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February 20 You know what? I hate you.Rant I Ok. You know what? I haven't done this in a while so now I will. But it's not gonna be about my continuing ninja adventures, or how I single handedly won the Vietnam war with nothing but a rubber chicken and a collection of toothpicks selo-taped together into an amusingly vulgar shape. No, that's for next time. This time I'm going to have a rant about something which is fairly close (somewhat distant) to my cold, black, ninjitsu, ass womping heart. I'm going to rant about Valentines Day. Those of you who are moving to close this window SIT THE "£$%^% BACK DOWN AND KEEP READING, ASSHATS! So here's the deal. Valentines Day. I've read articles decrying it as a shallow marketing ploy to get stupid rich guys to buy expensive gifts for vacuous girlfriends, with any actual romance occurring on the day seen as sappy and quite frankly rude - why the hell should they celebrate being in a relationship when so many of us are single? And more of us are single by the day thanks to my new and improved shuriken rifle, I mean it could take your face right off your... Ahem. Where was I?Ah yes. Then there's the other old one. "But... but it's only one day! Why, oh why, should we focus on this one arbitrary day! We should try and spew romance into our lives every single second of every day!! The fact that we don't moves me to WET SALTY TEARS!!!!" etcetera etcetera.... Well... lets deal with these two first then shall we? Yes, Valentines Day is a shameless marketing gimic. Hallmark rolled in and stole a day off of us. But it's not just the cards! Oh no! If there's even a hint of anything romantic happening that day then the Love Police turn up - sanctioned by Hallmark of course - with little Cupid shaped name tags and a red heart shaped balloon tied to their hats which they keep at a deliberately jaunty angle in severance of the day and they charge you for being romantic. This means picnics are out, and so are quiet intimate dinners. Walks in the park, days out to the beach, hell even simply staying in together and watching a movie and enjoying each others company incurs a fine. The b*****ds. Sarcasm never gets old does it? So you don't want to buy a cheap card, which pretty much says that you were too lazy to think of something meaningful in the first place anyway? Then don't buy the shi*tty card, you cockgoblin. Engage the brain and actually think of something your significant other might enjoy. Go on! Try thinking right now! Pfft. As for those rich bitches getting expensive gifts from their vapid, banal, mouth breathing boyfriends? Rich people always get better presents. They get them at Christmas, at New Year, at birthdays, at every sodding celebratory moment. And they probably would rub it in just as much if they got the chance to. Cheer yourself with the idea that the guys sperm is probably to dumb to find the right way to the egg and should he ever actually manage to procreate his offspring will be incapable of taking a p*ss without falling over and cracking their skulls on the toilet bowl, regardless of gender. As for the women? Hell in a few years time hubby will be paying for cologen implants and then a day in the sun will melt their faces faster than the wicked witch of the west on jet skies. Especially the wanna-be-rich whores. Now on to argument the second shall we? It's one day of the year, you say? Well bloody done. You've mastered the art of the calender. Now lets see if you can walk to the shops without wetting yourself. Yeah, we should try to be romantic as much as possible. But if we did it all the time it wouldn't be special anymore, and merely boringly common place. This one day is a day to pull the stops out, to remind you that if you can't fit it into your schedule, or you just find it hard to be romantic, then this is the day bucko! This is the day to make the effort - not the only day! Hell no! But this is a chance to make up for all the missed dinners cause you had to work or the early nights cause you just felt like dying quietly or every other little excuse that has wrecked a day with the person you love. This is one day to pull your head out from it's cozy home between you butt cheeks and get it right. So what if there's only one day dedicated to it? Any more and it wouldn't be special. And incidentally I'd like to meet the guy who has managed to sustain a relationship by being romantic on Valentines Day alone. Firstly I'd like to shake him by the hand, and then I'd like to slap his girlfriend upside the head. What's special about February 14? F**k all. So it's a sham right? Yeah sure, along with every other holiday you've ever celebrated. Christmas? Come on. The pessimistic/realistic/grumpy b*stards among us have already accepted that the whole thing is 95% commercialism. The guy wasn't even born in December!! You idiots are like 6 months off! How pointless does that make the whole thing?! But the kids love it and it's an opportunity to see people you get to see maybe once or twice a year and as long as you don't get sucked into the black hole of "MUST BUY EVERYONE SOMETHING!!! OH SWEET GOD NO!!!!" then the spirit that we should be celebrating makes it fun again. New Years? Why the fu*k is that worth celebrating? WOOT! The world is still here! Yay! Morons. There's not even a fake religious significance attached to it any more, it just dates back to a time when people thought they had a reason to celebrate at the end of the year. But guess what guys? Ya don't any more. Now you just celebrate cause you want to. Birthdays? The hell? What are we celebrating? That you aren't dead? Why does that make this day special? So you're a year older. No epiphanies will strike you, no great gnostic revelations. I did not stand up in bed on the morn of my 18 birthday, shake my fist at the sky and scream "Today I am 18! Today I am a man!" Because it's just another day, and an excuse to celebrate. They're all just excuses to celebrate. I mean, Kwanza? WHAT THE HELL IS KWANZA!? I'll tell you what it is: Our African amigos got sick of everyone else celebrating and not them. So they decided to get in on the act. And good for them. They wanted to celebrate, so they are. What are they celebrating? Who cares!? It's like a giant, continent wide Pollock Halls flat party. We wanna celebrate so we're going to. You don't like it? Kiss my grits. Thanksgiving? What the hell are they giving thanks for? Even religious families do it for Shixxle's sake! So what's are you giving thanks for? Cholera infected