’re money’s worth in therapy. I could alternate between childhood traumas and current neuroses and keep several therapists busy if I wanted to. Anyway, the fact that I’m afraid she’ll think badly of me is odd because she doesn’t judge me when I tell her other things that a normal person (i.e. someone who is not me) would think is unreasonable. She just tries to understand why I did what I did.

Therapist: Did you really break up with her because she had ugly toe nails, or was there another reason?

Ninja: No…it was the toenails…it was definitely the toenails. They were hideous.

Therapist: No one is perfect, maybe you wanted to break up with her and you were looking for something to find wrong with her so that you could break up with her.

Ninja: Well, I didn’t have to look very hard…those toe nails were like fucking talons. I think she could catch salmon swimming upstream with them.

5. I don’t drink alcohol sitting down. Sometimes, I’ll have a glass of wine at dinner, but that’s the only time you’ll ever see me boozing while sitting down. Booze is a poison—fact.** It kills you slowly, but it’ll kill you. And if you’re going to kill yourself, then you should stand up like a man and do it.*** Unless your killing yourself with a jar of olives, in which case you can grab a seat for that one.


6. I won’t run over anyone else’s roadkill. I consider it bad luck. If I see a dead cat or squirrel in the road, especially if it’s only got a single tire track on it (a clean kill!), I will do everything possible except crashing into a tree or another car to avoid running it over. I consider part of my Bushido driving code. I consider killing an animal with a car no different from hunting it with a rifle or killing it on the battle field by bashing it’s head with a large rock . And I think if I run over someone else’s kill, it dishonors the other driver’s warrior spirit as well as the spirit of the prey. It defiles the heroic struggle for life and death between two beings who knew that survival was the sacred feast that would sate only one of them. I imagine that the other driver enjoyed killing the animal, like the bear drawing a mighty salmon from the stream with its teeth, he loved the thing and cherished it immensely, even as he violated it. Also, I don’t like to run over dead animals because the thought of that gross crap on my tires really creeps me out.


Okay, I’m tagging tagging Velvet, Petite Anglaise, Julie Gong, Redacted, KassyK, and Sailor Moon..





* These are things that you‘ll probably wish you didn’t know)

**Other facts: Brianna Banks shaves her va-jay-jay funny; Judy Greer is taller than me, but she probably won’t hold that against me; George Bush isn’t the dumbest one in his family, which is scary as well as a fact.

***Other things you should stand up a like a man to do: Pee (but only if you really are a man).