A couple of weeks back I was vaguely wondering what I am going to do when I finish uni. There was a newspaper opened to the classifieds on the coffee table in front of me. A small ad caught my eye, “Be a Ninja” it said and directed me to khninjas.com. From it I read: “Their highly illegal counter culture was underground and it…” and thought, I’m counter culture, um, highly illegal and I go underground sometimes, like on holidays.
They have a local group and eventhough the pictures on the site are of people in black costumes, it says that Ninjas dress normally and could be any of the people you know walking among us. Yeah, so the Ninja life is mighty tempting — the way I figure it, if a Ninja wants to lay across the whole couch, he can because that what Ninjas do — *if* they want. Maybe me n’ the other Ninjas could take on Delphin and kick their proposed arses out of Fyansford, saving the villagers.
I’ve been feeling a bit like the proverbial teapot, short and stout, getting all steamed up and ready to shout except that someone stuck a gobber of bubblegum in whatever hole the steam comes out of. Nobody knows it’s time to tip me over, pour me out because they can’t hear anything. So I’ll probably explode and make a terrible mess.