blankets or the fact that the natives died so easily while you were raping their ancestral land? No, you celebrate to give thanks for what you've got. And on Valentines you celebrate cause you've got someone to love. A holiday dedicated to romance. Oh that is indeed terrible. For shame. Cause there isn't romantic symbolism everywhere else either. We don't kiss under the mistletoe at Christmas or at midnight on New Years, do we people? And besides there's far too much love in the world for us to have more! It might over flow and break the planet and then God would just be p*ssed. Not like he approves of love anyway really. I'm single. I've always been single on Valentines day, one way or the other - but a day dedicated to first dates and first kisses and shy bumbling idiots asking their crush out for the first time and newly weds remembering vividly why they love each other and old people remembering the times they shared with someone who might not be with them anymore? Yeah I think I can live with that. There are people out there who have perfectly valid reasons for simply loathing Valentines Day. You have your reasons. Not much I can do about that or indeed care to, but for you dour, disaffected dips*ts who don't like it because it's too soppy or because you might actually have to show an emotion or because anyone being happy offends you? Line up at my door so I can kick you in the face, you chin dribbling moron.
October 26 Kittens and old men. A vicious circle.I hate university. This does not come to a surprise to many seeing as I hate pretty much anything indiscriminately. Except kittens. Kittens are nice. If the kitten in question can be trained to be a ninja kitten then so much the better. But none the less kittens in their original non-ninja format are also acceptable. I digress, not physically, (I saw someone try that once and it wasn't pretty. Looked painful.) and shall attempt to return to the point. I hate university for making me mingle with the rest of society and forcing me to get up at blatantly stupid hours of the day to go to lectures. I say mingle but to be honest leaping from roof to roof gets me to and from the lecture quite peacefully and no one pays any attention to you once the lecture starts anyway so it's not like I have to go through the chore of human contact. Plus a couple of strategically placed mirrors on the ceiling and I have instant cleavage vision. There is always a bright side. Most specifically I hate the fact that I have essays to do and hand in which require me to research the material in the numerous libraries around Edinburgh (732 libraries last count) instead of doing it the old fashion ninja way. If we wanted information when I was a ninja we tortured the man with the info we wanted. You'd be surprised how co-operative people become when introduced to Mister Hot-Poker and company. It's most enlightening. And not just because I normally end up setting their hair on fire. IO tried this method on a book once and I can tell you threats don't work. I even used the poker and all I managed to do was singe the book slightly and incur a fine. So... this means I have to go to the library, actually spending time amongst people, and seek the appropriate tomes of knowledge among the shelves of misery, through which the helpless student body winds like lost despondent sheep. It's more of an effort reigning in my instincts than anything else. The first time a girl turned into the isle I was standing in I threw the Encyclopaedia Britannica at her head. She was mildly concussed. It wouldn't have been so bad if the book had been smaller, like something by Machiavelli (they at least are usually blessedly short) but as it is the girl still has 'pedia Brit' imprinted on her forehead, though it has faded slightly. On the plus side it is really hilarious to look at. Well not for her. For me. Which is what's important. That’s not all though! The number of possible essay topics are limited so it's virtually certain that whatever topic I pick someone else will pick as well. Which means they want the same books as me. I don't £$%ing think so, assmunches. Just because it's a library open to all students you think you're free to take whatever books out you want? Not if me and my knuckle dusters have any say in the matter. So far I trapped one guy in the elevator and refused to let him go unless he handed over the book I wanted and another girl got 'accidentally' crushed under a cascade of falling shelves as she walked away with the lexicon I desired. True the guy wet his pants and started screaming something about not eating his soul when I stuck my wrapped head through the ceiling shaft and the girl had to be hospitalised along with several other who were caught up in the... 'accident'. Additionally both incidents caused thousands of pounds worth of property damage but I don't pay attention to details. The gist of the matter is that I got the books I needed. Have that. Aside from this I have taken up the martial art of kendo. While kendo and it's practitioners have normally been scorned by the ninja community - something to do with the fact that basic ninja training teaches us to kill them like worthless curdogs - I believe that a knowledge of kendo is beneficial. "Know thy enemy". Besides that it's fun. The weapons we use are made from bamboo so there have been no reluctant fatalities (reluctant for them. I'm more than happy to make it fatal for them) thus far and our Italian instructor Andrea (Who is in fact a bald man. I know, I don't get it either - I guess his parents really wanted a girl) says the word 'hips' with a curiously high pitched twang and accompanies it with a diminutive pelvic thrust. If nothing else watching the elder, more experienced students (or 'sempai') spar is enlightening. One of them, a young oriental man, seems intent on making his body exceed the sound barrier. I'm just waiting for his arms to fly off. Should be fun to watch. With that in mind then I suppose not all things about the semester starting again are bad. There is a silver lining after all, even on getting up at 7.45 in the morning for a 9am lecture. For a start the other day I saw and old man fall over. Not just gently collapse, which would have been funny in and of itself, but appear to make a concerted effort to dive at the floor. It looked like he swung the cane out of the way and attempted to become one with the pavement. You can't pay for entertainment like that. Besides incidents like that though there are few good times. Except when I see kittens. Kittens are nice.
Final Score:
Antisocial Steel Monk: 10
House of Fools: 1 & 1/2
Public Libraries: Arson
Kittens: Fluffy September 21 SCONES!!! WHERE ART THOU!!The time has finally arrived for another tale of whimsy and woe. Just like the ones I plan to tell the children I'll have one day. And by 'one day' I mean 'never'. Edinburgh is now officially a magical ninja kingdom. 'Magical' because, much like the wizards of yore, it can provide absolutely anything, and 'ninja' cause I said so, dammit. A simple stroll down any given street will leave one walking past discarded sofas, beds, wardrobes and shelves. Chairs and tables and other paraphernalia just left out because no one wants it anymore. It's an Ebay fanboy's wetdream. Not that I'd know. Sadly I have little need for most of the things I encounter (this includes people most of the time), nor the storage space to keep them anyway. However, my erstwhile compadre Shikasta - who will be hence forth be occasionally referred to as 'Poetry Boy'. He knows why - seems to believe that he will have enough room for everything and God's toupee in his new home so insists on picking up what he finds in the street and bringing it to my place for storage. 'Grrr', and indeed 'arg'. Thus far he has purloined a computer monitor, a microwave - though that was legitimate out and out theft from a flat near the one we used to live in that was vacated - a DVD player - a DVD player! For the love of sweet zombie Jesus - and a set of shelves that have appeared in my home. That's pretty much the way of it. They appeared. First they were not there and then they were. I obviously blinked during the whole 'carrying them into my home' part. That or my poor long term memory just got less long. Anyway, essentially I have no conservatory anymore, cause it's just full of Poetry Boy's stuff. Not that I use it much anyway, well except for sniping the occasional roommate. Mostly Sergai or whatever the hell his name is. God, I just want to stab him so bad. As a ninja I exude an aura of pain and misery and I'm happy with my lifestyle choice. I've suggested it's what keeps me from getting a girlfriend, but those who knew me hastened to point out it was more likely to be my personality. I say 'knew' because they aren't in a position to know anything anymore. Unless floating face down with a kunai in the back of the neck is particularly condusive to learning anyway. My point is that when some glee ridden Russian - I arbitrarily decided that the fool is Russian - persists in singing when I'm in the shower, throwing a stick around the back yard to no-one, and having loud phone conversations directly outside my door - so loud that I could in fact here his friend speaking on the other end of the frasking phone - then it's practically asking for me to maim him. And unlike most pop stars nowadays I am more than happy to do requests. As long as the request is 'Killing me softly' anyway... Without the softly... Not having the internet for a while meant I ended up spending an inordinate amount of time around other people and not just to spill their blood and hear their pitiful cries for mercy and swift death as per my usual walk to the grocery store. Or the post office. Or the bank. Or pretty much anywhere else. Which meant I learnt some things about Shikasta I could have cheerfully done without knowing and he, in turn, has concluded some things about me that I could cheerfully continue not caring about. For example, due to some insipid webternet questionnaire, (and lets face it, what internet quiz isn't?) he has concluded that he is, and I quote: "a lesbian in a mans body". After I took a brief sojurne to my happy place for a few minutes to let the blood red haze fade from my vision I asked him what he meant. Well, actually I asked him what inane, nonsensical farcicality he was belching out of his word hole, but the point was there. Apparently the quiz determined whether you leant towards the answers to the questions the women had given or the ones males had given. Since his answers were more similar to the gals than the guys he concluded he had the brain of a woman. He then proceeded to explain in rather graphic and nauseating depth that he did in fact find women attractive, to prove he wasn't gay assumedly, so that made his brain a lesbian. As for the bit about a male body, well lets just say some quick thinking, a platypus and a well aimed potted plant prevented him from attempting to prove that as well, and coincidentally resulted in me not having to gouge out my own eyes to quash the firey, firey agony. Ergo: Postulate the first: If the subject in question answers like a female and thinks like a female, then it must be female. Ergo Kym's brain is female. Postulate the second: If the subject in question finds women attractive it is either a heterosexual male or a lesbian female. Ergo, Kym's brain finds women attractive and is female so it's a lesbian. Postulate the third: If the subject in question has a male body - and believe me this is postulation - than it's a man. Ergo, lesbian brain in a man's body. It's not often I'm left speechless... and this was not one of those times. After making it long and loudly clear that his explanation took minutes of my life away that could never be returned I flatpacked the poor poetry spewing fool and hung him over the washing line. The above reasoning and the fact that he has taken to writing poetry led me to accuse him of not being inherently male. He countered this by pointing out that he loved Sin City (hideously violent film. Heh, heh, heh...) and that is a man thing. He also likes burning meat over a flame and eating it - another man thing - and believes Bruce Willis to be the best actor of all time. I had to concede at this point that there was indeed, very little that could be more manly than that. However no where else does our difference in 'maleness' come across more than in our choice of video game. Currently he is playing a game called Darweenia - a game where little AI people live on the internet and are at war with other little AI people. ...... Exactly. I on the other hand am playing 'Imperium Galactica 2', a game where you take over the universe using either diplomacy, trade, scientific knowledge or big ass guns. Guess which I use? NB: If you thought any of the first three than go into your kitchen or other cutlery repository and stab yourself in the face. Cause you deserve it. See what I mean? He also told me that he wasn't fond of playing first person shooters or strategy games against other human players via the webternet and such. He apparently isn't fond of the idea of killing other people, even if only in digital form. I one the other hand end up giggling maniacally, had an argument with a flatmate once cause I ended up shouting "I blew the begger's arm straight off! WOO!" and disturbed him, and barely refrain from wetting myself at the prospect of unleashing digital leaden justice on some zit ridden fool, sitting at a computer somewhere and slowly experiencing puberty. Maybe that makes me a petty man... Actually I'm more inclined to believe that knocking the ice cream out of children's hands because I don't have one is what makes me petty... the computer death thing is what makes me twisted. Shikasta on the other hand has concluded that he sucks away the 'good' from around me. Everyone has ethereal good that floats around them just waiting to happen. Like meeting a pretty girl or in Shikasta's disturbingly domestic case, finding a two for one offer down at the local supermarket. However his presence removes my quota of 'good' and adds it to his own. He is a 'good' leach. For example, we have now introduced the tradition of going to the local Japanese restaurant every Saturday for lunch. I'm lucky if I get looked at. He on the other hand just has to waft his Pants of Lust -referred to in earlier reports - and the serving gals can't appear fast enough. Useful for getting served, as well as almost guaranteed to enrage me to the point of no return. He once offered to lend me a pair of his kaleidoscope pants for my own female attracting usage. The impracticality of a ninja wearing such apparel aside I pointed out that I am in fact, a good few sizes bigger than he. If I were to wear his pants they would hug and cradle where hugging and cradling should not be, meaning that I was more likely to traumatise the female populace rather than attract them. Aside from being a magical kingdom however, Edinburgh is also stupid. Just...just stupid. It so happened that I had eaten an entire pack of scones from the cupboard and was attempting to replace them before anyone noticed. They still aren't entirely sure whether I exist or not so there's no point giving them extra clues. But having said that if they haven't noticed the semtex in the bathtub and/or C4 in the shower they probably wouldn't have noticed this. And who can forget the dynamite in the toilet bowl? Not I, most assuredly. In any case seeing as Edinburgh is in Scotland, home of the scone I figured it would be easy to find them, ninja or otherwise. Apparently not. Three shops I went into and it was only on the forth that I found what I was looking for, apologetically tucked away in a corner as if the store was ashamed to be stocking such goods. What the hell!? This is Scotland goddamit! Famous world over for the bloody scone! What, is the scone not highbrow enough nowadays for the average Edinburghian? They had frigging croissants! French "food" by the shipload (assumedly) but no scones. How much sense does that make?! (If your answer was "Why that makes no sense at all!", then well done. Go have yourself a cookie. If your answer was "Why that makes no sense at all! Lets kill the gits!", then you get extra points. Go have yourself a cookie and kill that first guy and take his too. If your answer was anything else then please form an orderly line outside my front door so I can stab you in the face with the minimum amount of fuss. At least until that red haze in front of my eyes fades away.) Seriously around the third sconeless shop it felt like someone had found a way to solidify pure unadulterated stupid and was now trying to beat me to dead with it. I was about three seconds away from 'Hulking out' and making my own special brand of scone from the ground bones of my rage and fury when I found the damnable things. On another, less infuriating (MONK KILL PUNY SCONELESS MAN! CRUSH HIM TO DUST!) subject what the hell is 'monk rock'? I saw some yellow sackclothed fool selling it in discular format on the street. Using my ninja skills to nab one of the cds on the way back from the scone hunt (GRRR), resisting the urge to kick him in the nuts on the way passed. I dislike organised religion for personal reasons, and dislike unorganised religion even more. It's the same damn thing without a decent schedule. Anyway having listened to the 5 songs on the cd. I can only say that the lyrics are inspired. Or insipid. Whichever's worst. Guranga Hey! Guranga Hey! Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna! Krishna, Krishna! Hare, Hare! Hare Rama, Hare Rama! Rama, Rama! ...And that's it. It doesn't seem so bad until I point out that the first song is 45 minutes long. Seriously. 45 minutes of that repeatedly. Needless to say I went back out and kicked the guy in the balls. Again and again and again. He was a mockery of a monk, besmirching the title I hold dear. A productive morning all around I feel. I should mention for anyone that feels the need to ring the doorbell to the House of Fools that I have taken up amateur taxidermy. Basically if I get to the door first I kill whoever's there and stuff them full of linoleum. And bricks. Linoleum and bricks. Thus far it's worked nicely. It also explains why I've been threatening to beat people to death with a Jehovah's witness. Fact.
Final Score
Steel Monk: 10
House of Fools: 1&1/2
July 19 Shikasta... will you never learn?Sigh, so much stupidity so little time. Seriously. My time as a ninja is quiet and contemplative, now mostly spent in meditation or silent contemplation of the world around me. And how I can pilfer parts of that aforementioned world. I take great pride in the act that one of the tenants in the House of Fools, actually put up a sign telling people to stop stealing her food as her breakfast had disappeared four times in a week. I love my job. It's both occupation and hobby. However while my life has been somewhat slow and uneventful, the life of my companion in all things moronic, Shikasta, has been a riot of hilarity. Firstly it has been established that his computer, - the one with more processing power than God - seeing as it is cooled by a car engine is only legally operatable if you're sober. Seeing as most of his time on the web is spent with him sloshed out of his mind, that technically makes him a felon. This ended rather badly at one point with him claiming to ride his computer through the internet - there was so much wrong with this idea I was in fact stupified, if only for a few seconds - in some kind of drunken frenzy/Tron hybrid. At least I hope he was drunk. In any case this - according to him - seems to have led to him riding his computer like some kind of cyber horse through the internet, half naked but wearing a stetson and cowboy boots and singing karaeoke. For reasons I don't quite understand he rode his computer out of EdinRat's MSN connection and landed his 95 ton computer on Eduardo who was with her at the time. Seeing as Shikasta was totally wasted at the time - or so he says once again - he then collapsed, leaving Edmundo, who in true rich man style believes that money can solve all of life's problems, to try and bribe the pain to go away with his check-book. Whilst screaming "This is not spiffing!" apparently. Shikasta went on to speak of an operation later to return use of Edmundo's legs to him, wherein the nurse had to sedate the richboy so they could pry his bank card out of his hand. He kept ranting something about paying Death to 'look the other way' or bribing the ferryman at the river Styx. His last words before unconsciousness were reputedly: "Do you think the Grim Reaper excepts VISA?" Shikasta's not sure about the outcome of the operation - or from his story, what day it is, how to dress himself, or what gender he is - and frankly I don't care enough to find out. Lets say he died and never speak of it again, until I'm proved wrong. Secondly Shikasta's back story has become ever more weird. Though the chronicle of his woman attracting pants have been finely detailed previously, it seems another dimension has been added to the fabric of stupidity that is his life. Currently Shikasta is in his position as 'Playa', juggling about 5 women at once - one of whom is nominally already attached. Her insignificant other - a harpoon wielding ginger pirate (Seriously, don't ask. Ever.) - isn't the sharpest katana in the sheath and has yet to notice the incursions. Too busy being a scourge of the seas it would seem. Even if he is more likelty to offer his victims tea and crumpets that to pillage and rape. Half ogre, half man, all buffoon. However his denseness is such that I'm tempted to throw a few shuriken at him to see if there's any reaction at all. No sense no feeling. Anyway, the point is that Shikasta started attracting these women around Easter, well after he had begun wearing the pants. It has now been concluded that he went through puberty over Easter - bearing in mind he's 20 now - and in that time of growth his natural 'playa' instincts were awakened. Apparently these 'Playa' instincts are like the force but not quite as PG rated. Basically a power that allows him to juggle women effortlessly. It comes as part of his genetic makeup - the Kym Gene, which is kind of like the X Gene but not quite as versatile. Plus there are no optical lasers. Yet. However his instincts are not fully honed. It's becoming harder and harder to keep up the juggling. It has been theorised that his pants act as a kind of indiscriminate power-up for his 'Playa' instincts and therefore his ability to attract women. Whilst boosting his power though, they remove the sense of control Shikasta should have over his powers of the 'Playa', leaving him with the equivalent of a Lust Shotgun rather than a Love Pistol. Or something. So his choices are to either try to survive without the pants, whereby his raw power will diminish, but his control over what he has left will increase, or to try and struggle through the situation with his pants, trying to mentally bludgeon them into control. Each method has it's risks. Personally I prefer to sit back and watch the house of cards collapse. And then laugh. There's also the added fear that if Gingerpubes the pirate ever does cotton on to what's going on in front of his ruddy nose, then good ol' Shikasta's gonna end up with the 'Gingery Harpoon of Justice' (patent pending) embedded in his chest. Which might inconvenience him a tad. With that done our piratical friend can go back to bestriding the seven seas with his skull and cross bones boxers at half mast or whatever the hell he wants to do. That about sums it up for Shikasta's life thus far. Mine, as previously mentioned has been rather slow. Amusingly enough though both Shikasta and I found an abandoned exercise foot bike and dragged it back to the House of Fools. With a little work with some piano wire and a few loose screws it was ready to be put in the back garden to attract unsuspecting morons. And who should wander by first? Good old Sergai - now sporting a truly stupid new hair style, where most of his head is shaved except for two strips of hair on either side which are spiked up and died green. He looks like Optimus Prime on acid. If the great Autobot leader were a prepubescent little retard with acne anyway. Methinks his new haircut is part of a ritual he is attempting to perform to prove to the spirits that have invaded the house (ie me) that he is not afraid. That or he's just an idiot. Both are as likely as each toehr really. After five seconds on the pedals the trap went off and catapulted the twat over the garden fence. That'll teach him to stick to throwing a stick around the back yard, the mosh pit loving nutsack. Aside from that it's all quiet on the ninja front. Because I'm a ninja. And we're silent. GO NINJA! June 26 Why Eastern Europeans simply should not be.What the McHell? Something is most severly amiss in the house of fools. I think our resident eastern bloc import/ foreign moron is cultivating a death wish. Cause I'm sure as hell gonna slice him into kibble chunks and mail him back to what ever Aryan based country he comes from if he keeps pissing me off. Some of you may have noticed that Shikasta and I have gone on quite a few rants recently about the Aryan peoples. I assure you I am not bias against the Aryan peoples in any way. I hate them exactly as much as I hate everyone else and not a jot more. But it seems they are determined to earn my indemenity. Not that this is particularly hard to do - I recall a time when a little old lady asked for change for a pound and in return I promised her a lifetime of pain and suffering beyind imagination. Curiously I was unable to make good on my threat as the loud rant I uneashed gave her a heart attack and killed her on the spot.... Hmm. That's good irony! I digress. Between Ikea charging me to pay them for my purchases (rage building. GRRRR) and Lidl slowly but surely enforcing it's own German brand of no-frills efficency on the supermarket community I am undecided. These things - though annoying - are bearable. I can deal with them without innitiating some kind of violent death scenario/ being forced to 'do a Shatner'. So that's fine. It's the individuals that annoy me. Shikasta has his own pet dumbass in his block - which he speaks about in his blog - and I have one living with me. His name, I believe, is Serge. Or Serghe. Possibly Sergio. It begins with an S anyway, but the point is he's a few episodes short of a series. On numerous occaisons I have come across him doing things that are just plain stupid. Like the morning I woke up to find him happily throwing a stick around the back garden repeatedly. It was like he was playing catch with himself. Needless to say I beat him unconsciousness with the damnable piece of timber he was taking such joy in. More recently though he has taken to singing. When I'm in the shower. Badly. Everytime I take a shower he retreats to his room - which is right next to the blasted shower - and starts singing songs by the Bloodhound Gang in a deep voice, before switching to feral russian/german/whateverthehell. There's nothing quite like soaping yourself down to the tune of a man who sounds like his voice should have an atomic weight grating out how much he wants to eat Chasey Lain's ass. Fabulous. It's enough to make me slam his face into the parcelain bowl and leave him for dead face down in the toilet. Sadly he survived. He then progressed to playing violin music, once again badly,- you see the pattern developing right? - directly outside my door. I know it's him. This is the kind of know that is based on a total lack of backing evidence and fact you understand. Like woman's intuition except without a woman and with burning hatred replacing the intuition. After the violin's bow got shoved somewhere it wasn't going to produce any kind of music he gave up. For now. Grrrrr. Anyway moving on. Batman Begins is a great movie. It's done away with George Cloony and the neon light themed Gotham that made the worlds darkest city look like a giant stationary pimp-mobile and made Batman good again. Not least of which is because he now has ninja training and you understand just why he's suddenly a hard ass. it's no longer a case of - "Hello my names Bruce. My parent's died and now I can kick ass through the powers of grief." Much better. Also this Batman can acually move his neck - something he definatly couldn't do in the other movies. It was ridiculous. In the original Batman he had to bring Alfred along to rotate him in the direction of the problem. There are downsides though. For example the cave. It now has a waterfall which is cool, but it's not the giant cavernous cave anymore. it's the 'batpothole' Boo. And don't get me started on the car - it's looks like something a child vomited up after attempting to ingest a tray of mechano. There's a nice chase sequence ion teh film, but I just couldn't hel;p but think that it would have been better with the old bullet styled batmobile - even if it did look like a giant penis extension to the less charitable. The other niggle is the 'microwave emitte'r thing they used as a plot construct to boil all the water in gotham. The boiling the water bit is actually fairly reasonable when they explain why their doing it - which I'm not - but the 'microwave emitter is bollocks'. Humans are like 90% water or something. Yet every human was fine and gallons of water boiled. Hmmm. They could have done it better. The only other niggle I have is that I think the secondary badguy - Scarecrow - was hidiously underused and turned into a rather efeminate Frasier Crane-a-like with a coffee bean sack on his head rather than the evil psycho psychiatrist who could use fear as a weapon. Aside from that the rest is good. Though you'll have to accept that it's a stand alone film. It douesn't make an attempt to fit in with continuity the other four film started and makes blatant changes to the canon. Still good though. Finally: the birth of MocSoc. Here at Edinburgh Uni every club has soc on the end to show it's a society etc... So for example, erm, TaiSoc would be a Tai Chi society and FartSoc would be where Americans go to express their political opinions. So MocSoc would be a society for mocking people. This was actually an offshoot of the conversation Shikasta and I had about abusing the rich - the society was originally intended to mock them alone. But I say why stop there? Mock anyone! It's good clean, wholesome, self-confidence/self respect destroying fun. Their's not yours ideally. I went even futher than this suggesting that the monker MocSoc would be imroved into a higher form. Mock them, then Sock them! It's like Rock em, Sock em, Robots but with people you don't like. Genius. Every year at the beginning of the first semester there is a Fresher's Week - where all teh societies put up a stall or something to lure in fresh meat. Well I would suggest that we bring Edmundo along and have him at the stall with us. Then we could encourage people to make fun of him. And then punch him. Once they find out how much fun it can be they'll never look back. I never have. Anyway thats pretty much it for this rant- but I'd just like to say to any kids that are reading: Don't try any of the stuff you've read about in this entry without a certified Mocker Socker present. After all the rich can probably buy and sell your ass. Besides, I'll hunt you down and kill you if you do. Kay? Now if you'll excuse me I ned to go and shuriken Serge's ass. Again and again and again and again. And then his face. And then his groin. Then i'll play golf with his mangled corpse of the top of Arthur's Seat. Fore! Final Score: Antisocial Steel Monk: 10 House Of Fools: 2&1/2 - for the singing. The rich: Just you bastards wait..... June 23 War and the rich. Gotta love one, gotta soc the other... Part IFinally my internet connection is working once again. Which means my 'Chronicles of the Ninja' may continue. Fortunately for all nothing hugely significant has happened since my last post, just a grouping of little things. 'Thinglets' if you will. Or even if you won't I suppose. Meh. CatNip - she refuses to allow me to call her FrenchyPuss on the grounds that it's a stupid name... CatNip however she accepts... hmmm- suggested a game of Civilisation, the board game rather than the PC version. This seems the closest to real time strategy you can get on a board, seeing as it took almost as long as the real rise and fall of an empire to play the frigging game - Sidenote: every time Sexy No Jutsu says 'Frigg' I keep asking him what the Nordic Goddess of Fruit has to do with anything. I think he's going to snap soon. The game cost me 9 hours of my life that I simply can't have back. 9 HOURS people. That's 540 minutes! 32400 seconds! 64800 rabbit punches to Serghai's face! I felt like the life had been syphoned out of me when I was done... It wasn't even my kind of warfare! There was no assassination option for crying out loud! It was all blatant and out in the open! Ninja's just don't do it that way. Unless there's an option to sneak over the border at night, poison the enemy wells and garrote the enemy leader then it isn't war dammit. Shikasta seemed to know what I was thinking, because he was eying me uneasily from across the board. The fact I was idly twirling a kunai in between my fingers and had a habit of stabbing it into the board to mark my next target for conquest may have had something to do with it. (Shrug). Another aquaintance, KarateKid, was also present. A friend of Shikasta's I have only met him on a handful of occaisons, but he seems violent enough. My kind of guy. Part way through a random American that no one knew stuck his head through the door of CatNip's room where we were playing, took a single look at the board of the Mediterranean on which we played and grunted. "I'd have just nuked it." And with that he left. Either before or after that -the game messed up my sense of time- Shikasta and I went in search of employment once more. Incidentally the shop of convenience rejected me and in a totally unrelated manner the manager was found unconscious pinned upside down to the sheer face of Arthur's Seat - the mini mountain in the middle of Edinburgh - mumbling something about 'the ninja's, the horrible ninja's'. I digress. While walking through the city searching for employment - preferably of the 'kiss kiss bang bang' variety - we passed a Marks and Spencers. I offhandedly referred to it as a Edmundo shop. Another aquaintance of mine, through Shikasta once again who is basically a rich boy from the south. He couldn't get more quintessentially British if his face played the national anthem when his nose was poked. His upper lip is so stiff it's currently the model for the supports of the Golden Gate Bridge. Shikasta denied that such a store was fit for Edmundo, claiming the man wouldn't be seen dead in such a place- handily proven totally wrong by EdinRat later in the day who said that he owned a jumper from the afformentioned store. At this I changed my claim to it wanting to be an Edmundo shop. Suddenly we bumped into Edmundo passing by us and stopped to engage in tinyconvesation. Or smalltalk. After a few seconds a devilish plan occurred to me. Grabbing Edmundo by the collar ( he was too fearful of damaging his pedicure to fight back ) I attempted to shove him through the door of the Marks and Spencers. Disturbingly he adopted the 'cat pose', the typical one you see in cartoons of cats refusing to enter water by gripping the sides with all four legs, and latched onto the door. As I continued to attempt to force him into the store he suddenly began wailing loudly and rather worryingly. "This is not spiffing! This is not spiffing!" Eventually I forced him through the doors, where he was immediately mobbed by sales assistants and photographed ceaselessly. We left him to his fate. On the way back home we passed the same store to find a picture of Edmundo in the store window looking thoroughly disgusted and slightly drugged. The caption above claimed that the store was now an official 'Edmundo Shop'. I shudder to think. In Part II: The chronicles of MocSoc! Why Batman rocks ass (even more) because he suddenly has ninja training! Serghai's singing when I'm in the shower! Sin City rocking all kinds of crap! The fact that my sleep cycles have inverted for the umpbillionth time! Not-So-Final Score: Antisocial Steel Monk: 9 House of Fools: 1&1/2 Edmundo: -1 June 11 Damn AmericansThe curious thing about being a ninja and therefore mostly nocturnal is that you rarely see the light of day, which the fine city of Edinburgh has had quite a few of recently, is that after a given amount of time you start to yearn to see the clear blue sky. Which is why today I decided to break with tradition and emerge from my sanctuary in daylight. The first thing I found, strangely enough, is a notice telling me that three of my fellow occupants are vacating the premises. It seems my less than social attitude has had an effect after all. It seems that nowadays merely harpooning your housemates in the ass with a shuriken or fourteen – each – makes you a bad neighbour. Cowards. Which means that an influx of new lambs to the slaughter – I mean tenants - will appear about the house soon enough. Despite my hopes that these new people will be members of the Swedish volleyball team who both insist on practicing in the back yard – which I can watch from my conservatory – and are in need of a spare volleyball coach. That’s right ladies jump… keep jumping…. Never stop the jumping… But Shikasta insists on telling me that this will never happen, feeling free to break my fragile little ninja dreams. Instead he foresees a bunch of freedom fry munching Yanky morons who have such low intelligence quotients they probably wouldn’t feel pain even if I stabbed them in the face with a kunai. And if they were a bunch or Americano yahoos then that is exactly what would happen. Repeatedly. Especially if they were Texans. Oh god have mercy on their ridiculous boot-and-hat loving souls if their Texans. Anyway I digress. God I hate the Americans. Ahem. So, then a couple of days ago the House of Fools collective had a barbeque. Finding this activity fascinating, not least because they were holding it so close to the alligator pit that they had not found yet. Fun for all. Well no, just for me. Anyway I like barbeque so I used all my ninja techniques to snaffle myself a burger or two, before realising that they were so damn oblivious that I could have walked out an picked one of the barbeque myself and they wouldn’t have noticed. I don’t call them the House of Fools or nothing. It seems that they have grown to fear me so much that their fragile little non-ninja brains have convinced themselves that I am not there. The brain tries to ignore what it does not want to acknowledge – and lets face it none of them are the most observant to begin with. I caught Serghai throwing a piece of wood across the garden this morning for no apparent reason. So I cloths lined him from behind and left him unconscious in the sun. Anyway the point is I was free to walk into the garden and eat as much BBQ as I liked. I also spent a lot of time staring directly into peoples faces and watching them sweat as neurons died trying to convince the brain that I was not in fact there, even though I blatantly was. After the third person started to haemorrhage I grew tired of this and retired for the night. A few hours later a scream echoed through the house. It seemed someone had found the alligator pit then. Final Score Antisocial Steel Monk: 8 House of Fools: 1 &1/2 |
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